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Chapter Text

Technoblade was a piglin hybrid; half man, half beast.

A ruler of the Antarctic Empire in another world and the God of Blood and War no matter where he went, Technoblade was a lot of things but most pressingly, he stewed and breathed and loomed over everyone else in silence. The half-monster was observant. He was intelligent. He was dangerous. Technoblade could send even a mob running with a glance. It was child's play for him to have the bravest of Players weak in the knees at the sight of his prying canines that stood dominant in his grin. Technoblade was intimidating. 

Over seven foot at his un-hunched prime, he stood proudly. Rare was it for Technoblade to bend; with power such as his, he did not stoop to the paupers and he towered far above those who thought themselves strong. His hulking stature and countless golden draperies - ranging from thick chains to large bangles that curled and coiled over every part of him, from his head down to his feet - made him an impressive sight. Technoblade was known server-wide as a force not to be reckoned with, for there was no pity to be found in his tartarean gaze.

He truly was a horrifying sight. With daunting shoulders broader than two furnaces and a solid chest as thick as the obsidian of the portals, Technoblade outbodied more than three-quarters of the server's Players. Trees were smaller than his arms and his unflexed biceps were bigger than Eret's head. The scars that littered his human-imitating form were dark and old, crude reminders of the damage he had inflicted. 

Calamity followed his every step, footprints weighted by his own aura. He was a man who did not need heavy boots to make an impact, though he wore a pair regardless. Caliginous as he was, his black boots thundered on wood and made even snow groan underbredth. His carmine cape flared behind each powerful step, dark regalia enmeshed by scabbards and belts of potions.

He was a war-feaster. He was drawn to places by their violence, attracted to danger and gore. Technoblade the Blood God was a being no one wanted to run into, irrespective if on the battlefield, a path or from afar. 

The man was monikered as the End. Whispers spoke of him as a monster. Passed-down stories named him a hellbringer, an apocalypse yielder, tiller of sown chaos, bringer of disaster. 

Technoblade's very name was seeped with death and pain. He was the face on the other end of the dripping sword. He was one who would gorge well on the first and final tides of Armageddon. 

He'd been the last person Eret had wanted to see her the way she was. 

Sitting on a throne brought the unconscious power of aloofness. In her Castle, at the pinnacle of her Kingdom and her reign, Eret had been disinterested; unphased by the monster-beast-horror that was a grinning behemoth such as Technoblade. When she had first been ousted, he had coincidentally been in the area and hungry for scarlet spillings.

Dream had given her back the throne with a laugh. She'd impressed him that day. And then, the next, he had put his axe to her neck to teach her a lesson.

Now, she lay in the bed of the God of War and drank the soup he made her. The pain left by the barbed arrows rendered her unwalking, legs tainted by the poison only her adrenaline had stopped from killing her. Philza had told her how 'lucky' she'd been; poison that strong would've killed anyone smaller in naught a half hour. He theorised Punz had miscalculated the dosage and her life had been spared by his arrogance in his skillset. The many potions the boreal pair had lathered her with had undoubtedly helped. 

They had found her dying in the snow, guided by the voice of Philza's wife - the woman who had sang and hummed to them. Technoblade and Philza had come upon them half-dead and, for some reason, had taken them in. Of course, she was undoubtedly grateful, but that did not stop them being immensely confused.

What did the God of War and the Angel of Death want with them? All they were good for was warming a bed; that was all they'd done so far. Maybe they were keeping her for winter? The thought made them queasy.

They should be more thankful, they knew. They were lucky to be alive. But Eret didn't feel too lucky. Her ribs ached and the looming wraith that was Technoblade seemed to have taken it upon himself to spoonfeed her whatever soup he made. Albeit, the soup tasted very nice, Eret was more than capable of feeding herself, even if one of her arms was bandaged from shoulder to wrist and the bandages around the other wrist severely limited her hand rotation. She wasn't as pathetic as he seemed to think...

Or were his actions that of someone trying to care for another? Eret wasn't sure; they'd never had anyone look after them.

She had to prove her worth. If she made it clear how useless she was, they would kill her indefinitely. Dream had only kept her to fill George's chair and to warm his own bed on special nights. She didn't want-

Eret hoped Philza and Technoblade were not like Dream.

However, Dream had never fed her soup. He would've laughed and kicked her more if he seen her like this. She was weaker than a foal. Technoblade's actions had already indebted her to him. Would she be able to leave of her own accord? Would he let her get out of his plans for her?

It was pointless to wonder. Technoblade was humongous; more than three times larger than her, dwarfing her in height without even considering muscle mass. He would've been able to push open both throne room doors. He would've been able to run with an arrow in the knee. Eret was sure Technoblade could shrug off countless arrow hits and continue to sweep down an army without pause. If he wanted to keep her, she wouldn't be able to fight.

Eret couldn't fight anyways. Right now, she couldn't even walk.

Her fear outweighed the pain in her wrists when she moved her hands, so regardless of personal benefit, Eret always made sure to show to Technoblade that she was more than capable of self-sustainment. She could not appear weak in front of a God. If she made a pointed attempt to be strong, then that was acceptable. She could let Technoblade feed her after showing him she was able to feed herself, then in that way, her debt was lessened as the action became one of Technoblade's whims, instead of a more costly necessity.

"Just take it easy," the piglin masquerading as a man said every time she tried to take the spoon from him. His canines were too sharp to not pierce meat easily but his smile was odd. In her first few days of consciousness, where she'd been clammy with fever and delusional from the heat of her own body's making, she'd glimpsed that smile and thought it soft and kind. Now, she tried not to look too closely. Sickness was one thing - it gave people a certain freedom to sit in a haze and stare unseeingly - but, Eret did not want to be fully in control when she stared into the monster's face. Though, she'd dazedly thought even the sharp glint she'd seen in his eyes that day she'd hired him had dulled into a more gentle luster.

She always nodded whenever he spoke. It was better to agree to what he said, or he might get mad. The first time she'd disagreed with Dream, he had made it clear why she never should again and so, it had been her last. Eret was sure Technoblade, though having proven fair in temperament so far, would be the same as the Admin were she to push his buttons. Despite having been a lot more talkative with Dream, she told herself her current unbreaking silence was because she was too afraid to speak to Technoblade. The God of Blood and War was sat at her bedside, of course she would be scared. A God was worse (more powerful, more angry) than an Admin. However, the truth was, everything hurt when she so much as breathed.

However, Eret's quiet resignation was not due to her pain alone. The truth was, she'd been unable to muster a sound to her tongue. Not since that night she'd been dethroned. 

Technoblade, to his merit, had not commented once on her silence. Perhaps because she was dozing off every ten minutes, he took it as her exhaustion. Maybe it was?

Eret hoped so. She liked speaking. It was the only way she had ever been able to interact with Dream — giving speeches of compliments and praise had been the only way to distract the man when he pulled out his axe. Sometimes, he taught her a lesson in a different way because of her voice. In those times, she had learned there were things worse than a death to a heavy axe. Sometimes, he didn't listen, but most of the time her talking worked in her favour.

She had the scars for the times she'd failed. They stung a lot when she opened her mouth and now they hurt a lot more when she even thought about uttering a word.

"Phil reckons you should be able to start walking now," Technoblade said one morning. It was the first thing he told her as he sat down, cradling a bowl of soup for her. The bowl was set temporarily on the nightstand as he helped her sit up, careful of her disabled arm and tight stitches. Her vision spun as she shifted, as it always did, though she tried her best not to show the nausea she felt because of it.

Philza was an imposing man. Though, he was not terrifying in the way that Technoblade was, the few times he had climbed up the ladder to check on her, his eyes held a cold shadow to them. On the rare occasion Dream had removed his mask with her, his eyes were the coldest of all. Philza's shrewd gaze made her feel like she was back in that castle, shivering in the bed reserved for the Admin when he came to stay. 

He stayed over too much for her liking. Every time he did, she always did something wrong, from speaking too much to looking suspicious.

Shorter than Technoblade and even Eret, Philza was one of the shortest men on the server. Yet, he was no man. 

The Angel of Death was just as human as Technoblade was. Loving rumours told of him being born from the smattering patterns of falling stars. But, in a universe where Philza was known in gloomy cemeteries and seen slewing innocents in solitary fields, he was regarded with contempt. Harsh tales told of how he climbed up from the hottest depths of despair to reap it upon the weak. He was a monster crafted from the tears and blood of dying townsfolk, sprouting himself up from the sour mud to shake around a scythe and play a mockery of a God's gracegiver. 

The holy seen him as blight. The fearful saw him only to be their doom. Murders of crows flocked to where he landed, circling his kills and cawing of victory. Philza stood in the depths of his own blustrous wingspan, feathers that glistened the same shade as the tenebrosity in his eyes flared over worlds and encapsulated them in unforgiving penance. Anyone who crossed his path had a price to pay, be it at the name of his own want or that of his Mistress, the Goddess of Death, whom he served with glee. 

Philza the Divine Creature; murmurs claimed he was gifted with wings by either his Goddess or the Fated death games known by many but played by few. Hardcore had been bested by depressingly few men, instead sponsored mainly by beasts and creatures akin to that of whom kept Eret well fed and warm.

The Angel of Death held many a secret, fierce with his gaze and flock of crows as the Blood God was with his hoglin skull and his crossbow. Philza and Technoblade were the promisers of agony. Seen more oft on the same field than when spotted alone, people began to associate the black crow swarm with the red cape of fighting. Together, they were benefactors of demise. United, they were unrivaled in their ways of torment; the nonpareli of fear. 

Yet, they had taken Eret in and healed her. Many expensive potions had been slipped into the soups and teas Technoblade gave her. Even more costly salves and creams had been used to coat the insides of the bandages Philza took great care in wrapping around her wounds. Those same hands that were gentle on her tender skin were the ones that had drove a blade through his only son's chest. 

Fingers snapped in front of her face. Eret jerked back, heart thundering in her chest. All in an instant, she was a caged rat writhing in the throes of terror. Her eyes shot wide and the pillow between her and the headboard was too thin suddenly, with her sensitive spine knocking off the wood. At the abrupt movement, her vision tipped and turned as though a ship on a stormy sea. The God of War stood at her bedside, blinking slowly.

"Sorry," Technoblade spoke gruffly but still managed to sound oddly soft. His careful tone rang in her ears as he pulled his hand back and sat down on the bed, holding the bowl of soup like an offering. "You back with me?" 

Slumping in on herself, desperate to become smaller and maybe make him back away, she nodded and stared down at the soup. Normally, she would keep her eyes low, to avoid Dream's ire, but Technoblade seemed to dislike that habit, despite the fact he often avoided eye contact. It made her anxious as she did not want to be looking at him but she did not wish to anger him either. Everything she knew of these men, she knew from Dream. Admittedly, he had a taste for exaggerating, to a certain degree, though if even half of the things he had told her were true, Eret did not wish one bit of their wrath upon her. She would likely die under such powerful tyrants.

He tapped her good shoulder. The contact, even through the overlarge nightshirt she'd been loaned, sizzled at her skin. Eret swallowed and looked up at him, back firm against the unforgiving headboard. She stared at a point over his shoulder, eyes blurring as his face loomed in her shaky peripheral. Technoblade watched her with a muted expression — a predator wondering what its prey was doing, confused at the antics of a lesser creature. 

"Take it easy," he said. It seemed to be all he could say to her. Eret had the sinking feeling that it was those words or anger that she would be faced with. She hoped he wouldn't get angry; Technoblade's fist was the size of her head and she was under no illusions of him facing difficulty as he tried to crush her skull with those large fingers. In comparison to this beast, Dream and his inhumane strength appeared dainty.

The quiet dragged on with a warm-headed tension that resembled the awkward feeling of phlegm clogging her throat. Sitting unmoving on the side of his own bed, Technoblade pulled his gaze back to himself only to offer her a spoonful of soup.

"Here," he hummed. His voice grated on her nerves, making everything that could move jitter uncontrollably. The piglin hybrid didn't look down at her shaking hands, though she knew he knew about them. His grip on the spoon seemed to take a marked lightness, the slow and methodical tightness of him lifting and holding it suggesting that she was annoying him. Eret’s anxieties increased tenfold as she watched him move, slowly bringing it close to her. She didn't want to irritate him, she would swear on it if she could speak.

Eret parted her lips for it. Technoblade eased the spoon over her tongue and gave her ample time to take it into her mouth. She tried to swallow quietly, overly conscious of the dull ringing in her ears and every contraction of her throat. Eating had never been difficult before she was kicked in the throat.

The spoon dipped back into the bowl. Overly aware that she had not made to take it from him, she reached out with her trembling hands and found herself frozen as Technoblade shifted his heavy gaze to her outstretched hand.

The spoon dropped to rest on the cusp of the bowl. Eret's heart croaked in her ears as he reached for her.

"If your hands are cold," he said, unbelievably nudging her hands under a blanket and tucking its treated wool around the offending appendages. "You should tuck them in."

Every intelligent thought that had been reverberating in her skull not moments before vanished as he looked up at her. Their eyes caught, meeting for the first time since he'd taken her in. Something in her chest yowled in agony as he stared at her, his gentle tenderness clear to see. Eret knew what hatred and fury looked like. Neither were present in Technoblade's eyes.

The moment shattered as Technoblade looked away. He returned his gaze to the soup and left Eret dumbfounded. Under the blanket, her hands found each other, sweaty but less tremulous. Her heart had become a distant roar. Even the heavy warmth in her head had spooled into something lighter and more pillowing. 

"Open," he hummed. Without thinking, Eret opened her mouth and took another spoonful of the soup. On this mouthful, she actually tasted its sweetness. The warmth filled her throat and jaw before she'd even swallowed, where it then went to pool in her belly, heating her chilled body from the inside. She hadn't realised how cold she was.

Her stomach was full before the soup was finished. He'd poured more than usual into the bowl. There was at least two cups-worth this time. Technoblade grunted and seemed very unhappy when she turned her head away, but she was able to do it with the distant thought that he would not get angry at her. Something in his eyes told her that. Where Dream would have pitched a fit and started shouting, Technoblade dropped the spoon back into the bowl and took it away.

As the trapdoor leading downstairs clicked shut, Eret pulled the knitted blankets and furs closer to herself, very well expecting to not see anyone until much later in the day. That suited her fine. Despite the fact that she was usually tense and shaky after her meals, this time, she felt hazy and far away. She felt the warmth and softness of the blankets and furs around her, and the plush of the pillow at her back, yet she felt as though her mind was distanced, with the sight that her eyes registered not bringing her the usual dismay. Her body sagged into the furs, gaze gently tipping back and slowly darkening as she slipped into a peaceful doze.

Technoblade returned a few minutes later. To a half-asleep Eret, who only just managed to pull an eye open to peek, it could've been hours. He didn't stay long, stepping over to only rifle through the chest at the end of the bed. He muttered to himself, which she'd noticed he was prone to doing often, and stood in a flurry before stomping upstairs, to where he and Philza slept after Eret had kicked him out of his own bed. She felt horribly ashamed for having done so, though not once had he demanded or even suggested at taking the space back. If it was Dream, she would've been pushed off already and only dragged back in when his pseudo-human body needed the warmth.

Because, mere Admin or not, Dream was far from a human.

She heard Technoblade walking around on the floor above. His sudden activities were quite interesting, though her body didn't seem to think so, with her eye closing again as her head drained of thoughts. The noise of Technoblade walking about gave her a muted comfort, with the sound of chests creaking shut telling her that he was searching for something.

The room above the bedroom-library was the attic, Technoblade had told her once. She imagined it was a very nice room, likely filled with furs and a large desk. Technoblade was a large man who looked like he liked to write - he probably had a nice warm chair up there that he could sit in and pen his thoughts. She imagined a big, comfortable bed that he and Philza were now sharing; it would be so cozy and nice to sit with a nether hybrid, she was sure. Eret sleepily wondered if the library in this room also extended upstairs. Technoblade's room was filled with books, large shelves sloping from wall-to-wall, with the rows only broken for the ladder and a few windows. Aside from the books and a comfortable-looking chair that Technoblade sometimes sat in to feed her, there was a bed, a bedside table and a singular chest in the room. 

There had to be around five-hundred books on the walls. Most definitely, Eret was sure. At least four-hundred, if her math was correct. She'd attempted to count them but had fallen asleep part-way and had rounded up from there. Though, from her own former library, she knew how deceiving some books could be with their differing sizes. Sometimes, a shelf fit three times the expected amount, sometimes, it didn't. 

Yawning pitifully, they painfully adjusted the pillow behind them and let their hands bury back under the layers of heat surrounding them. 

She burst to wakefulness not a moment later, as Technoblade clattered into the room. He jumped down the ladder from the top floor and made the door below shudder in warning. 

Blinking blearily, heart not sure whether to beat out of her chest or not, Eret noted the bundle of fabrics in his hands. 

"These should fit," the god declared, strolling over to drop the litany atop the blankets. He stared at her expectantly. 

Straightening up and breathing through the pang in her ribs, Eret plucked through the assembly of clothes that Technoblade had found. There were a few huge sweaters which had to belong to him, a few smaller shirts that were likely Philza's and some shorter pairs of trousers that looked like they may fit. Out of everything, the knitted socks he had procured looked to be the best fitting pieces.

"Once I get more fabric from the villagers, I can make you some things that'll fit properly," Technoblade commented. He chuckled at whatever expression she unknowingly formed. "I can knit and sew. Did you think Phil made those blankets?"

Gripping one of said blankets in her hand, Eret silently mused that she hadn't even thought about that. In all honesty, her first notion would've been that they had bought the blankets from a trader or even commissioned them from another Player. 

Technoblade chuckled again. The sound was deep and rich; like he was truly happy. The thing in her chest felt warm when he laughed like that, though it was cold and nonexistent for nearly everything else. She hadn't heard someone chuckle with such honest warmth in years.

He told her to pick out a few things to wear and when she did, he stepped over and helped her get onto her feet without ripping or pulling her fragile stitches. Her sides burned as she began moving with the intent of standing, pain prickling along their spine and emanating specifically from their injured knee. Standing was a difficult task, even with Technoblade mostly holding them up. In an effort to distract themself from the shame, she stared down at the fluffy blue socks Technoblade had pushed up her ankles before guiding her upright. 

Their boxers were all that remained of their clothes from before. In the cold air of the snow lands, even indoors, she shivered. 

"Grab my shoulders," Technoblade instructed. He was unmoving for the duration it took to raise her arms. Her fully bandaged one was stiff and ached quietly when she pressed it against his wide shoulder. When she had both hands on him in differing manners of grabbing, he then went about getting the trousers onto them. He was unerringly warm, shoulders broad and corded with muscle and tendons that she clearly felt move as she leaned against them. Her calves burned as she shifted, thighs smarting when she lifted her leg even the slightest. Before their first foot was into the trousers, her legs were shaking.

Technoblade said nothing. Eret was thankful past her burning cheeks. She was so embarrassed. Their pathetic legs couldn't even support their own weight anymore. They felt exhausted even though she'd done hardly anything.

It took Technoblade just a few minutes to get the trousers onto her. They were too wide at the waist and too short in the leg. At various points, the god huffed and each time his warm breath hit her hipbone with how he'd bent low to ease her feet into the gaps. When he straightened his back, he nudged her arms up - making her quivering legs solely support her own weight for a few terrible moments - and pushed one of the sweaters over her chilled chest. He ignored the shirts he'd brought down. She looked back at them. 

"Phil's gotta check those stitches," he explained without more prompting, lightly holding her good arm as though he trusted them to stand alone. The next huff of breath out of him sounded pleased as he tipped his head to survey her. "Better to dress light. His shirts would be too big on you anyway."

The embarrassment that bubbled in their chest wasn't fixated on a certain thing but it revolved around how she was already proving difficult to manage. 

"Think you can walk to the ladder?" 

Technoblade's hand hovered at the small of her back. 

The urge to prove herself burst forth, shunting all other feelings back. 

She nodded. Her knees buckled on the first step. 

Rough hands grabbed them. A pained whine was ripped out of their throat as Technoblade pressed on their stitches as he tugged them up. The lack of a harsh fall was appreciated but the slithering, red-hot pain of her side was sparkling across her vision like a vicious cloudburst. 

"Easy, easy," Technoblade attempted to soothe, dropping to his knees and settling them gently on the floor. It was colder on the wood than it was to stand bare in the room. The piglin hybrid seemed to notice this and began muttering, shifting behind her. 

A blanket wrapped around their shoulders. It was soft and fluffy and most importantly, it was warm. Sighing into it, Eret allowed themself to calm down, taking deeper breaths and getting her heart rate under control. 

Waiting patiently on her, Technoblade knelt without complaint. "I'll lift you down when you're ready."

They gave in and let him lift them. 

He was more gentle than she thought he would've been. In fact, Technoblade lifted them and made his way towards the ladder without hurting her in the slightest. He pulled them against his chest and the unnatural warmth of a netherbeing flooded her. It was warmer than she'd imagined and the way she sagged into him was only half-conscious. Aches lulled away by the delightful heat, Eret had half the mind to clutch at his shirt as he kept her hoisted in a carry. When she put her head to his chest, she heard his heart thudding. 

Technoblade was very careful as he opened the trapdoor. One of his big hands curled briefly around her head, petting her afterwards, as though he'd been making sure she wouldn't move. The arm supporting her knees bunched closer to keep her from knocking anything on the ladder or narrow trapdoor hole. Even the climb down the narrow ladder was more painless than she would've ever thought it could be.

The air changed. There was a soft crackling fire and the smell of smoke. Eret opened their eyes to find the downstairs room which they hadn't seen much of at all. It wasn't a huge space but it still seemed large, with a kitchen off to one corner and a sofa in the other. In the middle of the room was a long dining table, with an easy route from it to the fire, which the sofa and armchair attempted to cordon off from the rest of the space. 

Most importantly of all, Philza stood by the kitchen counter. He looked to be cutting something. 

Technoblade nudged out a wooden chair and settled them by the table. He tucked the blanket tighter around their shoulders before stepping back. Eret sat, nearly dizzy in the sudden blaze of the fire, and watched as the pink-haired man turned to rummage through one of the many chests that lined the walls. 

Philza washed his hands and came over. "I'll poke at your stitches, mate. If anything hurts, tell me. Alright?" 

They nodded. Philza hummed and pulled up their — Technoblade's — sweater. 

He kept his blank expression in check but his eyes softened. Eret stared at him for as long as they could before returning their gaze to the stone floor. They hadn't had the courage to look down at themself so they were unsure what Philza was seeing. 

"Think we'll have to go with a stronger healing pot, mate," Philza said. They weren't sure if he was talking to them or Technoblade. 

Hidden behind the gauntlet of Philza's large wings, Technoblade grunted. He stepped around him a moment later, clutching a bottle of swirling yellow. 

Healing potions usually had one strength they were generally brewed to and about ten other strengths they could be simmered down to. They were brewed at full concentration and then could be diluted down after the brewing process. Strong dilutions were recommended, as taking a full dose of a concentrated potion could knock a Player off their feet worse than the injury that prompted them to take one in the first place. Only adrenaline junkies and idiots were known for taking full strength healing potions. 

Eret eyed the potion as Technoblade handed it to Philza. The stronger the shade of yellow, the stronger the potion; this one was as yellow as they came. 

The stitches must've been terrible for Philza to suggest this. That, or he was trying to get rid of them. 

She grasped the long necked bottle when offered it. If Philza wanted to kill them with this, they would drink it, because potion poisoning would be better than taking an axe to the neck. They would respect him for a mostly painless death. 

"Do you want it in a mug?" Technoblade offered. 

Blinking at him, they shook their head softly and downed it. Philza stared as though surprised, brow creasing in an odd expression. Technoblade loomed over them, looking pensive. 

They got it down in one shot. 

"Geez, mate," huffed Philza. "You could've sipped at it."

Breathing, still very much alive, Eret frowned up at him. The healing potion tingled along their throat and made butterflies swell in their stomach. Slowly, the lines of stitching and bruises began to feel warm and pulsate with a calming sensation. The usual sick feeling that swelled in their stomach after a healing potion was there, but aside from being a bit more pronounced at the strength, it didn't envelop her.

"I'll flavour the next one," Technoblade hummed. "Sorry about that. Heh. Didn't know you didn't like the taste."

Eret didn't mind the taste and she wasn't dead. The icky feeling faded and left only warmth of the potion. It made her feel soft and gooey, like melted chocolate swirling in a pan. Healing potions always made her sleepy. 

"There we go," Phil rubbed their shoulder, evidently seeing what she was feeling. For once, they didn't mind the contact. Their skin didn't prickle at the mere touch. "Let's get you on the couch, huh? I feel bad for keeping you cooped up in that room."

"It's not a bad room," came Technoblade's weak rebuttal. 

They were lifted from the chair, swept up in another bridal carry. Except, this time, Technoblade felt different. 

Opening their eyes, they found it was Philza who had lifted them as though they were no heavier than a feather. The avain, though shorter than them, had plucked her up like she weighed nothing. To him, she probably did. 

The aching bones in her rejoiced at the soft plush of the armchair he set her in. Philza chuckled and ruffled their hair, curling their blanket tighter. He stepped over to the couch and sat down on it. Technoblade joined him. 

Dozing by the warm essence of the fire, Eret was half-awake as she watched Philza and Technoblade talk. They chatted for a while, seeming entirely comfortable with one another. 

The two seemed to just fit together in a way that Eret marvelled at. In a shared harmony, the two glided around each other with an ease as inhumane as it was beautiful; where one moved forward, the other curled around. She imagined in a fight where one parried, the other struck. Technoblade had Philza's back and Philza had Technoblade's.

She stared at them, simply enjoying being able to watch their comradery. 

Philza caught her watching. Instead of the glower she expected, he smiled. 

"You want in, mate?" 

Tilting her head, Eret tried to ask her unspoken question. Were she in her right mind and not dosed with the potion, she would've been lightheaded at the thought.

"Course you do," Philza grinned. He elbowed Technoblade and the mammoth stood and scooped her up. Something in her chest rumbled happily as she was slotted neatly between the two warm bodies. Had she a tail, it would've been wagging. 

"Someone likes the warmth," Technoblade rumbled back. His voice vibrated through her shoulder and pooled in her chest. He dropped his arm over the back of the couch, providing her a firm headrest. She fell asleep like that, curled between two of the most dangerous Players in the whole server, warmer than she'd ever been.

Chapter Text

A month passed; long days where Eret had to force her knees into bending paired with short nights where Technoblade offered her more blankets. The dark season was encroaching - the Polar Nights that came with winter in the snowlands - and with it, vanished the sunlight. Complete darkness was not yet upon them, but the days shortened and became stale sooner.

Eret struggled.

Technoblade was always at her side. He encouraged her to walk, read his books aloud to her when they sat on the couch together and his piglin form had the softest fur she'd ever felt in her life. He gave the best cuddles. 

Philza soothed her over cups of tea and kept her plied with his delicious food. Repeatedly, he told them that she didn't have to be 'alright'.

But normal people didn't wake up sweating from what they'd envisioned behind closed eyes and they sure didn't spend the entire day after that flinching from everything that was too loud, too bright, too much. Common people did not need to massage their knee before they attempted to stand, only to not be able to walk more than a few steps. 

The first time she walked five steps in a row, Technoblade cheered. She hadn't made it further than that, not without Technoblade clutching at her armpits and marauding her around on limp feet.

For her pathetically weak appetite and inability to keep down solid foods with a hole in her gut, Philza made her soup and tried his best to make it complementary to the healing potions she had to drink. It gave her cramps and an upset stomach, but like each night since the potions had started playing up on them, Technoblade let them doze in his lap and massaged her belly as he read to them. When his voice rumbled in her skull, she could almost ignore the horrible squirming of her organs and the ringing in her ears.

However, as much as the two did their best to accommodate her; from Philza building a building out the back of the house to farm honey, hoping that the sweet liquid would reendow her body's healing rate, to Technoblade stitching up clothes and boots for her, her wounds still persisted.

Her only consolation was the fact her voice had returned. Though, it still shorted out when she felt anxious. During a panic attack a week ago, she'd been rendered mute for the duration of it and for hours afterwards. 

The gouges left by the arrowheads still gaped in her skin. New stitches went into them every week, Philza's deft hand threading the needle over and over again. Her miraculous knee - which had somehow not shattered to pieces on being hit by that arrow - clicked when she bent it and bled when she walked. It bled when she tried to walk.

Her arm ached and spasmed at the slightest touch. Philza tried to keep it clean, daubing it with ointments and restitching what was needed, but her skin blushed red under the bandages and itched. Their methods to deal with it had changed; a week with bandages was followed by another with the skin bare to the world. For those days, anything that even grazed her arm made her cry. Eret could not remember experiencing a pain worse than this.

Each healing potion made her woozy and tired. Each potion she took did little to help the injuries she sported like war wounds. They were fed countless healing serums and regeneration vials but nothing worked. Their back ached with the twang of their ribs and on the rare occasions they could stand for longer than a minute, they got dizzy and needed to sit down or face the risk of fainting.

So far, the few times they had passed out, Technoblade had been close by. His arm wrapping around their chest and preventing a concussion was worth the pain in her ribs. 

Currently, they were sat in front of the fire, nursing a newly bruised rib after having collapsed just the day before. Technoblade had wrapped them in a half-fur, half-wool blanket that was one of the nicest he'd made yet. She was queasy from the usual round of morning potions and her hands wouldn't stop shaking. There was a book propped in their lap and a cup of tea set on the coffee table, though she could focus on neither, eyes slipping shut in the beginnings of a nap.

"Eret," Technoblade's voice reverberated in the room. He hauled himself up from the basement, heavy boots thudding on the wood. "I need to go out. Phil's lost."

"Mh?" Stirring to stretch minutely, they peeled their eyes open to see Technoblade checking their tea. They'd drank most of it but Philza liked to keep the tea leaves thick in the base and they made her choke, so she always had to leave a bit in the bottom. "Where'd he go?"

"The nether," Technoblade shrugged as though it was a normal occurrence. Any other Player getting lost in the hell-blaze that was the nether would usually be cause for immense concern, but it was Philza. The Angel of Death could handle nitrous gases and groaning globules of floating gases that shot balls of flaming rocks out of their mouths any day. He'd probably be able to traverse the nether with a hand tied behind his back and his fluffy bunny slippers on and he'd still come back fine and entirely unsinged.

He'd left some time this morning; Philza had disappeared shortly after making her a cup of tea. She'd been half asleep and hadn't minded too much. It was Technoblade she didn't want leaving.

But he had to go find his friend. Philza could handle a dangerous environment better than most other Players, but being lost in the nether was still scary. Eret usually didn't stray far from the public paths because of their fear of getting sidetracked and then trapped by a lava stream or attacked by an unfriendly mob.

"I shouldn't be more than a few hours," Technoblade informed her. His large hands scooped up her own, fingers rubbing against the soft of her palm. When fully aware, she could only process painless touch when it came from him - any time Philza touched her, agony raced up her nerves. It made the stitches difficult, as Technoblade's hands were too big for him to precisely treat her wounds the same way the Angel could. "If anything happens or if you just want to talk, call me. Okay?"

Already feeling a knot tangle in her gut, Eret nodded. She'd never had panic attacks when someone wasn't with her, but since Technoblade had shown her how kind he was, she fell into a tizzy at his absence. He'd stepped out to groom his horse one evening and she'd cried until he returned. 

She didn't want him to leave. They felt sick just thinking of him being gone.

"Hey," he crouched down so that he was looking up at her. He'd plaited his hair and it looked very nice. "I got these for you."

Her oncoming nervousness was stunted as Technoblade pulled two glittering golden rings out of his inventory. They looked like earrings; wide golden hoops with a small chain dangling through their centers. On the end of each chain was a small cube of a dark block, with purple lines pulsing along the sides.

Technoblade was giving them earrings with crying obsidian in them.

Her chest rumbled. This gift was nice. A nice gift from a nice man. She'd hold onto it for her entire lifetime. 

The piglin hybrid smiled at her and moved up to lightly butt their foreheads. That was his way of showing affection and Eret quickly leaned into it. 

"I'm glad you like them," he hummed, brushing her untamed hair aside to push them into her earlobes. The weight of them was perfect, dangling just heavy enough for her to remember they were there. "They'll keep us connected, so you don't have to worry about me if I go anywhere."

She clutched his hand. Eret hadn't figured out how to put her anxiety to words, though when Technoblade left her side, she worried more about him simply not being there than being concerned about his safety. He was known as the Blood God, the God of War Technoblade (known in some circles as Khorne). Of course he could look after himself - he had battled countless foes and ruled over an Empire in another server, one which prioritised faction warfare.

Was it selfish of her to only be afraid when he wasn't beside her? Did that make Eret a horrible person to not be worried for Technoblade? But she was worried about him... just not for him.

"Thank you," she mumbled. The words stuck to her tongue like lead, frustrating her. Technoblade rubbed her neck with a rough but gentle finger.

He said, "Call me if you need anything."

Eret took a deep breath and nodded. Technoblade stood to his full height and shifted.

"Unless," he cleared his throat. "You want to come with me?"

Her heart thundered in her chest as the heat in her face drained away. The thought of going near a nether portal terrified her

because what if Dream found her?

He'd kill her. She'd been gone for too long. She'd been a bad toy.

"Sorry," Technoblade clutched her hand and was careful of her wrists. His fingers were too long, palm too big; when he held her hand, he dwarfed her. Today was a no-bandage day, so the red etchings of her torment were clear for all to see. Eret made sure to not look at them. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. Would you like me to bring Steve up so you can cuddle with him? He's not as fluffy as me, I'm sure, but..."

Eret couldn't breathe. Her cheeks ached, eyes blurring. Technoblade sat down on the couch beside her and rubbed her aching back.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, tone soft and delicate; a flower stretching its colourful petals out in greeting. "You can stay here, Eret. You're safe here. I promise."

Their lungs were too empty. Technoblade put a toasty hand on the expanse of their back and rubbed, gently tipping them against his side. He was always so warm and he was in that moment. 

"Inhale like me," he hummed, other hand slipping over their chest. He gently cupped one of their sore ribs, making it easier to breathe. That didn't work when Eret tried to do it herself, but with Technoblade everything seemed to be better. "Yeah, that's it. Good job."

He whispered to them until his comm chirped on his wrist. A shake of his arm had its screen brightening, the pop-up authorised only to Technoblade's friends; which included her. Eret had a communicator of her own, though it currently sat deep in her inventory. She'd muted all the contacts on it except from Technoblade and Philza, and even though it was in her subspace, she would know if it went off. 

Simply being able to see the pop-up hologram of Technoblade's comm made her feel a little happier. Philza was texting him.

mate, i'm really lost. are you on your way?

The text jarred her. "What about his coords?"

"His comm's malfunctioning," Technoblade explained. "Old crow can't find his way home. He's usually not too bad about his wandering."

Wilbur had lived with a keen sense of wanderlust. Eret remembered it well; ducking in and out of mineshafts and abandoned villages in the early days. They used to have so much fun exploring in the days where the fighting hadn't been so bad and Dream had been friends with everyone. Those days, she missed.

The memories made her heart hurt. Technoblade bumped their foreheads together once more and stood.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked. "I can..."

Technoblade trailed off. There was no one on the server that they trusted. Technoblade's bubble had been reduced to just her and Philza. Eret didn't want anyone else invading her personal space, and she suspected Technoblade wouldn't want a stranger in the house any more than they did. 

Finally, his hand settled on their head and ruffled their messy hair. "What are you going to do if you need me?"

"Call you," she answered.

He nodded and offered her a wide smile. "You've got this, Eret. Guard the house while I'm out."

Eret nodded quietly. She sat still for Technoblade to tuck her blanket closer around her and said nothing as he got her a glass of water. When the silence pulled taut, he put a disc on the music player and let the soft tones of something classical and old-sounding thrum throughout the room. 

And then, he was gone. The large double doors banged behind him. 

Already missing him, nails digging into their palms, Eret took a few deep breaths and closed their eyes.

The green gem was perfect. She peered at it and agreed.

"You found this?" She asked, not believing the man's lies for a moment. They were soulbonded; she felt him laugh and cry and she knew when he was not honest.

"Yep!" He grinned. His teeth sparkled in the light of the fire they sat by. His eyes glowed brighter than the moon, tinted the colour of cherries. They had eaten too much recently and his usual gold colour had dulled to a more morose yellow. His tail slapped off the harsh stone of their chosen cave. With it raining, the only way to have a fire was under shelter and in no world were they going to sit without a source of warmth. "Found it right under a rock. Who knew a forest would have such cool things in it?"

He laughed. She smirked and shook her head. The gemstone was tossed over to him. "Well, if that's the one you like, put it on the chain."

"Really?" He beamed. "You'll wear this?"

"For you," she nodded.

The gem was the lushest shade of emerald she'd ever seen. Within the smooth pod, it held the mist of exuberance. It was a jade stone, and it was exactly like one that had been sitting in her inventory for years.

The wind startled her awake. It clattered and banged against the fences and windows, hurling snow at the glass like a child with a snowball. Eret sat up from her slouch and hissed at the groan of her back. The music had run out and the condensation from the glass of water had created a pool atop the thatch coaster. Her book was slumped beside her; page lost where it had shut.

Her dream clung to the edges of her mind. She had a necklace with a beautiful green jade stone as its centerpiece, but she had never taken it out of her inventory other than to look at it. Eret had no clue where she'd gotten it from, and she'd always been afraid of losing it, so she'd never worn it. There was a gap in her mind of everything from before this server - she'd always assumed the journey into the server had been rough, and she'd never known enough of the outside world to risk venturing away from her 'known'. That meant, even when the server got rough and her friends began shattering at the edges, Eret had never had the guts to leave. She'd stayed in the smp and now, she paid the price. 

Reaching into her inventory, she fished through her slots for the necklace. It came out in a spindle of metal - the chain was gold and untarnished - with the gem sitting innocently in the centre of her palm. Innocuous, it stared up at her as she stared down at it.

There had been a man in her dream. He'd sounded so familiar and their legs had been touching as they sat at a fireside. He'd laughed and their heart had warmed. When she told him she liked the gem, he had grinned.

His teeth had been sharp. Sharper than anyone's she'd ever seen.

Eret tried to remember more - searched for his face, for the exact tenor of his voice - but as she grasped and pulled, it all fell away from her. It was a puzzle tumbling off a table and when she scooped it back up, there were pieces missing. Important pieces that left an unfinished image right at the middle of it all.

Frustrated with herself and her shoddy memory, Eret sighed. Something in her chest groaned and her fingers caught in a painful spasm as a nerve twinged. The sharp pain was enough to leave her panting. At the worst time, the wind started howling. 

Sucking in a breath, Eret decided it was time for another healing potion. It had to be around lunch time - Philza usually gave her one with whatever he'd cooked up. Philza was the sole cook of the  three  two non-humans but he was spectacular at what he did. Eret had never enjoyed a soup so much until she had tasted Philza's. The only downside was that sometimes she didn't get to keep it all in her. 

The chest they kept the potions in was only on the other side of the room. Behind the couch, it was by the door, along the rows and rows of chests lined up on the shelves. Though it was more than five steps away - ten, at least - Eret felt remarkably sure that she could make it there without collapsing. 

Unfortunately, the process of getting onto her feet was a tedious and painful one. She pushed the thick blanket aside and willed her legs to move. It took a lot of wriggling around on the couch and even more attempts at standing before she got off the couch. When she finally got upright on her feet, a caw startled her.

Whirling, she found one of Philza's crows sitting on the couch cushion. It stared up at her, wings ruffling.

Philza had an army of crows that talked to him. He was the only one who understood them, except for an explicit few who were capable of speech. Technoblade had tried to explain it to her one day - something about them being old enough to have absorbed enough of Philza's aura to be able to use it for themselves? She wasn't too sure on the specifics. What she did know was that a talking crow was very rare.

This crow was not capable of human words. It cooed and trilled up at her, watching her curiously. Usually Philza's flock followed him but this one had evidently been left behind. Maybe it was injured?

Eret smiled ruefully at the thought. The weak were always left behind. 

"'M gonna get a potion," she told it, hoping that talking would get the itch out of her throat. The room swayed around her as she took a faltering step. The crow watched her - actually, she was only half sure it was a crow. It looked too small to be a raven and she didn't think that ravens sounded the way this bird did.

Her second step found her clutching to the couch for support. Her knee ached, pestering her about why she hadn't rubbed feeling into it before standing. Grumbling, Eret took a moment to breathe deeply before trying again.

She got a step away from the couch, and then a second, and a third and-

The world tipped.

Sköna was a crow. Just a fledgling, with her eyes bright blue and a pink patch at the side of her beak, she had been hatched just a few weeks ago but she was brave and smart. She, unlike her brothers, had not divebombed into Master Bird's stone ridges - the ones that led up to his very big nest which he shared with his mates - and had instead hopped up them. She did not want her plumage to get wet and frozen. Outside the big nest was very cold, and Sköna did not appreciate that.

Her brothers had no care, though, and often played outside the big nest. Sköna did not venture out much and instead preferred to perch on the long wooden beam above the base of the nest. Other corvids perched up there too and from that vantage, they were out of the way of Master Bird's mates as they nested and ate.

Today, her brothers had gone with Master Bird to explore, like much of their flock. Few stayed behind, and doing so possibly meant a missed meal, as Master Bird often fed them on his journeys (or so she'd been told by the older corvids), but Sköna would rather stay in the warm nest than brace the chill. Her feathers were still a muddy brown and she wanted them to gloss up perfectly like her mother's. She needed to keep herself safe until then.

So, Sköna had stayed behind. She had been teased when even most of the older birds left with Master Bird, but she had decided. Master Bird had noticed her staying behind - one of very few to do so, most of the older corvids who did not venture out tended to hide in the basement with that big white beast - and had spoken to her.

"Keep Eret safe," he had told her in the clicks and chirps that only their kind spoke. 

Eret was Master Bird's newest mate. She had white eyes like Ian (the oldest crow of the flock who sat on Master Bird's shoulder) and needed to sit down lots. She, like Master Bird's other mate - the pink haired one - did not fly. But if Master Bird thought a non-flying mate was what he needed, Sköna would not disagree.

In truth, being asked to watch over one of Master Bird's mates was a great honour! 

So, Sköna had perched patiently on the rafters above Master Bird's dozing mate and had bid her brothers a pleased farewell. They had been very displeased to miss out on such a prestigious task. 

She had watched as Master Bird's mate slept. It seemed Eret was a very old corvid, as she moved very little and only cawed when addressed. Sköna had overseen her as Master Bird's other mate arose from the den of the white beast and joined her on the raised ledge that Eret perched on lots. Technoblade was the name of Master Bird's other mate, and he was very fierce indeed. Many of the older corvids respected him a great deal, and so Sköna did too. 

When Technoblade left, cawing about going to see Master Bird, Eret went back to sleep. Sköna flapped down and was pleasantly surprised at how soft the ledge she perched on was. No wonder Eret had perched on it so frequently. Sköna was quite shocked none of the other corvids had chosen to perch on the ledge as well, though she knew that Master Bird was adamant they not swarm the inside of his nest and get in the way of his mates. It was understandable, Sköna thought; Master Bird had a nest for himself and his mates, it was only fair they got to perch peacefully in it. 

Eret was very cold. Sköna noticed the large lump of tree bark in her lap and tugged it away from her before doing her best to pull Eret's protective layer up over her featherless body. Though Eret had no plumage to caw of, she was terribly hurt. Sköna noticed that as she hopped around Master Bird's mate. Were her injuries why Eret rested so frequently?

When Eret woke up again, she did not notice Sköna. That was alright; Sköna was small and young. Not many of the older corvids spared her a glance. She had many weeks to prove herself strong. When her glossy feathers grew in, she would fly proudly and show all the other corvids how brilliant she was.

Much to Sköna's surprise, Eret did notice them. It should not have shocked her as much as it did - Master Bird had noticed her, so of course his mate would. 

Eret even addressed her! Oh, Sköna was very happy indeed. Her feathers ruffled and she did her best to assuage Eret that she understood her. She hopped along the soft perch as Eret got to her wobbly legs and began to awkwardly hop towards the containers made of tree bark that held many things. Master Bird often put his trinkets in those wood nests.

From what Sköna understood, Eret needed a trinket. She had seen Master Bird give his mate many of the sparkly ones - not the ones to wear, but sparkly ones to eat. Sköna had never seen sparkly trinkets to eat before, but the older birds had carefully cawed at her to not eat any. Those trinkets were for Master Bird and his mates and were only used for special things.

Sköna remained on Eret's soft ledge as she went to find a trinket. She hopped up onto the highest point to watch Eret - Master Bird had told Sköna to keep his mate safe and that meant she had to keep her eyes trained on Eret.

Distressingly, Eret did not seem to be able to hop very well. Not in the same way that Master Bird did. Admitedly, Master Bird did hop a bit oddly, but Technoblade hopped the same as he did, so Sköna had assumed all non-birds also hopped like that. But Eret did not hop like Master Bird or Technoblade. She hopped very slowly and swayed from side to side like a leaf in a gust of wind. But Sköna tested the big nest's air with her wing and did not feel any wind?

Wind or not, Eret did not stay on her claws for long. She toppled to the floor of the nest with a peculiar but pained sound. Sköna cawed at her but she did not get up.

Sköna knew that any bird falling over and not righting themself was a very bad thing. If it was one of Master Bird's mates who was not getting up, that was an even worse thing! Master Bird's mates were very special indeed and if one was hurt, Master Bird would be very sad. Master Bird might be angry with Sköna for not keeping his mate safe.

Flapping over to Eret as quick as she could, Sköna hopped around her and clattered her beak in distress. Eret did not respond when Sköna poked her with her claw, nor when Sköna nudged her unfeathered wing with her beak. Whilst Sköna's beak was not that of an adult crow's, her beak was not weak. Most corvids had strong beaks.

Thoroughly distressed, Sköna shrieked and flapped about. She could not fly very well and so leaving the big nest was not an option. All she could hope was that some of the older corvids heard her and came to help.

Sure enough, not a few moments later, a few older birds flew up from the white beast's den. They took one look at Eret on the floor of the nest and cawed in worry. There were only five of them, but they could work together to help Master Bird's mate.

Sköna did her best to inform them of what happened, though she did not know very well herself. The oldest bird - a raven by the name of Djärv - tried to rouse Eret with a song. Master Bird's mate did not stir.

A robin, a bird quite rare to see in their flock, drew the group's attention to the wood nests. If Eret had wanted a shiny trinket, maybe they should give her one. 

It was a good idea. Sköna helped a few other crows get the top off the wood nest that she was sure had the shiny eating trinkets. It took a lot of flapping and the robin and raven had to help, but they got the wood lifted to reveal the inside of the nest. There was a great number of shiny trinkets, all in different colours and shapes.

Djärv croaked in dismay. He did not know which one Master Bird would use. The robin, a little fellow by the name of Rödhake, had never even seen any of these eating trinkets before and flew out of the container nest.

Sköna looked over each trinket with her blue eyes. She was not sure which. The other two crows shook their heads in worry and flew over to guard Eret, who was still unmoving. They cawed loudly in another attempt to wake her.

Fretting, Sköna decided that any shiny trinket would be better than no shiny trinket. She gestured to one with her claws and Djärv seconded her decision. Djärv called over one of the other crows and the two of them lifted the shiny trinket and flew it over to Eret. Sköna hopped after them, diving down from the high wood nest to get to Eret quicker. Non-birds weren't meant to be so still.

There was a piece of something tough in the top of the trinket. Sköna knew that it had to be removed for the shiny trinket to be eaten, so she wrestled with it. The robin chirped encouragement. When Sköna got the stopper off and tossed it away, they all fell silent. If this did not work, they would all be in trouble. 

With a bold jump, Sköna knocked the shiny trinket over, splashing Eret with its insides. She had seen Master Bird do this with a cut after he had cut himself while making food for his mates. He had put a little of the shiny trinket's liquid on his skin, but Eret was hurt much worse than he had been and so Sköna pushed the shiny trinket over completely for it all to douse Eret.

The liquid inside the shiny trinket rushed out. Most of it touched Eret and soaked into her unfeathered wings. Some lingered on the floor of the nest and made an awful, dangerous hissing sound. 

Rödhake the robin was very worried. He bounced from one leg to the other.

Sköna did not move until Eret did. The shiny trinket seemed to work wonderfully - the dark wounds on her unfeathered wings began to fade! Her chest puffed with more air and she opened her pale eyes.

Eret began to right herself just as the doors opened. All the other birds except for Sköna flew away to hide.

"We're home-" Technoblade cut himself off, dropping to his knees beside Eret. He wrapped an arm around their back in support and seemed to assess her for injuries. "Eret, are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Master Bird turned to Sköna and her group. He spoke in bird tongue. "What happened?"

Hopping forth, Sköna did her best to explain. Master Bird listened with wide eyes as she depicted his mate collapsing and their efforts to help.

"The birds dropped a potion on them after they fainted," Master Bird told his mates. Technoblade made an odd noise and shifted away from Eret to peer down at what remained of the shiny trinket. "Did it heal you?"

Eret lifted their newly healed wing and made a thrilled noise. Master Bird grinned widely. Technoblade lifted the shiny trinket and coughed loudly.

"It's a harming potion."

"Hm?" Eret tilted her head. Sköna hopped over to her and received a few unexpected head pats. "Aw, are you the little bird that helped me? You're so good. Good girl."

Sköna cawed and flapped her wings. She informed Eret of her name and Master Bird relayed it.

"Sköna," Eret cooed. "You are so beautiful. Thank you."

"Uh," Technoblade made a loud noise over Sköna's head. He had stood up and hopped over to inspect the wood nest. "I feel like we're ignoring the important part here."

"Right," Master Bird nodded. "You said it's a harming pot, mate? Are you sure it wasn't just labelled wrong? I don't see why that would heal her."

Eret let Sköna jump into her lap. There, she was rewarded with many soft pets. Eret was very nice, Sköna had decided. She liked her quite a lot.

"The floor's stained. Healing pots don't damage wood like that."

"Aren't they meant to burn?" Eret asked. "I feel all warm and..."

Technoblade stared back at her. "And?"

"Fluttery?" Eret rolled her wings in that way Master Bird did sometimes. "I'm not sure. I just... it feels good."

Something about the non-bird conversation made Eret frown. Sköna rubbed her head along Eret's non-feathered wing and made her smile again.

"Oh." Technoblade made an abrupt movement with his own wing and hopped back over to his mates. "What sort of hybrid are you, Eret? You're one of the hostile ones, right?"

"W- what?" she gasped. Her hand stilled atop Sköna's back, shaking minutely. "I... I'm a hybrid?"

Both Technoblade and Master Bird shifted. 

Master Bird nodded. He sounded disbelieving, tone pitched oddly. "Yeah, mate. That's why you purr and all. Don't you feel it?"

"I... what hybrid do you think I am?"

"Eret," Technoblade bent his legs and perched beside Eret. He curled his unfeathered wing around her. "You really didn't know?"

"No," breathed Sköna's new friend. She sounded very sad. "I can't remember a lot..."

The non-birds shifted awkwardly. Sköna did not know what to do, so she stood quietly.

"Well," Master Bird sounded sad too. "I'd reckon you're some sort of wither hybrid, judging from your eyes."

In agreement, Technoblade nodded. Sköna eyed his shiny earrings as they shone with the movement. "That would explain why the healing potions don't work on you but harming does. We should've realised when the healing pots weren't having any effect."

"You couldn't have known," Eret murmured. She sounded tired.

"Let's get you back on the couch," Technoblade ushered Sköna off Eret's legs and lifted her up without strain. Eret seemed to lean into him as he carried her. Sköna hopped and flapped over to the soft ledge, taking up a position at the top of it to watch as Technoblade wrapped Eret in her soft wing protector again.

Sköna was very pleased when neither Technoblade nor Master Bird told her to leave. She perched quietly above Eret and watched as the non-bird sank into her furred wing protector. It took very little time for Eret to slip into a doze.

As Sköna looked over Eret, Technoblade and Master Bird talked quietly.

Chapter Text

Eret breathed deeply as she stretched out, pulling stiff muscles tight. When she relaxed, her body flooded with a luxuriating heat that helped lull her back to sleep. The blankets were soft and comforting; cradling her as she sprawled out. Her socked feet tapped off the bottom bedpost but she shifted to take up more space on the mattress seeing as the bed was empty. The other two had gotten up far earlier than her. Technoblade needed to groom his horses and Philza had murmured something about gathering honey from their bee farm. 

A weight settled on her chest. It was barely noticeable, if not for the loud cawing that shuddered through her eardrums a moment later.

Startled awake, Eret groaned, already missing her cozy sleep. Something about being half-asleep in the fluffy and warm blankets made her mind rejoice. The soothing lull of being surrounded by snug furs and peacefully content was incomparable to any other feeling. She rolled over on purpose, pulling the squawking visitor along with her. Sköna was a sweet little bird who had been following them around since that startling day when they'd realised they were a hybrid.

Since then, a lot of things had changed. For one, Sköna's feathers had molted and grown back with a glossy adult-like sheen to them. Philza had remarked on how late she was molting, with them nearly at the start of winter. The Polar Nights had settled deeply over the Arctic, bringing with them wholly dark days and nights as well as eerily low temperatures. Eret didn't mind much, the pitch black days reassured her - in the dark, there was little to do, so cuddles on the couch were a sure thing. She looked forward to those. Technoblade was warmer than most of the blankets in the house. 

Sköna chirped from where ever she'd been bundled in the blankets. Eret fished around for her with their eyes closed and pulled a moving lump up to their chest, gently cradling the young bird as they slipped back to sleep.

Recently, Eret was always tired. They'd been exhausted when the healing potions weren't working, but with Philza able to slip a harming potion into their tea they had thought that everything would be fine. Eret's gnarly wounds had mostly healed - all except for a limp and a weakness in her knee that Philza continued to dose her for. Although, despite her quick recovery, she was still low on energy and needed a few naps throughout the day.

Technoblade soothed her. He told her not to worry; she was like a new-born, only having just discovered her hybrid side. It was understandable for her to be depleted when she was trying to sync up with the more energy-hungry part of herself. 

And energy-hungry the wither was. When Eret had learnt what she was, it had all come out in a rush. It was like a dam had broken and the flood waters were drowning the crops along the banks of a previously low river. Suddenly, she was clutching cutlery to decay; putting holes in her favourite clothes just by wearing them; tinting the porcelain mug Philza poured her tea into a dark black. Her eyes ached when the sun was too bright and when it was supposedly too dark, she could shoot a half-glance at the trees hundreds of yards beyond the fences and see them clearly.

That night she'd ran, there had been a huge forest far closer. Her memory of traipsing through the unending expanse of snow only to find relief in a bird-laden forest was as perfect as it had ever been. Eret saw it when she slept; glanced down at shaking purple hands and saw death reach up for her. She heard that woman in her naps, felt her voice swirling around them like a warm wind.

But, the forest she had walked through had never been real. Philza told her this and Technoblade backed him up. Eret trusted them both but she found Technoblade to be especially honest with her. If he told her to jump, she would. The day he forsook her was one she feared.

Regardless of Eret's beliefs, Technoblade told her there was never a forest just beside their fencing, not even from before he'd built his house. To make her feel even more unsure, Technoblade had precisely detailed how he and Philza had found her on the cusp of their land, clearly visible amidst the barren whiteness; she'd been a small speck on the infinite horizon. She'd even been told that they'd only stopped because one of the dogs had came over to sniff at her and they didn't want the dogs eating anything weird.

The empty snow beyond the Commune was unmistakable. There had never been a forest just a breath away. The thought made her head ache. If there had been no forest, no trees, no leaves that were birds and a swarm that sat on their shoulders when they wrestled with their fever, then what had there been? She'd never thought she had a good imagination, because any time Dream asked for her excuses for her mistakes she could never come up with one. Maybe a life-threatening fever changed things? It had to have been the fever...

Of course, it was definitely their sickness that had done it. They'd hallucinated trees and Death Herself speaking to them. They'd been a breath away from dying to hypothermia, their body had been shutting down and as their brain coughed up a few final words, it had given them a little treat.

Eret found it difficult to believe that Kristen, the Goddess of Death, had sprouted thousands of trees from thin air just to usher her towards safety. Even if Philza was her husband, the woman had never met them. Eret hadn't even met Philza properly before their ousting. Eret was a nobody. 

Philza and Technoblade had, however, heard her voice when they were inspecting Eret's cold almost-corpse. Later, Philza had told her that he didn't hear his wife much. There was too much wrong with the server.

She wondered if that was why they'd picked her up in the first place. Though, Technoblade nor Philza had yet to ask her for compensation, perhaps they intended to hand her over to Death when the time was right? Solstices were times of high spiritualism, they knew. Maybe she was to be the next sacrif-

The thought put a sour taste in her mouth. Swallowing uneasily, Eret squeezed her closed eyes further shut and took a few measured breaths. What had she been thinking of before? Right... the ruined server.

That was, of course, the Admin's fault. Hearing his name spoken made Eret shake, though thankfully the other two seemed to have stopped using it around her. She wasn't sure if that was a coincidence or not; the last time she'd heard it, her panic attack had rendered her so lightheaded that she'd fainted. Eret was a myriad of issues and always felt like she was a breath away from screaming, but Technoblade indulged her and liked to pet her head as the world spiralled around her. After she'd woken from that particularly bad attack, one that had left her wrists needing a new application of bandages, Technoblade had coddled her the way she liked and even Philza had seemed a little more gentle. 

Nevertheless, the server was in a terrible state of disrepair. The inter-server portal had been shut down, sealing everyone inside and blocking off all outside communication. Usually, this only happened when a server was deemed too dangerous for new Players to be joining.

The portals were marvellous creations of unknown origin. Allowing for hundreds of Players to traverse through them daily, stepping into servers of their wishing, they were held in high importance and maintenance was strict. A server's portal was the only thing that allowed access to other servers, letting Players come and go as they pleased. A place called the Hub connected all the servers, where hundreds upon hundreds of portals lined the walkways of spinning discs that circled around a floating island. There, Players were treated to an unbelievably wide selection of servers to join and play in.

Eret had not known this. She had only ever known the SMP. She yearned to see another land - a different soil that was not rife with pollution. Here, all dirt was red with spilled blood or tainted with another Player's tears. 

She'd been told that most servers were free, though some were doctored by invite-only whitelists. Whilst the presence of a whitelist did not entirely hinder a new Player from entering the world, they apparently deterred most Players from glancing at the portals, which took on a different colour to show the status of the server. She had known about whitelists from Dream's annoyed conversations with her, as he told her how much work he had to do whilst cleaning up after her mistakes, but that was the only topic she'd even been aware of.

Quite embarrassingly, Eret was entirely clueless about everything else. What she knew now was due to Technoblade's ramblings, as she'd asked him about the world outside this server after a brief comment from Philza.

"The firework shows would've started round about now," the Angel of Death had hummed at breakfast a few days ago. Technoblade had been out tending to his stallions, and Eret had been half-asleep at the table, so she had heard only bits and pieces of his muttering. He'd sighed so heavily that she hadn't wanted to ask him. "There's another year gone."

Thankfully, the hulking behemoth that was Technoblade was all too happy to explain things to her. All it took was asking for him to read her a book and then cuddling up to him before she could broach the topic. He liked to play with her hair as he spoke, so she set her head on his shoulder and let his scarred fingers trace over her scalp before mumbling about being unsure. Whenever Eret said things like that, he always stopped to listen. Maybe that was why she always got scared when he went out of the house - without her ever-listening God of Blood nearby, there was no-one to protect her. She knew Philza would listen, too, but would he be as astute as Technoblade?

Each year, at the start of winter, the Main Hub held festivals. Great exhibits of fireworks lit up the skies and stalls lined the walkways, with food vendors making a neat profit off the simmering crowds. Technoblade had looked pleased as he talked about them. It made Eret want to visit a festival - one that wasn't doomed by this server's bad luck. She wanted to play stall games and scoop up fish from a tub. She wanted to win big prizes and see lots of people that she didn't know and had never seen before. She wanted to leave this server, but she wanted to bring Technoblade and Philza along with her. She wanted Technoblade to cheer as she won a fish and she desperately needed him to brace the crowds for her. Eret had never been good with people, especially not large groups. Technoblade claimed to be the same way, but said he hid it better.

Before, she hadn't even known there was a Main Hub. Eret's memories started and ended with this server. Logically, she knew there were other places in the universe. Technoblade and Philza were Emperors of a country in another place. But, seeing as she had no recollection of even accessing the Main Hub to log-in to the SMP, she had no knowledge on anything. She'd said this and had received a prompt lecture. 

There was a Council, Technoblade had added. 

"They control what happens with the portals," he'd told her. "But that's just upkeep. An Admin can decide on whitelists and portal shut-downs without their input. Admin-governed servers are only possible if the Admin is blessed by a god or divine."

"Divine?" Eret asked, voice tingling with the word. She'd been happily dozing against his chest just moments before but the talk of Admins, as always, had her wide awake and having to purposefully breathe. Her hands were shaking under the blanket Technoblade had tucked around her and she knew he felt it.

"A god of some sort."

Her hands had quivered fiercely and did not stop even when Technoblade reached down to grasp them in one of his bigger ones. The thought of him being a divine being, strong like Technoblade, was... it was horrifying. A god had toyed around with her. What did that make Eret, if not pathetic. To have him be as strong as the one she'd deemed to be safest scared her. It scared her a lot.

"The Admin of this server is only a demi-god." Technoblade had carefully said, rough thumb rubbing over the back of her hand. One of his fingers was touching her sensitive wrists from how they'd bent in his loose clutch of her. The sensation burned but she didn't say anything to make him move away. If she did, he might not hold her hands again and Eret didn't want that. "He's nothing compared to us."

He had said that to make her feel better. It was appreciated, though Philza entering the conversation had shattered a little more of her. 

"Not like we can do shit," Philza grumbled as he sat down on the armchair and fanned out his wings. He was the picture of nonchalance but the twitching wings disrupted everything; he was frustrated, angry, annoyed. Eret watched how his wings moved and shifted from within her safe cocoon of blankets and from within Technoblade's hold. Philza always seemed more spontaneous than Technoblade and on rough days, that made her weary of him. "We're at a disadvantage in a world with restrictions against godliness. SMP Earth doesn't have any of that crap. Any server that welcomes higher beings tends to steer clear from bullshit rules, but here, we're barely allowed to spit."

In the present, Eret groaned lowly and grabbed her head. She didn't want to be thinking of these things; they made her scared. Her fingers were quivering and felt numb-

Panic seared through Eret and her eyes burst open. Her fingertips had gone soot-black. Shoving her hands above the blankets, she held her arms aloft in the air as the darkness wavered and scrawled over her skin. This was an unfortunate side-effect of her hybrid-self. Technoblade had told her he wouldn't be angry if she accidentally withered anything, claiming that, so long as it wasn't on purpose, he'd even let her get away with disappearing a few of his books. But that did not mean Eret wanted to be walking around and making things disintegrate. She especially did not want the blankets on their bed to shrivel up in a poof of dust. 

Sköna poked her head out of the blankets to blink at her. Eret ignored her squawking and instead looked around where her hands had been, desperately checking to make sure no dark patches were encroaching along the fabrics. To her relief, there didn't seem to be any damage. Sköna was fine, too. The crow demonstrated this by hopping up onto Eret's chest and cawing down at her. 

"Jus' wait," she grumbled, shifting her shoulders to try and get the bird off her. Sköna was undeterred by their tone and instead sat her fluffy little body down, shuffling idly to get comfortable. With a crow perched on their chest and their arms held at a right-angle above the sheets, Eret sighed and tried to control the numbness in her hands. Her stomach growled a few moments later, spurring her on. The sooner she got rid of the withering touch, the sooner she could go downstairs and see what Philza was cooking.

Sköna made a noise. Then, she made another, more insistent one. Eret stirred only to jolt upright, finding that she'd somehow dozed off and her arms had slipped backwards onto the pillows. Luckily, her decaying touch had retreated, though the start she'd given her heart was much unappreciated. Sköna clicked her beak at her and hopped to the end of the bed, obviously wanting to go down to breakfast. 

Eret sat up and wrestled with the blankets to get her feet free. When she got one socked foot out, she took a victory break to breathe, and listened to the little clicks of Sköna's claws as she jumped along the wooden floorboards. She wasn't used to wearing socks to bed - she hadn't even worn them back in her cold castle, because she'd been too afraid about keeping up appearances and being solely in a camisole meant getting dressed quicker if he wanted to see her; there was no time for socks on the agenda, nevermind fluffy socks.

She never would've thought about wearing socks that were for anything other than requirement. She used to be a strict trainer-socks-only wearer. Until, one day when Technoblade had returned home with a big grin on his face. He'd been trading with the villagers, though he wouldn't tell her how much he'd spent. The little package he'd giddily plopped in her lap had been enough to make her vow to keep whatever it was he'd brought her back. A gift unbidden was one of the greatest treasures she could receive. 

He'd bought her the fluffiest pair of socks to ever exist. They wrapped around her feet perfectly, so soft and comfy. The socks were the lushest shade of blue she'd seen in her whole existence. The blue was the exact same shade as was in the insignia of the cloak Technoblade had later gifted her; a cloak of the Antarctic Empire.

She made sure to wear the socks when she could. And when she went out, she wore her cloak. It helped that it was always cold in the Arctic, so there was an abundance of opportunities to wear her new clothes. Technoblade always smiled when he seen her wearing the Empire's colours, and the approving nod she got from Philza made her feel wanted. If all Eret had to do to gain their approval was wear the clothes Technoblade so obviously poured his heart into, then Eret would gladly wear the clothes until she died. If he ever tried to take them from her, she'd be desolate.

Now, as she finally got her other foot freed, Eret got upright and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Her bad knee creaked ominously as she put her weight on it. Sköna cawed repeatedly at the noise, though kept her wing flapping to a minimum as Eret bent over to grab the clothes on the floor. It was what she'd been wearing yesterday - one of Technoblade's thick sweaters and a long, woolen skirt that he'd stitched up for her himself. He was so creative and so patient with a needle that he could make such intricate little designs. This skirt was absolutely gorgeous; a dark Antarctic blue with little white flowers that curled up the sides. She was still in awe of good how it looked and felt. Technoblade had been so pleased with her reaction that he'd even promised to teach her a few stitches!

Once dressed, she stepped into the en-suite at the far end of the room and washed her face by pooling some water in the basin. All she had to do was twist the little faucet and water rushed out. Having running water in a house that relied on a fire to cook was insane; Eret's castle certainly did not have the piping required for on-demand-water. On top of piped water, the local lava springs meant that there was also hot water available no matter the hour. What Technoblade could do with some metal and stone was truly a wonder. Their latrine was also indoors and wired up to the composting shoots for the farmland. A breakthrough in this server, though she wasn't sure if it was in others.

Regardless, it was all very new and exciting to Eret. She had lived in a ditch called L'Manberg for the first few years and then had only slightly upgraded to a colder-but-not-as-damp castle. Technoblade and Philza's house was, by far, the nicest place she remembered living in. 

Sköna was bouncing eagerly by the trapdoor when she exited the en-suite. The crow looked over at her and flapped her wings in a hurry as Eret bent to lift the door up. Sköna was gone before they could even blink. 

Eret huffed and climbed down the ladder. Her knee always made itself known whenever she did this, so she clutched a little tighter with her hands. If her knee gave out (which it had a few times before), she would only have her hands to hold herself up, especially if she'd already lifted the other foot. The last thing she wanted was to fall off the ladder and give herself a concussion. 

Somehow, she made it down to the second floor without an incident. Sköna was waiting for her. Eret obediently lifted the trapdoor and barely had to wait for the crow to fly away. The second floor was colder than the top - mostly because it wasn't being used and they were trying to conserve wood, so the fire was unlit. Eret wasted little time idling, already feeling the chill of the room past her pilfered sweater.

The first floor was the warmest. It held the main cooking fire, which explained most of its heat, although Eret thought that it was the warmest because there was always someone in it, and it was the room where everyone sat together. Philza and Technoblade held an easy comradery between them that Eret found herself continually awed by. She had, selfishly, done her best to include herself in their easy touches and carefree laughter through initiating countless snuggling sessions.

Technoblade always got extra cuddly when she asked him to read to her, and she shamelessly used that to get an abundance of bearhugs. All the contact felt good; she'd never had people touch her so much since the L'Manberg days, and even then, that had mostly been high-fives from the younger ones and a few brief handshakes from others. During her farce of a reign, she'd grown used to being ignored and left out to dry. Now that she had a chance to undo that social isolation, Eret was trying her best. It helped that the cuddling was a good way to gauge if Technoblade still liked her or not - he had yet to reject a suggested story-time and yet to push her away and call her annoying, so Eret would take as much of it as she could. 

She touched down onto the floor and clutched the ladder for a moment to give her leg a break. The room smelt of the cedar logs burning in the fireplace and whatever Philza was cooking for breakfast. The cedar kept away spiders, which was good. She didn't like spiders.

The outside world was dark and empty from what she could see through the windows. The Polar Nights had set in and the only hour of sunlight came about when Eret was still in bed. It was closer to lunch for the other two, but neither woke Eret up early, even when she asked. She had a terrible habit of sleeping-in that no one but her seemed bothered about. Technoblade reassured her that she was a wither hybrid and so she didn't need to see the sun as much as other Players, thus the eternal nights wouldn't hurt her. She wasn't too worried about that, seeing as she'd stayed in her castle once for almost a year without going out, but she hadn't said that aloud.

"Morning, Eret," Philza hummed, turning to her from where he was stood at the counter. He took one look at her clutching the ladder and was pulling out her chair in the next breath. "You need a hand?"

She shook her head vehemently. Even if his tone was kind, when Philza babied her, it made her feel horrible. The only person she could stand lifting her was Technoblade. Maybe she was biased (she was), but the piglin hybrid managed to be ten-times gentler, and he was always better at consoling her, even if he was riddled with anxiety worse than hers. Philza's reassurances tended to come off sharper than he meant - at least, they did to her ears. 

Eret still liked Philza. How could she not, when he made her feel better with a lopsided grin and had the best cooking in the entire server? Just a few days ago, he'd let her groom his wings. Technoblade had been wide eyed and encouraging the entire time, though Eret hadn't really understood the reasoning, but had tried her best to be gentle with the older man's wings. From his chirps, he'd liked it. She hoped. He hadn't complained, at least. 

Philza hovered as she limped over to the chair. When she got seated, he pushed a cup of tea her way. 

"I'll grab a warming potion," he hummed. "It's colder today, so that's probably made you stiff. I can put more blankets on the bed later."

Personally, Eret didn't see an issue with the heaps of blankets already on the bed. Half of the reason of her now sharing their bed had been because of her injuries and how warm the attic was with Technoblade being a nether hybrid - seeing as nether hybrids naturally emitted a lot of heat, which her achy bones yearned for.

She thought that this was Philza trying to explain her worsening knee without making her worry. Still, she didn't complain as he lifted a small vial out of the potion chest. It was a light almond colour; one of Technoblade's experimental potions. Not only could the man sew, he could also brew a mean potion. His knowledge was nearly unlimited. Her head always buzzed happily when she thought of how brilliant Technoblade was.

Philza sat down on the chair beside her and corralled her into drinking her tea. It tasted stronger today - he'd put more harming potion in it than he usually did. There had to be more potion than tea, by this point. Harming potions were not usually diluted, though they had started to do that in this house, to prevent Eret from being overdosed on them. Today, her mouth was left a little numb by its sheer strength. 

"Do you mind if I apply this?" He asked. Eret didn't really care, sipping at her tingly tea as she dumped her bad leg upon his lap. Philza hesitated before slowly pulling her skirt up enough for him to access her knee. He always acted like she was a scared lamb, which was nice. Sometimes, she felt as though she'd crack like fine china if he tried to approach her with any more boldly. The Angel of Death was not used to tip-toeing around mortals, and it showed in how he lived. 

His fingers were rough but not because of his actions. Philza's skin was coarse with the injuries gained by learning a weapon and fighting, though his calluses were fading. He hadn't picked up a blade in a long while, from what she could tell. When he doused his fingers in the potion and brought them to the underside of her knee, it was not with ignorance that he touched her. Instead, Philza was far gentler than she thought he would've been - Wilbur had always talked about his Father in a great and powerful light, speaking of the feared Angel of Death with a great glint of pride in his eyes. From how he'd spoken, Philza had sounded all-mighty and malignant. 

Yet, the Philza that rubbed a warming potion into her aching knee was slow and methodical. He checked on her verbally and visually, eyes flicking up to scan her face every few moments for signs of pain. She felt none. He was far too mild with his strength. Philza touched her like a man subdued. It made her feel safe. The only men she'd known before had used and touched her all they liked. 

Jaw creaking on a yawn, she settled into the chair and barely noticed when Philza finished applying the potion and shifted to simply massaging her muscles. Her knee had gone very warm; flushed with heat. It was soothing. High temperatures always helped calm her down and with the familiar smell of Technoblade embedded within her pilfered sweater, Eret was barely awake despite having only just clambered out of bed.

Philza started to gently hum. The fire crackled in the hearth, radiating warmth throughout the room. Eret's hand on her mug fell lax. The worn fingers on her leg rubbed at her calf alongside the heat emanating from her knee, the kind touch doing something magical to her as she slipped down in her dining chair, tipping her head onto the fur-covered back. 

She opened her eyes back up at the grind of a chair. Her leg was back on the ground, a thick blanket curled around her that was making her stick to the seat. Gaze fluttering over to her right, she couldn't have mistaken the hulking figure of Technoblade for anyone else.

"Mornin'," the piglin chuffed. His large hand reached for her and ruffled her hair pleasantly. She leaned up into it and would've purred were she not half-way through a wakeup yawn. Technoblade teased, "Up just in time for lunch."

Huffing, she lifted her hand to playfully flap at him and paused, feeling an unfamiliar weight around her wrist. Blinking down at herself, she was surprised to see a number of golden bangles and bracelets adorning her arms. Now that she was aware of them, her chest was heavier with them - a few necklaces curling along her neck and collarbone. All of them were golden. Even her ears felt heavier. Eret realised her seconds were clasped with golden studs that connected to delicate chains at the top of her ear's shell. 

"We're getting visitors," Technoblade told her. He watched her take in her new ornaments with something heady in his dark eyes. She met his gaze and found a man appreciating what he saw. Piglins liked to see gold, so this jewellery was probably satisfying a few feral instincts of his. The bloom of warmth in her chest tinted her sight rose. He had went out of his way to lavish her with pretty things; she felt so loved. Eret was sure he would not throw her away after this.

"Techno insisted on all that, though I said the bangles would be enough," Philza chirped, gliding over with a bowl of porridge for her. She could eat solids now that her gut no longer gaped with an arrow's piercing and Philza had done his best to delight her with an array of dinners and desserts. Though, for breakfast he tended to serve her lighter things. Eret didn't mind - she didn't need to eat the bigger, more hearty meals that Technoblade did because she wasn't out in the fields or looking after the animals. She stayed inside and read or napped or played with sweet little Sköna. 

Pushing the blanket down to her waist to free both her hands, she signed her thanks. The bangles clanged and made sweet little melodies as she moved. Pleased, Eret shook her wrist a little more to listen to the clanging metal before eventually tapping on the honey jar. With her never being able to open it, either from her dyspraxia or her shaking hands, Eret had stopped feeling bad about nagging them to unseal it. Philza smiled and unscrewed the lid with a pop, handing it off to her. As he moved, she watched his own golden chains glitter in the light of the fire. He sported a few rings and also a few clips interspersed along his feathers.

Getting the jar back, she gripped it firmly in her unsteady hands and poured a little over her porridge. Even less went into the tea cup at the head of her bowl. Technoblade took the jar after her and poured a lot more into his own cup. She handed him the cap and he resealed it obediently. 

Philza stepped over to the fire and returned with the tea pot in hand. He filled Eret's cup, then Technoblade's and finally, his own. Two more cups were set out on the table opposite Eret, with her sitting on the lengthy side with Philza on her left. To her right, Technoblade sat at the only end chair, sitting at the head of the table. The two extra cups were left empty. 

She spooned at her porridge, content to listen to the ambient noise in the room. Despite the popular belief of Philza being an avidly sociable man, he was awfully socially awkward and the only thing keeping him from shame was Techno's increased social repression. Eret didn't mind; her tongue didn't want to make noise right now and sometimes, the quiet was more comfortable than any amount of talking. She felt safe not talking here, because neither Technoblade or Philza urged her to speak. They all knew the same odd hand-language that she somehow also knew and so communication was not an issue. 

Technoblade loudly munched on some raw potatoes. Usually, Philza scowled and tried to cook a few for him, but on the occasions Philza did cook some, Technoblade simply grabbed a few raw ones out of storage. Eret thought the longstanding unspoken argument was quite amusing and had never commented on it. Usually, she got the cooked potatoes straight off Technoblade's plate. 

Today, Philza had not cooked any potatoes. He had fried up a few fillets of fish for everyone, giving Eret a small side plate of one to eat after her porridge. Fish were good for vitamins, he'd said a few days ago. 

When she was a few spoonfuls through her porridge, having to pause and blow on each one due to the heat of it, a knock on the door echoed through the room. Blinking at the gloom beyond the windowpanes, Eret wondered who would be crazy enough to travel through the boreal night-day.

"I'll get it," Philza hummed and stood. Eret puffed a few more breaths over her porridge and eyed him walk over to the door. If it was someone unfavourable, she trusted in the two gods with her to deal with it. She was in no shape to attack anyone and had not been for years - what little trust she had once held in her sword had vanished with her steady hands. 

Surprisingly, Philza greeted whoever it was warmly and stepped back to let them in. A boy with dual-coloured skin slipped in with a shy air and was closely followed by a familiar pink-haired woman. 

Eret blinked at their visitors. 

"Eris," Technoblade said. "Meet Lethe and Nemesis."

She blinked at the two. They blinked back. Eret had no clue what Eris meant, they didn't know who Lethe was, but Nemesis was a very familiar face. Nemesis was Niki - someone they had not seen in years. Not since L'Manberg, at least. 

"Welcome to Lamark," Technoblade said to their guests. "The place where heroes find comfort and rest after battle."

His flair for eccentrics made Ranboo shift nervously. "Are we really heroes?"

No one responded to him. Niki simply nodded and sat down.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Niki directed to them. Her stare was cold. Eret stared back, oddly emotionless despite only seeing her after so long. They had been close once, but then Eret had betrayed L'Manberg and everything had fallen apart. Niki had come to visit them at their castle a few times, but had stopped coming when Manberg became an issue. "And part of this group, nonetheless."

Their tongue was heavy and lacking responses, so Eret ignored her. They took another spoonful of their porridge and ate with a fake carefree nature. Niki's eyebrow twitched at being ignored.

Technoblade huffed a breath of laughter. Philza came over with the teapot, which had been placed near the fire to keep warm, and distracted them with tea and offers of porridge. Ranboo accepted the tea whilst Niki took tea and porridge.

"Any updates?" Technoblade eventually prompted. He eyed their guests with an odd look, seeming hungry for information. 

from here on, fic is not edited:

"This is Ian," Phil introduced them, eyes flicking up as his crow cawed, wings flapping as it hopped to the center of the table. "He's bossy so don't worry if you have to push him off something. Asshole thinks he owns everything he touches."

"He'll go for your earrings too," Techno grumbled, pulling a lip back in warning as the bird hopped around to stare at him and his litany of gold jewellery. Eret chuffed, scooping up some potato on their fork as they watched the crow turn towards them.

Since Sköna had become glued to their side, Phil had been trying to name his crows to them. Sure enough, Ian seemed quite interested in their earrings; tilting his head and ruffling out his feathers.

Eret hissed at him, smirking as the crow jumped back and took off, flapping to settle once more on Phil's shoulder. Techno's deep gravel monotone rumbled a snort as Phil chittered.

They ate in silence after that, conservation unnecessary as the three stewed in the heat of the crackling fire. Despite the popular belief of Philza being an avidly sociable man, he was awfully socially awkward and the only thing keeping him from shame was Techno's increased social awkwardness. Truthfully, Eret was plenty awkward themself, and so no one minded sitting in silence.

"I'm gonna get a turtle farm up and running," Techno announced once they'd eaten, plate scraped clean and set in the sink. He stood, sighing as he headed for the door, muttering. "I already groomed Carl, Chat."

Phil shook his head and grabbed Eret's empty plate. "You can go on, Eret. I'll do the dishes."

"Thanks, Phil," they hummed, offering Ian a little chin curl. The crow flapped his feathers out, looking pleased as he hopped off to circle the sink.

"Don't get hypothermia again," Phil called after them.

"I'll try not to."

The chill of the Arctic left the land frozen. Eret stepped out of the house, wrapping their cloak around themself and pinning it shut with the golden clip, hood pulled up to ward against a barrage of wind that curled around the snow and made it writhe. Surprisingly, this was a gentle breeze out here - nothing like the blizzards Phil and Techno spoke of - and yet, they could barely see five feet ahead of their nose, the red swathe of Techno's cloak barely visible the fifty or so meters he was away from them.

Carl nickered at them as they passed his insulated stable, the front flap of the tarp down as the winds lashed down in a sole direction. The large warhorse towered over Philza and even Eret, Technoblade the only one capable of properly grooming him without a footstool. At least six foot tall with a long braided mane and prized diamond armour, Carl was definitely the scariest horse in the server; coupled with his natural glower and sassy attitude, he was probably the fiercest too. Aglance towards the big guy found two beady but intelligent horse eyes staring back at them. Eret offered him a small nod and kept on their route.

As they walked on, skirting around the multitude of ice patches they always seemed to slip on, they kept their head down, chin nearly tucked in their chest due to the battering winds. The Hyperborean tundra was beautiful, perhaps not in its Arctic temperatures but in the glistening beauty that came in the shimmering land of glowing snow. It reminded them of something old; older than this world, older than time - a small world located on the cusp of the universe, seas ever so small where a golden man resided in a temple, the land fair and green, the prairie full of golden wheat morphing into a gentle steppe. They thought of blue hyacinths, black roses, purple daisies that floated above lava pools. They remembered the edge of the world, the golden man standing with them as they looked over where the orange lava rolled off into the dark abyss, curdling groans echoing up from its depths, but they were unafraid and the only feeling they recall having at the sight was contentment shared with the person beside them.

Then, they blinked and awoke in this server, the snow crunching under their boots, the world so wrong and twisted by an Admin's boasting. Dream controlled everything in this world, hence their fear of solely existing here. Honestly, they were surprised the man hadn't found them yet. Perhaps it was the lengths Technoblade and Philza went to in warding people away from their abode, perhaps it was simply the limited reach of the Administrator's span that allowed them to reside out in the tundra unbothered.

Eret's fear wasn't unfounded either - Dream had tried to kill them, had chased them off until they were running through forests they didn't recognize and through meadows with flowers untouched by man's hands. The heavy winds receded to a truly gentle breeze that ruffled their cloak yet they kept their hood up despite how their eyes strained to see around the edge. Techno had told them it was common for people to be scared by what they didn't know (he feared Phil's possible demise), explained that trauma was picked up over the years and for them to be so heavily paranoid when outside simply walking in the snow was understandable. It's not normal, he'd been sure to say. But everyone has trauma here, you can hide in your cloak all you want.

It was said somewhat kindly, or as kind as Technoblade could be, but it still made them anxious to be burdening the two men with their deadweight. The chores roster perfectly summed up their inability - Technoblade worked with the animals and material gathering for Phil's new builds, Phil doing the plans out and aiding in the building of the many farms and other projects, as well as doing the cooking, while Eret was left to fill in the nearly imperceptible gap. By the time they had done one task, the other two had completed four each. They were useless, left stranded in a tundra where they constantly had the sniffles and fell exhausted quickly, usually tired before the sun had fallen (early as that was all the way out here). Perhaps worst of all, they were reliant on two nearly-strangers to feed them and provide shelter.

Sure, maybe they felt relief at not having to spend the years they had thought they would've in that castle; a castle they'd built to look pretty, on a whim, not to live in like Dream had forced them to. With Technoblade hulking by their side when they sat on the couch, Phil slowly braiding everyone's hair, they felt safe. When Phil smiled at them with the grimace of a soldier but still the joy of a living being, they felt relief. All their emotions seemed to be bared open in the boreal lands, heart warmer than it had ever been whilst their fingers froze without gloves.

It was confusing; it was irritating; it was freeing.

They'd never known somewhere to go when things got too tough but now they had a warm bed coddled by books, below them a burning fire with a couch with nearly six pelts thrown over it, above were two men who'd give their last lives for each other and so much more. Eret looked in Technoblade's eyes and saw a scarred warrior who'd fought for everything he had, saw the protectiveness towards Phil and the adoration when his gaze softened but his shoulders remained tense. When they looked at Phil they saw a man with callused hands and a pretty face, bright eyes brightened by the hellish world - undaunted, unafraid of what stood before him. They were like each other very much so, in a way that felt cellular and all too real.

Once, they'd thought they had people like that. Eret had wished so much that the universe had rewarded them but those people were gone — dead or lost — and Eret had been left alone again. They'd been alone for so long before L'Manberg, then old instincts had acted up and they'd started flinching when Wilbur raised his voice and—

"You deserve to be safe too, A̵̧̧̜̠̱̬̲̗̠͇̮͙̺̹͖̞̗͍̍l̵͚̰̭̘̩̖̫̙̑̾̂̈́̐̀͐̅̇͂̾͆̈́͘͜͝͝ͅa̶̧̭͕̜̺̱̘̬̞̹͈͖͓̪͈͓̤̓̊̀̂͒͗͋͆̍̋͛̂s̵͕̙͙̘͙͕̬̜̀͜ͅt̶̙͆̈́̌̐̀͗̍̓̿͑̿͐̿̽͝͝á̷̧̧̭̯̲̺̥̦̣̱̥̘̻̮î̸̛̱͚̝̝̳͙̈͆̂͊̊͂͂̎̓͗͘r̴̳̦̥͖͓͖̲̞̻͈̜̱̻͇̰̾̄̈̈́̍͆̔͝ͅ"

sang a voice long astray; missing but not forgotten.

A village appeared on the horizon. They watched it, wary for anything suspicious, but found nothing unusual about the clutter of huts in the crease of a valley. If a blizzard swept in the village would probably be buried under, prompting them to wonder why the people had built it in such a compromised position. Although, villagers had never been known for their exceptional thinking - only their craftsmanship and, occasionally, their animal breeding talents.

"Greetings, traveller!" The Elder accosted them the moment they entered the small settlement. "You must have travelled far to reach us. What can we offer: hot food, a bed, perhaps a noble steed?"

"I'm not too interested in anything," they said, a common ploy.

"Oh," wobbled the smile of the man. He seemed to be in his mid-forties, possibly older due to the fact villagers didn't age without Players near them. "Worry not, traveller, for today we sell to you and only you!"

Eret nodded from under their hood, the puffed fur rim jolting in the winds. "Perhaps we should move this indoors? The chill is quite gruesome."

Hook, line and... "Of course, traveller!" sinker.

Villagers really were desperate to bargain their wares. Eret had feigned nonchalance - not too difficult with how tired they were, knees aching in the cold - and the Elder had called in a child, a girl no older than fourteen, to attempt to sell the multitude of leather Eret really did not want.

"I'll take the pelts off your hands," they said finally, when the girl's smile was straining and the Elder had all but collapsed in a stool in the corner of the materials store. The old farmer woman behind the small wooden desk slumped in victory and all three pairs of eyes watched them with a renewed keenness. Techno's loom in the basement begged for sustenance and it would no doubt make the piglin happy to be able to make more things, considering how they'd ran out of yarn and he'd been forced to halt his work on some 'big project' which was probably something for Phil.

"All pelts are cleaned, traveller," chirped the girl, bouncing over to push the wool into his hands. "Surely you wish for the yarn as well? You'd save time spinning the wool."

"I have a friend who enjoys that," they waved off, knowing Techno liked the spin the wool a certain way to make it thick and warmer than usual. Eret wouldn't be surprised if he managed to spin enchantments into it to do such. Aether knew the finished products had enough enchantments anchored within them to blindside a rampant ravager.

The Elder reached for a section of dyed yarn. Eret clicked their tongue and turned to the woman by the desk. "How much?"

She lifted her hand and spread her fingers, wriggling each one to be counted. Five emeralds.

For three stacks of wool, already cleaned, that was damn good. Still, they made a low humming noise reminiscent to a distant ravager's footsteps. The villagers flinched back, cowed.

"W- Would you like anything else, Player?" The Elder managed, tone thick with the shakes.

"Anything nice round here: soaps, jewellery, weapons?"

They left the small valley-side village a few stacks of wool, a box of soap and a litany of bits and bobs heavier. Trudging back over the snowy mountains, sliding down the ice slopes when they could; they silently rejoiced in the invention of an inventory. The Player Inventory came in the form of magic tattoos - two glimmering dots on each wrist where, if tapped, opened up a translucent screen filled with the Player's items only they could see. Their communicator dangled on their left hand, a silk bracelet with a diamond bead that, much like their comms, opened up upon touch to project a screen only the owner could see.

The Unseen Selection aspect of the technology was usually a large boost for combat-prone Players, allowing them to select weapons without their enemy knowing what they'd manifest beforehand. Eret had seen pvpers be caught off-guard as their opponent manifested a weapon completely without warning. It was always funny to watch the non-Players react to the Unseen Selections too.

The winds had calmed down by the time they were halfway through the biome's rocky hills. Techno had taken them on enough walks to get assimilated to the area around them that they knew climbing the snowy mountains was a death wish. Without the right gear, a Player could freeze to death up there far quicker than they would with a naked jog through a blizzard.

It was always fun to climb up a few metres up the mountain to find the ice trails running down it. Eret, only halfway to where they wanted to be, found one right before them. Sparing a cautious eye for its long winding path, they rucked a studded boot against it before deeming it acceptable.

Technoblade had made their boots to be versatile: changing from snow studs to heeled boots to flat soled ones. They were fluffy no matter what, the insides warm and soft, it was simply the magic that protected them that allowed their base to change. Presently, they knelt and tapped against the side of the enchantment. The anchor - the place where the enchantment was tethered to the item - was deep within the thick soles, but tapping against the side of them worked and reduced any possible damage to the anchor location.

Eret double tapped for the boots to lose their studs, flat soles prime for sliding, and took a running leap. The ice reached up for them, frost walker enchants doing a lot more than simply letting the user walk across oceans. By this mode of transport, travel time was cut down immensely although the ice slopes only lead home, none accessible from the tundra house. Not unless it was Phil, who could fly up the mountainside a few klicks away and skid down its side, but not every Player had wings like the Hardcore elite.

They spiraled down the mountainside in a flurry of glittering ice and sparkling snow. It was like surfing, they knew from Techno, but they'd never surfed on water before and ice surfing was by far the best of the two.

The ice slope led on, the breeze pushing back their hood, making their earrings chime, until eventually they came to a halt, jumping onto the thick snow once more. Sparing a moment to reform the snow spikes, they proceeded onwards, inwardly groaning at the thicker section they'd landed in. The snow came up to their mid thighs now, far more than the ankle-high path they'd walked.

Ten minutes came and passed and the snow was getting thicker. Past their hips now, they were getting bored with the waddling. A quick slip of their fingers over where their inventory tats were had the shimmering white screen appearing before them. They selected the ender pearls and grabbed one from their full stack.

Pearls were fun to use. Throwing them required the user to actually use their arm strength - which varied from Player to Player, and affected the distance which they were thrown. Eret had seen Techno throw one once, as he and Phil had been testing out the Pearl Stasis Chamber, and the pearl had seemingly flown for at least three klicks before he'd been tugged to its location.

Gloves cupping the slimy slit-eyed ball, they breathed out a white wisped plume and threw it. Jumping to allow themself to be atop the snow if the pearl landed within the cusp of the deep section, they felt the air around them shiver. They blinked and the world had swept past them, their body jumping down where the pearl had landed on the cusp of a large boulder.

Looking around themself, hood nested back over their long hair (they'd been meaning to cut it before arriving but out in the tundra all heat was appreciated and Phil could pull off a damn good braid) they ducked off the large stone and sighed in relief at the ankle-deep snow back under their feet.

Onwards they went, sifting through the bits and bobs they'd bought. Playing with the villagers was always amusing: the non-Players always wanted to sell something, clamouring for attention, lowering prices when it seemed the Players weren't interested. There were no laws against playing with them aside from one's own morality.

(They stood above all, watching the sea froth, their gold friend beside them. Both laughed, the world quaking underneath, quivering to please, shaking to declare loyalty. The world was theirs and theirs alone and it knew that.

"I love—" the gold man began. Their vision flickered.)

Chest heaving on a breath, Eret tossed the wooden box in their hands back into their subspace inventory. Amidst the white of the tundra, they frowned and kicked up a flurry of --

(Ash billowed up, the ground roaring in a symphony not theirs. Their gold friend rose from the seas, shining lips pulled into a lineless frown.

"What's happening?" He called, both of them staring up at the mountain spewing red hot tears.

"The land is sad," they returned. "Best we leave it be.")

Eret coughed on a breath. A crow circled overhead, watching them. Watching it, they stuck out a sleeved arm and let the bird perch when it swooped down.

"Ian," they greeted, recognising the bird's dented beak and greyer sheen. Eret was a good few klicks out from the house, perhaps Phil had dismissed the bird and he'd come to find them in hopes of getting back inside? It had happened before with one of the rooks.

Truthfully, they feared the day the birds realised they could be used to get inside the house. They'd be swamped.

The crow cawed, wings flapping vigorously. They caught sight of red on his wings and softly reached for him, worried the crow had went hunting and been snagged by something.

But Ian didn't chirp in pain when they touched the wing, nor did he snap his long beak at them when they pressed over the wing. In fact, the blood wasn't his.

"What happened?" They asked, knowing Phil's crows could be different when they wanted to be.

"Hurt," cawed the bird. "Philza. Attack. Hurt."

They began walking again, mulling over that. "Phil hurt you?"

Ian squawked in disbelief, wings flaring. His perched claws remained light though, never digging in. They hadn't thought Phil would ever hurt one of his flock dubbed 'Chat' and this confirmed that.

"Is Phil hurt?" Ian nodded.

"Hurt," he repeated. "Butcher. Butcher."

"Butcher?" They echoed, brow creasing. Subconsciously, their stride lengthened.

"Butcher Army!" Ian shrieked. Eret came upon the forest, threading through it quicker with less snow to tread. The trees were thick with Phil's flock, the birds chattering around them as they hurried through.

"Run!" One of them screamed.

"RUN! RUN! RUN!" Became the chant that followed them. Caws filled their ears - the long perceived sound of death hollowing their chest as they came upon the clearing.

They were to the side, behind the house, as they made their way across the large clearing. Worming past the mob-proof fencing, they rounded the side of the house and found a mess of footprints, feathers and splashes of blood. From the feathers around one small puddle, they gritted their teeth and assumed Phil had been hurt.

"Who are the Butcher Army?" They finally asked, looking at the empty stable. If Carl was gone then that either meant Techno had taken him to chase the apparent 'Army' or the horse had been somehow stolen. Although they severely doubted the latter, considering the sheer size of the stallion.

They highly doubted that. Most appropriate scenario was that the 'Army' had tried to attack the two and Techno had driven them out, following them to make sure they stayed out.

"FURRY! TUBBOX! MEMORY BOI! DUCK!" Ian shrilled. Eret flinched back at the sudden volume, causing the bird to release their sleeve and flap above them, shouting. "ATTACKED! HURT! DADZA! DADZA!"

Wincing back from the manic bird, Eret made their way towards the house. "Phil? Techno?" They shouted, cautiously making their way up the stone steps.

The front doors were open, both worrisome and eerie. Breezily, the wind carried snow into the swirling void that usually never seen fresh snow past the tracks on the welcome mat. From the way the snow had gathered in a small hill in the doorway, they assumed the doors had been opened for the past hour, at least. As they tapped off their snow studs, belatedly thinking they should've done that before walking up Techno's polished stone steps, they listened to the birds hacking around them. Sometimes, Eret wondered how Phil put up with them from all the noise the winged things made. Perhaps the company was appreciated no matter what, when one lived in Hardcore - isolated and alone.

"STOP! STOP!" Yelled a few birds, the ones perched on the wooden railings of the porch fluttering away as they stepped towards the doorway.

Eret scowled at them, pondering on why Phil and Techno had been attacked now of all times. "Shush," they said, flapping away Ian as he dug sharp claws into their shoulder and tried to pull them back by their cloak. They hissed at the crow once more and watched him fly back, perching on the far-off wheat farm fences.

"Damn birds," they muttered and stepped into the house. A heart-stoppingly loud click-whirr alerted them to their foul decision before their world went white to the explosion of tnt.

Chapter Text

Eret respawned with blood on their tongue and a snarl on their lips. When they woke, it was with a growl that had the birds gathered round their bed flapping away.

Smoke filled their nostrils, choking them before they'd even opened their eyes. They lunged forward, survival instincts kicking in full force as they clambered out of bed. The chilled floor startled them, the world swaying around them in swirling swathes of colour and their legs gave out with a crack. Chirps filled their ears alongside a repetitive drone of fluttering wings and creaking floorboards. Numb all over, they crashed forwards, barely able to catch themself on their elbows before an unwanted faceplant.

Their limbs stung, aching like they'd been caught in a furious blizzard again. Bone-tired, they remained still, eyes fluttering shut against the orange sunset painting the floor. Breathing out a ragged sigh, Eret went lax. Maybe they could afford to sleep, just for a little bit-

"Eret?" Whistled Ian, jerking them into the present. "Hurt?"

They groaned, the sound more of a pitiful whine. Perched around the room, the birds chattered, clicking and hissing at them.

Trying one more time to get up, they shifted their arms into a wider position and attempted to push their uncooperative body upwards. Slowly, painfully, they managed it, teeth gritted as spittle dripped with every harsh breath. The birds cawed in a supportive tone when they made it halfway up, arms shaking something fierce as they tried to bend their knees and get their legs under them to at least be sitting. Their left leg jolted and hot fire spasmed up their nerves, gripped their feet to make them scorch, wrapped both their calves in a blistering cradle, knees ice cold, thighs throbbing- they collapsed down into the floorboards, barely managing to bracket their head between their arms. They seized there; hacking and shaking, legs ice cold yet sizzling with heat, chest tighter than the coil around their waist that dug into them, squeezing fragile ribs and lighting up every nerve in their spine.

"HURT! HURT!" Hollered the birds, jumping around their prone form. They could hardly muster up the energy to breath deeply enough to stave off the panic nevermind regain the strength to get back up. So they lay there, whimpering shallow breaths as the ravens cried, the crows cawed and the rooks squawked. Slowly, the corvus settled down, leaving Eret in a peace they hadn't envisioned having whilst the wind howled through the house and the stench of gunpowder clung to their skin.

"Wake up, A̵̧̧̜̠̱̬̲̗̠͇̮͙̺̹͖̞̗͍̍l̵͚̰̭̘̩̖̫̙̑̾̂̈́̐̀͐̅̇͂̾͆̈́͘͜͝͝ͅa̶̧̭͕̜̺̱̘̬̞̹͈͖͓̪͈͓̤̓̊̀̂͒͗͋͆̍̋͛̂s̵͕̙͙̘͙͕̬̜̀͜ͅt̶̙͆̈́̌̐̀͗̍̓̿͑̿͐̿̽͝͝á̷̧̧̭̯̲̺̥̦̣̱̥̘̻̮î̸̛̱͚̝̝̳͙̈͆̂͊̊͂͂̎̓͗͘r̴̳̦̥͖͓͖̲̞̻͈̜̱̻͇̰̾̄̈̈́̍͆̔͝ͅ," called that voice from before.

Choking and coughing on a labored breath, they spluttered until their throat pulsated and their voice shone through the clump of pain that had muted them.

"Wh'r's 'Il 'n' T'ch?" They croaked, breath wheezing in their core. No response came. Hesitantly, they pulled heavy eyes open and found they didn't have the energy to flinch back at the startling sight of a crow standing right in front of their face. Blurry vision locked on a familiar grey hue and they rasped, "Ian?"

"Butcher Army," crowed the bird, the edge of his feathers wisping over their tingling skin. Respawn seemed to make everything that bit more real; body more sensitive, injuries more prominent. "L'MANBERG! L'MANBERG!"

They sobbed at the deafening roar of noise, faintly registering the multitude of wings splaying over them as tens of birds mantled their wings over them.

The Polar Night'll be here soon, was Technoblade's first thought that morning. He'd clambered out of bed moments before Phil's wings had fluttered and was halfway dressed by the time Phil was wrangling himself free of the furs. It was routine at this point, centuries into knowing each other, that they help the other get dressed, so he lingered to pull the string of Phil's trousers tight and let the smaller man tighten the string of his shirt before they split.

Technoblade went downstairs whilst Phil made their bed. He really needed to adjust the layout of the house: he got nervous every time he slid down the ladder past Eret. Assured, they were in the corner bed, hidden from immediate view by the towering bookshelves, but it was still awkward thanks to the voices usually chanting about them when he climbed past.

ERET TIRED sleepy king EX-MONARCH so cute go wake them SLEEP FOR THE QUEEN were only a few of their most common chants. Techno weathered them this morning, just like any other, and set down in the main room.

Perhaps he'd made a structural flaw when he'd practically built a room on top of a room and kept doing that until he got a house, but the only thing that had ever made him question its simple one-ness had been Eret's arrivial. At first he'd been cautious of waking them when they'd first arrived, but then upon the realisation Eret was always tired and would sleep as much as they could, that caution had morphed into an issue of not wanting them to be cold as he opened the different trap doors and let the chilled air mingle. That issue had been solved by making a few new furs for them, but he still was hesitant to disturb them.

TECHNOWORRIED technoscared ERET SO FRAGILE technocare TECHNOEMOTIONS pog EEE

He wasn't scared, nor was he worried. He was just considerate. The smile Phil always gave him after seeing him knitting things for Eret was just Phil thanking Techno for taking some work off his hands; he was not going soft and Phil was not noticing.

TECHNOSOFT soft boy TECHNO SO SOFT eee SOFTNESS FOR THE SOFT GOD technocares AWWWW technoprotect EEEE soft soft soft PRECIOUS m

"Alright, Chat," he snorted, grabbing his cloak from the stand and shoving his feet into his boots. "Why don't we go feed Carl?"

CARL CARL CARL, a particularly loud voice started chanting. FIFTY DOLLARS TO PET HIM TWICE!

A HUNDRED no fifteen hundred TWO MILLION gimme some money pls ALL THE PETS FOR CARL here have a twenty BESTEST BOY CARL ty bestie GOLDEN CARROT yes yes yes GOLDEN CARROT FOR GOOD BOY eeee GOLDEN CARROT FOR BESTEST WARHORSE i wanna see the snow CARL CARL CARL

"If you actually paid me I'd be rich," he mulled, slipping down into the basement. Eret had expressed confusion at having the first floor be a basement but the truth was Phil had started calling it that, completely disregarding the fact it was a storage room, and Technoblade hadn't the heart to correct him. It could probably be blamed on the fact the Palace was all technically under ground, their Antarctic Empire's stronghold buried in the side of a mountain - that tended to throw off one's perception of what was and wasn't a basement and they were too proud to say they lived in a cellar. "How many carrots?"

ALL OF THEM two FIVE twenty LOTS LOTS LOOTS ew typos CARROTS FOR CARL stfu chat ill gut u TYPOS R POG ahaha LMAO eeeee lol

Shaking his head, he grabbed the brush from one of the many chests and grabbed the blunt hatchet that was leaning against the wall. Unlatching the two large basement doors (water treated because the Arctic tended to snow them in more oft than not), he opened them to a water-freezing gale and stepped out to snuff at Carl's tarp-covered stable.

"Carl," he called, greeting returned with a loud nicker. Hatchet in one hand, he untied the ropes and flipped up the window. His stallion stared back at him, intelligent eyes judging him for every second longer he took to get his leg over the gate and jump in. "Mornin'."

Carl snorted at him, gently nudging him until he procured a couple carrots for him. He fed the big guy before sliding past him to break open the frozen water bucket, mashing the ice into smaller segments before activating the heating charm on the bucket. The remaining ice sizzled away, the water steaming for all of a moment before he tapped the charm off and let it cool. Out here, water cooled very quickly when not indoors and although Carl's stable was more well insulated than even the numerous basements, he was still outside. Task done, he subspaced the hatchet into his inventory and grabbed the body grooming brush. The horse fwapped his tail at him, asking for another carrot. Chat thrummed in his ears, urging him to oblige.

"Here," he said, giving him a second carrot once he'd finished the first. Carl nodded at him, snuffling at his untied pink hair for a moment before turning to bare his side. Techno gave him the mandatory pets before brushing him down, taking his time. When he was done brushing down Carl's body, mane and tail and had rubbed at his face enough to please him, he took his leave, climbing back over the gate they both knew Carl could clear in an instant. Techno simply disliked the lock he'd fitted the gate with and usually urged the horse to jump it on any day they were going riding. "No riding today," he said to Carl's sad sniffle. "Maybe tomorrow, if the storm I smell doesn't roll in. Otherwise, I'll take you down to Andrew later tonight, yeah?"

Carl nodded, excited to see Andrew - an older, more mature warhorse who towered over them both. Technoblade usually let Phil ride Carl when they travelled if Andrew was out (both horses brought through the inter-server portal and thus prime horses from SMP Earth) as Andrew was too large for Phil to even sit on without looking childlike. Andrew was the horse Techno rode if he was fully shifted into his Piglin form - a furred, hulking form not many people aside from Phil, Jabber and Hypixel had seen - mainly because he was the only horse capable of holding that form for a prolonged period.

Out of the stable, pleased to see the winds were dying down and battering North, he left the tarp open to Carl's pleased huff and trudged forwards to come round the corner of the house. Behind him was the bees but they'd been cleaned out for honey yesterday by Phil so he left them be, instead grabbing the hatchet back out from his inventory and cleanly shattering the ice sheets on the stone steps. He'd stolen a few of Jabber's enchantments to make the ice form like that, if ice formed at all, and all he needed to do was take a good swing at it and his beautiful polish stone was back in business. Of course, he could simply stomp down on it with his studded boot form but then he risked jagging into the stone or possibly slipping off it. He'd had enough close calls with ice back home in the stronghold to be ready to lose a life to some ice.

Once more, as he was nearly everyday, he was reminded of yet another reason behind why he despised this server. Dream had no business cutting off the inter-server portal link but he had, nor had he interest in enforcing a three-life limit though he had. Phil had been distraught to arrive and find he'd permanently trapped Wil's soul here but Techno's true fear lay where Phil only had one life remaining. If anything happened the Angel, Technoblade wouldn't hesitate to kill everyone.

"For you, the world, Phil," he'd promised once. Technoblade intended to keep that promise.

And if Phil was slain here, on the wastes of Dream SMP, he would kill Dream as many times as it took to force him to reopen the server links. So long as the sever link to the rest of the universe was reopened, no one was dead or gone for real. Dream SMP was simply a play world - it was not a faction warfare world where lives were plentiful but a life thread could be cut to truly kill someone - thus, it had no place to claim lives.

If the Admin Council wasn't so useless they would've done something by now. He'd have to have a word with Hypixel when the comms to off-world returned with the link; Simon would see to it the Council was whipped back into shape. Evidently, Technoblade would have to throw in his few cents as well, but there was nothing the Blood God could not do.

Finishing up the de-icing of the steps, he dropped the hatchet back into his inventory and gave the air one final sniff. That storm would probably hit around evening, he reckoned and stomped the excess snow off his boots before entering the house. The heat rushed him, already trying to melt the snowflakes littering him. He pulled off his cloak, hanging it over the heated coat stand as he toed his boots off. Phil was sat by the fire, cooking up what smelt like salmon and potatoes, with Eret half strewn over the wooden table.

He nodded to Phil as the blond turned to grin at him, walking over to sort out the drinks. Phil had three cups sitting by him and a cauldron of bubbling water sat on the edge of the fire. Hunkering down beside the Angel, he poured the water and went through the process of making Phil and Eret tea and himself coffee.

Finally, after whooshing Ian away from the hot water, he finished up and set a cup at Phil's place and in front of Eret. He sat down, nursing his black coffee and watched Eret blink themself into reality long enough to dump half the contents of one honey jar of many into their cup. Silently, he accepted the jar to screw the lid back on, quietly amused that they could never do that simple task.

From what he'd ascertained of Eret, he was sure they weren't a regular mortal. Assured, they were a wither hybrid - evident through the gleaming eyes and the frazzled darkness their clothes adopted over time - although the unearthly way they smirked and that fogged glint in their eyes was a tell of them being something else entirely. He wasn't surprised, not really. After seeing what Dream had done to this place, everything he'd morphed by his Admin powers (and thank Aether he wasn't an ascended godly Admin or else they'd all be dead), it wasn't too much to assume he'd been fiddling with peoples' memories.

Ian flexed his winged out as he greeted them, feathers shimmering for all of a moment in a pitch darker than the universe's despair. Phil, who had turned around to watch his old crow introduce himself, looked to him with a knowing shimmer in his eyes.

Technoblade took a sip from his cup and watched the crow shake himself out. (If he would've looked at Eret then with eyes not of a human he would've seen their form shake, atoms quivering to stay connected in a shape not original to the host.)

He zoned out from around there, giving a few automatic responses as he ate before deciding to listen to Chat and make them the turtle farm they so wanted.

When he blinked back into the present, the turtle farm was dug out, sand had replaced most of the dirt and he was clutching a bucket in his hands.

WATER WATER WATER Chat chanted and so he continued with the finickity process of water placement and trying to not create a whirlpool. Eventually, the sun was hovering around the two pm mark and the eggs were planted. Chuffed with himself, he stepped back from the final egg and brushed the sand off on his trousers.

"You'll need to spawnproof the area, mate," Phil called, quiet as ever from where he sat on the cliff above the farm. "Zombies love to munch on those things."

"Heh?" He questioned. "But zombies don't need food."

His Angel shrugged. "Well they eat 'em."

"For fun?" Techno said, quite frankly outraged.

In the end, Phil helped him spawnproof the area, terraforming a whole cliffside in the process. They set up a couple hoppers and a hidden chest that was safe from the water and any risk of rotting and left the eggs alone.

"I'm nearly done the training room," Phil was saying, big grin brightening the entire world, when Ian perked up on his shoulder and a flurry of birds burst from the forestry, screaming alarm calls.

Techno automatically bent low, sword manifesting in his hand as Phil's wings flared out, puffed and ready to take to the sky. A rook perched on the bracer on Phil's arm as the other birds fattened the barren trees. The small guy chirped frantically at Ian, who opened his beak and relayed, "BUTCHER! BUTCHER! COMING!"

"What?" Queried Phil.

Suddenly, Chat burst to life. Snarling and hissing in a breath through his teeth, Techno placed a hand on the fence they'd stopped beside. The world pitched red for a moment as he was lost under the waves.

BUTCHER ARMY duck gone mad THEY'RE COMING TECHNO blood blood blood EEEE butchers think they are special BUTCHER ARMY kill them BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD army? more like dead EEE blood for the blood god PROTECT PHIL they left lmanshit BUTCHER THE BUTCHERS eee LMAO THEY'RE NO CHALLENGE they have netherite

He resurfaced, eyes shooting open to the sparkle of sunlight on the crisp snow, the branches flapping with life, feathers falling like rain.

"What do you mean 'Butchers', Ian?" Phil whistled, tone climbing in pitch as he fretted.

"The Butcher Army," Techno interrupted, prompting a frowning Phil to look at him. Ian was nudging the scared rook perched on the bracer, chirping in support. "They're coming for us with netherite armour."

Phil bit his lip. "Who?"

The air twanged. Techno grabbed his Angel by his sleeve and tugged him roughly out of the way of an arrow of harming. It pierced into the fence post, dripping thick brownish poison into the white snow.

"¡Hola, mis hermanos!" Came a shout, thrilled and arrogant. The two Emperors turned to see a tanned man wearing a beanie leading a group of three others out of the woods. The birds above them shrieked down at them, wings flapping as they watched the netherite clad men stalk out of the treeline. Over their armour they flaunted blood stained off-white aprons, all but one.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Phil shouted, clicking his fingers to summon Benihime. The maxed out sword glinted in his hands, Techno swinging Orphan Obliterator by his side.

"We are the Butcher Army!" Yelled that brown haired kid that Tommy, Wilbur's protégé of sorts, had always been clinging to. Tubbo, or something. "And we're here to arrest Technoblade for his war crimes!"

"War crimes?" He echoed, hardly expecting to be hit with this wild claim. "I'm not even a part of your country - you can't legally charge me for anything."

"Surrender, Blade!" Demanded that beanie guy. "Or are you resisting arrest?"

"I think he's gonna have to resist, mate," Phil trilled, having stepped back to be level with him. They shared a glance and shot off.

Phil lunged for the fox hybrid - FUNDY THE FURRY Chat yelled in disgust - and Tubbo while Techno went in for the sweeping edge with the guy Chat called Quackity.

Quackity managed to stumble under Obliterator's swipe, bringing a sharpened axe up towards his chest. Guy was doomed already; a fool for not having struck at Technoblade's legs whilst he was down there. Snorting, Techno fell into his casual low stance and charged forwards, cleanly running the guy through. Beanie-boy vanished with a puff of smoke, letting Techno whirl around to cut some hybrid kid in half before he got to Phil.

His Angel finished up dicing Tubbo, a blood splatter all that was left of the fox, and grinned up at him.

"Well that was quick," he snickered, nudging the small canvas bags that materialised with the dead's belongings. The occurance was some odd mechanism no one had ever really found the reason for - it was a given that people would lose everything upon death, but why bags appeared to contain those materials was a century-long unknown. "Should we burn these?"

"Eh, if you want to."

Technoblade ended up carrying all four bags, not that it was much of a challenge, letting Phil skip between the fence posts.

A shrill scream halted them halfway up the stone steps. "Hey!"

"Definitely not a canon life," Phil sighed as Techno turned to see Fundy sprint out from the trees, panting up a cloud. "What a damn shame."

"Bed must be close by," he grunted and dropped the bags to soak in the snow. Carl watched in silence from his stable, probably amused - the horse had seen many wars and even more half-assed attempts to siege the Antarctic Empire; this little farce was nothing other than pathetic.

Phil hummed, taking a relaxed perch on the smooth railing of the porch. Techno stomped down the steps and nonchalantly twirled Orphan Obliterator in his right hand. When it came to sword wielding, he was ambidextrous - although to wield with one's left hand was usually considered foul play, not that such mattered in the arenas or warfare. For these bugs, he'd only need one weapon and one hand. He could even slay them with his eyes closed and Chat roaring in his ears.

Aether knew he'd done much worse with much less.

Any casualties to befall of this meeting were not his issue. Death was a given in a fight; moreso when one went against the Blood God. It was the mortals' own fault they'd decided to challenge him. They probably had a limited chest of weapons by their bed, judging from the swords the two teens clutched whilst the weapons they'd first attacked with remained in the canvas bags by the steps.

FOOLS not even prepared ahaha LMAO IDIOTS poor little president GOVERNMENT NEVER WORKS aw don't take tubbo's last life EEE big sadge TECHNOKILL blood WE WIN THESE yes yes yes BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD all hail the supreme horseman of the end TECHNOGOD blood blood blood LAST LIFE HA what a bunch of fools THEY'RE DEAD LOL win win win WE WIN OVER FOOLS

He sprinted forth, raising Obliterator and cleaning cutting down the charging fox. As he evaporated in a cloud of ashen smoke, the brunet took up the rear and lunged for him through the fog. Tubbo tackled him, small lithe arms wrapping around Technoblade's middle and doing exactly nothing to him; the boy's feet slipping and sliding on the snow turning to mush under them. The suit-wearing boy, some odd hybrid mix of what seemed to be an enderman and some sort of ghast, attempted to swing down on him with his sword but Techno swung around to block him as he jolted his knee up and sent Tubbo stumbling backwards, tumbling on his side in the snow.

Their blades shunted off each other in a sparkle of light, the boy's shining edge a clear sign his weapon had been recently sharpened. From the glaringly uneven rim decorating the otherwise pristine blade, it was evident the one to whet the edge was unskilled in such. Techno snorted a breath and flicked his sword wrist, shoving the boy onto his behind.

On his right, Tubbo was back on his feet. Quackity had not reappeared - A CANON LIFE? Chat whistled - although the fox was back, seething.

He hunched low, down to earth as he liked to be, and prepared for a scissor attack from two sides but found only the President charging him, swinging wildly as the fox scurried behind him to grab the canvas bag with his sword and single chunk of bread. Yet another odd mechanisation of the bags was the fact that a lone weapon would drop as it was, unless the Player had other items in their inventory - then there would be a bag to hold the weapon and other items.

Allowing the fox to rearm himself, Techno watched- RANBOO RANBOO MEMORY BOI RANBOOB RANBOO ENDERBOI

Ranboo rose and he and Tubbo shot towards the piglin, swords raised as they charged. Without armour nor tactics they would never prevail; not against him, the Blood God. It was almost laughable how easy it was for him to dodge the kids by taking a simple step back, whirling to strike his blade against the rabbid fox's. Fundy was rasping in haggard breaths, animal-like pupils thin. Technoblade, sadly without his beloved hoglin-skull mask, offered a bloodcurdling grin and shunted Wilbur's son back. He rose up, blade clutched with two hands, and speared Orphan Obliterator through his chest.

Its_Fundy was slain by Technoblade sang the chorus of a canon life being stolen.

Tubbo shouted as Fundy withered away, his orange eyes staring up at Technoblade in a horrified fashion. Flicking his sword off to the right to rid it of the sour blood, he crouched down and barreled through Ranboo, sweeping the kid off his feet and tossing him up into the air. The lanky kid landed bad on his side, groaning to the sea of white as Tubbo backed up, unsure and kneeling. An injured ankle had the President beside Ranboo, a bluing and scratched hand resting securely on his friend's bicep as he struggled to sit up.

Staring down at them, Techno huffed and decided to spare them. He shunted Orphan Obliterator into their faces, tilting his head as he smirked. "Y'had your fun, kids. Now, scram."

"Technoblade!" The high squeal of the Vice President echoed, a flurry of black in his peripheral alerting him to Phil's movement. He kept Obliterator poised whilst turning his head to watch his Angel sweep the coward off his feet. As he wondered how the guy had managed to sneak past them on a snowy field, Tubbo twisted from the snow and grabbed ahold of Obliterator's handle. Sneering, Techno shoved a flat palm into the kid's face, knocking him back to the ground. Ranboo seemed unsure what to do, awkwardly kneeling in the snow, equal distance from his friend as he was to the piglin.

He took pity. "Stay down."

"Kinda pathetic for an army," Phil cackled, snickering to himself as he wrestled Quackity to the ground. Digging a knee into the smaller man's back and forcing his face into the snow, Phil leered over the Vice President. "Now, what the fuck gave you the idea you could stand a chance against us?"

"Technoblade must be made to pay for his crimes!" Wailed the man, struggling under Phil like a beached whale. "What good is a country if it has no justice system?"

"What good is a country if it has no good?" Technoblade rebutted, confident enough to leave the kids in the snow and trudge over to the flailing circus act. Fundy was probably going to take his time respawning - as canon lives usually did. That meant he could stand with Phil and question the Vice without consequence. "How'd you get out here?"

"Like I'd tell you, criminal scum," Quackity spat. He was weaponless and striped of armour from his first death and yet he lay under them and dared heave profanities in their name. Personally, Techno didn't much care - the more his name was spoken the more fear and blood he mongered - but Phil's name...

Philza's name would not be taken in vain. Not by a mere mortal.

The man got a studded boot in the face, flinching back from the force of it. Blood spewed down his face, nose crooked at a new interesting angle.

"Wanna keep talkin'?" Technoblade snarled, crouching over the mortal to grip his beanie and pull his face up so he could get a good look. "Hmm. What do you think, my Angel?"

"I reckon he needs a few more studs in the face," Philza titterd, voice holy and too pure for these mortals to hear. Technoblade inteded on gutting them all and breaking their spawn, for the sole reason of infiltrating his lands, but he could spare a few moments to please the Angel of Death, his oldest friend.

Behind them, a holler rose up. Techno hissed a breath and turned in time to see the purple fizz of end-particles coat the ground. Tubbo and Ranboo were gone, a shout arising from the house's roof bringing all eyes to the two teens hunkered down on the roof. Tubbo's hand blurred with a splash potion, dropping it to splash the snow red.

WEAKNESS WEAKNESSS RUNN blood DAMN IT blood blood please BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD techno help phil IAN'S ON PHIL'S SHOULDER HE'S GONNA GET HURT angel angel angel SAVE HIM SAVE HIM technoprotect TECHNO SLAY THE MORTALS

Diving for Phil, Techno took the brunt of the potion's effects. Together they landed in the snow, his shoulder thumping shockingly off the step railings, Techno barely managing to turn them over so he landed on his back to protect Phil's wings. His avian friend blinked down at him for a moment, blue eyes glowing in the afternoon sun, before he rolled onto the snow, narrowly avoiding a collision with Fundy's axe as he skirted out of the way. Quackity was free, sprinting off like a coward. Teens on the roof, panting for breath, out of potions.

Roaring, Techno turned himself onto his side and reared up like a hoglin, charging at Fundy and barreling him back. The fox shouted, crying out as ribs mashed and grinded, balance lost as Techno brought Orphan Obliterator to his throat and carved himself a new trophy.

"Stay down!" He thundered, pressing the convulsing fox further into the snow as he gargled on the remnants of his throat.

"Stop or I'll gut your horse!" Came Quackity's shriek, too far behind to see the way Fundy's eyes rolled back and how he stopped gurgling.

Techno rocked back onto his feet and turned around to see the Vice with a jagged blade to Carl's throat, tucked too close to the horse's body for him to do anything but fall over the man if he reared up. On his right stood Phil, cornered by a shaking Tubbo. His Angel offered him a meek shrug, mouth twisting into a nervous smile as Ranboo clambered off the roof behind him.

"Sorry, mate," chuckled the Angel.

"Not your fault, Phil," he said in return, nodding at him.

"Technoblade and Philza, you are both under arrest for resisting arrest, aiding and abetting and numerous war crimes." Quackity declared, voice thin and reedy. He deserved to be cut down but just as Techno jerked forward to do just that, three potions splashed over both his and Phil's feet.

He collapsed to a knee, vision blurring, grip on Orphan slipping. The crunch of snow neared and he took a wild swing with what strength he had left, pleased with the startled cry and the iron scent that accompanied it. With one final breath, he toppled forward and didn't get up.

Chapter Text

Technoblade woke up on the back of a cart, the clouded sky staring down at him. Something about the scent of far too many humans and the putrid stink of death hinted to him that he was no longer in the Arctic. His angel was beside him, wings folded behind him as he lay on his side, his face buried in Techno's arm. Shifting to pull him closer, Technoblade huffed out a breath and tuned into the conversation happening around them.

"Thank fuck," Quackity was saying, the weakness potion (and what felt like a harming and slowness) still affecting his vision. "Let's get these fuckers onto the stage. I can't wait for this trial!"

Philza was tugged away from him. He grunted and sat up to follow but another potion splashed onto the cart, dousing him in another dose. With a breath, he let himself slump back; confident in the knowledge of the totem wrapped around Phil's neck and the one he kept in his inventory. Death could be easily swayed when one of the golden objects was on the dead's person.

"I wonder who we'll catch with the trap?"

His warm blood froze. Suddenly, his heart was in his mouth, fingers twitching as he tried to regain control - what trap?

TRAP TRAP TRAP blood for the blood god ERET'S GONNA WALK INTO IT doorway tripwire THEY RIGGED TNT eret is walking there now OH NO NO NO blood IAN'S GOT THEM uh oh NO HE DON'T fundy set up some tnt EEE he hid the wire under some snow ERET'S FUCKED THEY'RE GONNA-

He swallowed as the voices cut off. A buzz jangled the golden bracelet on his arm, one of many but by far one of the more important ones, and his comm screen opened up.

The_Eret was blown up

"Aw," exclaimed the fox hybrid, sounding disappointed. "I thought that was for the trap."

Tubbo scoffed. "Why would Eret be with them? They probably fell into a desert temple, exploring, or something."

"A̵̧̧̜̠̱̬̲̗̠͇̮͙̺̹͖̞̗͍̍l̵͚̰̭̘̩̖̫̙̑̾̂̈́̐̀͐̅̇͂̾͆̈́͘͜͝͝ͅa̶̧̭͕̜̺̱̘̬̞̹͈͖͓̪͈͓̤̓̊̀̂͒͗͋͆̍̋͛̂s̵͕̙͙̘͙͕̬̜̀͜ͅt̶̙͆̈́̌̐̀͗̍̓̿͑̿͐̿̽͝͝á̷̧̧̭̯̲̺̥̦̣̱̥̘̻̮î̸̛̱͚̝̝̳͙̈͆̂͊̊͂͂̎̓͗͘r̴̳̦̥͖͓͖̲̞̻͈̜̱̻͇̰̾̄̈̈́̍͆̔͝ͅ..."

"A̵̧̧̜̠̱̬̲̗̠͇̮͙̺̹͖̞̗͍̍l̵͚̰̭̘̩̖̫̙̑̾̂̈́̐̀͐̅̇͂̾͆̈́͘͜͝͝ͅa̶̧̭͕̜̺̱̘̬̞̹͈͖͓̪͈͓̤̓̊̀̂͒͗͋͆̍̋͛̂s̵͕̙͙̘͙͕̬̜̀͜ͅt̶̙͆̈́̌̐̀͗̍̓̿͑̿͐̿̽͝͝á̷̧̧̭̯̲̺̥̦̣̱̥̘̻̮î̸̛̱͚̝̝̳͙̈͆̂͊̊͂͂̎̓͗͘r̴̳̦̥͖͓͖̲̞̻͈̜̱̻͇̰̾̄̈̈́̍͆̔͝ͅ?"

"What?" They groaned, shifting as if to swat a fly. Sunlight shone through their closed eyelids, glittering waves of colour shimmering in front of them; all consuming. Rolling onto their side, the light followed them. Without their permission, their mouth moved, forming words they could only process as they heard them. "Whadd'a y'want, Ela?"

"Come down to the market, sister." A woman's voice returns, achingly familiar yet so soft and warm it soothed the jagged hole in their chest. Eret frowned, not even having realised their core was tight with pain. "What's wrong? Do you have another headache?"

Stunned at her worried tone, Eret rose their hand to wipe at their eyes. The bright, overwhelming glow dimmed and they realised their eyes had been open the whole time. Shielding their gaze, they stared at the woman standing before them - every concept of her was pure; from her crystalline golden hair to her opaque hazel eyes that sparkled with green. The unsullied white dress she wore was stunning, beautifully decorated with yellow tulips and flush dandelions. Pale, unblemished skin swirled along her body, small feet with ornate gold sandals curling up her calves to protect her delicate skin from grass stains.

"You like my dress?" She chirped, grin luminescent and striking enough to put a supernova to shame. "Scot finished it last night so I thought I'd wear it today. The weather's brilliant!"

"As it always it when you're near," they snarked, smiling softly. Eret felt bare here, ripped open with a beating heart held in this woman's hands but for the life of them they couldn't understand why. The world beyond her fuzzed, this beacon of light the only thing they could focus on. "The yellow goes well with your eyes."

"My hazel green eyes," was the grin.

Eret laughed. "Your hazel green eyes. Yes, Ela."

"Well you always call them hazel or brown so I need to keep reminding you," Ela laughed; the sound lighter than wind chimes on a breeze, softer than plush silks, prettier than the streaming lakes of gold, refreshingly cold yet sweet but sour. Elaina was a personification of many things, her immense air of sheer resplendence only one majestic quality.

They breathed in crisp, fresh air and felt as if they'd fallen into a whirlpool as a dance of vertigo swept them up and held them under the currents. Ice cold was the water of memories being remembered; burning hot came the knowledge of this place.

Why they ever left this place, why they'd agreed with their demons and left, would forever remain embedded in their well of great regrets.

A small yellow frog lept up onto Elaina's hand, ribbiting and blinking aqua blue eyes at them before looking up to Ela. Eret pushed themself up off the blanket they'd been laying on, surveying the lush meadow that swam around them - a small stream to their right shrouded by short grass and colourful mushrooms. A lilipad sat atop the flow, hooked in place where it was by a rock. On it sat two other yellow frogs, each with a different marking along their backs.

"Thank you, Q," Ela smiled, lowering her hand to let Quomb jump off her hand to join Kirra and Cindy on their pad. "Scot is waiting, are you up for shopping with us or will you stay here?"

"Where's Jameskii?" They asked instead, thinking of a tan boy with fathomless pits for eyes; a god of agriculture to Ela's nature and Scot's determination.

Eret was... Eret was no god. Not with that name. Shuttering their eyes as they stood, the cloudless never-ending azure sky spanning on above them, they tried to recall their true name.

A true name was the key to godhood; a gift bestowed upon only those worthy. Eret had one, just as the rest of their family did. Except, they couldn't think of their own.

"He's up by the farm, where he always is," Ela assured them. She shuffled back a step, head tilting as if to look over her shoulder - back at the village, where Scot was waiting, at the bottom of the meadow, beyond the cobbled path that cut the grass from soil and separated their meadow from the non-Players.

"What do you say, A̵̧̧̜̠̱̬̲̗̠͇̮͙̺̹͖̞̗͍̍l̵͚̰̭̘̩̖̫̙̑̾̂̈́̐̀͐̅̇͂̾͆̈́͘͜͝͝ͅa̶̧̭͕̜̺̱̘̬̞̹͈͖͓̪͈͓̤̓̊̀̂͒͗͋͆̍̋͛̂s̵͕̙͙̘͙͕̬̜̀͜ͅt̶̙͆̈́̌̐̀͗̍̓̿͑̿͐̿̽͝͝á̷̧̧̭̯̲̺̥̦̣̱̥̘̻̮î̸̛̱͚̝̝̳͙̈͆̂͊̊͂͂̎̓͗͘r̴̳̦̥͖͓͖̲̞̻͈̜̱̻͇̰̾̄̈̈́̍͆̔͝ͅ?" She smiled, mouth glitching as she said the last word. A trembling, high pitched squeal made their ears ring. Eret stumbled back, Ela reaching for them, and they fell; seeming to topple backwards for eons.

"Sister?" Ela begged, voice quivering. A larger shadow loomed over them, broad shoulders and the scent of leather invading their senses.

Scot was the god of smithing; every blade forged was a child of his own, every dagger sharpened was a chime in his ears. Eret wondered where they'd gotten the idea he was one of determination.

Then they seen his eyes - dark and powerful, passionate and strong. Mortals said the eyes were a window to the soul but the truth was, they were simply a mirror for the emotions. If the owner was angry, the eyes burned. If scared, they glistened. If adoring, they sparkled.

(They'd collected eyes once, ripping them out for their own merit. A prize to be won, they'd reckoned and had taken and taken and taken.)

"Stay with us, brother," called the rough baritone tremor of Scot - steady grounding safe. A callused hand gripped their bicep, pulling them into a large warm chest. Ela joined in on the hug from the side, dainty frame dwarfed by Scot's alone.

They sat like that for what felt like years, coddled in a warmth they'd been devoid of for far too long. Now they understood: the Dream SMP had stolen them away, ripping them from this heat, smothering their true name in favor of an egotistical Admin.

"Melon?" Came the familiar twang of Jameskii's voice, a sliced watermelon clutched in his tan hands.

Eret sat up, breaking free of the wrapping arms of their family - not one of blood, but choice. Ela beamed, Scot winked, Jameskii grinned. They knelt there, grass under their knees, Ela's frogs croaking nearby. Jameskii's flamingoes were probably back at his farms; Scot's snakes down by the cobble path. Their...

What patron animal did they have? They had to have one - they couldn't be an odd one out - no, they had to have bonded with some form of animal, something.

"You're dreaming," announced Scot, startling them into looking up at him. His eyes gleamed, broad shoulders pulling a jerkin tight. "And you need to wake up."

"What?" They asked, shrinking back when the three of them morphed and curled into shadows.

Red translucent eyes bore down on them, the black swathe of murky abyss parting around them, only to swallow up the landscape. Flowers and grass withered out from under them, gulped up by the darkness.

"Stop this!" They yelled, shocked by themself. Even more surprising, perhaps, was the fact the shadows halted.

Master? One murmured, voice a thousand hollers at once. Eret's ears popped, eyes watering, and they collapsed in on themself.

A blackhole opened up inside their chest, pulling them down in. They gasped through the pain and awoke towering over a burning village.

The night's sky glittered down upon them, bearing constellations from thousands of years ago. Below, the wooden village smoked, rancid grey smoke rising like a shawl to the moon. Atop a cold mountain they watched the light show, smirking.

Klicks away, a pack of wolves screamed. In their peripheral, the shadows danced a ring around them.

"Go on," they said, gleeful. "Enjoy yourselves."

Stepping forth, they let the shadows shoot out, spiraling down the cliffside to open greedy maws wide. The townsfolk hollered and screeched, feeding them with every drop of blood spilt. What the fire did not destroy, the shadows gobbled.

Watching over it, they blinked and swiped away a fly that buzzed at them. They opened blue eyes to a city under the sea, golden veins running through the land, lungs empty of air yet not aching as they would've thought.

"I was also thinking about adding a colosseum," chirruped the creature to their side - a living being with the torso of a human yet the nine legs of an octopus. He was also gold, adorned in silver jewellery, a glowing circlet wrapped around his forehead. Eyes like magma bore into their soul.

"A̵̧̧̜̠̱̬̲̗̠͇̮͙̺̹͖̞̗͍̍l̵͚̰̭̘̩̖̫̙̑̾̂̈́̐̀͐̅̇͂̾͆̈́͘͜͝͝ͅa̶̧̭͕̜̺̱̘̬̞̹͈͖͓̪͈͓̤̓̊̀̂͒͗͋͆̍̋͛̂s̵͕̙͙̘͙͕̬̜̀͜ͅt̶̙͆̈́̌̐̀͗̍̓̿͑̿͐̿̽͝͝á̷̧̧̭̯̲̺̥̦̣̱̥̘̻̮î̸̛̱͚̝̝̳͙̈͆̂͊̊͂͂̎̓͗͘r̴̳̦̥͖͓͖̲̞̻͈̜̱̻͇̰̾̄̈̈́̍͆̔͝ͅ?"

As soon as they opened their mouth, the world went dark. When they reawoke it was to the hellscape of the Dream SMP, the mountains far off, a couple klicks from their old castle.

Lost? Chittered the shadows.

"No," they chuckled, actions precise, as if they were acting out what had happened in a past memory.

A tall shadow under an old chestnut tree sprang towards them, slithering along the ground before materialising as a ferret, its form swaying and shaking like torchlight ridding shadow from stone. Smoke wafted up from the little being, colour mellowing out to more of a grey than the harsh silhouette it had been.

"Dryya," they greeted, giving them a little scratch under their chin.

Hello, hello, they grinned, turning around to stare out over the land. Their little purple eyes blinked once. Does this mean I get to draw King Eret fanart?

They laughed, a booming sound that was heavy with duty but light with determination. "Guess so."

Dryya twisted around themself, chasing after their tail for a click before wrapping themself around their ankle. Pog!

Smiling down at them, they breathed out a breath and felt their eyes slip shut.

Alastair woke up.

Worried, worried, flapped the others. Ian flicked his head, attempting to reassure the rooks who now chattered nervously alongside the robins.

The not-human was still unconscious, laying on the floor in the way that made Philza groan when he got up. Eret would be sore too - more hurt than before, at least.

Being blown up was painful no matter who. Ian had seen too many humans perish and never come back, seen the same of his fellow birds.

Angsty now himself, he hopped from foot to foot. Philza was captured, the same for the Blood God, and he worried neither would return.

Ian himself had barely escaped the splash of the first potion, narrowly flapping away from the mess. To see his oldest friend go down so easily was startling; perhaps due to his growing age or the fact he had not been as prepared for an attack. SMP Earth would have easily been described as more dangerous, yet nothing like this ever happened there. Surely, a faction server was one where violence and besieging was expected; not in a small world with a masked Admin.

Once the Blood God had sparred with the Green Admin when the man was the Green One, not an Admin just yet. He had retuned home to Port-auz-Pais and declared a wish to never meet the man again, the Green One's tongue too slippery with lies and false promises. Ian had been preening himself when Philza assured the other god they would never meet the small worlder again.

Years later, Philza's dear son Wilbur had ceased all communications. Worried, the Blood God had made use of the secret entry link the Musical One had sent months prior and vanished into the Universe's Well to find him. He had not returned, Phil growing skittish over the months. Finally, he'd left the Empire's reigns temporarily to the Inner Core and had left for the Dream SMP.

No one was happy when it was discovered Wilbur was dead, nor that leaving was impossible. One could enter but not leave, and Philza had not shared the link with any of those who could have come to aid their quest.

Flapping his wings out, Ian cawed and ordered a few birds out of the room. Most flushed down the steep ladder, squawking of helping with repairs. The trip wire had been lined with one tnt block yet its impact had been great; walls hollowed out, front doors gone, the contents of past chests littering the smoldered floor. The Ender Chest remained in place, the sole object capable of resisting a blast such as that. It sat hunched on its side, leaning against the floor beams, inches from toppling down into the basement. The gods would likely be saddened to return to their abode in such a state, so it was up to the birds to begin the clean-up before they did.

If they returned, that was.

Ian hoped as much as his feathers would allow. He twisted his wings, mantled over the non-human's face, and he prayed for the gods who had been alive longer than him. He wanted the Angel of Death to return safe, he wanted the Blood God back. Ian, Death's Patron Animal, the first bird to glance at the Angel and be awoken, wished for life to bless his saint.

Life was fickle. Her Goddess had not been seen in eons. But Ian could pray. He chattered a mantra, the sound echoing in the cold room, and sat with the belief that something would happen.

White eyes opened, glowing orbs lighting up the room. The non-human had awoken.

Jumping back to allow them room to move, Ian watched the non-human heave a breath, shaking arms slipping forward to push their frozen body up. Their teeth glittered in the gloom of evening, long canines fang-like and godly. When they were on their knees, their back straightened and a cloak materialised on their back from a different realm, black edges mixing with a purple underside and a crisp yellow rim.

Eret stood but they were no longer Eret. They floated an inch off the frostbitten wooden planks, the ancient enchanting books in the shelves around them buzzing with power, clattering to the tune of a Higher Being.

Ian had never seen someone collapse a man and wake a god. Not until now.

"Alastair," the being whispered, clothes and armour forming over their body. A white silken blouse took shape over a scarred chest, a leather jerkin dyed black wrapping over it. Their shirt tucked into tight high waisted leather trousers, thin buckles racing up the sides of their claves to keep the red wine trousers cinched tight. Tall leather boots reached halfway up their calves, the black leather buckled tightly with three heavy silver buckles and an underlying loop of string. The two inch heel gave them a higher disposition, the cloak curling around their body in a soothing manner, much like wings. The cloak's silver linchpin by their neck was decorated with carefully molded daggers, the blades dull but sharp enough to cut if pushed heavily enough. Slips of netherite covered their weak points, curling around their shins, hips and torso. Silver gleaming bracers took hold of their forearms, the metal intricately carved with swirling designs that caught the light when they unsheathed their arms from within the dark clasp of their cloak.

Ian recognised the garb from the energy radiating off it. Eret wore their traditional gear; the clothes a certain god was painted with in old murals, their long cloak and shining bracers scratched into cave walls thousands of eons ago.

They were a god long thought gone - retired, perhaps, as many older Beings did. Mayhaps they had retreated to a small private world, as was a silent custom of gods too tired for the mortals' worlds.

Yet here they stood. Here, before Ian, stood the God of Entropy.

Alastair had risen.

They had wasted no time in hesitating. Eret felt their feet touch the ground and was off, slipping down the ladder and crunching onto charred wooden floorboards. The birds down on the main floor chattered and chirped at them, flapping around their figure.

Eret whistled at them, bypassing the little things for the Ender Chest lying in the corner. "You're doing great," they assured the birds, the small vertebrae creatures jumping around, pushing bricks into the walls to fill the gaps. Shoving their arm into the Ender Chest, they rooted around before pulling out a bundle of pearls.

A small robin chirruped up at them, nudging a canvas bag at them. Eret looked down at it, tickling the little thing under its chin before rummaging through the bag.

It was a wonder anything had been saved but there was the objects they'd bought, and a few other meaningless things. Their old armour was gone, although perhaps the loss of the snowboots and cloak hurt the most.

They'd always been sentimental. But things like this followed them: they were the God of Entropy, the gradual decline of order into disorder. Unpredictability was theirs, the dark was their home, their life was bordered by parallels of fate and destiny. Alastair was chaos, they were disruption, they were karma and luck and demure. They were entropy, granted to live among mortals for as long as they wished, their actions bringing harsh and devastating consequences.

Even amnesiac they'd been cruel and unkept. It seemed the Green Admin's powers were not so great at all. A recent god could not smother a true Ancient for long.

Not that they expected a newborn to be able to tackle a grown adult. They were millennia older than most worlds, had spawned some of the first with their great friend. Their demise had never been written, the destruction they caused was payment enough for Death herself.

Foolish is on the server too, whispered the shadows. Dryya did not conjure herself but they did not need to see her to know their patron animal was there.

"I'll visit him soon," they said, the birds around them nattering. They dumped the canvas bag into their Ender Chest for later and looked to Ian, perched on the first visible rung of the ladder. "I'm going after them," they said.

The crow nodded, wings flaring to show feathers cleaned of blood. "Save Philza, save Techno!"

Inclining their head, they turned and headed out through the archway that remained of the doors. Round the side of the house, a blizzard beginning to swirl at their feet, they pulled up their cloak's hood and threw the first enderpearl.

Chapter Text

A human had limits, as most creatures did. Gods were included for some of these limitations, things such as a necessity for food, or a requirement for water. Some could go years with only a sip of wine, others needed water canteens daily.

On the list of extremities was how many times one could safely pearl. Normal humans were advised to not throw more than three in an hour, much less in a day if it could be avoided. Hybrids, sometimes capable of more in the categories which normals were hindered, were advised upon species if they could throw more than three – most were capable of five, in dire circumstance.

Gods were never labelled to have need of ender pearling, thus a limit had never been calculated – the gods too paranoid with humans knowing their weaknesses to admit such if it even had been learned.

Eret was a god in the form of a hybrid body. Upon being integrated into the Dream SMP, they had chosen a Wither hybrid core. Now that their true name was revealed, their godly nature was doing its best to prevail, but the truth was their flesh was more hybrid than god due to them not having the power advantage on land not theirs. Claimed lands made up a large part of some god’s powers and it was evident Dream presided over his SMP with an iron fist.

They’d thrown three pearls to get to the Nether portal. Sprinting down basalt and obsidian paths, too afraid to throw any pearls down one-block thick roads, they panted in the choking heat of the hellscape the Nether pulsed at them and pushed on. When they came upon the thicker pathways, they chanced a pearl and found themself a few blocks from the Main Nether Hub portal.

Breath short, veins pulsing with the ender magic that fueled the pearls, Eret charged on, pushing past the veil of the curtains surrounding the Hub. It was decorated since they’d last seen it, tall walls of basalt and nether stone polished or sanded down to a gleam, dark tinted windows lined the edges and gave opaque views down on the bubbling lava the platform held itself suspended over.

Eret hated the Nether. They despised the heat, hated how their own chaos could come after them here in the form of a piglin brute or a sudden spillage of lava from miles above. Many Players lost their final lives in the Nether, many in Hardcore worlds reporting in journals of trips for Netherite harvesting and not ever returning. In the molten lava, nitrogen gas pockets and suffocating capsules of carbon monoxide, the Nether left no remains.

In the distance, a Ghast moaned, the sound shaking the platform. Fighting to regain their breath in the dry humidity, they slipped down the perfunctory steps and dived into the obsidian-lined portal.

Technoblade strained against the shackles they’d bound him in. The stage was slick with rain, the iron bars glistening with water droplets. To his left was Phil, hunched over on the ground, knees digging into the splintered wooden boards they’d used to give the stage a floor. Quackity was drooling through a speech, Tubbo by his side – waiting, like no President should. Fundy and the other hybrid boy were down on the ground, before the stage, sitting on camp chairs. Their low budget was obvious; mission half assed for all but their potions, which were likely stolen.

The thought of losing Phil to this ached, made his chest bristle and his knees shake.

Though, that could’ve been the weakness potions. He could barely grip the iron bars – his vision wavered too much with the potion overload (too great for his mortal carcass) and every time he’d reached out, a blade had met his fingers, ready to slice the much-needed appendages off.

The green blob perched atop the tall rooftop of some wooden hut did not escape his notice, as strained and difficult as the task of focusing his gaze was. The mist from the rains that soaked his hair and made him feel like a soaked hound did not ensure great visibility either, nevermind the swirls of a potion making his eyesight go spotty.

They needed to get out of here. Eret had been hurt – blown up with no one to help them. Technoblade needed a lapse in everyone’s focus so that he could make his grand escape. The fools had detached Carl from the cart, meaning the get-away could be quick, featuring Technoblade grabbing Phil and skittering over the ten metres and jumping onto his stallion. It could be done in a few seconds, if he was at his prime, however he was not – he estimated thirty seconds minimum, one minute max to pull off an escape.

He didn’t have that long. No distraction would hold for quite that length of time. Perhaps, if the anvil they’d dragged up a flagpole with a rickety bit of rope snapped and hurtled down atop him, the shock of him using a totem could buy a few seconds… but Phil was chained to the ground and Technoblade doubted he’d be able to jump the iron bars, get his blade and cut Phil free in a few seconds.

Down on ground level, Fundy taunted him, running a dirty finger over Orphan’s blade. They’d cleaned the weapons shoddily, a brief scratch with a rag, if only to carry. It made his blood boil.

To his left, Phil brought his head up, blinking at the sight of his hands nailed to a wooden floor with metal cuffs. Technoblade didn’t know where the boys had gotten the shackles, but they were damn high-quality ones if his human form couldn’t break them. He couldn’t muster the energy to shift into his boorish piglin form currently, too afraid- no, disquieted, uneasy, anxious, never afraid - that he would lack the reserve strength to grab Phil without injuring him and proceed to run. At least three of the four had bows, arrows aplenty, and all of them had the energy to run after him with a sword.

Quackity finished his crazed ramblings, wiping the spittle from his lips as he mockingly bowed back from the podium. Tubbo took to the mic, flashing a curled grin in the heavy rains.

Destroy, chanted the voices, separated into similar streams for the first time in years. Destroy L’Manberg, they demanded alongside, Blood for the Blood God!

Technoblade would destroy this country.

The weight of pearling across half the server caught up to them as they crossed onto the Prime Path.

With New L’Manberg just in sight, their limbs felt heavy and their heart slowed to a thunderous pitch. Ears ringing, they wavered, pulling in air in laboured gasps. The rain, suddenly a horribly heavy lashing, splattered down on them, water zapping off their ears before they could fully pull their cloak’s hood over their head.

Thoughts slowing, they struggled for air, dropping to one knee. With a stray hand, they hit the warming enchantment anchored within their cloak and a bubble of warmth enveloped them. Clothes dry, with their netherite shinguard pressed against the oak of the path, they ducked their head and dragged in as deep a breath they could get.

“Struggling?” Came the smug voice of a certain archer. Snarling past their breathlessness, Eret looked up to find Punz smirking down at them, arms crossed as he leaned against a building, the large roof offering a small amount of protection.

“Punz,” they wheezed, resentment welling up to flood before they could even spit the word out.

“Eret,” snickered the other. “You’re not welcome here, traitor.”

“Begone,” they hissed.

“Why don’t you?” Punz threatened, tapping at his wrist and de-subspacing his sword. He brandished it, swinging it down by his side, and took a step forward, knocking the hood off their head with a flick. Something made him pause. “You have pearl poisoning.”

That was why they couldn’t breathe right. Ender Pearl Poisoning was a side-effect of pearling one too many times, non-lethal but possibly fatal if the afflicted continues to pearl. The only treatment was to sit down and rest (no lying down or else the thickened blood cells caused by the magic would centre on the heart and cause a heart attack).

Eret doesn’t have time to sit around and rest. Sure, they’d been idiotic by overdoing it like this, but there was not a chance they were going to sit around and feel sorry for themself while Phil and Technoblade were being executed.

They blinked, not having responded to Punz, and opened their eyes to find the man swinging his blade down at them.

Rolling to the left, they swept out with a leg, catching the man off-guard and pulling him to the wooden path. Eret scrambled up, weaponless despite the sheathes at their hips. They stomped their boot down, Punz’ blade too far away for their split-second opportunity.

The archer narrowly avoided a crushed skull, head jerking out of the way in seconds. He pitched backwards, sweeping to the grass beside the path, sword back in hand, and lunged.

Eret mustered their strength and held out their palm, Punz swerving to the right to avoid it, raking his blade up their arm. Their bracers shielded them, allowing them to step forwards and knock one into the blond’s head.

He fell with a thump, unconscious. Eret bent and plucked his shimmering netherite sword from the path and twirled it victoriously in their hand.

The vertigo returned right in time for them to stumble back as they attempted to continue on. A booming voice echoed from New L’Manberg’s town centre: Tubbo.

Focusing on their core, they let themself slip towards their godly counterpart as much as they could before a fully physical transformation. Feet a little lighter, lungs less needy of air, they marched on, careful of slippy planks as they raced down the Prime Path.

In the reflection of a shop’s windows, they caught themself. Their jaw was tight, eyes thin. Thick bulging veins lined their cheeks, blood pulsing purple with the magic of the pearls. It crawled up towards their eyes, tinting them darker in the shade of their hood. Under the downpour they stood, lungs shaking as fierce as their heart. A gloved hand ran over the thick veins, the feeling disconcerting.

Deciding to ignore it for now, Eret turned and kept walking, sweeping their stolen blade into the cusp of their cloak. In the distance loomed a giant brown stain, eyes too weak to focus on the behemoth structure beyond the small hut-like shops. Realising one was a god took great strain upon the soul and their callous over-use of pearls had been foolish, weakening their body moreso.

Once within the centre, the fountain to their left, the great brown blur came into focus. A wooden stage stood, a large flagpole wobbling with an anvil tied to it with a thinning bit of rope. Technoblade was in an iron barred cage, Phil shackled to the ground to the man’s left. Tubbo stood at a mic stand, blabbering to a two-man crowd.

A flash of green caught their eye. Dream was hunched directly opposite, atop a tall wooden house.

With their hood up, they were an unknown. Quackity looked down at them and interrupted Tubbo’s smiting speech to holler, “Welcome to history in the making! Tell the minute man your name so this can be documented.”

Eret smirked and pulled their hood down, shifting Punz’ blade out of the enclosure of their cloak. Dream stood up. The four Butchers gaped. Technoblade was staring. Phil was grinning.

“My name is unworthy for your mortal ears, little one,” they said, voices spilling into a thousand echoes. Harmonising on an entire scale, their normally deep voice devolved into hollers, wails and shrieks.

The mortals shied back.

“Godliness is banned on this server!” Dream jumped from the rooftop, coming to a hovering stop five metres away.

“Says the Admin,” snorted Technoblade.

“There is no such rule,” they reminded, head tilting lopsided in the acidic rain. The purple veins that raced along their cheeks burned, the pearl poisoning making them see double.

“You’re weak,” hissed Dream. “You can’t even halt Ender Pearl Poisoning!”

“I’ve been an amnesiac for several years up until half an hour ago,” they took glee in reminding, seeing Techno straining at his bonds out of the corner of their eye. He needed a distraction.

They could be that distraction.

“Come, little boy,” beckoned the thousand voices of the God of Entropy. They lowered down into an old sword fighting stance, Punz’ stolen blade clutched in their hand.

“I’ll kill you!” Shouted Dream, nothing more than an ascended Admin. He was god over nothing, ultimately making him weak. Not to mention, he was barely over thirty years old while gods at a century old were still considered young.

Alastair was almost older than time itself.

Springing forth, they parried the man’s blade. Dancing in a crescendo as Technoblade freed a hand, they took their time in taking slices out of the young god’s skin. A particular swipe along the boy’s chest had him roaring in anger, leaping at them with speed just too quick to be human. His sword knocked away Punz’ blade, Eret sidestepping to avoid losing an arm.

The boy snarled at them, skidding along the wet boards. When he turned, he was enraged, body hunched and bristled for a fight.

“Pull the lever!” Tubbo cried out all of a sudden.

Eret whirled, intending to jump up and aid Technoblade in his clamouring escape from his non-roofed cage when Dream smacked into their side, sending them both to the ground. With the breath once again knocked out of them, they scrambled in the rain water to get up, just about dodging back from Dream’s manic swings. Fundy appeared behind them, hands bared wide – halting them, Techno’s blade held precariously in his hands. Dream reared up, sword glinting off the sparse sunlight that peaked past the dull clouds.

They stumbled, hands shooting up as if holding a sword-

A bright flash of light blinded them- Fundy cried out, the half-hybrid boy calling out as he too shied back where he cowered amongst the seats. The crunch of an anvil bursting through wood rang out as Ted’s Wrath sparked off against Nightmare.

The blessed blade gleamed, having been summoned from a world prior. Dream shrunk back, Eret using the opportunity to glance over at Technoblade.

Alone sat the anvil, crushed inch deep into the stage planks. Technoblade had cut down Quackity with the man’s own sword, the man’s death message ringing out as soon as they looked over, and was pushing Tubbo away. Dream came back for another round as Technoblade freed Phil, lifting the avian up.

Technoblade warned, “Eret, we need to go!”

“Coming!” They yelled back, ducking under Dream’s sword to let him cut through Fundy’s shirt. The fox hybrid squeaked, tumbling back as Eret ducked low and pulled up to knock Dream’s mask off.

They caught a glimpse of green eyes and a long scar before the man was on his knees, both from hiding his face and the gash along his thigh. Panting, they wobbled past a shaking Tubbo who’d just climbed down from the podium, gawking at them, and grabbed Technoblade’s sword from the downed Fundy. Jumping up, they caught hold of Techno’s hand as he charged by on Carl. Hefted behind the piglin hybrid, Phil behind them, they slipped into the small gap between the two and struggled to not faint. Sucking in a pained breath, they let Ted’s Wrath dematerialise into their inventory and sagged forwards, exhausted.

“Pay up,” wheezed Phil when they were halfway through the Nether. He addressed Technoblade. “I want my thirty shillings.”

“Yeah, yeah,” grunted the other, tossing his retrieved coin purse back to the man.

“What?” They just about managed to ask, too comfortable against Techno’s back to consider raising their head as Phil’s wings blanketed them all from behind.

“We had a bet going if you would be a prophet or a god,” explained Phil, smugly. “I won.”

“How would I be a prophet?” They snickered. Technoblade deflated.

“Hey,” he muttered good naturedly. “It was wholly possible.”

The warmth of the desert kissed their skin, Eret’s shorts and tanktop coming into their favour for the oppressive heat. Techno had looked at them and asked if they wanted a ride, Phil looking at them and telling them they’d get a cold sooner than make it to the nether portal.

Well, they’d successfully made it to the portal in one piece and had scrambled over basalt pillars. They were still alive and not one bit frostbitten.

Foolish’s beautiful builds towered up beyond the human eye. He was on a mythology phase, it seemed; the great gemmed Sphynx lording over the hot sands with his large gold pyramid a stunning centre piece.

Grinning despite the sand in their boots, Ted’s Wrath a soothing weight by their hip, they called out, “Foolish!”

A twenty-three foot giant burst from behind the pyramid, gaping at them.

“Alastair!” He wailed, running over. The ground shook as he sprinted, shrinking down to a more human height of six foot as he came to a stop. His sudden halt splashed warm sand over their bare legs, boots filled to the brim. They grinned and fell into the hug.

“Foolish, my old friend,” they cooed.

“Alastair, my dear friend,” wept Foolish. “I thought you dead. What happened?”

“It’s a long story, my dearest,” they hummed, chittering up at the blazing sun. “For now, give me a tour?”

“Of course,” Foolish hurried to agree. “I’d give you the oceans.”

“And I’d give you the skies,” they smiled.