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The sound of the waves crashing into the nearby beach roared in his ears.
Tubbo halfheartedly wiped the rain out of his eyes as he gazed, bewildered, at the remains of Logstedshire. He had arrived at the small camp through the Nether Portal, expecting to find the campsite that he had briefly visited mere days ago. He expected to find Tommy popping out of nowhere, screaming at him and attempting to chase him back the way he came. His best friend hated him, after all.
Instead, Tubbo was greeted with ruins.
Piles of rubble crunched under his feet. Charred black chunks of the log walls were scattered as far as the eye could see. Gaping craters had been gouged in the ground, the rain forming small puddles in their depths. Tommy’s tent had been reduced to nothing but a flimsy pile of fabric shreds.
What had happened here?
Quite clearly, someone had blown the place up, but who? It could’ve been Tommy, but why on earth would Tommy raze his own campsite to bedrock?
Then he saw the pillar.
A tall, swaying, thin pillar that stretched to the heavens, constructed out of cobblestone, stripped logs, and a collection of other random blocks. It looked as if whoever constructed it had cared very little about how it would eventually look.
As if whoever built it wouldn’t need to care about how it would look, as long as it served its final purpose.
No.
Tubbo felt his heart pounding desperately in his chest.
Surely not.
A hand reached up to grip the front of his suit.
Surely Tommy hadn’t…
His legs gave out and he was sent crashing to his knees, his face inches away from the ground. Little pieces of rubble dug into his elbows. Broken fingernails scraped at rough gravel.
It was all his fault.
Tubbo grit his teeth.
All his fault.
There was something wet streaming down his face. Probably just the rain.
His fault.
He pressed his forehead into the ground. It was hard to breathe.
His fault his fault hisfaulthisfaultHISFAULTHIS-
Tubbo screamed.
He screamed, loud and guttural. He screamed for Tommy, his right-hand-man, his best friend, his second half . His second half that was now gone forever, leaving him pitifully shambling around this cruel world alone, a broken doll that would never be repaired, that was beyond repair, a compass without a lodestone to point to.
Fingers clawed violently at his hair, tore at his suit. Tears were pouring down his cheeks, splattering onto the gravel.
He screamed.
He screamed until he could scream no longer, until his throat was mangled and raw, until his arms gave out and he flopped limply onto the ground.
He lay there, a cold hollowness blooming in his chest and the rain roaring in his ears, for a long, long time.
