Wilbur

Dawn is beginning to break. The bright and golden sun is peeking above the horizon. The sky is bathed in shades of blood red clashing against trench blue, separated by a thin layer of stormy purple. A few clouds lie close to the ground, absorbing the colors to form bandage-like patches as if the sky were injured.

Philza stands at the top of the ceremonial altar. His wings are spread out to create an imposing figure. He is wearing his normal robes, but he had decided to don a mask resembling a crow's skull. His sharp green eyes glow from the shadowy eyeholes, removing any doubts that Philza was not human. He is holding a katana in his hands, and the blade seems to glow a violent red color as if it were dripping with the blood of the injured sky.

Puffy stands right beside him. She wears a white chiton tied with a black leather belt. A red cape with golden thread forming patterns along the edges is thrown over her shoulders. It shakes in the cold wind, but Puffy remains unflinchingly firm. Her long hair spills over her back with a few strands framing her brilliantly colored eyes. Like the man right beside her, she doesn't look quite human. What human would have the sheer confidence that Puffy was wearing like a captain wears their hat?

Shubble is seated at the edge of the altar, on the stairs. She is on her knees beside a faceless golem. One hand is placed on the hand of the golem while the other touches the slab stage. Golden flowers made from translucent light cling to her arms, wrapping around her like vines choking the life from an ancient tree. Her white hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, but a few strands run loose around her face. Her yellow eyes seem predatory as she stares.

Wilbur approaches them slowly. The altar is made from dark gray stone cloaked by dark blue wool. Like Puffy's cape, the upper corners are threaded with golden patterns. The edges of the altar include glowing gold rods that float in the air, radiating heat onto what appears to be gunpowder. There are two torches placed on the wool, and there are another two set at the edge of the wool at the bottom. Wilbur climbs up the steps to the altar. He takes a shuddering breath as he kneels down in front of it.

He's wearing yellow robes. He should be wearing blue- the symbol of his country- but the yellow ones called out to him. They reminded him of something he's lost, though he's unsure what that is. He wore the yellow robes. The color was as soft as the robes were. Wilbur ignored the voice in his head that told him Samantha would disapprove of the robes. He no longer cared for her opinion. He wore the yellow robes, and he felt something in his twisted heart come undone. He felt oddly peaceful as the stone pressed into his knees.

He watched Philza hand the Kikoku blade to Puffy. They both wore solemn expressions as Puffy accepted the weight of the sword into her hands. She walked around Wilbur's body, and he resisted the urge to follow her with his eyes. He just closed them and listened carefully. A cold wind sliced across his neck, and he could see in his mind's eye that Puffy had raised the sword. Shubble looked away, toward her golem. Philza continued staring with a blank expression, but Wilbur could see the lone tear in his father's eyes. Wilbur gave his father a remorseful smile. Guilt filled his chest, and a rather odd thought echoed in his mind that he was making his father watch him die again.

Wilbur feels something warm drip down his chest, all across his yellow robes. Something drips onto his hand, and he looks down to see the blade plunged through his chest. His smile drops away as he reaches a hand towards his chest. The warmth turns into pain, blinding and overwhelming. Wilbur coughs, blood splattering out of his lips. He hears someone call his name, but darkness overcomes his vision before he can respond. He feels his body tilt forward, and he's dead before he hits the ground.

—

He hears crying. Although it is a struggle, he manages to open his eyes. Through the blurry murk that is his current eyesight, he is able to see the golden gleam of his brother's hair. He reaches a hand towards his brother, ignoring the ash gray tendrils wrapping around his skin. He puts a hand in his brother's hair, and his brother launches into an upright position. His brother is sobbing, tears racing down his cheeks as quickly as the snot pours out of his nose. It's disgusting, but he places both of his hands on his brother's face. He uses his thumbs to clear away most of the murk, desperately wishing that his brother would just smile. He wants to see his brother smile.

"Don't leave me," His brother whispers. He wants to tell him that he won't, but he can clearly see the gray tendrils that have consumed his arms. He felt them writhing around his neck. He will be consumed by them before night falls, and it's a painful thought. Worse still, his brother is the same way. The gray sickness did not have any mercy on his brother. Though he could not see it, he knew that his brother's arms were just like his. The progression was slower, but it would kill his brother, just as it was killing him. Somehow, that thought pained him worse than his own impending doom did.

"I won't," He swears despite knowing that he's lying. His brother knows he is lying, too, because his sobs become worse. They shake his entire body, and the fire dancing across his brother's wings sputters pathetically. His twin- their other brother- rushes forward to grab his younger brother. His twin isn't crying, but he does wear an expression that tells him that if his twin were to cry, it would be a lot messier than their youngest brother's sobbing. He reaches his hand out to his twin, and like always, his twin takes his hand. His twin presses his hand to his cheek, holding it tightly against the warmth he naturally radiates. His body has long-since gone cold, but he continues to whisper, "I promise I won't abandon either of you."

He hears a choked reply from his youngest brother, and his wings finally go out completely. They no longer glow gold like the rising sun. They are now the color of ash, entirely different from their father's void black wings or their mother's night purple wings. His wings show his health, after all, and his mental health is deteriorating just as quickly as his physical.

His twin holds both him and their youngest brother. He smiles at his brothers. He smiles because he can feel it. The doors to his bedroom slam open, and he turns his smile to his parents. They rush into the room, screaming and crying, but all he can do for them is smile. He looks his father right in the eyes as life ebbs out of his body.

—

He sits on a glass box, his chin propped on his palm. He stares idly at the contents of the large glass box. Humans are trapped inside. Some are running around, and others are idly chatting with one another. There are a few who hide and even fewer who make a spectacle of themselves in the middle of the glass box. He is fascinated by humans, so he tricked a whole lot of them into his glass box. He wasn't a human, but there was not yet a name for his kind. All he knew is that he had power these humans could only dream of, and it was incredibly easy to force them all into the glass box. Despite their incarceration, they all seemed satisfied to entertain him. They didn't even rebel against him when he presented them with specially designed challenges intended to test their intelligence, resolve, courage, and physicality.

"I propose that the next challenge shall be a fight to the death with a Ravager," His companion told him. His companion wasn't a human. His companion wasn't whatever he was, either. He was simply a creature of unmatchable strength who had been immune to his effects and yet played along with them anyway. He supposes that the reason could be how they were comfortable with each other when they first met. It could also be that notwithstanding their hair color, they looked incredibly similar. Regardless of why they came together, his companion had been a major help in conditioning his little humans.

"We are not allowed to use Ravagers, remember? The gods told us that we are not allowed to use any of their divine monsters against our humans," He reminded his companion. He remembered that when he first started collecting humans, an envoy of the gods came down to speak with him. The envoy had been familiar, but he did not know why. All he knew is that the envoy was the one to build him the glass box filled with all sorts of goodies especially for him. He showed his gratitude by visiting the envoy and his goddess every year with his new companion and by following the rules the other gods set out when they first started putting humans in the glass box.

"Bruh," His companion sums up all his feelings in a single word. He can't help but laugh. He has learned from one of his humans that sometimes the humans are born from the same source. When that happens, they are referred to as siblings, and they share a closer bond than the average human to another one. He did not come from the same source as his companion, but he believes their bond is acquainted with what humans consider siblings are. He does not mind, of course. Humans can rationalize their bond however they see fit. He simply acknowledges that he knows his companion almost as well as he knows himself. And with that understanding comes indulgence.

"Perhaps we can summon one. If the gods find out, we will simply ask Philza to take care of it for us," He tells his companion with a smirk donning his inhuman face. His companion immediately rushes forward to summon a Ravager in the glass box. He watches with cackling laughter, enjoying the human's reactions just as much as he adores the happiness on his companion's face.

—

A small child reaches for him with grubby hands. He laughs as he hops away from the child's reach. The child giggles as he fumbles around the wooden house. The two of them keep going in their game of chase until he is right behind the child. The child looks around for him, but the child's eyes don't land on him until he has wrapped his arms around the child's stomach. The child howls with laughter as he tickles him. The child swings his arms around wildly, but they don't hurt when they bounce off his head. He just laughs alongside the child, lifting him into the air. He spins them both around. When he stops, he flops down onto the bed in the room with them.

"Are you tired yet, sunshine?" He asks as his laughter dies down. His sunshine- the child- looks at him sleepily. The child's eyes are closing, and he can't keep his head up to stare at him. Regardless, the child shakes his head 'no'. He huffs with a smile, raising a hand up to tickle the child's stomach again. The child spasms with laughter and cries for the tickling to cease. When he finally does relent, the child sullenly nods with a pout. He continues to laugh for a second as he wraps both of his arms around the child. The child falls bonelessly into his arms, resting his tiny head against his caretaker's chest. He readjusts them both so that he is leaned against the bed frame while the child is curled up against his stomach. He continues to hold the child, waiting for his breath to even out.

Thunder echoes throughout the two-room cabin. Neither the child nor he pays attention to it. The storm has been raging since they both came into the world. It was the byproduct of the gods fighting for dominance against one another, each trying to gain a foothold as the universe itself purged what was unnecessary. The child was too young to understand that scary concept, but there was no reason for him to. With him there- his blood brother but father in every other way, the child would never have a reason to worry. He was going to protect this child, no matter if it be from storms or gods or something far worse. He swore it.

—

He rushes through a storm with his companions. The larger of his companions- the first one to join him- is carrying the younger one since he's injured. He doesn't know where either of them came from, but he doesn't take their company for granted. The storm has been raging for over a hundred years. Life is few and far between with all the floods, lightning, and lack of resources. He is lucky to have two people that he can tolerate that weather the storm with him.

"Wait," He calls out. Despite the sound of the wind and rain around him, the larger companion hears him loud and clear. The larger companion does as he is asked, and the younger one looks up from where he had buried his head in the larger one's shoulder. He ignores both of their questioning stares as he takes a few steps forward. They are at a cliff, but that's not why he stopped them. No, he stopped them because he could see it in the distance. It is small and fragile, but it is steadily growing larger. Brighter. The sun- something only known from legends- was beginning to part the clouds. His companions come to stand right beside him, and they watch as the landscape in front of them- an ocean dotted with stubborn trees and floating debris- starts to reflect sunlight and blue sky instead of gray clouds. In a matter of minutes, the clouds above them have disappeared. They are no longer pummeled by water. They are embraced by warm sunlight.

"I never knew the storm could end," He whispers, lifting a hand up to soak up the sunlight. His companions are also wearing hopeful expressions. As they enjoy the sunlight, he wonders absentmindedly if this means they will have to part. The larger one found him a few months ago, and the younger one stumbled upon their camp one day. They weren't close by any stretch of the imagination, but for the longest time, they only had each other. Now that the sun was out, they could try their hand at surviving solo.

His worries were washed away by a firmer warmth pressed against his hand. He looked to see that the younger companion, still hanging onto the larger one's back, was holding his hand. They were smiling at him, both of them, and he smiled back at them. Even at the end of disaster, they would remain together. They would weather whatever storm came next. Together.

—

He came to a large room with a torch in one hand and a compass in the other. His wide eyes searched the dark room in front of him, and he broke out into a large smile when he saw the illustrations painted on the walls. He pushed his torch towards them. The red paint depicted an image that only an adventurer such as himself could identify as a map to the treasure room. He took a step back to make sure that he was understanding the entire image, and he felt his heel sink down. He blinked in surprise, looking down to see that he had stepped on a stone with red paint along the edges. Before he could think, he was pushed forward.

"I'm glad I hired you," He mentions gratefully as an arrow shoots through the place where he had been standing a moment prior. The mercenary he hired to accompany him through the ruins grunts in response. He laughs awkwardly before he turns back to the image. "This is it, Blade. We've found the treasure room."

The Blade doesn't give him a response, only holding his weapon ready in case something else goes wrong. He gives him a guilty smile as he remembers all the traps he accidentally triggered on the way to this room. The mercenary had rescued him every time. They were both quite used to him springing a trap and the Blade saving him from his own obliviousness.

This time, however, he is confident. He makes the Blade hold his torch as he starts pushing patterns painted onto the wall. The Blade holds his weapon defensively, waiting for the temple to retaliate against the intruders once more. He doesn't stop pressing buttons, however, and nothing comes out to strike. He instead smiles as he presses the last picture. He takes a step back as the walls begin to shake. The Blade puts a protective arm in front of him. It proves unnecessary when the wall in front of them starts to rise up. A room filled with gold and jewels rests behind the wall. His face lights up with happiness as he realizes that he was right. The Blade doesn't say anything nor does his expression flicker at seeing such massive wealth.

He takes a hurried step forward, and he is immediately flung back. The Blade jumps in front of him to strike the monster that starts to approach them. The stone golem seems formidable, but the Blade makes quick work of the temple's last defense against thieves. He smiles up at the Blade when the mercenary looks down at him. He lets himself get pulled back onto his feet, and he explores the treasure room with the Blade at his side. He can't help looking at the Blade with a large smile on his face, grateful to have a savior and a companion for the momentous occasion.

—

Theseus is in front of him. He is holding a sword that is still glowing with power. The stars above them are twinkling, far closer and brighter than they would be on an average night. The ground around them is practically radiating with untapped power. Theseus twists his body in something that is a mix between swordplay and dancing. As he moves, the blade releases waves of translucent, ribbon-like light. The light bursts against the ground in explosions of deep red, rich blue, bright green, pristine white, and obviously, brilliant gold. Theseus himself begins to glow with the light of the heavens, and he can only stare transfixed as Theseus works through the final motions of the Salvation of Stars, a sword dance that separates him from every other vagabond in the nation. Who else would be able to shine this brightly?

When the dance comes to an end, Theseus points the sword at him. The sword continues to shimmer with a celestial light even as the rest of the world returns to normalcy. Theseus raises an eyebrow at him, flicking his eyes to his poet attire and the lyre held in the crook of his arm with the same gentleness of a mother holding her newborn. Theseus asks him, "So, you want to start a war with Greater?"

"If that is the price for freedom, I am willing to fight against Greater on my lonesome," He promised. He thinks about the princess locked away in her tower, waiting for him to return with the key. He thinks about the mages who escaped their ignorant nations with the hope that they wouldn't be persecuted just for living. He thinks about the slaves that fled from Greater's mountains in hope of finding a place where they can live on their own. He thinks about them all as he stares down Theseus's sword. "But I would rather face them with you at my side."

Theseus laughs, a barking sort of thing that rises into the air as the light on his sword dissipates. He turns to him with a smile. "Well, Wilhelm, let's go to war."

—

A guitar rests in his lap. He watches the fire flicker in front of him as he strums the chords. A record player sits right beside him, playing a song alongside him. He looks away from the fire to see his brother playing his fiddle. The boy that decided to join them on their journey across the continent is singing, though it's extremely off-tune. He doesn't care, though. Between the warmth of the fire, his full belly, and the sound of his companions having with the music, he can't help the large smile spreading across his face. He catches the eye of his brother, and his brother rolls his eyes at the child's antics. He barks a short laugh that causes the child to stutter in his song. He glares at the twins. "Hey, no inside jokes! That isn't fair!"

"Life's not fair," His twin reminds the child. The child sticks out his tongue at him. His twin wears an unimpressed face, but he can tell that his brother is amused. He knows it like he knows the chords on a guitar. He knows in it like the way he knows the child likes to snuggle close during the long nights because he's terrified of wandering off. He knows it like he knows that his brother has long since considered this new child to be part of their small family. He knows like he knows that the child will tackle his brother for his actions, and he isn't disappointed.

"I'll show you what's not fair," The child screeches as he gets a running start. The child jumps onto his brother. He winces in sympathy for the poor fiddle caught up in their wrestling. His wince is quickly transformed into laughter as he watches the child attack his brother like a feral racoon. The child doesn't land a single hit on his brother, but the child doesn't give up.

He idly thinks that he wouldn't mind having this forever.

—

She's smiling at him. He tilts his head curiously, looking up from the dock he had been swabbing. She reaches her hands up, and she's suddenly holding his cheeks. He blinks bewildered at her. She is normally never this affectionate. She presses their foreheads together. He closes his eyes as he feels her breath against his lips. She starts talking with a soft but profound tone. "I have a surprise for you..."

"Just tell me what it is, Sally," He tells her after she goes silent for a while. He feels pain blossom against his shin, and he huffs out a pained grunt. He keeps his eyes closed so she can't see his eye roll. Only she could be equal parts romantic and violent.

"The surprise, if you would wait for me to tell you, is that I'm-" He doesn't hear her next words. The boat beneath them shakes, and he hears a booming sound. He pulls away from Sally, grabbing both of her hands as he looks around. He sees smoke billowing up from somewhere below deck. He tugs Sally with him as he goes to the edge of the ship. They both peer down to see that something has struck the hull. He looks up to see a ship approaching them.

"Damnit," He mutters, turning around. Sally clutches at his sleeve, but he can only give her a shaky smile as he races away. She calls out his name, but he can barely hear it over his own voice. He's issuing orders to the crew. As he gives the last instructions, the boat rocks once more. Sally crumples to her knees, and he rushes towards her. Before he can get there, though, he is stopped. The ship from earlier is much closer, and they have placed a plank of wood between their ship and the one he is on. The first person to cross the wooden plank is another pirate with pink hair and gold covering his body. The pirate turns towards Sally with a weary expression. His wife doesn't do anything. She just stares up at the pirate with a hand resting against her stomach. The pirate raises his sword up, and he intervenes with his dagger. He looks over his shoulder at Sally and tells her, "Run!"

Sally shoots away from him, and his attention is brought back to the pirate. He tries deflecting the sword with his dagger, but he can feel himself giving ground. He looks around at his crew fighting against the other crew. He can't see Sally, but he hopes that she's safe. Before he can transform that hope into a prayer, he hears the sound of metal snapping. His dagger snaps in two, the blade falling away from the hilt. He dodges the first sword slash, but he isn't lucky enough to dodge the second. The sword's tip drags through his chest, tearing it open. Blood drips onto the deck of the ship. The pirate seems pleased with himself as he starts walking away. He chokes on his breath, one hand covering his chest. The other hand reaches down to grab the broken dagger blade on the ground. It cuts into his fingers as he holds it, but what use does he have for his fingers anymore? Using the last dredges of adrenaline, he races in front of the pirate and slams the dagger blade into the pirate's chest, right where the heart would be.

He falls onto the ground, and the pirate kneels down right beside him. The two of them stare at each other for a long moment before the darkness consumes him.

This isn't all Wilbur's lives, just the ones I wanted to mention here