❦𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫❦【 DreamSMP // Technoblade 】

❦Eighty One❦

It was still his sword that pierced his flesh, and he swears he could still hear the pleads and begs from the terrified brunet in his arms. What was he scared of? What has scared his son to become so petrified that he insisted that he must commit suicide via his own father?

Why did the Angel go through with it?

Phil put a blood stained hand on his mouth, covering his muffled words. Eret was at his side, the King placing a hand on his shoulder. The brunet was trying to comfort the God, though it wasn't helping much.

The man glanced to the blood soaked ground underfoot, blue seeping into the stone and the Ghost's body fading to dust. They had attempted to revive his son, though it seems the efforts weren't anything but futile. "All of the scriptures called for a totem." Philza paused his words, wings drooping slightly to show his disappointment. They all knew the ghost would return swiftly, but that didn't stop the slight mourning. "We didn't use a totem."

Phil took a step back, the man breaking from the other's hold.

The attempt had obviously been unsuccessful, even in all of Phil's existence revival has been something only spoken in rumor. Maybe he could have tried harder, done fifty things differently, but it didn't work and he can't change that. It hurt a bit, knowing he had lost his son. He wasn't present for too much of his life, but that didn't take away the sting.

He almost didn't want to wait for the ghost to return, bare the fact that he looked like his son but was so much different than the boy he had grown to care for.

Instead, something caught his eye, the same time as Eret.

They would both deny the fact that they had planned this elaborate revival plan to distract themselves from something greater. The fact that Torva had left her communicator strewn on her kitchen counter when she said it was in her pocket. It had been maybe three weeks now, Phil had lost count when Eret was probably keeping track of the hour.

Yet now both men were looking at the woman.

She was across from the crater, one she helped create side by side with Technoblade and Philza. She was far away from them but still barely visible enough to make out her features. The tall woman was holding her scythe in her palm, and she was standing firmly at a man's side.

Eret knows the man's name, Antfrost. His ears were perked up and tail at attention. Though, he seemed different than when he last saw him. "Was he always... that color, mate?" Phil was wiping off his hands, a look of discontent still on his face from his actions before. Yet both their previous plans had been utterly derailed.

Phil was right, completely disastrously right. Antfrost's fur was tinged red, and as he crouched down bright vermillion toned eyes stuck out among the rest of him. It was strange to see him so different, and Eret was plain confused on what caused it. The hybrid seemingly poured some seeds into the dirt, Torva standing over him as if she was a guard. "Look at her hands." Eret spoke breathlessly, eyes opening wide.

That's when Eret noticed more red tinge, this time not in the cat hybrid's fur. It was on her hands, stretching up her arms and covering the void tone. It was a bright red, a similar color to her hair and the same as the red vines around them on the ground.

The woman sighed, feeling the breeze rippling over the land below. She could hear it echo in the cavernous crater to her left. It created a strange emanating tone, a whistle whipping up from the dip in the earth, like an out of tune symphony. Perhaps the country created music for Wilbur even in his death. "Hurry it up, Ant." She muttered, bringing a cigarette to her lips and inhaling steadily. It was a practiced motion, and it didn't take long for her to fall back into it for comfort.