Work Text:
Mumbo could feel it, creeping. The soreness in his joints, the aching in his bones, those moments where his mind grew cloudy. When he looked in the mirror, it was not his face he saw.
It was the face of a different man entirely, one who had seen so much more than he had, one who had lived so much more than he had. He saw sparse grey hair and deep wrinkles. He saw eyes that were oh so tired and sunken in.
This, Mumbo supposed, was only natural. It was simply the passage of years stealing away all the things Mumbo had once thought to be a part of him. Surely it was only a matter of time before all the things he had done left a mark in his skin.
It was the thing every living thing had to contend with eventually. Mortality. Death. The ending of things no matter how infinite they once seemed.
But Mumbo didn’t want to die.
It seemed so silly at first. Of course he didn’t want to die, Mumbo hadn’t met anyone who did. As that deadline loomed heavier over him, surely he would come to accept whatever came with the end of the future.
But as Mumbo’s hair greyed even further, no peace came with it.
As this land grew into its own shape, Mumbo realized just how much he didn’t want to leave it.
And so Mumbo had made a plan. Mumbo had worked day and night, bringing further strain to this body that felt as though it was already rotting from the inside.
Mumbo pushed the limits. Of himself. Of what others would call a maddened science.
And now, looking out over everything he has created, Mumbo knew it was time. Time to say goodbye to this body, to this view of the world.
To this view he once loved.
Time to put all this effort to the test.
How many times had he looked deep into those robotic eyes and wondered what magic flowed behind him? Because Mumbo knew, better than perhaps anyone else, that despite the fact that it was his creation he did not understand it. Those thoughts were its own, the marvel of feeling was not Mumbo’s to take credit for.
Now Mumbo would finally be able to see. To feel. To be a part of it, of him.
The corridors were dark as he made his way through them. Once he had imagined his final moments to be spent watching the sunset. From that view.
But then again, these weren’t his final moments were they?
Mumbo took a deep breath. No matter how much he had done to assure himself, anxiety still crept into his chest, tightening his lungs, pulling at his sleeves.
Trust. Mumbo just needed to have trust. In himself. In eternity.
This body, the body that had failed him, that time had sinned its dirty claws into, took its final breath.
And Mumbo was happy. In this world that would now always be his.
Forever.