Chapter Text
Technoblade is in his attic the night the torches come, praying to his forgotten God for guidance and protection in the coming days. Perhaps he could even get a blessing or boon if the god is feeling particularly nice. He opens his eyes to the faint orange glow of torchlight, piercing the darkness of the attic. He stands slowly, turning to the window once at his full height.The eyes of the villagers stare back at him, torches and pitchforks clutched in their hands.
Their eyes reflect the torchlight, Technoblade's eyes reflect nothing but shadow. He keeps eye contact with the village for another few moments before turning, disappearing into the shadows of the attic.
The villagers stay where they are.
Techno walks down the stairs slowly, taking in his home for what could very well be the last time. The dark wood is as sturdy as ever, but it has worn itself down from just a house, to something akin to a home. What was once created to keep him out of the cold snow in winter had become the place he felt safest. He passed by pictures, few and far in between, and nostalgia washed over him. The picture his father took when they went out fishing for the first time, beaming as he held up a fish almost as big as he was. His 12th birthday, his mother and father with their arms on his shoulders, beaming with pride as he held his first training sword. A picture of his first swordsmanship tournament, facing off against a man twice his height. He’d won that battle,and his parents had never been. Techno huffed at the memory. That was such a simple time. He stopped at the end of the hallway, staring at the final picture.
His parents' faces stared back at him, his father in a soldier's uniform and his mother in a doctor's dress. That was the last picture he had of them, they died less than a year later. Killed in an enemy invasion that could have been easily seen miles away. Techno was positive the general had let the enemy destroy the camp. He sighed, turning to the chest below the picture. He pulled the heavy wooden lid open, reaching down and grabbing its contents.
His father’s sword felt heavy in his hands, the diamond cold where it touched his skin. He sighed again, he never really did like needless bloodshed, but he knew the village would not be kind. He’d just hoped this town would be different. Guess the cards just weren’t in his favor. He trudged to the door, footsteps heavy on the wooden floors. He stopped in front of the door, his gaze falling on the slightly rusted iron axe near the doorframe. He grabs it, clutching in his off-hand, and opens the door with his sword hand.
The village stares back at him, their eyes felt like damnation, he could feel something crawl up his spine, writhing and violent. Techno glared back at them, no fear shown outwardly. One man steps out from the crowd, short and stocky, with grey eyes and red hair. The town crier. Ah, so that’s what this is about.
“Technoblade”, he greets the larger man curtly, fear evident in his eyes. Techno grunted, lifting an eyebrow as if to ask 'What do you want?'. Techno wasn’t a man of many words, he much preferred action, but he wanted to see what action the village would take first. Techno didn’t like acting on impulse or instinct. Most of the time.
“You are aware as to why we are here, yes?”
Another grunt.
“Your slandering of the Crown may stand in other villages, but we will not stand for it here. Either you take back your vile words, or you die by our hands!”
Technoblade huffed, a small laugh coming out of him at mere thought of the village getting one on him. He turned his sienna eyes away from the ginger and to the village, humor making them glint unnaturally. The feeling spread from his spine, slowly working its way down his arms. A small, almost minuscule smile worked its way onto his lips.
“You think you can kill me?”
“We are many”, the crier responded, voice somehow steady. “You are only one.”
“I refuse to yield, least of all to you. I have my own offer for you.” He turned his gaze back on the crier. The man trembled ever so slightly under his red-brown gaze.
“ Leave now, and you may leave with your lives. We can pretend that this-” he gestures to the village crowded around his home. “-Never happened.”
“In the name of the Crown, we cannot.”
The feeling shot up, like a fast acting poison, into the rest of his body as a rage like no other came over him. He grinned something manic, teeth bared to his enemies.
“Well then, in that case, in the name of The Blood God you may feed my crops with your tainted blood.”
After that, things became blurry. A flash of orange here, the clash of blades there. The splatter of blood, the roar of flames. Screams rang throughout the starry night, only to be cut short with a gurgle of blood. The feeling seemed to have taken over Technoblade, guiding his movements in the most lethal of ways. Flames roared around him and he distantly realized that the town aflame. He didn’t care. It felt too good, the blood under his nails and the corpses at his feet.
Pain spread through his back, a warm, sticky sensation made its way through his tunic as a blade was pulled free. He spun on his heel, facing the attacker. The crier stumbled back, almost shrinking under the possessed one’s gaze. The pain throbbed throughout his back, but he paid it no mind, it just didn’t bother him right then. He bellowed a war cry, something akin to what he had seen Piglin Brutes do, at his fathers war camp and in the Nether. It echoed through the burning village, deep and carrying a power the likes of which no man or woman had ever heard, even in nightmares. The crier turned on his heel, intent on fleeing his righteous punishment.
Technoblade didn’t let the man go far. Within a single stride he caught up to the ginger, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic and yanking him back. The man careened past Technoblade and landed ass first in the dirt. He looked up with fearful tears cascading down his cheeks.
“Please” He begged breathlessly. “Please don’t hurt me-”
Technoblade plunged his sword down the criers throat, cutting him off. He twisted it once, twice, and pulled it out. It looked more magenta than blue at this point. He found he quite liked the color of the blade. Blood dripped from its tip, dark and almost holy in its grievous implications. Something thrummed in the back of his mind, like a mantra or chant long forgotten, getting louder with every villager slain.
Blood………
Blood ……
Blood……God
………Blood for
….Blood God…….
Blood for….God
…..Blood for the Blood God…
..Blood for the Blood God…
..Blood for the Blood God…
Blood for the Blood God..
Blood for the Blood God
Blood for the Blood God
Blood for the Blood God.
BloodfortheBloodGodBloodfortheBloodGodBloodfortheBloodGod
BLOOD
FOR
THE
BLOOD
GOD
Bodies littered the ground around him, blood flowing quick and free as he automatically chanted forgotten prayers.
Technoblade came to consciousness slowly, the dark and warm haze of sleep slowly pulling itself back, revealing the watery, off-white and pink light of dawn. Techno cracked one of his eyes open, slowly revealing the rest of the world. The dirt came into focus first, followed by the milky dawn. Then the blackened and gnarled wood of what used to be homes and businesses. Then the piles. Oh the piles. Stacks upon stacks of corpses littered the ground around him, blood sluggishly leaking out of horrid, jagged wounds inflicted by what could only be a monster. Techno felt a little bit of pride at the thought. That’s what you get for trying to drive me from my home! Technoblade never dies!
The smell of blood hung in the air like a rotting corpse swinging from the gallows. The ground was wet with it too, now that he was thinking about it. He was caked in it too, he could feel it, dried and sticking to his skin and clothes in a slightly uncomfortable fashion.
The sun had risen above the mountain tops, the bastard , and shone right in Techno’s eyes. He grunted, annoyed that the damn thing decided to do that right now , and tried to stand. Emphasis on tried.
He gasped as a horrid, wretched pain flooded his body, racing its way through his whole body.
“Oh gods…” He whispered, voice thick with pain as he keeled over. His eyes swiftly shut as the pain became unbearable. Something inside him felt broken. The pain centralized itself in this back, a white-hot mix that felt like burning and freezing simultaneously. Everything inside him felt broken. He choked on his own pain, tears welling up in his eyes, sliding down his face and dropping onto the red, blood-soaked soil. There was something in his back, writhing, flexing, desperate to force its way out. It was inside him. His breathing became faster, shallow breaths echoing in the early morning. Black dots filled his swimming vision.
He twisted his head, ignoring the nausea, and tried to find the morning sun. Desperation clawing at his throat, silently begging for any way to see that final semblance of hope. Some sliver of hope to tell him that he would see another day. He blacked out before he could find it.