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For You, The World

Summary:

In a time older than gods can remember, a mortal soulsinger looked to the Angel of Death and said:

 For you, the world.

 And he never stopped.

Notes:

This work is part of a series and written to build off of previous parts. If you read blind and don't understand, that's on you m8.

Comments on this series are moderated- meaning your comments won't show up right away! Give it a few hours, and your comment will show up just fine. (Comments disrespectful to the authors, CCs, QPRs, or Alex/Technoblade's death will be deleted.)

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Work Text:


 

In a time older than gods can remember, a mortal soulsinger looked to the Angel of Death and said:

 

For you, the world.

 

And he never stopped.

 

-<>♥<>-

 

“Do you really have to do this?” Philza asks.

 

This isn’t the first time, and it might not be the last. As overjoyed as he’d been with Techno’s newfound immortality, Techno could see that undercurrent of guilt in Philza’s smiles. The Angel, it seems, feels as though he has forced the Covenant’s ascension with his heartbreak.

 

All the more so, after finding out that godhood has come at a price.

 

The Blood of the Covenant will buy his eternity in the blood of all the gods that dared to survive the ancient war that turned the Nether into a wasteland.

 

“You don’t have to join,” Techno points out. “I know seeing me risk my life wigs you out. You could go back to your own divine duties, sit it out until I’m done.”

 

Philza snorts loudly. “You’re killing gods, mate. I’ll have to stay updated one way or another. Might as well do it on the field.”

 

“Maybe I’ll just sneak away the next time you make the mistake of falling asleep,” Techno dares. “You’ll wake up and I’ll have killed five different war veterans.”

 

Philza cackles loudly, wings ruffling with mirth.

 

But his smile trails off.

 

“I would have loved you either way,” he softly says. “Y’know that, right? I would have loved you ‘til your dyin’ day, and every day past that. You didn’t have to fight the world to earn what you always had.”

 

“I’ve got my own scores to settle, Phil,” Techno reassures him. “Remember what I told you back in the Nether- I’ve got things to live for, too. The fact that I can live that life with you is just a bonus.” 

 

He smiles. 

 

“Besides, even if you were all I was living for, you would have been worth the war, anyways.” He looks away to busy himself with his horse’s saddle. “For you, the world, Phil.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Philza scolds, a wide eyed grin breaking across his face. “I will cry.”

 

“Cry, then.”

 

-<>♥<>-

 

Pillagers are actually rather polite when they aren’t, well, pillaging. Other testificates find them to be savage, and maybe they even are, but they do, contrary to popular belief, have a method to their madness. They aren’t equal opportunity thieves. Pillaging is a very ritualized sort of act, only done in pre-mediated campaigns at certain times of year, when the magic they use is at its offensive peak. 

 

And sure, they’re a bit more violent minded than most- but as a pastoral people, they do need to defend themselves from the night mobs and wild magic that their more agrarian counterparts have the luxury of ignoring. (Techno can relate to that.)

 

And key to this pastoral life is the ravager.

 

Towering beasts with leathery skin and fat snouts, lumbering along on knobbly, wide-hooved legs as their massive bull-horned heads score the ground for scrap. Pillagers use these beasts of burden to move their caravans, dig for roots and mushrooms, and break down obstructions.

 

They’re also a good source of leather, meat, and dairy. Techno’s particularly interested in that last one, which is why he’s gone and side-tracked his and Philza’s current journey to see if he can buy some cheese or butter off of this passing patrol.

 

“You ever wonder where pillagers even get these things from?” Philza asks, staring at the strange beasts. “I swear I’ve never seen these shits in the wild.”

 

“You know what I think?” Techno pipes up. “I think they just put a cow and a bear together.”

 

Philza giggles. “That’s not a thing! You can’t just put two different animals and have it make something.”

 

“Mules,” Techno simply says.

 

“Donkeys and horses are still both… horse animal things,” Philza haltingly elaborates. “Bear and a cow ain’t even close to the same family, mate. You’re thinkin’ about moblins again. They can mix however they like ‘cus they ain’t actually different animals.”

 

“Maybe they use magic,” Techno says. “To fuse the bear-cow together.”

 

Philza sighs. “I’m pretty sure ravagers aren’t bear-cows.” He digs another spoonful of the cheesy mushroom-ravager stew in his bread bowl. “Don’t quote me on that, though. Never actually had bear before.”

 

“We can put it on the bucket list,” Techno jokes. “Sometime within the next two hundred years- find out what bears taste like.

 

Philza snickers. He lets out a hum as he sips the last of the broth and starts breaking apart the bread. “You were right though, this cheese is way fuckin’ worth it. Goes great with the bread.”

 

Techno snorts as he finishes off his own food. “You like anything that goes with bread. Your approval means nothing. It is pretty good, though. I’d love to take one of these ravagers of their hands, but alas. I’ve yet to find a patrol willing to sell for any price.”

 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Philza snarks. “You don’t even care about the cheese. Dogs and horses just aren’t enough for you anymore, you want to dream big.”

 

“I bet I could ride one,” Techno dares.

 

“Techno. Techno, I’ve seen a ravager yeet a horse off a fucking cliff. Don’t do this to yourself.”

 

“That sounds like a challenge, Philza.” Techno’s smile pushes past his perpetually blood-tinged tusks. “Are you challenging me?”

 

“That was a warning, not a challenge,” Philza stresses.

 

Techno stands up, popping his bones in an exaggerated manner. “Ah, well, guess I have no choice but to take your challenge. How will I ever deny my beloved Emerald Star?”

 

“Don’t do this, Techno-”

 

Techno teasingly struts over to the field the ravagers are grazing in. “For you, the world, Phil!”

 

MATE, NO-

 

-<>♥<>-

 

Techno lets out a bloody wheeze. “Y’know,” he grimly laughs, ichor sputtering in his mouth, “I think unleashing a Protector Superior dragon in my general direction really tops-” A wracking cough. “-really takes the grand prize. As far as the most creative way the gods have tried to kill me.”

 

Philza hops over the dragon skull being picked apart by his crows, weightlessly landing next to Techno’s body. “Try not to move! The damn thing had poison put in its teeth.”

 

“That explains why I can’t get up.” A rattling breath. “Damn thing took out 10 of my dogs. They were good dogs, Phil.”

 

“And they’ll come back tomorrow just fine if you live.” Philza nudges a golden apple into Techno’s mouth. “Just eat this and- an’ just breathe. Breathe, my friend.”

 

Techno takes a deep breath. Then another. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he whispers as his chest heaves, as the golden apple’s magic laboriously works its way past the blistering poison in his wounds. “The thing barely even tickled me.”

 

“Then you better not fucking die for somethin’ as daft as this,” Philza grimly laughs. “You better not.”

 

“Well, now I have to live. You know I can’t say no to you.” Techno wearily leans his head back into Philza’s lap. “For you, the world, Phil.”

 

“And I’m gettin’ it whether you want to pay up or not.” Philza gently runs his taloned hands over Techno’s scarred snout, softly cupping his face. “Cus I’m holdin’ the whole damn world right here.”

 

-<>♥<>-

 

“Mate, can you get me some water?”

 

Techno, who was just in a silly goofy mood that morning, gave Philza a cup of ice.

 

“I asked for water,” Philza points out. 

 

“You sure did,” Techno recalls.

 

“And you gave me ice,” Philza notes.

 

Techno looks Philza dead in the eyes. “For you, the world, Phil.”

 

Philza immediately starts crunching the cold ice. “You really do love me.”

 

-<>♥<>-

 

“Dad?”

 

Philza hums.

 

“Dad, why are you cutting up gapples?” Wilbur asks, the baby grey down of his round face ruffling into the table.

 

“Lagos' coming over later,” Philza reveals. “Be nice.”

 

“You’re cutting them up into little rabbits,” Wilbur observes.

 

Philza cuts a triangular gap into the skin of one of the slices, digging into the new shape with the blade to raise the skin into an approximation of rabbit ears. “Because Lagos is a silly little rabbit.”

 

“You’re serving tiny Lagos rabbits for brunch,” Wilbur horrifiedly surmises. “Dad, you’re so fucked up.”

 

“I know,” Philza sweetly trills.

 

Techno comes over with a basket. “Here’s the other gapples. You need any more?”

 

“That should be good.” Philza’s eyes soften with a fond look, as if suddenly realizing he’s staring at his favorite person. “Thanks, mate.”

 

“Any time.” Techno chuckles, briefly touching his snout to Philza’s head. “For you, the world.”

 

Wilbur loudly gags and screeches, tiny wings flaring with mock rage. “Really? Right in front of my gapples?”

 

Lagos walks in with a basket of pastries and a conspicuously missing arm. “What’s happening in front of your gapples?”

 

Wilbur points accusingly at Philza’s soft, gentle trill as he jostles Techno’s mane. “Affection!” Wilbur hisses. “Disgusting.

 

“Understandable, have a terrible day.” Lagos doesn't even blink, just takes out a churro from his basket. “Phil, try this weird bread I found at the store-”

 

-<>♥<>-

 

“Remind me again why you-” Philza yawns. “-why you’re makin’... an entirely potato-based feast for Hypixel?”

 

“Because I’ve lost control of my life,” Techno hollowly says. “I have finally become slave to my own madness. Bury me with the hounds, Phil.”

 

Philza just squints tiredly at him.

 

“Also because Squid did the same thing yesterday and the rules of war do not allow me to ignore such a personal attack on my potato dignity,” Techno quickly adds.

 

Philza hums. “You’ve never made a feast for me. I feel so unloved.”

 

“You aren’t an enemy of war, Phil,” Techno points out. “I would never need to appease you with such brute savagery.”

 

“Sounds like a challenge,” Philza deadpans. “I could be a great enemy. And then you’d have to throw a feast in my honor.” Philza’s sleep deprived eyes clear with something approaching actual awareness. “Man, does anyone do feasts in my honor? I feel like people avoid making death offerings unless someone’s fuckin’ died.”

 

“Pretty sure no one would want to attract the attention of a living death omen,” Techno reasonably points out.

 

“Sounds like coward talk,” Philza jokes. “Are you a coward, Technoblade? Are you afraid of death?”

 

Techno stops and blinks.

 

“I’m afraid of what I can’t control,” Techno finally says after a long moment. “And death is… completely out of my control. You most of all.”

 

Philza stares at him in wide-eyed silence.

 

“That was a way realer answer than I was ready for, to be honest,” Philza whispers. “I was half expecting you to take it as a challenge and build some kind of fucked up bread tower.”

 

Techno laughs awkwardly. “I mean, I could still do a bread tower. If you so insist that I should bribe my way into your good graces.”

 

“It’d be really fucking funny,” Philza decides.

 

“Then for you, the world, Phil.”

 

-<>♥<>-

 

Techno looks up at the sky. “It’s getting kind of late. We should get you back before Fundy starts getting weird. You said he notices when you’re gone.”

 

“It’s fine,” Philza tiredly says from his perch on Techno’s shoulder, tail thumping idly into Techno’s cloak. “I can stick around a lil’ longer.” His head dips down. “I’m not even…”

 

Techno scrambles to catch his friend as Philza falls off his perch. Philza feels alarmingly light in his arms, and there’s dark, sleepless lines settling in with the new scars carved into Philza’s face.

 

(It’s like a little more of Philza dies every time he goes back to L’manburg.)

 

Techno sighs sadly, pushing the irrational train of thought away. He shouldn’t project his own bad experiences over the life Philza’s painstakingly trying to piece back together. Philza’s been pouring countless sleepless nights into building past the crater Wilbur died in- he’s trying.

 

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to watch, though. Because it hurts. It hurts in a way that makes Techno want to bury Philza with him in the next winter storm and never let go.

 

But Philza’s trying. 

 

So Techno lets him go, even if it hurts.

 

He promised that man the world. It’s not up to him to decide what Philza does with it.

 

-<>♥<>-

 

“Ah. There’s where my cloak went.”

 

“Sorry, Tec’.” Philza curls up even smaller under the cloak he’s stolen as a blanket. “I just- we got really fuckin’ cold all the sudden, and we couldn’t stop it, and then Benihime just fuckin’ hurt everywhere an’ we couldn’t-”

 

“It’s fine,” Techno assures. “I wasn’t really going out today, anyways. Take what you need.”

 

“It hurts all the time now,” Benihime whispers. “Flying hurts. It hurts every time we try. It’s not- it shouldn’t do that, I don’t know what’s wrong an’ I can’t fix it.”

 

“It’s cool. You can rest.”

 

I’m sorry.

 

“It’s just my cloak. You know I would’ve given you more if you asked.” Techno pats his friend’s head. “For you, the world, y’know? That goes for both of you.”

 

-<>♥<>-

 

When Philza first wakes up after escaping L’manburg, he isn’t exactly happy. Techno didn’t expect him to be. Who would ever be happy for having been caged at all?

 

But he hadn’t been ready for how lost Philza had looked that morning after. Lethargically shuffling through Techno’s Neve home like he’d never been in it before, shying away from anyone and everyone, practically escaping into the rafters when someone commits the crime of knocking on the front door.

 

Philza sits at the table with a forgotten cup of tea, blind stare boring into the eyes carved into the palms of his hands, and Techno knows he’s remembering the chains of a pantheon that no longer exists.

 

“That country’s going to die one day,” Techno decides to say. “If it doesn’t collapse under its own corruption, I’ll kill it myself.”

 

Wilbur tried his best,” Philza whispers.

 

“It’s not Wilbur’s anymore,” Techno gently corrects. “I think you know that.”

 

I tried my best, too, y’know.” Philza clasps his hands together, shame warping the scars on his face. “I keep forgetting my best is worth fuck all, these days.”

 

“It’s not your fault that place hurt you.” Techno takes a deep breath. “It’s… not our fault when people hurt us. Or use us, or-” Techno stutters. “No one- no one- I don’t think anybody deserves these kinds of things happening to them. Y’know? I don’t think anyone ever deserves it.” Techno thumbs over his lifemarks. “Maybe I didn’t either.”

 

“Of course you didn’t,” Philza sorrowfully says. “You’re a good person. If I didn’t deserve it, neither did you.”

 

Techno’s eyes grow sad, the bloody phantoms of festival rockets exploding behind his vision. “Can we agree to disagree on that one?” 

 

“No, I don’t think I will.” Philza’s hand reaches for him to clasp their lifemarks together. “To the gates of hell, remember? It’s both of us or not at all.”

 

“I promised you this world, Phil,” Techno reminds him. “No matter what I have to do to get there. And I think… I’ve done a lot of bad things for that world to happen.”

 

“I don’t care,” Philza bluntly decides. “The only world you’ve ever had to give me was the one that gets to have you in it.”

 

Techno smiles, full of despair and all the things he cannot bring himself to understand. “Well, you know what I always said. For you, the world.”

 

-<>♥<>-

 

“I left you alone for five tocks to put the leftovers away,” Techno despairs. “What have you done?”

 

The Angel lethargically squints at the treacherous halo of blankets and pillows that have been put onto Techno’s bed, completed with a perimeter of… a non-zero amount of shiny rocks and coins hanging from the rafters.

 

 And also yarn. 

 

And several skeins of chiengora.

 

“Yeah,” the Angel underwhelmingly answers.

 

“You were supposed to be too drunk and defenseless to do anything while I was gone,” Techno reiterates. 

 

“I told you,” the Angel drunkenly grumbles, “I’m not drunk.”

 

“I trusted you,” Techno languishes. “Why do you treat me this way?”

 

“It’s not safe,” the Angel murmurs. “It has… it has to be safe.”

 

“And you’re wearing one of my cardigans.”

 

The Angel hums. “Tha’s a made up word.” It pats Techno’s face. “You stop that.”

 

“Phil, please,” Techno begs. “Please, I’m so tired. I can’t undo what you’ve done to this room.”

 

The Angel disjointedly shushes him. “I- I- I fffffffffffffffffixed it for you. An’ now you can sleep!”

 

“Absolutely not,” Techno scolds. “You’ve destroyed my attic, is what you’ve done.”

 

The Angel’s eyes grow wide. 

 

“Phil,” Techno quickly says. “Phil, don’t you start-”

 

You don’t love meeeeee,” it mournfully keens. “I’ve failed you…”

 

“What were you even trying to do, Phil?” Techno dares to ask.

 

“Nest so you can sleep,” the Angel sorrowfully explains, Talon accent growing stronger by the tick. “An’ be safe. Be safe.” The Angel tiredly mantles its wings around Techno’s exhausted body. “Be safe,” it tiredly whispers in Talon. “Please be safe. I love you.

 

Techno’s irritated expression crumbles.

 

“Yeah,” he tiredly agrees. “We’re safe. Of course we’re safe here, Phil, you know that, right?”

 

“Then why won’t you rest?” the Angel simply asks.

 

Techno tenses.

 

“I want to fix it,” the Angel says, tugging Techno towards the bed. “So you can rest. Let me fix it for you.”

 

Techno looks at the drunken nest again. The blankets chosen from all his favorite patterns, tied snug together from the yarns spun from his dogs. Gold and emerald and amethyst hanging like stars from the rafters.

 

The Angel tugs on his arm again. “I fixed it. You’re safe.”

 

“Okay,” Techno finally says. “Okay.”

 

He flops into bed before the Angel can straight up throw him in by force. He won’t be winning this battle today, and he won’t try to fight it.

 

(But it’s nice, almost. Just this once.)

 

Even still, Techno wonders just how long Philza and Benihime had agonized over the thought sober, if this is what the Angel worries about drunk. “You didn’t have to worry about me like this-”

 

“Of course I did. It’s you.” The Angel’s hazy smile softens. “It’s for you. For you, the world.”

 

Techno looks sharply at his friend, but finds no answer. No answer but a body already asleep, shaking wings wrapped around him with no sign of letting go.

 

Once, before gods can remember, he promised Philza the world. And now the Angel asks that world to rest.

 

(So he does.)

 


 

Notes:

techno after philza tells the restaurant techno asked for no pickles: for you the pickes

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