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"To us it was a past life, and to the stars it was something to envy."
"To the Gods it's our future."
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Humanity says there are five stages of grief.
The stages are said to be tools, designed to help us cope and understand loss.
Though, it is discussed and heavily said that not everyone will go through these stages at the same rate. Some people may not properly pass through them, a person may remain at stages for weeks at a time, others may skip stages all together. It is not stops on a linear timeline.
But, there is a set order that most will know.
❧Denial❧
"Yeah, Ranboo, she's still asleep. Two months and thirteen days actually." Eret smiled sadly at the teen, Phil watching with his arms crossed in the corner. The two men were still recovering from their argument, and Ranboo was able to see the clear anger resonating between them.
The teen had innocently came to the cabin with Ghostbur, feeling even more guilty than humanly possible and just wanting to see Torva again. Hoping for good news, but silently knowing he'd receive nothing of the sort.
Phil huffed and stepped forward. "She's in a coma, Eret." Phil narrowed his eyes at the Monarch, Eret looked away and didn't react to the words. Even with his face directed away from the two pairs of prying eyes, hurt was evident on his hidden features.
Instead he adjusted his crown, and looked to Ranboo with a smile that was all too fake. "But, it's alright, and she'll wake up soon."
"Eret!" Phil yelled, tattered wings splayed behind him. He looked so irritated but so insanely sympathetic. "This isn't healthy!" Phil looked desperate, and Ranboo didn't know what to do besides stand there.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Eret muttered, crossing his arms across his chest and not so much as daring to look the Angel in the eyes.
Ranboo realized all too slowly what the situation was, eyes widening and beginning to step out of the room. "She's in a coma Eret! Say it!" Phil walked around the bed so he was standing on the same side as Eret, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder. The King flinched away and took a few steps back, creating more space between him and the older.
"She isn't-" Eret continued denying the claim, glancing at the woman just once.
"You're in some kind of Denial Eret!"
❧Anger❧
Tommy considers himself a slightly aggressive person. But only when people deserve it! Okay?!
Tommy still managed to find himself calming down, laughing even as seemingly a hundred dogs, puppies too began wagging their tails and climbing onto him. "Hi! Hello!" The blond laughed, sitting on the ground in the center of the creatures as Technoblade began stacking up food in various bowls. "You're so cute!" Tommy continued laughing, thoughts of the arguments from earlier and the fact he's in the country he's exiled from, slipping away. Tommy internally reminds himself to thank Technoblade for the invisibility potions once they leave the dogs once more.
Soon the dogs had left him, all that remained being various clumps of fur sticking to his clothes. He huffed as he saw them all eating, having abandoned him for food. Though he couldn't exactly blame them, Technoblade did set out many bowls of steak and rotten flesh, that was all probably pretty appetizing for a wolf. "Let's get goin' back." Technoblade had a hand extended to Tommy, and a smile on his face to go with it.
Tommy nodded and smiled back, letting the older heave him up from the ground to make him stand. "Thanks, Blade."
Tommy wasn't so much as worried while they left the dogs, casually walking through the very lands he was banned from. Why would Tommy be worried? He had the Blood God as his personal escort!
He just hoped nobody would be arguing when he got home, the teen just kind of wanted to sit around Torva for a bit. He hates that just being in her presence seemed to settle his racing mind.
It felt strange to Tommy when he walked along the Prime Path, the very wood he placed underfoot for the first time in months. "Tubbo really left me without batting an eye." He said to Technoblade, more of a statement than a question, as if begging someone would confirm his thoughts.
"Honestly, yeah, he did." The older frowned, patting the blond's back and holding his netherite pickaxe firm in his other hand. Tommy noticed that had been the God's weapon as of late.
Tommy sighed and glanced ahead, trying to see what had changed in his time away. It was strange, coming back to see the world had changed without you. Puts everything into perspective, knowing logically, he didn't really matter too much when it came to the progression of others around him.
It stung a little more than he preferred. "He's my best friend." Tommy whispered, mostly to himself but still intending for the other to pick up on the words. "He didn't even come and visit me."
"That's weird I guess, but expected since he did exile you in the first place." Techno shrugged, not exactly being the best when it came to sympathy in these situations. "I'm startin' to think he didn't think of you as a friend, Tommy. Just a little bit, a tad."
"Is he- is he not a good guy?"
"He's a government official, Tommy."
Tommy looked to the ground as he walked, not bothering to touch on the still somehow fresh subject even more. "Let's just go home." The blond replied, mood suddenly far worse than it was moments ago.
They walked through the community house now, Tommy smiling for a bit at fond memories that accompanied the location. He can remember the first war, Tubbo and him discussing new potions that would be brewed at the van. Tubbo was always unsure of them, probably because he would usually be the first one peer pressured into trying the colored liquids.
And then Torva walked out of that house with Eret, two traitors he still managed to have a soft spot for. He showed her his house that day, even if she never seemed too interested.
They began walking up black stone stairs now, and Tommy was excited to go through the Nether. He somehow had grown to miss the nauseating dimension, after being banned from things you begin to crave them, even if you never liked them much in the first place.
Dream banned Tommy from the Nether awhile ago. So for some strange reason, the blond began to hunger for a dimension he formerly despised.
Tommy's thoughts were effectively derailed. No, correction, fucking burned to the ground. They weren't just derailed; they were thrown off the tracks into a river, then somehow incinerated to ash while underwater drowning.
Dream came out of the Nether portal they were just about to enter, Technoblade immediately placed a hand over Tommy's chest and stepped in front of the teen.
Tommy liked Dream, he thinks. Dream is his friend, right? Then Tommy remembered Torva, the woman in a coma for apparently over two months now.
Tommy began to connect dots and lines he were sure didn't even exist. He knew he was stretching logic thin, but he needed to blame someone and Dream was so easy to blame. Maybe if Dream never helped her exile Tommy, or maybe if Dream had stepped in further during her apparent execution. Then she wouldn't be in a coma.
Yeah, yeah it's all Dream's fault.
Entirely Dream's fault.
It's always Dream's fault.
"So uh- how's it goin'?" Technoblade nervously laughed, silently taking out his crossbow and loading an arrow. Tommy didn't miss how it was swirling with purples, truly showing how powerful each weapon Technoblade owned was.
"If I remember correctly, you aren't supposed to be here, Tommy." Dream took a step toward, stopping his movements when there was a small click from the crossbow, showing that the arrow was fully loaded and ready to embed in his skin. Dream looked to the weapon, probably acknowledging that it was now pointed straight at his head. "Tommy, I got your disc back from Skeppy."
Tommy grumbled, opening his mouth to insult the masked man. "No you didn't, I fucking hate you." Tommy said lowly, Technoblade remaining fairly silent. "I fucking hate you so much, you fucking bitch, you green bitch." Dream tilted his head to the side, the action unsettling in combination with the mask resting over his face. "You screwed me over, Dream. You manipulated me, you sent Torva into this coma-"
Dream laughed, shaking his head slowly. "I'm the only one that cares for you, Tommy. I'm your only friend."
"YOU ARE TERRIBLE!" Tommy balled his fists at his sides, glaring at the older.
"You betrayed me, Tommy. You're out here causing problems for everyone, you left me." Dream held out a hand, sword in the other. As if inviting the blond to come to him once more, Tommy flinched at the action.
"Dream, you're scared of me! You just want to contain me." Tommy pressed against Technoblade's arm, the pressure of someone grounding him in a sense. "You're disgusting, I hate you, I can't stand you, and I hope you fucking burn."
"No, you'll come with me right now, or I'll burn your disc." Dream walked forward, mask facing the crossbow as he approached Tommy. The teen was still hidden behind a strong arm.
Technoblade stepped fully in front of the blond, body covering the smaller from Dream's sight. "Well, that's going to be a bit of a problem, Dream, because this guy is with me."
Dream hummed, and Tommy felt immense joy that Dream was getting what he deserved.
This was obviously Dream's fault, this all was! Tommy can understand now! His exile, his deaths, everyone's current situation! It's all Dream, everything is Dream's fault.
Tommy hates him for it.
"Unless, you wanna call in that favor, I know Torva and I owe ya' one." Technoblade had a smile in his voice, and panic rose in Tommy.
"What favor?" Tommy's voice cracked, looking up to the God.
"Don't ask questions, Tommy," Technoblade replied, as if that wasn't a bombshell he just dropped on the teen.
Dream hummed again, practically inching past the duo as he watched their movements. "No, I have ideas for those, so I'll let Tommy go for now."
"Good! Fucking bitch! I hate you, Dream! It's all your fault!" Tommy flipped off the man as he walked by, the mask still trained on Technoblade. "Go to hell! Go fuck yourself!"
"You're being pretty aggressive right now, Tommy. Why are you so angry lately?" Dream replied, running off and leaving Tommy with his own rage fueled thoughts.
❧Bargaining❧
A voice Badboyhalo couldn't quite understand echoed in his ears.
He knows what it is, and he can understand what it's saying, but at the same time he can't make out the words. It's as if his brain interprets it, gives him meanings to words he couldn't begin to decipher.
It almost scared him.
And yet with each day that fear ebbed away, deep inside a small voice screamed that wasn't a good thing.
He placed his hand on the egg, a red thing that overcame his senses.
The small voice drowned.
Now covered and overtaken with red vines, vines he'd gladly protect with his life.
Recently Bad has been stricken with some kind of grief, he couldn't place a name on some emotions anymore if they were negative. He couldn't feel the unfriendly emotions, just knew he was supposed to be feeling something, like a pressure with no pain. Kind of like when you receive a cut on a part of your body that has been numbed.
He's been feeling this since he discovered Torva had fallen into a coma.
His sister. His adopted daughter. His blood.
But it's fine! Everything is happy! Everything is great!
Because Bad can rely on the Egg! The Egg said it can be okay again! And of course he trusts the Egg! Who wouldn't?! If you don't you're crazy!
He let some vines wrap around his ankles, pull him closer to the specimen. "I'd do anything, just please wake her up." His voice broke and cracked like he was upset, and the ghosts of those emotions fell over his form once more. He didn't feel upset though.
The Egg handled that for him.
A whisper echoed in his skull once more, a whisper of promises and comforts, and a warmth spread throughout his body, removing those worms of emotions.
And the voice still screaming that he should be scared was muffled as it was further drowned in vines, the Egg got rid of it.
He had nothing to be scared of.
"What do I have to do? What do I have to give you to make her okay again? I can bring you more people, more offerings." Bad continued asking the unknown entity, more whispers responding in words he doesn't understand but somehow knows the meaning of.
"You mean it? Everything will be okay again? I'll have my family?" Bad leaned fully against the object, his senses and voices dulling once more, all he knew was this specimen.
There were silent promises from the object, things that brought him to this lovely path. He's different. But in a good way! A fantastic and magical way!
And he'd give anything up to it to get his family back. And he'd bargain all he has to the precious creature to get Torva awake once more. He's sure she'll love the Egg too.
Family bonding! Right?
❧Depression❧
Ranboo sat on the floor, curled in a ball in his home. If one could even call it home, it didn't feel like it most of the time lately. A house would be a better term.
At least nobody was around right now, he didn't like people having to deal with him and waste their time. He could tell his pets were concerned downstairs, probably because he was crying so loud his neighbors would be able to hear. Or maybe even all of L'Manburg.
Phil left L'Manburg though, and he was his neighbor, so he shouldn't have to worry about people fawning over him today.
Everything felt so numb, so insanely numb, so useless. It's like pins and needles with every step, and even as he cried he couldn't find himself feeling any better.
He didn't even feel sad anymore, just heavy. Everything felt so heavy.
Maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was his idiocy. Maybe it was just because he can't seem to be normal.
He gave Technoblade back his armor, it was to help ease his conscious, but it didn't help too much.
Because Torva is still in a coma.
It's all his fault, it really is! He had felt so happy when he went on that picnic, he got to pick flowers even, Torva put a tiny braid in his hair too.
It fell out when he was helping Tubbo build, when he got home he cried over the fact that the small pieces of hair were no longer held together by the small braid. It was so insignificant but it completely sent him over the edge. And now every time he accidentally looks at a mirror he's reminded that she's in that coma, because the braid hasn't been redone.
Sometimes he'll scroll back on his communicator, read back the message he sent Quackity. Telling him Torva was inside the castle and Eret was alone. Telling the duck hybrid that it was time to press a sword to the King's neck. He'll read it over and over again as punishment, he knows he could restart his communicator, delete the message, it feels wrong to even think of that.
He deserves to see the message, to burn it into his eyes.
He wants to take care of himself, he wants to get up and go help Tubbo with the country. Ranboo wants to go back to the Arctic and say hello again, to see if Phil and Eret are back on good terms.
He can't.
He knows he can, he knows logically he can do those things.
But he can't.
It's like his legs won't move, like he can't stop the constant stream of tears rolling down his face and burning into fresh wounds. He only gets up for basic things now, or things he can't effectively avoid. The only thing he's gotten up for in days was to visit Torva with Ghostbur, and the only reason he could bring himself to do that was to drop off that armor to the piglin hybrid.
But like he acknowledged earlier, giving back that armor didn't help his guilty conscious.
He has to do something in two hours, he's been watching the clock and dreading each time the minute hand ticked. It's one of the few things he can hear over his now dry sobs, the steady click of the clock signifying that in two hours he has to get himself together.
Tubbo wants to start planning a new festival, and Ranboo has to help with games.
So he has to momentarily forget Torva.
Momentarily forget everything he has fucked up.
Momentarily forget he's a disgrace.
Momentarily forget someone he had grown to actually like is suffering due to his own mistakes.
So Ranboo watches that clock tick, the sounds resonating in a way that's nothing short of ominous.
Eventually he stands up, slapping a fake smile on his face and going to the bathroom, uncovering a mirror to fix the blood still dripping off his chin.
New tear tracks were on his face now, they'd turn into scars.
He deserves them.
His shaken smile broke for a moment as he winced, wiping off the blood slowly drying on his face. Lime green and red stained a rag resting on his bathroom sink.
You know you're a fuckup when you have a bathroom rag dedicated to cleaning up blood from your designated daily breakdowns.
It's like he's fallen into some kind of depression. Whatever, he's sure he deserves it.
❧Acceptance❧
Phil knows the other men in the house have begun to hate him, well maybe hate is a strong word. They've begun to have a kind of annoyance for him, or maybe detest, or loathing would be better terms.
It's because he's seemingly unaffected by the obvious issue floating over their heads.
Their loved one, in a coma upstairs.
Everyone still seems to be grieving, and of course he doesn't blame them! It's only been a bit over two months, he has no anger towards anybody in the house for their grief.
Though they don't seem to feel the same toward him.
Phil knows he can be in the wrong sometimes, but he doesn't believe he's wrong here. He doesn't believe he's wrong to be waiting for the four month mark to kill her, he knows he's the only one who will do it. That's the only definitive way to wake her up, take a life and to have her respawn awake.
And she made it clear to Techno and him, she said years ago that is what she wants.
After centuries of watching countries rise and fall like the tides, watching the Goddess of Death claim lives as he walks through decades as if they were seconds, he doesn't really mourn anymore. He simply watches and observes, Phil no longer has any anger towards death.
More so welcomes it with open arms.
When Phil looks over to Torva still in her coma, muscle deteriorated from her complete lack of movement, hair longer than before with bangs swept to the sides of her face due to their length, he doesn't feel misery. He feels fairly normal, sure there's underlying sadness, but no grief.
Though he does feel empathy when he sees Eret in clear denial.
When he sees Tommy overcome with constant anger.
The Angel of Death knows he's skipped all natural phases of grief.
He doesn't mind.
He's simply reached acceptance.
❧Revenge❧
The fives stages of grief are un-argued.
They are concrete in their existence, evidence backing them up in addition of them clearly shown in daily life.
But there are things that break the human laws, things outside of known control. Because Gods and Goddesses now walk among the common, shattering what is known to be true and plausible.
The Blood God is one of these things.
He's whispered about, cults formed in his name without ever knowing or seeing him.
He stomped on basic knowledge with his boot and left the pieces underfoot to be collected by others.
Because Technoblade realized one thing as of late, something that doesn't follow the stages of grief.
He wouldn't give the world to Torva, he'd burn it with her at her side.
He's going to reduce those that have hurt her to dust, find pleasure as their lives are added to the collection he has already acquired in multitudes.
He'll bask and inhale the sorrow after pummeling those that have put her in his situation.
Torva is a part of his sounder, Phil is a part of his sounder. You don't hurt a Piglin's sounder.
Technoblade, The Blood God, a Piglin Hybrid. He knows what he is.
Technoblade is possessive.
Technoblade is selfish.
Technoblade is feared.
Technoblade is a God.
And Technoblade is out for revenge.
❧
Eret was sat at a now far too familiar bedside, they hadn't risked leaving Torva alone since the scare.
They don't know why she almost died, and Eret knows that horrifies all of them. So they had begun taking shifts, resulting in the King becoming practically nocturnal. He doesn't know how he's going to go to L'Manburg in a few days in the early morning, Tubbo needs to see him desperately. And as the King he can't deny him. He supposes he'll just have to act like he isn't insanely tired when he goes.
Something about a festival the country is planning.
Eret has already contacted Puffy and HBomb to guard him when he goes.
He is not taking any chances, not after the execution.
Eret could see the sun rising out the window, he wasn't even tired yet and he knows that is definitely not a good thing health-wise.
The brunet watched her steady breathing for a moment, part of him still terrified it might stop any second now. He doesn't know what he'd do, what kind of terror that would wrack his body if it did. Everyone has been on edge, and he is certain another scare would just make it that much worse.
How long until they all walk past that edge, falling into the depths below?
He blindly turned on the lamp resting on the bedside table, hearing the small click as light now emanated from the object. He wanted to read a bit, pass the time with a book or two.
Eret had begun immersing himself in literature, hating what the world has turned into around him.
He constantly felt like his life was crumbling underfoot, and with each step it only got worse, driving him to a cliff's edge. He no longer knew if he should wait for life to take its course and drop him into the swirling water below, or take control of his own fate and jump off the edge at his own sacrifice and peril.
Might as well act like it isn't happening.
It's funny to them that even after now months of not speaking to this woman, months of staring at her seemingly lifeless form as her strength seeped out of her frame.
He still loved her.
Would she still love him when she wakes up?
Would her memory be damaged?
There are so many 'what if?'s in his life right now.
He focused back on the currently closed book resting in his palm, something he had grabbed from a small collection Technoblade owns. Eret internally reminded himself to grab some books when he returns to the SMP to help out Tubbo with planning that festival. He has a large library in the castle and he needs some entertainment these days.
Eret was currently holding a novel on Cronus, apparently the God Torva had gotten inspiration for her name from.
Names are a strange and complicated thing, Eret had thought about this recently.
Over the hours spent worrying over Torva in this household, she had become a common topic of conversation. Her name had come up multiple times with Technoblade and Eret, leading Eret to learn some facts about her he was not yet aware of. Such as her original name was Tia Anteros, he had known her first name but never her last. Technoblade had explained she no longer liked her birth given names, how it tied her to her past and meanings she no longer related to.
Apparently they had two separate options for a name change years ago, Technoblade and Phil helped her decide what she'd now go by. The original option was apparently Ta'xet Adrasteia, the direct opposite in meaning of her original name. The first name was strange sure, but he supposes just as strange as Torva.
Technoblade explained they ended up on Torva Messor anyway, having found the tale of Cronus and becoming obsessed with it. The two men found more common ground that day, something that didn't happen very often.
They both agreed they adored the name Torva more than Ta'xet.
Eret had become very interested in Cronus over the days, wanting to know more about Torva. So he relished in the lovely sound paper inbetween his fingers made as he flipped the pages, starting a new book. Something was always so satisfying in starting a new story, something else to delve into.
It was a distraction. A distraction that he hadn't been taking care of himself. A distraction that he's been accidentally skipping meals. A distraction that he's surely dehydrated from a mixture of crying and forgetfulness. A distraction that he hasn't nearly been sleeping enough.
A distraction that he's quite literally become sick with worry.
So he began reading.
And at first he didn't hear it, didn't acknowledge the small noise. He chalked it up to the cabin creaking, there was a horrible storm outside at the moment, there never seemed to be a month that went by without a disgustingly heavy blizzard.
When Eret glanced up to a window he could already see fresh snow sticking to the glass. The storm had picked up apparently.
He looked back down to the page he was on, winding himself back into the information and small words. He found himself smiling at the occasional picture, the ink forming a wonderful artistic rendition of Cronus himself. Eret always adored how people interpreted what Gods and Goddesses may look like.
And then a voice, hollow and barely discernible, he could barely understand it. The words were crackly and hoarse, syllables horribly pronounced from months of disuse. There was a laugh now as he slowly looked up, not even sure what he was supposed to be feeling, it was crackly and full of pops due to deterioration. "Well," the voice spoke a full word, a harsh breath being sucked in. "You look like a hot mess." Eret was certain it was painful for Torva to speak those words.
Two months, twenty three days, thirteen hours, and four minutes.
And yet, his love prevailed.