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Purgatory was nothing but a smoky speck now. Bloody red still plagued the skies, and even from far away, ash could be seen raining down on what remained. Smoke and fire rose from the island like a sickening beacon. It reminded everyone on that boat of what they had to leave behind.
The ship rocked slowly among the waves as they continued to sail away from Purgatory. Phil stood at the bow, staring out into the open sea of nothing for miles to come. Roier lay onto the couch as Charlie sat next to him, old blood from the beginning of the battles staining their clothes. Opposite to them, Tubbo and Bagi were talking under hushed voices, but tears seemed to brim at the latter’s eyes. Etoiles leaned against the wall with his sword in hand and an unreadable face.
They’d been sailing for… hours? Days? They’d started to lose track, not that they cared. Not when the only things they did care about were now reduced to bones on an annihilated island. They could give less of a shit about getting back to Quesadilla Island, getting home, or even making it off the boat alive. Was there even a home to go back to? If they ever did return, what would be left?
Their home. What’s left when the people that were their home were dead? Quesadilla Island was never a home, it was a prison. It was the people that made it bearable. It was the lifelong friendships, the die-for mindset, and the love that made their stupid paradise home. It’s what kept them going. Their kids, their lovers, their friends–they were all the reason.
But now nearly all of them were dead. Gone, a husk of something that was once human, and the survivors were on the verge of becoming the same. With their haggard faces, bloodstained and muddied clothes, and nothing but darkness and grief filling them, it was no surprise. They were tired, they were done, and they were utterly destroyed.
They had lost. They lost so much that day, and they didn’t know it was gone until the final seconds ticked off the clock.
Suddenly, the door to the cabin swung open. Fit came marching through with a bottle of wine in his hand and a stony look on his face.
“Look, the eye dude gave us complimentary alcohol for our survival party. What a nice pair to this death yacht he put his on.” He scoffed as he undid the thin wax around the cork. “What a fucking joke.”
He took a swig before slamming it onto a table between the couches. Those around him stared at the bottle for a moment, but no one dared to move a muscle. It was almost like they were waiting to see who would break first.
It was a few minutes before someone spoke again. “So how’s life?” Etoiles asked weakly.
This got a huff out of Tubbo, who leaned forward and stared at the bottle. “We just lost our entire family and nearly anyone we’ve ever loved. You tell us, man.”
Etoiles nodded. “Yeah, pretty shit. Everything’s doomed, right?”
“I guess. I mean, considering the giant pile of ash miles behind us, I’d say it is.”
Fit snarled. “Stop telling us the obvious, Tubbo. We get it, they’re all dead.”
Tubbo pursed his lips and wrung his hands together. His leg began to bounce up and down, his eyes darting to his lap. “Fine. What do you reckon we do once we get back to the Island?”
“How do you know we’ll even be able to get back?” piped Bagi. “We have no idea where this ship is going. It could be heading to a different Purgatory for all we know.”
At this, Fit nodded. “I agree. As much as we need time to rest, it’s not like we can with a fucking eye that just blew up our friends on our asses. We need to start planning.”
“Yeah. We don’t have time to sit around and talk. We need to figure out ways to avoid that eye thing. Make sure we’re in the clear officially.”
Fit and Bagi’s heads turned to Tubbo, as if he was still their leader. He added with a sigh, “Fine by me.”
“Are you crazy?”
Everyone’s heads snapped to Charlie, who seemed to be shaking. Beside him, Roier stared at the ceiling, a distant look in his eyes.
“What?”
“I’m asking if you’re crazy, Tubbo.” For the first time in a while, it seemed like Charlie was angry. More on-edge, manic. “Like you said, we just watched everyone we love get fucking vaporized by one of my teammate’s bombs. Are you seriously going to start planning to survive again when everyone else just fucking died?”
“I’m not saying that we should just ignore them,” retorted Tubbo. “I’m saying we should at least do something to keep ourselves alive, too.”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the last two weeks? We killed each other, we did things we never thought we’d do, and we did it to keep us alive. But that got us nowhere, did it? Because now nearly all of us are dead anyway. What’s the point of fighting to survive when it’s clear we’re all going to fucking perish alone?”
“Well do we have a choice, Charlie? What will we do once we reach land? Gather around a campfire and sing ‘kumbaya’ while the eye just comes and hunts us down? I don’t know about you, but I sure as fuck don’t want to stick around and find out what happens if he does.”
Charlie snarled. He peeled himself off the couch as Tubbo did the same. They stood face-to-face, nothing in between them but a table and a bottle of wine.
“I want time to mourn my friends,” Charlie said slowly. “Because right now we don’t know if any of them are dead or alive.”
“And right now is not the time to figure that shit out,” replied Tubbo. “Right now, we need to keep us alive so that we can find out if they are.”
“Plus it’s not like you care, Slime,” Bagi muttered. “You don't have anyone to care about in Purgatory.”
And just like that, the boat went silent. All heads spun to Bagi, who looked like she immediately wanted to reel in her words the moment they came out of her mouth. Charlie only looked angrier, but he carried grief in his eyes.
“What?”
Bagi guiltily looked up at Charlie. “No, no, that’s not what I meant-”
“Then what did you mean, Bagi? Tell me, what the fuck did you mean?” His voice was scarily steady, anger fueling is words. “I get it, my daughter’s fucking dead and I killed her and my bitch wife barely even wakes up. I get that I have nobody, but that’s fucking bold of you to assume that I don’t fucking care.”
“That’s not what I meant, Slime. I just meant that out of everyone in Purgatory, you don’t have anyone that important to save!”
“You’re only making it worse, you know?”
Bagi’s gaze remained firm, but her body seemed to curl in on itself.
“I care, dude! I have my entire team and my family to care about! Fucking Baghera, Cellbit, Jaiden, I cared about all of them! They were my family, Bagi, now nearly all of them are gone!”
“Look, I’m sorry! I promise I didn’t meant that!”
“Really? Who do you have to care for, Bagi, except your fucking girlfriend? Who else in Purgatory do you care for? Cellbit looks like he couldn’t give two shits about you, and you don’t even know Richarlyson! So it’s bold of you to accuse me of not being able to care when you are the same.”
Tubbo took a deep breath, hands trying to coax everyone to a lull. “Listen, guys, we can’t be arguing right now, it’s not going to fucking end well-”
Charlie dismissed him with a wave. “Quiet, Tubbo, the adults are talking.”
Just like Bagi, Charlie’s eyes widened at his words and he reached out to apologize. But Fit was already pushing him back, sword drawn and lips pulled back into a scowl.
“Low blow, Slime,” Fit said. His sword glinted in the red light, old bloodstains spattering over his reflection. “Not cool.”
Almost instantly, Etoiles was up and drawing his sword too. His body was half in front of Charlie, half in the center to calm the fight. “Come on, my friends, no fighting. Let’s just sit down and have a stick fight-”
“Why?” Roier interrupted, his voice hoarse. It was the first time he had spoken since forever. “Everyone is already dead. Why don’t we finish the job?”
Charlie and Bagi stepped forward, their hands stretching out to Roier, but he pushed them away. “We will die here. We will die on- on Quesadilla, and we will die here. We are not going anywhere. So let’s join them and kill each other ourselves, hm?”
“Oh, have some optimism, Roier,” Tubbo said. “We’re going to find some way to save them, I know we will.”
At this, Roier snarled and pushed himself up from the couch. He drew an axe from his inventory, holding it up to point at everyone’s throats. “Optimista? You are kidding, man.”
“What? It’s not bad to be optimistic!”
“I lost my entire fucking family, man!” Roier swung his axe, narrowly missing Etoiles’s face. “My husband’s dead, my best friend is dead, my son is dead, my other son is dead, my sister is dead, Foolish is dead! I have fucking nobody! No me digas que sea optimista, lo perdí todo.”
Tubbo yelled something back. Roier yelled too, and this time he raised his axe to strike. Etoiles pushed blades aside, begging for peace, but Charlie only fueled the fire more. Fit and Bagi pitched in, and soon, everyone was fighting. Voices screeched with blinding anger and fury, all fueled by grief and loss. There was the occasional clang of weapons in the air, a shout of protest, and more fighting. Shouts, arguing, clang, clang, accusations, blames, arguing, clang. It was a mess of anger, the red of the sky clouding their visions.
They knew they didn’t want to fight. Deep down, they knew that standing together would be better than conquering alone. Purgatory broke them apart, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t put themselves back together, right?
Yet here they were, at each other’s throats, ready to rip another person’s heart out in an instant. It was all anger and grief and sadness, and so so much insanity. They were all on their breaking point and they knew it. Fighting wasn’t the answer–they would die out here. They were all on the verge of toppling off a cliff into an abyss, a hole that would be impossible to climb out of. It only took one shove and they were seeing who would fall first. Or, even better, who would push someone off.
They were broken. They had watched everyone they ever cared about die in Purgatory. Was there really anything to lose now? When everything was said and done, they didn’t have anything left. Their grief was steering them, controlling them, forcing them to their demise by hate and madness.
The shouting and yelling seemed to go on forever. It had gotten to a point where nobody knew who they were arguing with, it was just a matter of who could argue louder. It was infuriating, it was sickening, and it was fucking pointless.
They knew that. Of course they knew that, they were all friends. But sometimes when you start fighting, you don’t want to stop. Don’t stop until-
“SHUT UP!”
Everyone’s bickering immediately turned to silence at Phil’s voice. Their heads spun to the bow, where the angel was angrily turning around and walking towards them. He was muttering swears under his breath, sighing as his sword materialized into his hands and his charred wings stretched behind him. He made a terrifying silhouette against the bloody sun, standing over his colleagues and demanding respect. His eyes had anger settling in them, accompanied with the shared grief and trauma of everyone on the boat.
“Sit down,” he muttered as he picked up the wine bottle with his free hand. “All of you.”
Nobody thought twice to listen. After everyone took their seats, Phil found one on the floor, his sword fading away. He sighed again and took a swig of the wine before placing it next to him.
“What are we fuckin’ doing here?” he laughed to himself, dragging a hand over his face. “Fuck, we just lost everything. We lost so fucking much, but here we are, arguing and ready to kill each other for sport. Really sucks how Purgatory changed us.”
“It’s not our fault!” someone said. “We-”
“Actually, you’re wrong. It is your fault. It’s your fault, it’s my fault, it’s all our fault. We could’ve gone about Purgatory completely differently. We could’ve teamed together or something and found out what the fucking Observer dude is. We could’ve searched for the eggs, or found a way to survive together. But no. We were so bloodthirsty and manic that we ended up killing each other. Our friends. Do none of you see how fucked up that is? The bullshit we endured in Purgatory is all of our fault. All of us.”
Silence followed. Phil wasn’t wrong, he was far from it. Purgatory could’ve played out a lot differently than it did. They didn’t have to kill, they didn’t have to hunt. They could’ve played their own game with their own rules and rebelled against the dumbass eye that kept them there. They refused to be entertainment on the Island, what made them change their mind in Purgatory? They played into the game, they fed the stomachs of their captors, they danced to the strings attached to their limbs. They obeyed, and went mad in the process.
“We’re fucked,” Phil continued, the waves a melancholy melody in the background. “We’re doomed. The Observer was right, we are sinners. We resorted to murder and stealing before negotiating. If anything, he was right the entire time. We don’t deserve to live.”
“Then why are we here?” Etoiles muttered. He sounded even more miserable now, the starlight that shone in his eyes flickering weakly. “Why did the eye give us a chance to live?”
“Because it’s a fuckin’ sicko,” Fit replied. “It wants us to live as entertainment, so it’s just keeping us alive until the next round. It thinks we don’t deserve to live but it gave us an opportunity to anyway. Little sadistic, I think.”
Phil shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe because he wants us to play his stupid games. Maybe he wants us so he can save us for later. I just don’t know. And as much as I don’t want to find out,” he raised the bottle in the air, the liquid sloshing over like blood, “we need to remember those that did die. I don’t know why we were given the chance to live, but we were. I’m going to use that chance to maybe bring some light on the people we lost along the way. Plus, I think we can all use some closure right now, so.”
He sighed as he raised the bottle higher. “To Chayanne and Tallulah, my darling kids. They were brave to the end. And I know for a fact that Chayanne protected everyone the best way he could. I will always be proud of him. And to Missa, who I didn’t get to see during that entire time. God, I fucking hope he’s okay.”
He took a sip and passed it to his right. Etoiles took the bottle in his hands, staring at it for a moment before raising it.
“To Pomme. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, I tried, mon légende. I know you are strong. You’re the best. And to my friends, who I couldn’t protect either. I did try, I promise.”
He took a sip and passed it to his right. Bagi took it in her hands and lifted it to the air.
“To Tina. She didn’t know it, but… I loved her. I couldn’t even take her on a proper date, but one day, I will. I’ll make up for all the times I missed out on it.” She stopped to take a drink, but hesitated. After a second, she put the bottle back above her head. “To Cellbit, my brother, and Richas. I know we didn’t have much of a relationship–Cellbit hated me for a little bit, actually–but they’re family. And knowing my brother, he’s a survivor. He’ll find a way.”
She took a sip and sighed, something sad brewing deep in her eyes. She passed the bottle over to Tubbo, who looked at it with a secret question before lifting it up.
“To–don’t fucking laugh–Fred. I still have no idea where they are, or what happened to them, but I hope they’re okay. I miss them. And to Chay and Lulah, my godchildren, who stayed strong. They’re badass, a lot more than me.”
He drank more than he should’ve, but no one stopped him. After a few seconds, he wiped his mouth with his hand and passed the bottle to Fit.
“To Ramón, my beautiful baby boy.” He laughed at the nickname, no doubt a fond memory popping into his head. “I miss you. I’ve been searching for you, you know that. I just hope I’ll actually get to hold you again. And to Pac. For no reason. Just… yeah. No reason.”
The others chuckled as he drank. He smiled a bit before passing it to Charlie.
“Uh… okay. Well, my daughter’s dead, my bitch wife’s gone again, and I’ve been isolated from society for the entirety of my life after Flippa’s death. What’s new?” He laughed to himself, but it sounded broken and gone. He let the wine slosh in the bottle before holding it a little higher. “To my team. Who, after so long of being alone, made me feel something. Bolas made me feel like I had a family again. I didn’t have much to lose at the beginning of Purgatory, but in the end, I had them. I want them back.”
He took his own sip and closed his eyes as he passed it on. Roier took it from him gently, but made no move to even start a toast.
“If I start, it will not end,” he mumbled. Tears were brimming at his eyes, and his chest stuttered as he breathed. He swiped at his eyes as Phil put a hand on his shoulder.
“Do it, Roier.” The angel offered a small smile, one of empathy and grief. His own blue eyes looked sunken and dead, and looking around, so did everyone else’s. They all had lost in the same way. “We’re here for you, king.”
Roier grimaced but held the bottle in the air. He took a breath to calm himself before beginning.
“To Cellbit. Stupid fucking Gatinho, he just fucking left.” He chuckled, a mask for his cracking voice. “I love him. He’s my husband, I love him a lot. He took care of me, he listened, he was there. I miss him and I will do whatever to get him back. To Jaiden. She is my best friend. She helped me take care of Bobby, and she loved him. To Richas. My second son. He’s so dumb, pendejo, but I miss him. He’s a kid. To- to Foolish and Leo. Cabrón, but he was my dad. He took me in when I thought I lost everything. Leo was my sister, I loved her a lot, too. And… to Bobby. My son. If he were here, he’d tell me to get up and stop being stupid. I really miss him… but there’s no time to miss him. I miss all of them. I need my family back, man, I can’t do anything without them.”
He drank the rest of the bottle, light tears running down his face as the wine became less and less. Eventually, he sighed, gasping as he slammed the bottle down. He looked like he was ready to start sobbing, to crumble and lose it all. They all were. They were tired, they were exhausted, and they had lost.
But they were here. They were here, surrounded by the people they knew, surrounded by support and love. By people who shared their pain, held it close, and would do anything to make it hurt less. They lost, but they lost together.
They were alive. That’s all they needed.
“To the hopes that one day, we’ll get them back.” Phil stood up, his wings stretching behind him. He turned to the sun, and the others followed suit. They looked the bloody light in the eye, braving the horrors they knew would come for them. “Because we’re us. We’re strong-”
◈
Through the dust and the ash, a hand reached out of stony rubble. Water washed over his feet, the scars of past mixing with gashes of new. Ripping his mask off his face, he stood up, his eyes boring through the cursed sun.
◈
“-we’re resilient-”
◈
Her wings ached and her body was going to collapse under her. She didn’t care. She needed to know if her darling was okay. She wouldn’t stop until she knew she was okay.
◈
“-and we’re one.”
◈
He felt his life force shatter. He felt himself die, but get stitched right back up again. The feeling of death never felt so violent before, but as he looked at his friends–alive and well, moving in confusion–he couldn’t say he regretted it.
◈
“We will not stop until we find them,” Phil said. The others cheered in agreement, though weak and dying. They cheered all the same. “Some day, we’ll meet them again. And we won't stop until we do.”