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Everything was on fire.
It burned his lungs, left his chest prickling with the sensation of ash and soot. His mind was blind with the high of the chaos, the screaming that rattled his brain. The voices of people, and the voices in his head. They scratched at its surface, pulling the strings of his consciousness until only they were in control.
No matter how hard he fought against them, they were often in control.
A blade cut through the sky.
The trident in his hand was not his own, but the power still hummed familiarly beneath his palm. He felt the potion's effects buzz in his skin, the feeling of weightlessness akin to the freedom of flight, or so he'd been told.
They were still screaming. Inside and out.
His crossbow, loaded once again, shot at all who would move.
The broken cries. The taste of singed flesh as the fireworks tore through them. The exploding dynamite falling from above. Withers ripping apart all in their sights.
Death was in his hands.
He danced in the air, laughing in time with the fear that held as thick as the smoke.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
Who was he to deny them?
The rhythmic burst of the colours was almost beautiful, watching those who embraced them fall in despair - in agony. Weaving a symbol of celebration, once so tantalising, into an omen of chaos - of the Blood God. To watch them lose the nation which they loved, the nation that killed him, the nation of hidden venom. Toxic. A rose that was all too good at hiding its thorns.
Another firework. Another cry.
Technoblade never dies. Technoblade always pays his debts.
His brain hazy with the high.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
Movement, on the obsidian cage of Dream's creation.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
Sabotage. Perhaps Tommy, with his shock of blonde. A shot. No one would interfere.
A cry.
A mistake.
"Phil?"
The voices were silent.
"It's okay, mate, I'm fine!" The words were punctuated with his signature chuckle, and Techno let out a shuddering breath.
He must've missed him.
He's fine.
He's fine .
"Sorry, Phil, don't mind me."
He shook off the fear, the halted adrenaline buzzing to the surface once again, replacing the blind terror - the numb panic.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
Back to the action.
The battle continued on, but the fight was long since over. Death held stagnant over a broken nation, and its people were quickly losing hope of any sort of victory. What was L'manburg? It's freedom? Lost, long before its destruction - or maybe it never truly had it in the first place. It's land? Now, a smoking crater, still thick with the smell of active explosives.
Then, was L'manburg it's people? Maybe if it was, Techno wouldn't have had a reason to destroy it.
If L'manbug was its people, then this loss would not mean its end.
A symphony, finally finished.
Are you happy now, Wilbur?
Techno was not unscathed, that went without saying. War, battles, they were not something where winning had no price. Outnumbered as they were, with Techno in the heart of the chaos, no amount of skill would leave him uninjured. However, it wasn't bad as he'd been prepared for. The worst, a cut above his eye from a lucky arrow, and a few stinging burns in the joints of his armour. He may have hit his head, but the blurriness was more akin to an adrenaline crash than the buzz of a concussion.
He was lucky. War wasn't often so kind.
Techno found Phil, sitting at the edge of the crater, covered head to toe in ash. Looking on at the endless destruction.
"New look? Can't say I'm a fan." Phil looked up, wings ruffling slighting.
"You can't say much, mate. Had a look at yourself recently?" There was a smile in his voice. Techno hadn't, but looking at down at his armour was answer enough.
"Hehhhhhh, my dry-cleaning bill, nooooooo!"
Phil stood up, laughing harder now, although the tiny wince he let out did not go unnoticed.
"You okay?" Techno prompted, and immediately following, "Did you need to use the totem?"
Hell hath no fury if someone had taken Phil's life, even if he'd been brought back. He'd rip apart anyone who even thought about hurting Phil. They would be begging for death's embrace when he was done.
"Nah, I'm good. Just, the usual, really. You?"
"I'm okay. We should," the smoke tickling his nose, "head back. Home, that is."
A nod, "That sounds like a plan." A final glance at the emptiness where a nation once stood, "We're done here."
There was a finality, in that.
The trek back wasn't a pretty one. The weight of their armour seemed heavier still, even with the emptiness of their bags. Exhaustion seeping deep into their bones. Phil was quiet, too. Quieter than usual. Slow. Groggy.
It wouldn't be noticeable if he didn't know him as well as he did. He still laughed, still moved with practised precision, still acted as he always did. He was still Phil, just a little- less.
They reached the house just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. Techno might've mentioned something bridging between sarcastic and serious, about how this was a new beginning for them, and peace was now not such a distant hope, but Phil was already scurrying inside, yelling about going to his room and not to bother him as he bounded up the stairs.
"Huh."
That was strange.
It didn't take long for Techno to crack.
He paced in the living room, uncharacteristically anxious. The voices had quietened after the battle, but at Phil's quick retreat, they'd sprung up again, bloodlust replaced with a growing concern. He'd stripped his armour, cleaned himself of soot and changed into some new clothes, bandaged his meagre wounds - but nothing helped take his mind from the man upstairs.
And so, he threw away his pride, and knocked on Phil's door.
"Phil?" Silence.
"Hey, Phil, I'm coming in."
A beat.
The creak of the hinge.
The calm before the storm.
A second where Phil just looked like he might be asleep, tired from a long day of battle.
He'd watched cities fall at his own hands. He'd taken life from the guilty, from the innocent. He burned villages and laughed at their cries. He'd sang along to their screams of pain.
Yet Phil's broken body, lying prone and weak, slumped against his bed, shattered him.
"PHIL?"
The storm.
His armour was lying strewn on the ground, ash splattered on the carpet. Phil, his friend, soulmate, everything, with a burning, bleeding gash on his side.
The wound, hastily wrapped with loose bandages, was bleeding sluggishly. It stretched from the top of his rib cage, curving around his side to the small of his back. The edges of it were singed, burnt flesh angry and black around the cut – heavy with the beginnings of infection. Phil’s eyes were squeezed shut, breaths coming out in sharp pants, skin slick with sweat through the layers of ash.
Whatever it was must’ve broken through the armour - but how did he not notice?
“Phil, Phil wake up.”
The voices were frighteningly silent.
Swallowing his fear, his anger , Techno grabbed the roll of bandages that had fallen to the floor. There was a bucket, too, filled with water and a damp wash cloth. He pushed it closer to himself, the contents sloshing onto his knees as he knelt, but he paid it no mind.
"Hey, Phil- you, need to wake up. Hey- hey . Phil please." He was really panicking now, and he didn't have time. Not when Phil was like this- not when he needed him. His hand's ghosted around Phil's face, feeling the all too hot breath against his palm. Not a welcome feeling, but a sign of life, never the less.
Techno took a steadying breath.
In.
Out.
He grabbed the cloth, ringing it with both hands and dabbing it on the wound, lightly wiping away the dust and grime, ash on his face and skin. Once clean, he pulled the regeneration potion from his pocket, always on hand, pouring it over the cut.
The skin sluggishly stitched itself together, blood trickling out slower as the potion took effect. The burns were still harsh, even with the cold towel pressed against their surface, but they would heal.
They would scar.
Chat sparked again, vengeful fury that was harm to quell with his own anger exploding beneath his skin.
He pushed it down, further. Soon. He could redirect it soon.
He wrapped the bandages tight. Holding Phil against him to wound them around his torso and between his wings. It was an awkward position, but he worked with practised precision, years of bandaging battle wounds bringing an unwelcomed nostalgia.
Once satisfied, he lay him gently on the bed, propping the pillow so his head was slightly inclined. His eyes were still shut, but there was less pain visible on his features, just contentment. Calm.
He did not wake until the sun had long since left the sky.
"Mm, Tech?" Phil mumbled blearily, reaching blindly into the open air.
"I'm here, hey, drink this." Techno pushed the glass towards his lips, filled with a water-down mix of instant health and regen. The winged man gulped it down greedily, coughing when the water seeped too quickly down his throat.
"Slowly. " Techno coaxed, not unkindly. The answering sips made him smile.
"Thanks, mate." Phil sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as the drink was pulled away.
"Who did it, Phil?" Techno raised his voice, now, compressed anger seeping out in his worry, "And why'd you try to hide it from me?"
"I don't know." A lie.
"Why are you protecting them? Don't lie to me now, don't betray my trust like he- they did. I'll kill them for this, I promise you, I'll-"
"Techno." Phil had lifted his hand, cupping his face, "It doesn't matter."
"Phil," Techno's voice was embarrassingly soft, "you matter more than anything." Phil's face twisted in discomfort; lips pinched in a frown. Something like dread, guilt, settling over his features.
"It was a mistake."
A mistake.
A mistake.
"No." Techno ripped his face from Phil's grasp, " No."
He must've missed him.
Technoblade never misses.
"Techno it was a mistake."
"No. You said it was fine, that you were okay. How?"
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
"It's okay, you didn't mean it and- hey- Tech, come back, I forgive you!"
The hinge creaked.
Technoblade was gone.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
MONSTER
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
BETrayAL
Your FAULT
TECHnoBLADE
THE BLADE
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
M ON STer
Philza had spent years convincing Techno that he wasn't a monster - a weapon wielded in war and shunned in peace. That the betrayal of those close to him was not his fault.
He had just now started to believe him.
MONSTER
THE BLADE
WEAPON
MISTAKE
Techno was fine with being a monster, okay with the hatred that came with his reputation. The respect that bred fear. It was fine because it was true. He was ready for their words because he himself believed them.
But Phil never did.
Maybe that's what kept him from the edge.
How could he?
He'd proven himself a monster to the one person who believed otherwise.
He'd hurt Phil.
He'd hurt Phil .
MONSTER MONSTER MONSTER
EVI L
MONSTER
BETRAYAL
"TECHNO!" A voice, recognisable in the heat of battle, or called across an empty room. "TECHNO COME BACK, PLEASE!"
It was cold.
So cold.
"TECHNO!"
The snow shifted.
"Techno." A hand on his shoulder, warm despite the bitter cold.
A sob.
"I forgive you."
"I'm a monster."
Arms knotted around him, pulling him so he was encased in a feathered hug.
"You're so far from being a monster, Techno."
"I shot you."
"It doesn't hurt."
"Yes, it does."
"Yes, it does. But I forgive you."
A hollow truth, forgiveness. A stuttered, broken question. The snow melting beneath their cocooned heat.
"How am I ever going to forgive myself?"
"With time, and me by your side. Forever. Like scars, this pain will fade - for both of us."
Another shuddering sound, but quieter, accepting. "Phil, for you, always for you, the world."
"Techno," the softest of smiles, "you've given me the world and more. With you by my side, old friend, the world is our own."
It would not be a smooth journey.
But it was one they would take together, as they always had.