Chapter Text
"There was a saying, Phil," Wilbur explained far too calmly "by a traitor. Once part of L'Manberg. A traitor. I don't know if you've heard of Eret?"
With crossed arms and in a shoulder width stance, Phil looked at his son and nodded. "Yeah?"
"He had a saying, Phil." Wilbur turned around to look at the button on the wall. He took a deep breath. The pain from the battle still lingered deep in his bones, mixed with the pain of past, present, and future L'Manberg.
"It was never meant to be." With a sad smile on his face and a single tear running down his cheek, Wilbur pressed the button.
The dulled-down sound of explosives going off behind the mountain even rang through the thick stone that separated this room and the goings-on in L'Manberg. Wilbur looked at Phil.
"Oh my gods," Phil breathed. Wilbur closed his eyes. The shock wave flung him to the other side of the room, directly into his father.
When Wilbur came to again in his father's arms, he heard him say, almost in awe, "Oh my gods. " For a moment, there was silence apart from the occasional crumbling of rocks. "Wil! It's all gone!"
Ears still ringing, Wilbur stood up and stepped aside to look at the land beyond the mountain. Where the wall along with the button had been was now a gaping hole with what would be the prime view of what had once been L'Manberg. The dust still hung in the air like a thick fog, but Wilbur caught glimpses of his work. The tallest still standing ruines peeked out, almost as if they were waving at him. Tears pricked in his eyes as his destroyed nation lay before him. And it was the most beautiful corpse he had ever seen. A sick sense of pride snaked its way into his chest to reside with the devastation of what he had just done. What he, Wilbur Soot, had just done.
"My L'Manberg, Phil" Wilbur exclaimed. "My unfinished symphony- forever unfinished! If I can't have it, no one can, Phil."
Like a broken record, all Phil could say was, "Oh my gods."
That took Wilbur back to reality. The flicker of pride having died out and being replaced by a gaping hole in his chest.
"Kill me, Phil. Phil, kill me." Wilbur practically tripped over his words as he pressed his father's hands around his diamond sword. "Phil, stab me with that sword. Murder me now! Kill. Kill me ...Killza. Killza! Do it. Kill me, Phil. Murder me. Look, they all want you to."
Phil shakily turned around to see the now settled dust coating the speechless faces of the people in L'Manberg.
"Do it, Phil. Kill me."
"I can't- You're my son!"
"Phil, kill me!", Wilbur's voice had more urgency laced within. This is what he deserved. Wilbur knew it.
"No matter what you- No matter what you've done- I can't-"
Wilbur took a step closer, put his hands around the blade, not caring if he cut himself at this point, and guided the sword so that the tip of the blade was set against his chest.
"Phil. This isn't- Look. Look how much work went into this and it's gone!" If Phil had never loved Wilbur, now Wilbur needed Phil to love him enough to kill him. "Do it. Do it."
[WilburSoot was slain by Ph1LzA]
The Goddess of Death loved all her subjects. And yet she would be the first to admit that she had her favorites. First and foremost came her family. Her blessed husband, her Angel of Death. As well as her sons. It did not matter to her whether or not they were hers by blood or choice, she loved them all the same. Which is why it was so heartbreaking to see her Wilbur's life having been cut so short. So much more had been meant for him. Of course, she did not blame her Angel for it. He had merely done what Wilbur had begged for himself. It would have been a tragedy for her son to be left alive in the rubble of what had once been his life.
The Goddess of Death did not fancy delusions that Wilbur was free of blame and that he deserved no punishment for what he had done. What horrible crimes he committed.
The mother Kristin, however, loved her son too much to let him rot in Limbo. She saw her child waiting in what had manifested as a train station. Just as broken and shattered like a glass vase he had accidentally dropped when playing as a child. Both the boy in her memory and the young man sitting on the cold tile floor wept. They cried and cried, knowing that what had happened was irreversible.
At that sight, a decision was made. Wilbur Soot, her Wilbur, would have another chance in another universe. One where he had only one canon life, but – if the right choices were made – it would be a long one full of healing and love and a chance of redemption.
Eager to find the correct place and time, the mother searched for a fitting universe where he would be accepted into his family without as much as a second thought. When she found a suitable one, a small piece of paper appeared in her hand.
The stairwell to Wilbur's Limbo manifested at her will around her. The roof of it was arched above her and tiled from the lowest point on the floor to the highest along the strings from which small lamps hung. With one hand on the smooth wooden railing, she descended the stairs made of dark stone. A faint buzzing came from the light fixtures on the platform. She saw a puddle of brown fabric in the middle of the platform, cowering. The mother's heart broke again.
The first sign of his mother's approach was a familiar shift in temperature. Where it had been slightly chilly before, it turned into a real cold that was biting at his cheeks and hands. Wilbur curled further into himself. Not only to preserve warmth but also because he could not bear looking into his mother's eyes. He already knew that he had disappointed her greatly. Throwing away the gift of life he had been given in exchange for her sweet embrace. Only that it was not sweet or even pleasant. That was why he had been stuck in this strange place since Phil killed him. Was it not? That or the billion other reasons Wilbur had accumulated over the years.
He would never admit it but part of him had hoped to see Sally again the moment his life had been stripped away from him for the third and final time in the remnants of the button room. Wilbur knew he did not deserve to see his beloved again, but disappointment was a peculiar thing. In that it could make itself at home in one's mind even though the rational part knew that it was illogical to be there.
The clicking of shoes against the ground was becoming louder, the closer his mother came. The relentless stream of tears that started in his last moments alive and continued in this Limbo intensified again at the certainty of having to face his mother like this. And even though everything in him longed to seek comfort in her hold, Wilbur stayed where he was. He could not bring himself to give in.
The footsteps stopped far too soon and far too close. The inconceivable coloured fabric of her inconceivable dress flowed against his knee. He drew it in as if it had been burned. He did not look up. Not even at the slight rustle of fabric as she knelt down in front of him.
"Oh Wilbur..", his mother breathed. Gently, a cold hand settled underneath his chin and gingerly lifted it up until mother and son were looking into each other's eyes.
As if a spell had been broken, Wilbur flung himself into his mother's arm. Her divine presence held him tenderly while he clung to her for dear life. He had been far too lonely for far too long. Too consumed with the festering hatred and need for revenge on the people that had wronged him. But now everything would be better again. Wilbur would be with his mother. She would hold him for as long as he needed and together they would watch over the dead until everyone else would join. Although not entirely selflessly, he hoped that it would be a long time before that.
Maybe he could see Sally again. Tell her about her beautiful, strong, grown-up son.
The two stayed like that for a while. Wilbur muttering slurred apologies between hiccups and moments when he cried too hard to breathe. Kristin comforting her son, assuring him that she still loved him and that it would be better again. She did not let go until Wilbur had caught his breath again and felt good enough to slowly draw away from her loving hold.
Even without seeing his face, Wilbur knew that he looked like the mess he was. He still felt the now dried sweat from the battle on the streets of Manberg and in the button room. He felt the dust and soot clinging to him from the detonation. He felt the stickiness of drying blood from where Phil had rightly driven his sword through Wilbur's body. And he felt the salty tears and snot from all his crying.
Yet his mother looked at him only with love and compassion. Wilbur felt like he could start to cry again. Right there, right then.
Kristin took his hands in hers. She cleared her throat.
"Wilbur Soot," she spoke gently "As your mother, I hereby grant you a gift. Use it wisely."
"A gift?" Wilbur asked confused.
"A gift. I give you a second chance to live the life you were destined to live."
Wilbur wanted to protest but a look from Kristin shushed him.
"However, as the Goddess of Death, I hereby punish you for your actions. In your new life, you will have to live with what you have done in your past life." Her face softened. "I love you, Wilbur. But I have to go now. Keep this. See? Your train is coming."
Wilbur did not see it at first, but heard it. A strange loud rumbling noise he had never heard before. It grew louder and louder with every passing moment. He turned around in time to see a big thing roll into the plunge before the platform he was on. It moved on rails but could not have been further from a minecart. A door opened right where he sat. A being stood within. Their features were impossible for any mortal soul to perceive. They asked for his ticket. Or Wilbur thought they did. He looked at his mother only to realize that she wasn't there anymore. Instead of her hands in his, he found two things: a piece of paper with writing on it that he did not understand and a leather necklace with a pendant made with emerald that looked like a pair of wings.
His eyes darted between his hands and the figure. Slowly, Wilbur stood up. With shaking hands, he handed over the piece of paper. The figure nodded and stepped outside onto the platform and motioned for Wilbur to go inside. Wilbur gulped. Wilbur stepped in. The doors closed.
Next stop: Wilbur did not know.