The Egg Destructive. (2/2)

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This is the second part to "The Egg at the End." Hopefully you'll enjoy it, just thought of some weird shit lol-

guys i uh why did little me used to read dream sans x nightmare sans i don't know what was wrong with me i swear i'm not like that anymore i'm going to cry-

LISTEN I AM IN A STATE OF PANICK MY FUCKING CITY WAS BOMBED BY 8 MISSILES AND I CAME SO CLOSE TO ONE I WILL CRY MY HOUSE IS LOCATED NEAR THE AIRPORT WHICH IS ONE OF THE AREAS THAT WAS BOMBED I WILL FUCKING CRY NO MORE PHILZA MINECRAFT I WILL BE NONEXISTENT IN THE NEAR FUTURE 😭😭

I MIGHT AS WELL COME OUT AS IM AT IT, IM A MCDONALDS JANITOR AND I LIVE IN THEIR BASEMENT /j/j pls

IM GOING TO FUCKING CRY SOMEONE REQUESTED A PHILZA X FRIDGE SMUT WHAT THE FUCK

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The white void consumed him. Everything he'd thought real and what not, every sense of humanity left him but sadness. The sight of pure white surrounding him felt sad, and numb. He heard his name being called but didn't answer. Multiple times. He didn't recognize the voice. And yet it was so, so familiar..

"Phil?"

He whipped around, searching for the male voice he was sure was behind him. All he could see was white. Was he blind?

"Philza."

"What do you want from me?!" He yelled, his voice seemingly bouncing off the unreachable "walls" of this hell he was stuck in.

"Remember."

?

"Forget."

"What do you mean?" Phil asked, ignoring the echo that came afterwards.

"Leave."

The void started crumbling around him, turning to dust and covering him in pitch black instead. He tried to run, but the ground opened beneath him and he fell.. fell. . .  f e l l . . . .

He gasped, his eyes shooting open. He was sure the impact would've killed him if it weren't a dream. His first train of thought was:

'How did I get here?'

'This isn't my ceiling.'

'Where's Techno?'

Pulling back the covers from the bed he was lying in, he drew back the curtains. It seemed to be near noon, just a half hour away from sunset. The gray sky of the clouds reflected Phil's confusion and worry.

He'd fallen on the ground, he could remember..

His friends being executed. Brutally.

But they were okay.

..they were okay.

His wings.

They were gone forever. Dream had carved out the fucking bone, as if Phil had never flown with natural, hybrid wings. The only thing that Phil saw "beautiful" in himself were his wings, and now they were gone what was he?

A bit of poking around and he figured this was a L'manburg's ally or residence. He thought it best to get out, he wasn't exactly on good terms with L'manburg, though a few of his good friends did reside here.

He grabbed the door handle and pulled the door towards him, immediately met with a set of stairs and a hallway continuing to the right. Of course, he took the stairs to the front door.

Putting most of his weight on the railings for balance and support, he slowly descended the stairs. As he neared the front door, he reached out for the handle-

"Oh, Phil, you're awake!"

Phil froze, recognizing the voice, yet not quite.

Male.

British.

He turned around and saw Tubbo in his usual green button-up and slightly ripped and dirtied jeans.

"Tubbo?"

Tubbo looked down at himself briefly and made eye contact with Phil again. "Yeah, I think so. Last time I checked at least," he said sarcastically.

"H.. how did I get here?"

"Uh, Glatt found you unconscious near the bench and then I had some help bringing you here and fixing you up- speaking of which, what even happened to you?! You looked like.." Tubbo wavered slightly, eyeing Phil up and down.

"I looked like shit."

"Yeah!" The younger agreed. Phil sighed at the other's energy and turned back to the front door, opening it and leaving without a word. (666 words pog?)

The bright light of noon blinded him. It was quite the drastic change compared to where he'd been before, torches and all.

He decided that first things first: find his friends.

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Hours of searching and asking around did no good. Everyone thought they'd died, and he couldn't get any leads on where they could have been. Devastated, he leaned against a wall in a dark alleyway, racking his already painful head on where they could be. He was starting to get leg cramps and his body was already in bad shape.

"Phil?"

The winged man instantly lifted his head. He held on to the wall and heaved himself up, looking around desperately for that voice.

"Mr. Minecraft?"

That nickname.. he knew he wasn't crazy! They were here, he just had to find them.

He limped out onto the sidewalk, wincing at the pain in his side. Again, he focused his grip on a pole, trying to regain focus. He knew he'd lost a lot of energy, and if he kept going he might reopen a wound, but he had to find them. This was his only chance, he had no sources elsewhere.

But he didn't need to find them.

"Philza?"

Phil looked up and saw a piglin hybrid standing in front of him. "Techno?"

The piglin stayed eerily still.

"T-techno..?" Phil backed up slightly. This was not his Techno.

"Why'd you do it?"

"D-do what..?" He stammered, trying to make himself not look vulnerable.

"Why'd you let her?"

"T-tommy..?" To the piglin's left was the young, chaotic child everyone annoyingly loved. But there was something wrong. It felt colder, the world seemed to darken around him.

"We trusted you."

"No, no.." Phil walked away quickly to the right, turning a corner. He looked back.

They were gone.

"Phil, is that you?" And this time, he was wearing a beanie, a guitar strapped to his back and a cozy, oversized yellow sweater on.

"W-will?" Phil reluctantly neared the other,

He tried to reach for Will's arm.

It passed through.

"W-what..??" Phil whispered, his eyes slightly widened.

"Phil? What's wrong Phil?" The ghost tilted his head. He seemed bloodier now, more gorey. "What's wrong, Phil?"

"Y-you're not real, you're not real you're not-" He ran through the ghost, trying to escape the dark aura behind him.

"Why'd you take me?"

"What?" Phil knew who that voice was.

"Why'd you take me home, Mr. Minecraft?"

"I- I- I don't-" he stammered, trying to find the right words to explain to this.. ghost? Reminisence? He really didn't know anymore.

Suddenly, he was surrounded by the former ghosts of his friends, his dead friends. They kept chanting one phrase.
"We trusted you."

"We trusted you.."

"We trusted you."

"We trusted you."

"WE TRUSTED YOU. WE TRUSTED YOU. WE TRUSTED YOU."

The whispers turned into screams. Phil dropped to his knees, curling up. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he repeated, as if answers to the many repeated questions the screams tore out. And they were painfully loud. Phil's head was ringing, and he couldn't hear properly. The ghosts' voices became too distorted to make out, but Phil memorised their phrase.

"We trusted you."

These weren't his friends, the ones he grew up with as a kid.

Or.. maybe they were. Maybe Phil had unknowingly wronged them too much they were provoked enough to come seek revenge. Maybe Phil had hurt them. Maybe he deserved this, to suffer-

"Phil, are you okay?"
He looked up for what seemed like the 6th time today, and was met with something unexpected. The ghosts had evaporated into smoke, there were four trails of them.

So why was Tommy right here?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" he felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Will curling up next to him. Techno was merely standing, but his eyes betrayed him. He was clearly concerned and worried for Phil, but Phil couldn't understand why. He was a bad person, he'd hurt them.

And somehow, these ghosts felt different.

"Phil, Phil, can we fly later??" the tallest exclaimed, clapping his hands in excitement.

These weren't the other ghosts. They were really them.

It was them.

But something felt off. They were unhealthily pale, and Tommy's forehead was still bleeding.

"Tommy, want me to help with that?"

"Huh?" Tommy touched his forehead, no blood spilled on his hand. "What are you talking about?"

"N-nevermind," Phil shrugged. "I told them you weren't dead, they didn't believe a single word, thought I was damn crazy. I don't blame them, I looked the part."

"Uhm.." Wilbur started, shifting slightly. "About that.."

"Oh, Phil.. we are dead," Techno explained, obvious sympathy laced within his monotone voice.

Phil froze.

"W-what?"

Tommy nodded. "We're ghosts."

"Then, then how can I see you??" Phil accused.

"Woah there, dad. Slim it, Tommy's telling the truth," Ranboo went in for a hug.

"Those things you saw earlier were 'Phantoms'. They get in the newly grieving people's way of life and disrupt their privacy and menality, causing few to take their life.

"O-oh.." Phil paused. He had a few questions left.

"Uhm, I've got two questions. If you're dead, why am I able to see you..?"

"Because you're the Angel of Death, silly! And you have wings-" Wilbur rambled. It was a lot to take in, but Phil eventually got it.

"Can only I see you?"

"Yup!

Understood."

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THE ANGEL OF DEATH IS BACK HEHE GIGGLE SNOOPLS SADGE

28K READS CALM THE FUCK DOWN THANKS

ALSO ALSO ALSO UH, I LOVE YOU BYE.

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