The cottage quivered as Crazy Wilbur spun in mad circles, his laughter ricocheting off the walls. Tommy watched, eyes wide, as the universe bent around them. But beyond the fractured echoes, there were others—Tubbo, Ranboo, and Sam. They arrived like lost travelers stumbling upon a carnival of chaos.
Tubbo, the ever-loyal friend, blinked at the scene. His glasses sat askew, and his hair was windswept. “Tommy? What’s—”
Tommy cut him off with a wild grin. “Tubbo, my man! We’ve brought back Wilbur. The crazy one.”
Tubbo’s eyes widened. “Wilbur? But—”
“He’s not the same,” Tommy said. “He’s the echo—the shards of a broken soul. And we’re going to—”
“—tear down the walls of reality,” Tubbo finished, his voice hollow. “I’ve heard that before.”
Crazy Wilbur twirled toward Tubbo. “Ah, the loyal squire. You’ve always been the sensible one.”
Tubbo adjusted his glasses. “Sensible? I—”
“—once rode a pig into battle,” Wilbur said. “And now you’re here, in this fractured carnival.”
Tubbo glanced at Tommy. “What’s the plan?”
Tommy leaned in, whispering. “We’re going to break Dream further. Force him to unravel the universe. And then—”
“—bring back the chaos,” Tubbo said. “Right.”
Ranboo slinked into the room, his hood drawn low. His eyes glowed like distant stars. “What’s happening?”
Tommy pointed at Crazy Wilbur. “Our resident madman is back. And Dream’s our puppet.”
Ranboo’s gaze shifted to Dream, who stood in the corner, eyes haunted. “This isn’t right.”
“No,” Tommy agreed. “It’s wrong. It’s chaos.”
Sam, the wandering bard, entered last. His lute was missing a string, and his boots were caked in mud. “What have you done?”
Wilbur cackled. “We’ve rewritten fate, Sam. We’re the architects of madness.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s the price?”
Tommy stepped forward. “Wilbur’s soul. Dream’s sanity. Reality itself.”
Ranboo touched the cracked wall. “And what if it all collapses?”
“Then we dance,” Crazy Wilbur said. “We waltz on the edge of oblivion.”
Tubbo tugged at his hair. “But why?”
“Because,” Tommy said, “we’re not heroes. We’re echoes—fractured remnants of something greater.”
Dream, forgotten in the corner, whispered, “I never wanted this.”
“But you’ll play your part,” Wilbur said. “We all will.”
Sam strummed his lute, a mournful melody. “And what if it’s irreversible?”
Tommy grinned. “Then we become legends. We’ll be the ones who tore open the seams of reality.”
Ranboo’s hood slipped, revealing eyes like galaxies. “And if it consumes us?”
Wilbur’s laughter echoed. “Then we’ll be the chaos—the fractured echoes that linger.”
They stood together—the misfits, the madmen, the fractured souls. The walls trembled, and the universe held its breath.
Tubbo whispered, “What now?”
Tommy’s eyes burned. “We dance.”
And so, they did—their laughter and screams woven into the fabric of existence. The Dream SMP would never be the same. Sanity fled, and chaos reigned.
In the fractured echoes, they found purpose—a collision of broken dreams, dancing on the precipice of eternity.
Tbc~
