Chapter Text
“Technoblade.”
Techno snorted, not looking up from the papers of his desk, “Are we doing full names today, Phil?”
He’d been busy, since returning to the empire. His time in Pogtopia with Wil and Tommy had been spent farming and battle planning, no time for the paperwork that came with being the commander of the Antarctic Empire’s army. Upon returning home with his father, he’d immediately been thrust back into his work, spending long nights by candlelight writing reports with his glasses placed dangerously close to the edge of his nose.
“Techno.” his father said again. His voice was pained, desperate even, and Techno placed his quill down and turned to him with a frown.
“Dad?”
It was hard to see, with the way the hallway light poured into the room and kept Phil a dark silhouette in Techno’s vision, but he could make out a letter held tightly in his grip.
“What’s that?” he asked hesitantly, standing placing his glasses down on the desk, “Is something wrong?”
Phil’s face stayed stoic, but his wings betrayed his true feelings. His feathers were frazzled and puffed up, stress painting his body rigid.
“It’s from L’manberg.” Phil said, clearing his throat, “New L’manberg they’re calling it now.”
Techno frowned and Phil passed the letter to him with a shaking hand. He glanced up at his father, who motioned down at the letter and looked down again.
“ King Philza and Prince Commander Technoblade,
It is with the deepest regret that I inform you that on the day December seventeenth, Tommy was discovered missing from his place of exile. The island on which he was residing on was destroyed, and the New L’manberg government has, after extensive investigation, concluded that Tommy died after towering sometime between December thirteenth and December sixteenth. At this time, his date of death has been officiated as the fourteenth of December by the government of New L’manberg.
His belongings will be returned to his you as his next of kin, whether you choose to come and take them from his former home in New L’manberg yourselves, or if you would rather they were sent via ship.
Our deepest regrets,
President Tubbo Underscore and the council of New L’manberg.”
“He’s not dead,” Techno whispered shakily, paper clutched in his hands with a white knuckle grip. “He’s not. They have him somewhere. They- He can’t die. He can’t.”
Phil stepped forward as Techno collapsed to the floor, wings encompassing his son in a tight hug, “We don’t know that, Techno.”
He desperately wanted to argue, but he couldn’t.
They didn’t know. There was no guarantee that Tommy was immortal.
He had been ten when he first realized that he was unable to die. An assassin had slipped into the castle deep in the night. Wilbur and a two-year-old Tommy had already retired to their respective bedrooms, and Phil was in his office reviewing a map of agricultural hotspots across the country. Techno had gotten up for a glass of water, unable to sleep due to a small cluster of voices in his mind that told him someone was watching him. He was walking down the hall, hooved feet making small clacking footsteps as he walked. He had taken a sip of water, and then a hand slipped around his throat and he dropped his cup with an awful shatter. The assassin had plunged his dagger into Techno’s neck and then clambered backward.
The wound hurt and hurt badly, but Techno stayed standing, pulling it out of his throat with wide eyes. When he brought the blade down to study it, it wasn’t coated in blood, but golden ichor that shimmered in the light that came from the torches on the walls. He didn’t remember much after that, only that Phil and his guards had found him, hands clutching his head and an assassin with a blade in his heart mere feet away.
That was the thing, though. Techno still bled, still felt the pain that came with the wound, but he didn’t die. Phil was different, he couldn’t be harmed or killed. He bled no blood because nothing ever pierced his skin either way.
When Phil had landed in L’manberg, he had no intention of killing Wilbur because he was convinced he was the same as his twin, unable to die. But when he pulled his sword back out of his son’s chest and it had come back red, he knew that he was wrong.
Techno had frozen when he’d seen Wilbur fall from his place on the battlefield, desperate to run to him and do something. Tommy had screamed, begged for Phil to stop.
And then the voices did what they always, they pushed him forward and he continued to fight against his brother and his friends.
Techno was immortal, given a life of unending years. His twin was not, cursed to die with a god’s soul, one that drove him to death. They were twins, but they were different in soul and blood. Tommy was an unknown, there was no telling if he was immortal or not, not without his death happening.
It seems it has happened.
Dead. They killed him.
Not strong enough.
Weak. Dead.
End them all.
Not a god, mortal.
Just like Wil, brothers your honor.
Down with them all.
Kill his murderers.
Find them.
Blood for the blood god.
Blood for the blood god.
Golden boy, dead boy. Blood for the blood god.
The voices returned, the shock of the letter wearing off and returning them to their normal state. They were angry, clashing and screaming and crying out for not only Tommy but Phil and Wil as well.
“I’ll kill them,” He sobbed, clutching tightly onto Phil’s robes, “I’ll kill them all.”