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The realm of Limbo was a place few dared to tread and fewer returned from. It was a plane of endless gray—a misty purgatory where time stood still, yet memories echoed louder than the soul could bear. Revivedbur stood on the threshold, gripping Ghostbur by the arm.
"I told you," Revivedbur muttered, his voice sharp and venomous, "you’re nothing more than the scraps of who I used to be. And now, I’m done carrying your weight."
Ghostbur, wide-eyed and trembling, reached for his blue. The delicate wool was a crutch, a tangible shard of hope he clung to in his ephemeral existence. "But we’re the same," he whispered, his voice fragile, like cracked glass. "We could help each other, Wilbur. We’re meant to be—"
Revivedbur shoved him forward, into the gray abyss. Ghostbur’s form flickered, his light fading as he was swallowed by the mists. For a moment, Revivedbur’s stern expression faltered. The guilt clawed at him, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But he clenched his fists, turning his back on the void.
Limbo was cold. Not in the way winter chills the skin, but in the way isolation gnaws at the heart. Ghostbur floated aimlessly, his translucent form shedding faint glimmers of light that quickly dimmed in the oppressive grayness.
He thought he would be alone forever until he wasn’t.
The figure materialized out of the mist, a silhouette framed by faint golden light. He was familiar, yet not. His posture was different—lean, relaxed, with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His hair was messier, his smile sharper, and his eyes glinted with mischief.
“Simpbur?” Ghostbur’s voice cracked, his incorporeal heart leaping.
“That’s what they call me,” the figure said with a chuckle, stepping closer. His voice was smoother than the others Ghostbur had known, dripping with charm. "But you can just call me Wilbur. Or, you know, yours."
Ghostbur blinked. “Yours?”
Simpbur tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve been stuck here for a while, you know. A guy gets lonely.” His eyes softened as he studied Ghostbur’s shimmering form. “You’re a little... dim, aren’t you? No offense.”
Ghostbur frowned. “I’m not dim. I’m just—” He hesitated. “Well, I’m sad.”
“That,” Simpbur said, reaching out to trace a finger along Ghostbur’s glowing arm, “is something I can fix.”
Meanwhile, Revivedbur had returned to his domain, thinking himself free of the burdens of his past. But Limbo has a way of pulling at loose threads, and soon, he felt the tug. Not of guilt or regret, but of curiosity—a faint echo that whispered his name.
With a sigh, he retraced his steps, braving the boundary of Limbo once more. The mists parted to reveal a sight that made him freeze.
Ghostbur wasn’t alone.
The other man—Wilbur, but not—was laughing, his arm draped around Ghostbur’s shoulders. Ghostbur was smiling, an expression Revivedbur hadn’t seen on him since... ever. The sight stirred something in him, an emotion he couldn’t place. Jealousy? Relief? Longing?
“Well, well, well,” Simpbur drawled, spotting Revivedbur. “Look who decided to join the party. The brooding ex.”
Revivedbur narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
Simpbur smirked, pulling Ghostbur closer. “Just another fragment of your charming self. Or maybe the better version, depending on who you ask.” He winked at Ghostbur, who giggled softly.
Revivedbur crossed his arms. “You’re just another mistake.”
Simpbur stepped forward, his grin unwavering. “And yet, here you are, coming back for us. Don’t pretend you’re not curious.”
The tension crackled like a live wire. Ghostbur shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two Wilburs. “Maybe we don’t have to fight? We could... work together?”
Simpbur laughed, a rich, melodic sound. “Work together? Oh, darling, I think we can do more than that.”
Revivedbur’s frown deepened. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m saying,” Simpbur said, closing the distance between them, “maybe we don’t need to be at odds. Maybe... we can be something more.”
Revivedbur scoffed, but Simpbur reached out, his fingers brushing against his arm. The touch sent a jolt through him, an electric connection that neither expected. Simpbur’s gaze softened, his playful demeanor giving way to something more genuine.
“We’re all pieces of the same puzzle,” Simpbur murmured. “Why not put it together?”
Ghostbur, glowing faintly, stepped closer. He hesitated before taking both their hands, his warmth a bridge between their clashing energies. “We’ve been broken for so long,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s time to try... being whole.”
For a moment, the mist seemed to clear, revealing not gray emptiness but a horizon painted with faint streaks of color. The three of them stood together, an unlikely trio bound by fragments of the same soul.
And for the first time, in the heart of Limbo, they began to feel alive.
The soft, tenuous peace between Revivedbur, Ghostbur, and Simpbur was interrupted by a sound neither had expected. It began faintly, almost a whisper against the oppressive silence of Limbo—a delicate strum of guitar strings. The melody was haunting, each note brimming with a melancholic beauty that seemed to ripple through the gray mist like waves on still water.
Revivedbur’s brows furrowed. “What the hell is that?”
Ghostbur tilted his head, the faint glow of his form flickering brighter. “It’s... beautiful.”
Simpbur, ever the curious one, grinned. “Only one way to find out.” Without waiting for agreement, he began striding toward the sound, his boots making no sound against the misty ground. Ghostbur hesitated, looking at Revivedbur, who sighed and followed begrudgingly.
As they drew closer, the mist parted like a curtain unveiling a stage. Sitting on a jagged rock was another Wilbur—one unlike any of them. His hair was unruly, falling into his face as he played an old, weathered acoustic guitar. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an undeniable weight to his presence, as if the air around him carried years of unspoken sorrow.
He sang softly under his breath, words too faint to catch, but the emotion in them was palpable. He didn’t seem to notice the trio at first, lost in his music, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.
Simpbur was the first to speak. “Well, well, well. Another Wilbur? We really are multiplying like rabbits, aren’t we?”
The guitarist looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. There was something different about his gaze—an emptiness that wasn’t despair but acceptance, as if he had made peace with every tragedy that had ever befallen him. He didn’t smile or frown, merely tilted his head and strummed another chord.
“And you are?” Revivedbur asked, his tone guarded. He didn’t like surprises, especially not in a place as unpredictable as Limbo.
The guitarist gave a small shrug, his fingers still moving over the strings. “You can call me YCGMAbur, if you need a name. But really, I’m just another you. The version that never stopped playing.”
“YC... GMA?” Ghostbur echoed, his expression puzzled.
Simpbur chuckled. “Your City Gave Me Asthma,” he explained, his voice laced with amusement. “He’s the one who wrote all those sad songs and never quite moved on.”
YCGMAbur nodded slightly, his focus drifting back to his guitar. “That’s one way to put it. I’m the Wilbur who poured every ounce of pain into music. The one who sat in the shadows and sang to the void, hoping it might sing back.”
“Charming,” Revivedbur muttered, crossing his arms. “So what are you doing here, exactly?”
“What any of us do in Limbo,” YCGMAbur replied, his voice calm and even. “Existing. Waiting. Sometimes creating, when the mood strikes.” He plucked a gentle melody, each note hanging in the air like a lingering thought. “You could join me, if you’d like.”
Ghostbur stepped forward, his glow flickering like a shy candle. “Your music... it feels so sad. Are you lonely?”
YCGMAbur paused, his hand stilling on the strings. He looked up at Ghostbur, his expression softening. “Aren’t we all?”
Simpbur clapped his hands together, breaking the somber mood. “Well, this just keeps getting better! A quartet of Wilburs in Limbo. What could possibly go wrong?”
Revivedbur shot him a glare. “Don’t encourage this.”
“Oh, come on,” Simpbur said with a grin, slinging an arm around Revivedbur’s shoulders. “What’s the harm in a little music? Might even bring us closer. You could use some lightening up.”
YCGMAbur chuckled softly, the sound devoid of malice. “He’s not wrong. Music has a way of connecting people. Even... fractured versions of the same soul.”
Reluctantly, Revivedbur sat down on a nearby rock, his posture stiff. Simpbur plopped down beside him, far more at ease, while Ghostbur hovered uncertainly before settling at YCGBMAbur’s side.
“Play something for us?” Ghostbur asked hesitantly.
YCGMAbur studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. But don’t blame me if it stirs up memories you’d rather forget.”
He began to play, a slow, mournful tune that wove through the mist like a river carving its path through stone. As the chords filled the air, the four of them sat together in silence, each lost in their thoughts. The music spoke of longing, regret, and the faintest glimmer of hope—a melody that captured the essence of who they were.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Limbo didn’t seem quite so cold.
The mournful melody of YCGMAbur’s guitar faded into the gray mist of Limbo, leaving an aching stillness in its wake. Ghostbur, curled up beside him, let out a soft sigh. Even Simpbur seemed subdued, his usual smirk replaced by an uncharacteristically pensive expression. Revivedbur sat apart, staring into the distance with arms crossed, his thoughts too tangled to put into words.
That’s when they heard it.
It wasn’t a sound, exactly—not like YCGMAbur’s guitar or the faint echoes of memory that filled Limbo. It was a presence, distant but powerful, like the hum of a city before dawn. The gray mist seemed to pulse with energy, drawing all their gazes toward the horizon.
“What now?” Revivedbur muttered, standing. His tone carried more exhaustion than anger, though his fists were clenched.
“Something’s coming,” Simpbur said, his grin returning as he stood beside him. “Or someone. This day just keeps getting better.”
Ghostbur floated upward, his light flickering anxiously. “Do you think it’s another one of... us?”
YCGMAbur adjusted the strap of his guitar and stood as well, his expression unreadable. “Only one way to find out.”
The four of them moved as a group toward the source of the strange energy. The mist grew thinner as they walked, revealing shapes that hadn’t been visible before—vague outlines of structures, looming and imposing. The closer they got, the clearer the shapes became. Walls, massive and unyielding, rose out of the ground like the spine of a sleeping giant.
“It can’t be...” Revivedbur stopped short, his eyes narrowing. “I know this place.”
Simpbur tilted his head. “Oh? Care to enlighten the class?”
“It’s L’Manberg,” Revivedbur said, his voice low. “Or what’s left of it.”
The walls stretched high into the gray sky, their surfaces cracked and weathered but still standing strong. A tattered flag hung from a distant pole, its colors faded but unmistakable. The sight stirred something deep within each of them—a mix of pride, sorrow, and bitter nostalgia.
Ghostbur clutched at his blue, his form flickering more brightly. “It’s... home.”
“Was,” YCGMAbur corrected softly, his fingers brushing the strings of his guitar in a single, mournful strum. “It’s just a memory now.”
As they approached the gates, the figure appeared.
He stood tall and proud, dressed in a uniform that seemed to gleam even in the muted light of Limbo. His hair was neatly combed, and his face bore a determined expression that hadn’t yet been hardened by failure or regret. He was young, vibrant, and undeniably familiar.
“L’Manbur,” Simpbur said with a low whistle. “Now this is a blast from the past.”
The man turned to face them, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the group. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” His voice carried authority, the kind that demanded answers.
Revivedbur stepped forward, his posture tense. “We’re... versions of you. Different pieces, scattered across time.”
L’Manbur’s gaze flickered with suspicion but also curiosity. “Versions of me? Is this some trick? Who sent you?”
“No one sent us,” Ghostbur said quickly, his soft glow dimming under the weight of L’Manbur’s scrutiny. “We’re just... trying to understand ourselves. And we found you.”
L’Manbur’s expression softened slightly as he studied Ghostbur. “You seem... harmless enough. But the rest of you...” His eyes lingered on Revivedbur and Simpbur. “You look like trouble.”
Simpbur grinned. “Guilty as charged.”
Revivedbur scowled. “We didn’t come here to fight. We came because... I don’t know. Maybe we’re looking for answers.”
“Answers to what?” L’Manbur asked, folding his arms.
Revivedbur hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to explain the emptiness he felt, the constant war between who he was, who he had been, and who he might still become. Instead, YCGMAbur spoke up, his voice calm but heavy with meaning.
“Answers to ourselves,” he said. “To why we keep breaking apart instead of holding together.”
L’Manbur regarded him for a long moment before nodding slowly. “If you’re truly pieces of me, then perhaps you’ve come to the right place. L’Manberg was built to be a sanctuary, a place where we could be free. Maybe it can still serve that purpose, even here.”
“Here?” Simpbur asked, raising an eyebrow. “In Limbo?”
L’Manbur’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Even in Limbo, there can be hope. If you’re willing to fight for it.”
Ghostbur brightened at the words, his glow steadying. “Maybe... we could rebuild it? Together?”
Revivedbur scoffed. “What’s the point? It all fell apart once. It’ll just happen again.”
“Maybe,” L’Manbur said, stepping closer. “But isn’t it worth trying? Even if it doesn’t last forever, isn’t it better than doing nothing?”
The four other Wilburs exchanged glances, each of them grappling with their own doubts and hopes. Finally, Simpbur clapped his hands together.
“Well,” he said with a grin, “I guess it’s time to see if we can turn Limbo into something worth living for.”
YCGMAbur nodded, strumming his guitar. “Let’s see if the chords still work.”
And with that, the five of them stood together at the gates of a broken dream, ready to see if it could be pieced back together—even in the endless gray of Limbo.