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"Do keep your voice down if you start praying to that beastly god of yours. Other prisoners are trying to sleep."
The words are spoken with an equal measure of malice and fear. Techno's lip quirks, wanting to suppress a small smile at the duality there. They look down on him for the patron he worships, yet at the same time, exactly that is the reason they're scared of him.
"I'll keep it in mind," Techno says.
He has no intention of praying. Not only does this cell lack any of the needed instruments to properly celebrate the Blood God, Techno's patron has made it clear it doesn't look upon him favorably anymore. So he's not about to outstretch a hand that will only be batted away.
The guard offers a gruff noise in return, pulling the door shut before turning the key in the lock. Techno walks up to the small window of bars set into the door near face level. "How long before dinner is served?" He asks the question with some jest, wanting it to come across as a casual inquiry. In truth, Techno hasn't had anything to eat in days, and his stomach aches as much as all the bruises do. But he can't let them know that.
Predictably, the man laughs. "You just sit tight, Blood Spiller. Dante takes excellent care of his prisoners."
Between the lines, Techno grasps that to mean it could be a while before he sees food again.
He sits down on the cot instead, wiping some filth from his permanently stained brow, and sighs. In the hallways, wails and moans of pain can be heard coming from the other cells. So much for not keeping each other awake. Tribute to the Blood God would probably blend in perfectly with this chorus. But Techno massages his broken wrist and does nothing more, waiting for what is to come.
The silence between his temples feels deafening.
Techno doesn't remember how often he wished for relief from Chat's constant pestering. Now that they're gone, the absence of noise is so unfamiliar it startles him.
Or maybe, Techno only hates it because it serves as another reminder that the god he has devoted the last decade of his life to has cast him away like filth the moment he needed its help most.
Technoblade started worshiping the Blood God when he was twelve.
He didn't know what it meant at the time. Sometimes he wonders if knowing would have made a difference. He was young, inexperienced, kicked out of the orphanage he'd been living in since three days after his birth. Twelve is the relative age upon which children are expected to make themselves useful. In the week leading up to his departure, they'd gone through some meager effort to prepare him. Several places were discussed where Techno could present himself to hopefully get an apprenticeship. The army was most common for boys, though if you were lucky, you could perhaps find a blacksmith, tailor, or butcher looking for students. Any craftsman without children to pass on the job.
Ironically, Techno had been considering the chantry. Prime was already the most prolific deity, its association with riches, prosperity, and community made it popular for those seeking to worship. But the church of Prime was wealthy as a result, and was often looking for more to join their ranks. Techno enjoyed history, and archival work. He wouldn't mind being a priest.
He was turned away at the door.
To this day, Techno has no clue why. Perhaps he failed some nebulous holy vibe check thrust upon him without his knowledge. All he does know, is that the presiding authority present in the temple that day shooed Techno away without even hearing out his request to join the church, sneering at him down their nose as they banned him from ever returning to their doorstep. Techno left, and without an easy backup plan up his sleeve, he lived out on the streets for several days, growing more hungry and desperate before he was snatched up by a different sect.
While Prime is the most influential god, many more do exist. All of them have their own cults devoted to worship. And most of them are eager to grow their numbers. As it stands, deification is a bit like an ouroboros. The more people pray to a god, the more power that god will possess. Prime is powerful because many people worship it. Because of said power, people are motivated to pray to Prime. A vicious circle.
The Blood God doesn't have many followers, despite being a god of life and rebirth, in addition to blood.
Maybe the moniker is misleading. Maybe there's just too much bad rep involved when one of the main methods of paying homage to a god is spilling blood in its name.
Whatever the reason is, Techno was taken into the fold and taught all the rites. He memorized the chants by heart, carried out rituals as directed. He learned how to worship properly, how to be a Blood Spiller - another fun moniker, mostly used in a derogatory fashion by anybody who looked upon their patron unkindly - and then when he was eighteen, he was sent to carry out his sacred duties beyond the safety of the temple. Techno owed survival to the Blood God. He owed it everything.
But it was an easy enough thing to offer it repayment.
The cell door opens while Technoblade is curled up on his cot, arms loosely pressed against his stomach. Two more days have passed, enough for starvation to start gnawing at his gut. The injuries he sustained during the capture have mostly healed. Badly healed, but healed all the same. Only the cut in his shoulder throbs with faint pulsing beats, infection seeping into his bloodstream. Techno can see why they wouldn't bother sending him a healer.
Dante's war prisoners have all been put to death.
News of what happens to any soldiers taken by the enemy reached the front quickly enough. It doesn't help that Dante makes a grand display out of it in front of all of his commoners, a show of superiority and power, and Techno knows the same fate awaits him soon. When the door opens, he can only blink at it with dull, glassy eyes, assuming that's what they're here for.
In an hour or two, he'll be wishing they were.
A sudden tug on his arm pulls him into rolling off the cot, where he hits the ground face-first. Techno hisses, barely getting the time to process what's happening before a kick lands against his side. Then another. And another that shatters the bridge of his nose.
The beating lasts for several minutes, by the end of it, Techno is heaving and spitting up blood. The guards grab him by his armpits and drag him out of the cell, down the hallway. Once they reach another room, Techno is lifted and put into a chair.
Ah, he realizes slowly, through thoughts turned liquid, the interrogation part hasn't even started yet.
Rough fingers cup his cheeks on both sides, thumb digging harshly into soft flesh. Techno's head rolls back with little prompting.
"Where will Skyblock's troops move next?" the man demands.
"How should I know?" Techno asks, coughing around the fluid clogging his throat.
"You were one of their most valued generals," the man says.
"'Was' being the operative word there," Techno answers, managing not to slur too badly despite how nasally he sounds. "Their plans will have changed by now."
Unsatisfied with the answer, the man punches him in the face. Techno hardly feels it anymore.
"Bring the tub of water and some cloth," the man orders his companion. "We'll get him talking."
Techno ends up in the army still.
The directive of the Blood God's devout is simple. To spill blood, whoever and wherever. Even the how doesn't matter. As long as it is done with the intention of being for the Blood God's will.
Techno spends a few years bouncing around blood sport and prize-fighting rings, simple things. The sect taught him to fight as easily as he breathes. They praised Techno's talent for it. And the world proves them right with how quickly Techno climbs through the ranks.
It's not enough. It's never enough.
The Blood God digs its sharp nails into Techno's back and demands more.
It gifted him a purpose. It gifted him Chat. It is the reason he didn't die on the streets as a child. It chose him as its favorite.
Techno is pushed towards the path that will make his task the easiest. The army brings him some peace - not in the literal sense, obviously. Quite the opposite, Skyblock is a small nation, and border skirmishes are a frequent occurrence. But in another sense, the army offers routines and structure that remind Techno of life at the temple. He knows exactly what is expected of them, and he gains praise for adhering to those expectations. He makes it from being a foot soldier to being a general in a year and a half.
His tactical insight is part of the reason, his combat skill is another. Dedication, they call it. Techno doesn't tell them that really, he has nothing else he wants than to serve his god. So it stands to reason he has become good at it.
The other men in the regiment look at him with measures of distrust sometimes. Techno doesn't hide what god he worships. He carries his bell with him from encampment to encampment, and isn't subtle when praying. He speaks his hymns out loud, sometimes he speaks to Chat out loud too, because it's easier than trying to communicate with them in the tangle of his own mind. They're all things that make other soldiers distance themselves from him out of weariness.
Most of them worship Prime. A few of them worship more obscure deities, though none that have a reputation as wicked and cruel as Techno's patron. The Fool's Token, for example, is popular for those who joined the army with financial incentive, since it is associated with gold and bravery. Gods that preside over luck, over strength, over survival, all are commonly called upon on the battlefield. Some are even bold enough to pray for mercy from the Goddess of Death. Hypocrites, Techno thinks, since she is the Blood God's sister.
When Techno kills enemy soldiers on the battlefield, their deaths serve his nation. But the blood that stains the ground is a tribute to his patron. The Blood God purrs its pleasure and drags its nails down Techno's back harder.
His hands shake in the aftermath, exhausted, in pain. Pain he hardly feels because that too was something he trained in the temple. Twelve years old, Techno was, the first time they carved into him to teach him how to spill blood - his own before others. To be able to bear the pain he might endure in the future. So he wouldn't break as easily, should he be chosen. Chosen as the Blood God's favorite, the greatest honor one can reach in the temple. A thing to be truly grateful for.
At night, Techno lies in his tent alone and allows sleep to steal him from his sinful thoughts of living a farmer's life.
It takes four days for Techno to break enough to try and call upon his patron again.
Four days of constant questioning, and then punishment when Techno's answers are lacking or completely absent. He tells them pretty much whatever he knows, not because he is trying to save his own life - no, he's very aware Dante will sentence him to death eventually anyway - but because any information Techno has is useless. Skyblock has always been good about keeping their plans from spilling through the army's ranks. Techno ever only knew as much as was strictly necessary for what his regiment was doing, and once he was captured, they'd surely changed tactics to prevent the very thing Dante's men are trying to do.
But by the end of one of their sessions, Techno is feverish and starving and hurting. So he closes his eyes and prays.
The Blood God doesn't answer.
His patron has always been fickle. In addition to Chat, its gifts came mostly in the form of boons that helped during combat. Techno noticed that exhaustion didn't nip at his heels as quickly as it did for the other men. He could get by on fewer rations, his body nurtured by the god he served. He sometimes moved quicker than a shadow, smoother than a tide. His wounds healed overnight. The Blood God needed spilled blood to power it, and it would help Techno by lending its power in an effort to make blood easier to spill.
A vicious circle, again. The snake eating its own tail.
Some of that power would have come in handy when Techno's men abandoned him.
Dante's army makes up for what it lacks in intelligence with sheer numbers. They were overwhelmed, fighting against wave after wave of soldiers that seemed to appear quicker than they could be cut down. Techno called for the retreat, ordering Skyblock's army to fall back. But his own escape was cut off. And nobody came back for him.
Chat had just enough time to proclaim their outrage at this before their chorus cut off.
Techno sagged into the earth when he felt it leave him. Not a sudden snap, but a whimper. A connection he worked a decade on maintaining, a god that had called him its favorite. That had said he was loved by it. Gone.
In the silence of the cell too, Techno has only his ragged breathing to keep him company. He doesn't miss Chat. He doesn't miss his god.
He prays to nothing. Then, he sleeps.
When the sun rises, slanted light falls into the cell through the bars on the window. Techno can hear a murmur of voices, mingled together into static. For a bright, split-second moment, Techno thinks his prayer worked. But then he blinks, watching the cracked ceiling, and realizes that the noises he can hear are coming from outside. A crowd gathered in the courtyard in front of the castle.
A crowd gathered to watch him die.
Techno laughs. He's not angry, or sad, or happy. He laughs because he's certain that if the Blood God is watching down on him in any capacity, it would probably rejoice in having his blood spilled too. A final offering at its wretched altar.
Techno refuses to let that happen.
There is another god he learned about, one that he has never met a follower of. He only knows about it because of his history lessons, truly. The Blood God has a twin sister, the Goddess of Death. And that Goddess did take for herself a husband, another deity wrought out of starlight and devotion, to stand at her side. A deity who represents grief, and decay, and the tranquil passing into his wife's embrace. A messenger, a guide, the one who quietly leads you into the darkness when you finally close your eyes. A deity only invoked by those who know they are about to die, and want to beg for an easier passing rather than begging for their lives.
Techno prays to the Father of Crows.
The sun burns his skin worse than the fever does.
Techno squints at the light, eyes grown sensitive after all that time in Dante's terrible dungeon. He refuses to look at the gathered commoners, many of them shouting and talking in upheaval, the air alive with their excitement. Dante works his propaganda machine well, and his civilians are completely on board with the picture their king has painted of Skyblock's military forces. Dante invaded, but he has done an excellent job making Skyblock out to be the aggressor.
Techno watches as ahead of him, another captured soldier is made to kneel, bend forward over a wooden block, then beheaded.
The crowd jeers at the sight, a cacophony accompanied by the executioner shouting for the next prisoner to be brought up and the carrion birds sitting on the castle's parapets, cackling at the feast unfolding below. Techno has seen Dante's men drag the bodies to the side of the stage, where they're dropped into a cart. Presumably, the end destination will be a mass grave somewhere outside the city. But the crows will have pecked the flesh clean off the bones long before the cart reaches that place.
Techno had hoped that officially swearing off his fealty to the Blood God would bring him some peace. In reality, he feels… hollow. He isn't ready to die, yet he is too injured to fight back. When he imagined how he'd go out, it was always in a blaze of glory. How pathetic.
If the Blood God hadn't forsaken him already, it certainly would after seeing him in this state.
Another head thuds against the wooden planks, rolling until it hits Techno's foot. The expression on its face is almost comical, surprised. As if they hadn't expected the ax to actually start its murderous descent towards their neck. The body is dragged away. The executioner gestures for Techno to be brought forward.
And then a voice rises out above all the ruckus.
"Excuse me!"
Techno tilts towards it on instinct, the sharpness of the voice imbued with a chilling quality, icy enough to cut through bone, demanding attention. He sees a blond man pushing his way through the crowd, elbowing past the dense throng of people.
"Excuse me," the man repeats. "I have business up there."
The soldier who is already holding Techno's elbow has gone motionless, clearly confused at the interruption. The man reaches the edge of the stage, and then, in a simple, swift jump, lands on top of it.
His black, feathered wings fold neatly against his back.
He turns towards Techno. "You're the one who called me, aren't you?"
"What are you-"
The Father of Crows gestures with one hand at the soldier holding Techno when the man starts to speak. While their mouth keeps moving, nothing comes out anymore. They reach for their throat.
"I wasn't talking to you," he says. "I'm talking to him." His blue eyes pierce straight into Techno's soul.
"I-" Techno tries. Sweat prickles at the back of his neck.
He prayed to this entity. But he prayed for a swift and painless death, not for a god to interrupt his execution. Some old teaching of the Blood God's temple comes back to him. About the futility of human desire when contrasted to divine plans.
Techno invoked the Father of Crows. And now he must answer to its demands, even if those aren't what he asked for.
"Ah, hold on, we shouldn't do this with an audience," the Father of Crows says carelessly. He stretches out an arm, and with one broad sweep, indicates the crowd of civilians gathered to watch the stage. As he does, one by one, eyes turn lifeless and bodies collapse. Soundlessly, a simple case of their hearts beating one moment and then not anymore when the Father of Crows' motion passes over them, a wave where the courtyard transforms into a pile of corpses - men, women, children.
And then it's silent. The soldiers left alive on the stage do not move, nor do they speak. Techno can see in their wide, frightened eyes that they wouldn't be able to either if they tried. The only noise that remains is the crows on the parapets, continuing their cackles. And the pleased exhale from the deity in front of Techno.
"There. Much better, wouldn't you agree?" He smiles.
"Aren't you here to watch me die?" Techno asks.
The god laughs, loudly. "If I were, then I would have done just that."
Techno knows it's true. The Father of Crows could have allowed his death to carry on as intended, for Techno to die, and for the god to serve his role as guide into the afterlife. A simple exchange.
But that wasn't what happened. Which could only mean that it sees another use in him as a follower instead.
"You've grown," the god says suddenly. "When I first laid eyes on you, you were only about this height." He holds his hand up to his hip. "Small for your age, weren't you?"
"What?" Techno can only repeat, numbly. He's dizzy, having trouble thinking.
"You must have been… Death, you must have been twelve or so. Though you haven't changed much, aside from the growing."
Techno frowns. The soldier's fingers remain curled around his elbow, stuck stiffly like stone. The carrion birds share their amusement, and beyond that, not even the wind can be heard. The Father of Crows takes a step towards him, grinning widely.
"You don't understand, do you?" the god asks.
"How long have you been watching me?"
At that, the god's wings twitch up. His face breaks open with elation, excitement. "Maybe you do understand."
His approach makes Techno take a step back automatically, and it's to his own dull surprise that his limbs actually obey the silent command. Somehow, it unfreezes the soldier holding him also. The man curls their fingers tightly, yanking on Techno's arm for stability. Techno winces in pain.
The Father of Crows has his expression darken, and lunges immediately.
The soldier is grabbed by their throat, lifted several inches off the ground. Techno stumbles a few more paces back, feeling able to think and move a lot easier with the deity's eyes not pinning him down. He uses the momentum to turn, falling more than stepping down the few stairs that lead off the stage. He runs.
Or he tries to. Techno doesn't get more than a few steps before somebody snaps their fingers behind him.
He screams out in agony as the tendons on his left leg snap too.
Techno falls, catching himself on his shoulder, the cut there burning and festering. The pain is so much brighter than he's used to. Maybe that's another point of proof that the Blood God has truly abandoned him.
The Father of Crows touches ground beside him, clicking his tongue. He leans over and presses a hand against Techno's chest. "Don't move. I would rather not do that again."
Techno's muscles lock in place, though he can't tell if it's divine overpowerment or his own survival instincts kicking in much too late to be of any use to him. Running was stupid of him, regardless. After all these years serving a patron, he should know better.
Almost as if reading his mind, the Father of Crows looks down at him and tilts its head. Not unlike a corvid, perhaps, observing the shiny thing in front of them with more than expected fascination.
"To answer your question, we've watched you ever since the Blood God claimed you. My wife likes to keep informed on her twin's actions. Sibling rivalry, you know. It's fucking exhausting if you ask me." As he talks, the god kneels and moves up to touch his cheek. Techno feels the pain fade, but he still can't move. "When it picked you as its favorite, she was right pissed off."
"Why?" Techno asks. He feels he must look pitiful, curled on his side in the dirt, unable to do more than twitch as this god kneels beside him. Only able to express confusion at being drawn into their quarrel.
"Why?" the Father of Crows repeats. "The Blood God had something she did not. Is that not reason enough?"
"It's a bad reason," Techno spits.
"Jealousy is a common human emotion," the man points out. "Who else would they have inherited it from except the gods who created them?"
The fingers trailing his face stop. The Father of Crows hesitates, as if trying to decide how to phrase what comes next.
"She wanted the Blood God to not have you. And then, that changed into her wanting to have you for herself."
The statements drops fear into Techno's stomach. Over a decade he spent being the Blood God's chosen, and see where it led him. All the sacrifices he made, every tear he shed into his pillow back in the temple when he thought devotion would break him. He tried to run away when he was fourteen, and he was whipped so badly he couldn't walk for a week. All of that only brought him abandonment.
He wishes for death over being cast aside by the gods a second time.
"You're scared?" the Father of Crows observes.
"No," Techno says, chest hitching. "I'm tired."
"Ah, not to worry then. There will be plenty of time to rest. That's more or less part of my domain, mate."
Techno's head tips back against the ground. A chuckle escapes him, lacking any true joy. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what do you mean?" Something too close to sincere care tinges that tone, the deity's face pinching together as he studies Techno carefully, attempting to understand something that a being like him could never grasp.
Techno closes his eyes. He could fall asleep right here, maybe. He's exhausted enough for it, and while the god's touch chased away his pain, it didn't help with how he feels as if he's about to pass out. Except, then he feels arms wrap around him, and he is lifted. Wings wrap around him also. Held in a way he was never in the Blood God's embrace.
Or maybe that's wishful thinking on Techno's part.
"I'm tired," he repeats.
"I see," the Father of Crows hums, apparently picking up on what Techno truly means, brushing some hair from his face. "She can help with that also, if that's what you desire. But let's not be hasty. Give us a chance to get to know you first. And you us."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
Techno snorts, not opening his eyes. "I suppose I don't have anything better to do."
"Right. Plenty of time to show that cursed Blood God exactly the sort of mistake it made by casting out something as precious as you," the Father of Crows muses, missing the point. But Techno can't fight it anymore. Doesn't know if he should fight it.
Serving a god has always come as easily to Techno as breathing, after all.