Archive of Our Own ^beta

Another bout of sleeplessness brought Grizz here, the icy tundra, where he trekked through sheets of snow that came up to his knees in search of pine needles. Charlie had said they did wonders for a restless mind in tea, and he desperately wanted some kind of rest before he ended up regretting it.

The deeper into the snow he went, the tighter he drew the cloak he stole from Bizly around his shoulders. His brother wouldn’t mind, thankfully, and he planned to be back before sunrise anyway. Even so, the darkness was thick with noise and light and he heard the footsteps before he saw the hulking figure.

Even then, they weren’t bothering each other and Grizzly, while he had no qualms about violence, didn’t want to get into an altercation this morning and put the others at risk while they were vulnerable. So when he found a strong, thick forest full of healthy pine trees, he immediately scaled the nearest one, wings fluttering for balance, and began to gather large handfuls of needles, stuffing them into his bag.

“You’re on my turf,” a gruff voice said from somewhere beneath him.

Underneath his branch he made out a massive person, tall and broad-shouldered, dragging a netherite axe through the snow. “No one owns the forest, dude. Besides, I’m literally not even disturbing you. They’ll grow back.” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his tone.

Netherite was a bitter subject for him. Ingenious, the way Condi had created a material to plate diamond and make it strong beyond reason. Fucking cruel of him to put it in the one place he could barely step foot in.

Still, he did. And he was proud of himself for it as well. All four of them were well-equipped for battle and even better equipped to deal with the tides of change in this server. Tommy warned them long ago of the first signs of something coming. Usually a plan, usually untold destruction. And judging by the size, shape and sound of the person now annoying him, he knew that he was conversing with one of the three Doomsday assailants.

Grizzly was the god of war but his one rule was to not drag unwilling innocents into a battle. For such an avid worshipper, Technoblade was already in his bad books.

“I suggest you leave,” the pig continued. The axe gleamed in the steady moonlight and Grizz bit back a groan.

“Fuck off. I’m tired.”

Gently, gently. He was exhausted but he couldn’t afford to let himself lose it now when Charlie had spent so long building up the wavering, fragile trust of the rest of the server inhabitants. He couldn’t afford to destroy the peace they’d built here.

A scowl coloured the unpleasantly wrinkled face above him and he was honestly left wondering which asshole god had allowed him to grow so much. “Get. Out. ”

“Happily!” he snarked back, fanning out his wings and taking to the air in a few, powerful flaps. Blood-red eyes widened imperceptibly as they tracked him and his black-and-white feathered glory. The flight ban had done harm on this server, he knew, but it was faster than walking.

Besides, Dream was far too stupid go after him. At least, that’s what he hoped with his whole heart. An altercation now wouldn’t be ideal, after all.

Dream was stupid enough to go after him.

It was a lazy day and the other three had gone out, either to gather food or find supplies to last the cold season. Building a home near the tundra had been a mistake on Condi and Charlie’s part as they found themselves sluggish and lethargic, so Grizzly was insulating the walls with foam.

Progress was steady; by the time his brothers came back, he would be finished with it.

“Hello?”

He recognised the voice at the door instantly and suppressed a groan and silent, bubbling rage. Anger would do him no good while facing the closest thing this place had to a god, the owner himself. Throwing it open, he stood face-to-face with the very image of murderous opulence. If the armour and jewellery was anything to go by, Dream was rich. Incredibly so.

Riches were a good method to control mortals. But then again, so was fear.

He pushed himself to stand taller, straighter, cross his arms over his chest and puff his feathers out. “What do you want?”

Dream’s laugh was a deception, filled with glass and broken things. “I thought you knew about the flight ban, Grizzly.”

“If you’re clipping me, you can forget it. I’ll cut you up,” he hissed. Going to slam the door in his face, he quelled the growing fire with a soft sigh. It would be fine. It had to be fine.

An armoured foot stopped him from closing the door the full way and he clenched his fists, feeling the metal of the handle start to bend under his palms. Condi was going to be pissed. “Let me inside,” Dream said softly. “You know the rules.” He did know the rules. He knew them well and hated them with passion he hadn’t felt since Molympus. “It’s a warning clip,” Dream informed him as he stepped inside. “I hope you know I’m always lenient with you.”

But I don’t want you to be, he wanted to bite back. He shouldn’t be enforcing rules in the first place. With nothing left to do, he sat stiffly on a stool and waited, wings quivering at the thought of a stranger touching them, destroying them.

It was old rage that kindled his heart, the same it had every time he woke up amidst the vivid cacophony of false prayers for him, his guidance in battles that were not meant to be won. The soft, burning fury that igniting his skin as broken feathers fell down around him, a shower of shame.

Charlie sat with him later that night as they all huddled around the fireplace, preening the feathers that remained, all broken and bloody stumps now. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing a towel against the skin to catch the bleeding before it fell on the floor. Ichor was too sacred to be wasted. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“You thought it was safe,” he muttered with a suppressed groan. Shit stung and the overall tenderness of his wings was making everything worse for him. “Not-not your fault they’re all pricks. Fucking- ah !-fucking Technoblade and Dream. ”

Deft hands bandaged up the wounds. Feathers grew back, and in his case, grew back stronger and faster than most. They’d be harder to cut the second time around and he was thankful for once, of the nature of his body, his magic. No matter the locks this server had, he’d always had a firm grip on his power, the fire glowing bright within the pits of his stomach and mind.

“Don’t fly next time. At all. ” When he opened his mouth to protest, Charlie went on. “I know what it’ll do!” he whispered, grabbing a hand, and squeezing it. His brother’s hands were cold, clammy. Winter had taken its toll on him, and he looked visibly exhausted. “I know about the aches and I know about the atrophy but it’s not worth the risk.”

“I can take him, Charlie! If only you’ll let me.”

But they both knew the answer to that. With the other gods searching for them after the whole Moelympus stunt, it was far too dangerous to go back unless they were strong enough and the revival had left them all exhausted, weary and weak. A god should not be weak.

He wrapped up and tied the bandages off without another word, dipping his head to nuzzle his cheek against Grizz’s own. “Let me protect you this time.” The plea was soft, silently sequestered into pained words. For a moment, the two of them breathed agony shared only in a warmly lit room, far away from the past’s mistakes.

There wasn’t a way he wouldn’t relent when his brother’s eyes were so soft, boring into his skull and reading his secrets with a tenderness he was still unfamiliar with. Charlie had always been too soft. On them, on the mortals, on the world. He was the protector, their leader and that was that.

“Fine,” he breathed, and leaned into the cool touch. “I’ll stay low. But if anything happens, Charlie, to you or the others, I won’t promise shit.”

There was no response. He didn’t need to respond to know the answer.

A crow landed at his windowsill. The window where he planted his flowers and sang at them until they bloomed, where colour and texture mixed and trilled a wild song of love toward the sky. Azaleas and baby’s breath and tulips spilling out over the side of the house. His garden pushed itself far beyond the house and encompassed all of time but here, now, it was his windowsill and the square of land he had around the house.

That was all he needed.

But the crow was here and Death herself seemed to visit, beady black eyes watching him carefully. He was familiar and gave it a scratch under its chin, smiling broad and shy all at once. “Who’s dying today, huh?” he asked softly, only partially joking. A flock of these birds appeared the day before they departed to Moelympus. He could never forget.

It leaned into his touch and squawked twice, seemingly intelligent enough to provide a secret answer but he couldn’t hear it even if he tried. Instead, carefully, he brought it inside to talk properly to Bizly. He couldn’t command birds of Death, but he could understand them at least.

“Here,” Grizzly said, putting the bird down on the stone counter they had for their kitchen. “Found him at the window.”

He frowned. A god being sent a crow was an important thing, more often than not a calling from the Pantheon itself but his frown deepened the longer he listened to the squawking.

“It’s not-I don’t think it’s hers,” he said slowly, patting its head with a single finger. At Grizzly’s questioning head tilt, he continued hurriedly. “The accent is off.” Incredulous, he raised an amused eyebrow, making Bizly break out in a smile. “No, the accent- listen- the accent is important. It’s not hers. Not part of her flock.”

“What’d it say?”

A shrug. “She’s babbling about your flowers. She thinks they’re nice.”

And despite the flare of warmth in his gut, something continued to nudge him in the wrong way, a creeping sensation that pushed against his chest. “This is  worrying.”

“Why so?”

He snorted. “A random crow finding out where we live and talking to us? Yeah no, something’s going on here, Biz.”

They shared a glance, two disgraced gods finally having a moment of connection. Their elder brothers were the first things on their mind, both to protect and to warn. “It’ll drive Charlie insane,” Biz said hesitantly.

“It’ll drive them both insane not to know.”

“True.”

They would tell anyway. There wasn’t much of a choice. Neither of them were particularly good at lying in the first place anyway.

A gentle finger stroked smooth feathers, black as oil and neither gods could shake the nagging feeling of wrongness, of beady eyes watching from the dark.

The silent, comforting air of their cottage changed and shifted at the first hiss.

Almost instantly, Grizz yelled out. “Take cover!” he roared, dragging Bizly down by the sleeve and covering his body with a wing as the world rang red and seared against their skin.

Silence followed. Long, ringing silence where the sun beat down on the ruins of ash and blood. He felt it cake his hair from a cut on his forehead, felt it drip down between his feathers. His brother was unmoving underneath him and the steady heartbeat under his fingers was the only thing reassuring him of life. So he stood and assessed the damage.

The cottage was in ruins. Smouldering remains, still alit, surrounded them. Through it, he saw Condi sit up, hunching. No sign of Charlie.

“Grizz?” Condi called, stumbling over. Confusion danced on his face, the same Grizzly felt with his whole heart. “What—”

“Grab Biz. I’m going to find Charlie,” he hissed, hauling him up and pushing him into Condi’s arms. With a swift nod, he picked him up and carried him off, away from the wreckage as Grizzly continued to sort through the rubble.

It was the same everywhere. He felt nothing but a twinge of panic and rage, swiping at the blood dripping down his face in steady rivulets. The sight of it only incensed him further, driving something animalistic and feral into his bones. The urge, the weeping, screaming urge to maim, rend, destroy, eviscerate.

He was going to destroy the one responsible for this.

Mortal possessions and materials were kicked aside as he searched for the tell-tale green blob. Slowly, completely methodically, he searched the ashy wreck.

There.

“Charlie!” He dragged a heavy plank of wood off of sizzling slime and scooped the clump up. Without any further thought, he sprinted away, beelining for their lake. The lump didn’t respond but he could recognise his brother in any form.

Wading into waist high water, he gently tipped his body forward, letting him slip from his arms into the cool, clear lake. The lump fanned out and shone neon green as it floated to the surface, allowing him a breath of relief. He would be alright.

“Hey.”

It startled him, embarrassingly enough and he whipped around, hand to a phantom sword at his belt. Right. The charred lumps of metal left melting over the remnants of armour stands were all they had left of tools. Making new ones wouldn’t be a problem but a sword would have been nice now.

Grizzly stared Technoblade down, a scowl already on his face. “What?” he seethed. There was the bastard who probably blew them up.

“You’re comin’ with us.”

Another presence behind him. He mourned his dampened powers now, clenching his hands into fists. “And if I don’t?”

“Your brothers die.”

Fucks sake.

He awoke in pain for the second time that day. They hadn’t even the decency to clean his wounds and bound him, injured as he was. Chains from the ceiling of a dark room were wrapped around his wrists, forcing him to stay on his knees. The gag at his mouth had soaked through with blood and it coated his tongue. He felt like throwing up.

Keeping his eyes downcast, he breathing through his nose and took inventory. His head hurt. So did his shoulders, his knees, his torso. Nothing broken but he definitely had burns and cuts. There were runes painted in something that looked suspiciously like blood around him. He recognised the symbols as a language Charlie invented, one of the older ones. Crude and simplistic but loaded with old magic nonetheless.

There was snuffling too.

A distinctly mortal scent, one of pain and fear and grief. He tilted his head toward it, chains creaking as he did, and the sound stopped. It begged the question: what happened here?

“Hello, mate.”

Ah. There was a voice he recognised. A demigod he used to see regularly up at the Pantheon. Death’s pet, once mortal and now something more. Her messenger, her closest confidant. His lips twitched upward at the splayed, dark wings, untouched unlike his own.

He dipped his head, wanting to smile. He wondered if he had Death’s blessing for any of this. Philza’s fingers moved and pulled the gag away, allowing him breath. He grinned with red teeth. “Can I ask what all of this is?”

He hesitated. A god’s rage was a vicious thing, but he had all of Death to hide behind when all of this eventually went south. “Nothing personal. You’ll be in and out without any problems soon. Home in the hour.”

This time, he laughed. “What home, Philza?” he croaked. “Where will I go? The charred remains? What about my brothers? Did you let them live in your-your unending grace ?” His voice pitched forward in a snarl toward the end.

“Sorry about that.” He sounded remorseful. “There was no other way of ensuring your cooperation.”

Because cooperation was spelt in chains and blood and treachery among kin. It was spelt in blackmail and steel. Cooperation was a battle in itself. He only twitched in response, gaze wandering. “So what is this, then?”

“A syphoning ritual.” Grizzly’s head shot up, eyebrows raised. “Just for a scrap of your power!” Philza amended quickly. “Split equally among three of us. Myself, Techno and Dream. We have a blood sacrifice.”

“Blood?” he rasped. “For all of the pain you have caused me, all you have to show is blood?” When he didn’t answer, he pressed on, feeling the vibrations of others in the room. “What blood do you have for me?”

“War-spoilt. Corrupt. A faction leader, brought to justice. Just as the scripture demands.”

It would at least not kill him. At the very least, it might even restore a little of his power, though he had no intention of sharing what he had with creatures like these. Filth that hurt and maimed what he loved more than anything in the world.

So he kept quiet. The fear-scent grew stronger, and a figure was pushed into his peripheral vision.

Oh. Dirty and soft looking, with hooves for feet and fuzzy ears that poked out of unruly hair. One of Charlie’s mortals, the ones he cared for and kept at his side. Marked by the gods as something more, the boy should not have even had a scratch on his being, lest the idiot who attacked him get smote immediately.

“Him?” he asked flatly. “He isn’t fit.”

“What?” The new one, the one holding the boy, spoke up. Dream, the bastard himself. “What do you mean?”

“He isn’t fit for me. He is no leader. His blood spilt will do nothing.” Vindication rose up in his gut. He wasn’t even lying, and it felt like he was soaring. “I will not harm a protected mortal.”

Philza raised an eyebrow. “To which god?”

“Alchemy. He doesn’t appreciate idiots hurting his loved ones.”

A hand touched his wings and he flinched, shivering, hackles raised in snarl. “What Alchemy doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Dream said, picking the appendage up. It twitched, fluttered to life and tried to manoeuvre out but the grip was strong.

Metal pierced sinew and ligaments and muscle. Grizzly threw back his head and howled as a hook was jammed through his fucking wing , leaving it up in a permanent mirage of flight. The second one shortly followed and left him gasping weakly, chest rising and falling. Feathers fell around him and landed gently at his knees.

He just had to get through this. This little thing and he could go home.

Fingers callously gripped his hair and pulled it, tugging his head back so he could look right into the face of the pig he despised most. “I thought the Blood God would be…more.”

The taunt was half-hearted, barely a jab at all and yet it burned his blood, sent searing rage shooting through his whole body. He would fucking pay. “You are an insult to your god,” he hissed. The only response he received was a tug of the chain, sending agony through his shoulders and wings. He gasped raggedly, twitching. “You are a stupid, pathetic excuse for a demi-god. A coward, above all. You will never be fit to worship me,” Grizzly spat with all the venom he could possibly muster.

His head fell forward and the hand retracted. No one moved, breathed. All was still and a struggling mortal only continued to struggle in the quiet. He was a fighter. He would live today.

“Let’s begin,” Philza said quickly. He was nervous. Good.

Grizzly wrapped his fingers around the chains carefully, testing their strength, careful of his own fragile wings. Had he his own power, they’d all be ash. Instead, he began, closing his eyes as the boy cried out in pain. Blood touched his knees, soaking into the fabric of his pants. That wasn’t important, however. His life was, and he had to be careful, heating up the metal under his palms.

Runes glowed from the world beyond Grizzly’s eyelids and heat crept up his body. Fire crackled in his ears. Not his own, either and the fact made him freeze as he cracked open an eyelid.

The circle around him was alight, trapping him with red, orange, white flame that glowed blue. Screaming could be heard over the roar. Sweat dripped down his face and back and irritated the open wounds that had failed to heal.

The metal grew hotter under his panic. Blood for the blood god, he chanted in his mind, willing the fire to rear its ugly head and help him out. Blood for the blood god, blood for the blood god.

Through the smoke and smog, he saw the three hated ones glow gently in the warmth of his power and he only felt his rage pulse, drawing his magic back into his frail body. Cupped close in imaginary wings, for a moment all was peace within the circle of flame, the cold grip of fear.

And the world went red with the Blood God’s rage.

Made of steel and fire, tasting of ash, a creature stepped from the ring of flame, brimstone acting as a crown on his head. His wings towered above, dripping with both blood and ichor. Gold and red ran strange rivulets down a grinning, face, glinting red eyes crinkled in amusement.

“I warned you,” he said with a distorted voice, one that sounded of static and fear. “I warned you of consequence.” The little human lay motionless in his arms, mercifully asleep and unharmed beyond what the creatures had done to him.

The false worshipper only shrank beneath his gaze. “W-wait—”

Fire leaped at him, licking a tongue of agony down his back. The god only relished in his screaming. “This is how you regain your lost honour,” he growled. “So stay still.”

The masked one lay on the ground, neck torn out by metal hooks that remained in his flesh. The angel had fled. All that was left was the flaying, the baptism by fire. He wielded his whip, bright and hot, and brought it down, again and again and again.

Penance for the server, the brothers he harmed, the boy in his arms.

Penance for a peaceful world.