We're Never Gonna Be the Same as We Have Been Before

The first time Philza wields the sword is at the insistence of his brown-eyed boy, directing his own father to slay him. His wings singing in agony as the explosions rumble the ground below the hill he arrived at, night-shaded feathers shorn and raw skin carved open from the sharp stones falling from above while he tried to protect Wilbur. At the Goddess's grace he arrived moments before the former President slammed the button into the wall.

The blonde crow gritted his teeth, trying not to scream at how much pain radiated through his once grand limbs, brutalized by his decision to save his boy. Looking at the one before the avian, he hardly recognised his curly haired son as Wilbur lay on the ground, holding the diamond sword pointed to the middle of his chest.

"Kill me, Phil." His sonorous voice pleaded, scars cutting deep through those high cheekbones he got from his Mother.

Beneath the tears, blood and marks from the world, there was his boy. The crow was the first to cradle him when he was a wee babe moments from birth, hugging him through the nightmares and celebrating the achievements. Phil was there for his first word, his first step, his first song and his first memories. Now, his Wilbur begged for him to end his life, never allowing a new beginning to happen again.

"You're my son." Phil's voice cracked, tears dripping from his sky eyes.

As he shook his head he felt his emerald earring bump his neck, reminding him of better times. When on his hardcore world he put hours into making safe, he watched Wilbur bloom into the wonderful young man he was. Bringing the boy a guitar one day, his days were filled with wonderful songs for many years after as Wilbur perfected the instrument and used it to express his thoughts. When he left that day with the stringed piece strapped to his back, Phil memorized the way he looked at that exact moment. A happy boy, off to fill the world with his magic and thoughts, yet somehow he ended up here.

Moments past blowing his country sky high, blood began to trail down the blade onto his buttercup yellow sweater from how tightly his hands gripped the sword. Brown eyes met blue once more, a broken soul staring up at a parent confused and praying with everything he has this is not the conclusion to Wilbur's symphony.

"If you don't kill me, they will label you a traitor, just like me." Wilbur threatened, practically hissing as his red beanie fell to the ground where he lay.

Phil frantically switches his focus between pupils before noticing his son is missing his earring, more questions being added to the pile of just what the fuck he arrived too.

"What kind of father am I be if I killed you?" Phil asked the fallen man, who looks more and more upset as what he pleads for is delayed.

"A merciful one as I have done horrific things and that group of people on the other side of the chasm want my death too but they will draw it out." He explains, looking to the others and Phil follows his gaze to the tall blonde who is several blocks away.

The young boy looks terrified, switching between looking at where they were and where Phil's partner stood with a crossbow out and signature fireworks loaded. Technoblade had come at his son's insistence a while ago and promised he was settling in well, grumbling all throughout his messages back of a racoon-like teenager named Tommy and Phil's boy Wilbur. They were heading up a rebellion to gain control of his son's nation once more, which had failed or he had won and now decided to blow it up?

Phil had so many questions and worries but the most precedent was the boy beneath him and the mad sheen to his eyes. His wounds send a flash of brain again, his grip fumbling on the sword while Wilbur held it steady, determined.

"Kill me or you are dead the moment they get here. The only way to find the answers you will seek is with my blood to wet this blade to prove your innocence to my crimes." Wilbur shouted, Phil nearly jumping from his skin at the change of volume. "KILL ME!"