Kinemortophobia

Prologue

This was requested, only took me two months LMAO (motivation is a bitch)

Also, The support I've gotten on this book recently has been outstanding, so thank you all.

Have you ever seen a relative of yours die from dementia? At first, nothing at all is wrong. They are just as they always have been. Sure, they are older than they used to be, but they're still recognizable. But then they start forgetting simple stuff. Forgetting to do things, slip up here and there. You find it odd, but brush it off. Then they start forgetting people and events. Then you know something is wrong.

They forget their childhood friends, their mates they used to drink with at the bar, The nice neighbor down the street who always had those lovely potted lilacs.

Then they forget you. And everyone they once loved.

They slip into this... state of disrepair, and all you can do and watch as they look at you with unfamiliarity. You remind them, no, it's me, your child. I'm your child, I'm your child, I'm your child...

They can't recognize you. Not anymore.

Then, two weeks after they forget the tune of their favorite song, they die. Gone from this world, a brain too crippled to ever function again.

To Ranboo, that was sort of what it was like around Phil after Techno died. He wasn't forgetting anything, not really, but that same sense of absence that you get from those with Dementia was still there. He was... There, in his home, in his home, but... He wasn't really. Hell, Ranboo hadn't even seen the man cry.

Ranboo knows he sure did. He has scars on his face to show it.

After the death message, the server seemed to have some... mixed reactions. Sure, Quackity and the Eggpire celebrated, and most walked around in a numb state of disbelief. After all, they too had believed the motto Technoblade had shouted so sure from their streets.

Technoblade never dies.

What a Fucking Joke.

Ranboo wasn't mad. He wasn't, he told himself. He was miffed maybe, that he hadn't spent more time with the man, hadn't learned everything yet, hadn't bonded properly, hadn't gotten him to trust him, hadn't talked enough, hadn't helped enough, hadn't said goodbye-

A choked sob escaped the Enderman-'s throat, a strangled sound he didn't know he had been burying.

These last weeks had been painful. Tommy had come by to check on Phil. They sat in silence for most of their time together. Tommy was almost as messed up as Phil headspace-wise. He wouldn't say it though. After all, Techno was just some jerk that blew up his nation.

Others had stopped by to give their condolences. Puffy, Niki, Tubbo, and Eret all made short and respectful appearances. Ranboo knows that If Bad and Skeppy weren't all caught up in the Egg business they would have stopped by as well since he remembered Techno telling him about how they were great friends before coming to the SMP.

Ranboo looked after the dogs for Techno. As well as Carl and the other horses. It was the least he could do. It pained him to see how Carl always seemed to be looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone. He knew who he was waiting for.

Dream was in Jail, thank the gods. If not, Dream would most likely be installing some sort of totalitarian rule over the server knowing that his only competition was gone. Ranboo shuddered at the thought. Only another reason for Sam to lock the doors to the prison even tighter.

Most days were the same. Ranboo would wake up, check on the dogs, the horses, then check in on Phil. He would always be at the window, staring out into the snow, his eyes somewhere else. His face was shrunken and pale, his usually fluffy hair falling in stiff rows down his face. His wings feel at his sides without a second thought. He never moved. Ate little. Ranboo wasn't even sure that the man slept anymore.

When Wilbur died, he was sure that Phil hadn't acted this bad. Maybe Phil had accepted it because he had realized there was nothing he could have done. There was nothing he could have done in his power to change the outcome of what happened on that 16th.

With Techno, he... he knew he could have helped. Could have changed something. Could have done something different if he had only opened his eyes a little wider. Looking back, the signs were so shockingly clear.

That, partnered with the knowledge that he had outlived now two of his sons, broke him. Only Tommy's visits made him even partially responsive. A gilt of guilt and heartache seeped off of Phil every time Tommy was around him, however. They both knew he had messed up.

The final straw was when Tommy died to Dream in the prison.

Ranboo had heard the news... and he... wasn't sure if he wanted to tell Phil. While walking back through the Nether, he debated if it was best for him to know. Ultimately, he decided it was best if he did so, instead of hiding the truth from Phil and then leaving time for even more painful truths.

So he told him. Ranboo wasn't sure if Phil could have looked more broken than he already was, but he found out that day. Yes. Oh Gods, Yes.

If he was a porcelain bowl, all neat and tidy, he would have been cracked after Technos and Wilburs departures. This shattered him, broke the unstable spider web of imperfection that had spread across his surface.

Phil lasted two weeks.

Two weeks after he forgot his last song, Ranboo went to check in on Phil, only to find a sight he was sure he would never be able to erase to his memory ever again, no matter the circumstance.

Feathers, torn and bloodied, discarded on the floor. Hair matted to a forehead with two frozen blue eyes wide with that 1000 mile stare. A Netherite sword longed in his chest, hands still gripping its handle. It was Techno's sword. He was laying in a pool of his own blood, a pool of feathers and blood. Of pain and blood. Of tears and blood. Of blood and blood and blood and blood and blood and blood and blood and blood-

Ranboo couldn't say in good conscience that he hadn't eyed his own sword with the same idea as the dead man on the floor that day.

It was dark here. The lights flickered on and off at random, buzzing with age. The concrete wall of the place had stuff written with chalk on them, some pictures, some words, and many song lyrics. They were all on chalk. A few buds of chalk were discarded in the corner.

The train hissed to a stop. A man, a back of feathers, and a laugh of gold stepped off the train that day. Stepped onto the platform. They were waiting for him.

"Ow do, Phil?" asked a child with a spirit of fire.

"Hello old man," Said a man with the eyes of blood.

Phil stared and stared.

"I hope the ride over wasn't too rough," Said a man with a voice of bards. A sob escaped the throat of the winged man. It was behind a smile though.

"We've got competitive solitaire, care to join us for a round or two?"

You asked for this, I gave it.

Holy Crap, I really am happy how this ending turned out. I think it was bitter-sweet, but that's how I like it.

I just wanted to say that I really really really appreciate all of the amazing support this book has gotten.

This has really meant the world to me, and I want to thank you all.

Also on another note, These past two months when I probably should have been writing this prologue, I've been writing a lot of short stories that I'm going to compile in a book this upcoming week or so. If you enjoyed this book, and enjoy reading some (Mostly Techno-centric) short stories, I will have that book up really soon.

(Please read it my writing has been getting better in these stories and I'm really proud of a couple of them-)

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this Prologue. I know I enjoyed writing it over HOLY SHIT ITS BEEN 2 HOURS OHHHH