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He was supposed to turn and go down at the big-tall warped fungus. Was this the one? The bizarre growth was awfully tall, but he’d seen taller. Philza stopped, craned his neck up at the blue mushroom, and consulted the map he’d been sold at the last bastion. Nope, it was exactly the same level of bewildering multicoloured hash marks as the last time. The blue-scarfed trader he’d been talking to had been really insistent that he take it, and at that point in the conversation he would have eaten an ender pearl if he thought it would make communication run smoother. The map, of course, was still unreadable to his Overworld sensibilities. He was depending entirely on the verbal directions the red-scarfed trader had given him while blue-scarf pointed significantly to the map.
If there even was a bastion out here, much less one with a guide for hire. He was like 90% sure that the trader had said bastion.
He was going to have to fly again. Hopefully the ghasts were a little less perceptive this time. Phil doubled-checked that his inventory bags were tied tightly front and back, and launched himself into the air. The up-drafts from the lava lake to his left pushed up against his wings, his hair dancing up round his face. Flight was almost effortless in the nether, except for all the mortal peril.
Phil climbed to the highest point of the cavern, glancing into the side hollows as he went. Nothing, nothing—a glimpse of a torch on a quartz outcropping. He landed on the rubbery surface of the netherrack, glancing around. And there was another one, just at the barely-perceptible edge of the nether fog. He wasn’t sure where it was leading, but there was a trail here.
Y’know, just out of hope, he was going to put on his gold boots, so if he saw anyone on the approach he’d be on the best footing. Hah, footing. This bastion visit was going to go great, and he definitely was going to find someone to travel with him, and—well and after that he would start being positive about the actual reason for his quest. He’d do that then.
One of the striders had wandered up out of the lava pool and was shivering painfully. Technoblade crouched on the other side of the strider stable and held out a little bit of warped fungus. “Come on, buddy,” he coaxed. “Come back over here, let’s go.”
The strider eyed the fungus and stayed where it was, shaking miserably. Clearly it had decided that the world was cold forever.
“Best student for problem solving,” Techno said. “Bruh, am I going to have to get the fire resist?”
There was the patter of small hooves on blackstone. “Technoblade, Technoblade, Technoblade,” a voice called. Lala skidded into the room. “Technoblade there’s a—“ She stopped and wheezed for air.
Technoblade was on his feet, grabbing for his axe. “Heh?”
Lala spread her hands in a negative, getting her breath back. “Not bad,” she gasped out. “Trader, there’s a trader.”
“Ah,” Technoblade said, letting the hand on his axe relax. “Buildscales’s sounder or Scribestand’s?”
Lala shook her head. “New person! By himself!” She thunked herself in the chest and made a face, still struggling to get air.
As much as a new trader was very interesting, impatience wouldn’t help the shoat’s weak lungs recover from the strain she’d put them under. “No rush,” Technoblade said, crouching down by the lava again. “I’ve still got this strider to deal with—bruh. What did you do now.”
The strider had gotten one of its head-strands caught on the blackstone and was now shivering while also pinned in place. It made a distressed chirp.
“Mmmyep, fire resist time.” Techno went over to the potion chest, chugged a bottle, and started wading through the shallow lava.
“New person!” Lala said behind him.
The lava was difficult to push through, and bright bubbles kept popping in his face, leaving spots on his vision. “Oh?” Technoblade said.
“Overworlder!”
Okay, so that’s why she was running. That was—Technoblade didn’t think their sounder had seen an overworlder since he’d been a shoat, at least. Several different bastion-locations ago. He made an interested sound, untangling the strider’s head-string from the rock.
“He flew like a ghast!”
The strider, now freed, nipped the fungus out of his hand and ambled off onto the lava. Bruh.
“He’s part ghast, and he’s really short, he’s only just a tiny bit taller than me,” Lala said, delighted to be the bearer of so much information. “And his boots say he’s got gold and items to trade both, and he has gold hair and a flat face like a ghast, and he has lots of earrings but they don’t make any sense at all but he looks very rich, and he doesn’t know how to talk at all .”
Technoblade emerged from the lava. “Well, d’ya think we should go see? Sounds like you told me all the important stuff already, we can just stay here.”
“Techno blade ,” Lala insisted, dancing from hoof to hoof.
“Just kidding,” Technoblade said, bopping her on the head. “Let’s go see a trader.” They started up the stairs.
“Uh, I only have a few potions, but I was wondering if maybe you could help me trade?” Lala said, voice going high and inquiring at the end.
“They quality potions?” Technoblade asked. He glanced at the smaller figure. After a close brush with the rot last year, his sometimes student was restricted to the hearth for the foreseeable future, but she seemed to have made the transition to brewing and cooking with enthusiasm.
“Mmhmm,” Lala said, not even stung by the query. “Historycauldron said they were as good as hers.”
“That’s pretty good,” Technoblade said. He stopped with a hand on the wall and adjusted the inventory bag at his hip. Let Lala get her breath back. “Mmm, you picked out a name yet?”
“MMmmmmm,” Lala hummed inconclusively, wobbling her hand. “Kinda? I don’t know. I like— I like a lot of things.”
“Well it’s a good idea to know what you’re doin, y’know,” Technoblade said. He crossed his arms and looked down at her. “Or you end up in front of the whole sounder and you say somethin like “Technoblade”.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “The horror. Your name is fine.”
“I dunno, bruh,” Technoblade said, starting up the stairs again. Lala trudged up the steps right behind him. “Last time we had a new trader, you should have seen their faces when they heard my name. Nearly called me a nerd to my face.”
“You are a nerd though,” Lala shot back.
“I’m bein’ bullied,” Technoblade said, throwing up his hands. “What is this.”
Phil eyed the figures in front of him as they conferred over the opening gold ingots he had brought out. He clutched his language notes tight.
A piglin with a yellow sash looked up at last, apparently satisfied with the quality. “String?”
“Good string,” Phil said carefully in Piglin. “And travel far, I need friend. She knows maps and travel far. We together combat zombification, trade for travel far, many gold, I need friend together.”
The piglins looked at each other. A piglin with a scar across her face pulled some gravel out of her inventory bag. “Gravel?” she offered.
Phil tried to keep his face from crumpling, only partially succeeding. This bastion had been the ninth he’d gone to, and his last hope at finding a guide. At this point he didn’t even care if they could fight, he could defend them both. He just wanted someone who knew the nether. Or could read a map. Or could talk to local bastions and figure out directions. “Enderpearls,” he said, forcing a smile. Best to make the best of it. “Potions?”
“I have enderpearls,” a piglin brute with an absolutely enormous axe resting on his back said in heavily-accented Common. Heavily-accented but clear. He glanced down at the piglin child tugging at his sleeve. “And potions, yep. Do you have books?” He looked back at the child and said something in Piglin.
Hope surged in Phil’s heart. Maybe they hadn’t understood his speech—but this person could translate. “Thank fuck, you speak Common,” he said. “Do you—how does your bastion feel about travelling? Books! I do have books.” He rummaged in his inventory bag.
“Thank [something], you speak Overworld,” the ghast-man with gold hair said. “Do you—how does your building feel about journeying? Books! I do have books.”
Technoblade blinked. “We have been here for a few growth cycles. The—the building doesn’t have a lot of feelings about journeying? It’s a building? It doesn’t hunt?”
Something happened on the man’s face, Technoblade did not know how to read his ghast-expressions. “So no one here will journey? I need someone to journey with me.” He pulled a book out of his inventory bag. “I got the books at the portal town, just in case scholars wanted to trade, is this good?”
The book was almost completely brand new. It didn’t even have heat-crisping on the edges of the (gilded!) pages. Deeds Of The Gods , it said on the front in gold script. Technoblade had never seen anything like it before in his entire life. The ghast-man was holding it out to him.
Technoblade took the book with hands he tried to not let shake, and opened it carefully. It had the new printed script, and—he paused. Bruh. The book had illustrations. Here was one of Forgeaxe deceiving his way out of the End, before the Rot. Here was one of Technostylus inventing the loom during a crafting contest.
The ghast man was still speaking. He tuned in again.
“—I’m on a mission from a god to combat the Rot, I need someone to journey with me, I will trade for their growth-cycles.” The ghast man looked from face to face in the crowd.
The word he was using—“travel”—in Overworlder it meant leaving the sounder camp, but it could mean hunt, or it could mean the whole sounder migration. In which case—Technoblade’s eyes narrowed. Was he actually here trying to recruit someone to his sounder? Audacious play, if so, even if his sounder was on a mission from god. Though that would be a reason to try and grow the sounder. “You will trade for—growth cycles? Like, getting older?” He looked at what was at this point the entire sounder, gathered up on the netherwrack shelf above the building, staring at the drama. “He wants someone to accompany him on a mission from god, might be a hunt, might be he’s trying to grow his sounder.”
There was a murmur of interest, disapproval, and general curiosity from the crowd.
“You will trade for time?” The piglin brute said. “Like, maturity?” He turned to the side and said something to the crowd that was met with a very mixed reaction.
Phil was not 100% sure what that meant, but this conversation was going so much better than the previous eight conversations. He nodded. “I definitely want someone mature, this is a fuckin’ dangerous mission. Someone who can read a map or otherwise guide me through the nether. Honestly, if you can come that would be so good, the language really helps. And I can trade! I have items.” A demonstration might be in order.
He reached into his inventory and came out with the bundle of gifts to show respect. He knelt to spread them out on the netherwrack and looked up at the brute and the crowd behind him. “I have great respect for you and need someone to travel with me.”
“I have great respect for you and need someone to “travel” with me,” the ghast man said to Technoblade, unrolling a bundle wrapped in blue cloth. A gold sword, a gold axe, a gold bell, and a gold stylus-set. All brand-new and beautifully enchanted. There was a general gasp from the crowd.
“Guess the ghast-man’s recruiting for his sounder,” Forgesaddle said from the back of the crowd. “And he’s got gold to burn, rot me.” Someone thwacked him for swearing in front of the shoats.
Technoblade was still holding the book, looking at more gold than he’d ever seen in one place. A sounder-gift for a hunter, a brute, a priest, and a scholar. “Are you asking me, specifically?”
The ghast-man was crouched by the collection of gifts, looking from face to face. His gaze snapped back to Technoblade. “Are you willing to migrate with my sounder ? You look like a fighter, and you can speak Overworlder, that would be [something] fantastic. If you can migrate with my sounder with me, yes, this is for you.”
“He says it’s for me,” Technoblade reported back to the crowd. “If I join his sounder.”
“He’s got books,” Lala said from somewhere near his elbow. “Technoblade, the ghast-man’s got books and so much gold.”
The ghast-man had said something else, but he’d missed it.
“—I have more gold, trade goods, if you want,” the ghast-man said.
“He’s saying he’s rich,” Technoblade translated.
“Oh really, I hadn’t picked that up,” Brewloom said. “This is a complete shock to us all.”
“If you don’t want me to translate, I don’t have to,” Technoblade said, folding his arms.
“No no, keep translating!” multiple voices said.
“Nerd,” someone said at the back of the crowd, affectionate teasing.
“Oh really, I hadn’t picked that up,” several people said in instant response. “This is a complete shock to us all.”
The brute was talking to the crowd, arms folded, and they were answering back. Phil pushed himself to his feet, watching anxiously. Was it working? It didn’t seem to be going badly at least, not like the last time he brought out the gifts. He’d gone back to the portal town and asked the traders there to make sure he wasn’t doing something wrong, but they assured him this was what he needed for someone to travel with him. The crowd said something in unison. Was this a ritual? They kept saying “ghast-husband”, whatever that meant.
“So are you gonna do it?” Brewsaddle said.
“Am I going to leave you all?” Technoblade asked. “I’ll admit it wasn’t on my day’s plan when I woke up today.”
“Oh, come on,” Brewsaddle said. “We all know you’re meant for more than a sounder on the edge of nowhere that can barely afford weapons. You read for fun. You speak three languages. You kill wither skeletons for fun. You have a really weird idea of fun, actually.”
“Bruh, I don’t really speak Ender,” Technoblade muttered. “My pronunciation’s bad.”
“You taught yourself two extra languages ,” Brewsaddle said again. “A little too dedicated to the grind, perhaps.”
“Plus if the ghast-man is bad, you can take him in a fight!” Lala piped up. “He’s so little.”
If he had to fight his sounder leader, he’d have issues beyond if he could defeat a ghast-man. Even if he probably could take this one. “I have fought ghasts before,” Technoblade allowed. Well, opportunity was meant to be seized, he’d read that myth more than a couple times. “I’ll take the gift,” he heard himself say.
There was a supportive cheer from the crowd. “Go get your items, Technoblade,” Historycauldron said, stepping forward. “You probably have a ways to go before sleep.” She unsheathed her sword and pointed it at the ghast-man, shield materialising on her arm. “You cannot take the people under my protection!”
Everything had seemed to be going well, and now it was going very badly. Phil scrambled backwards. “What the fuck?” He said, snapping his shield out of his inventory.
“You have to defeat her in ritual combat to take someone from the family,” the brute said.
“Ah?!” Phil said. So this wasn’t a bad sign, after all? He drew his sword, then ducked—Jesus fuck she was fast. “Is this to the death? How ritual is this?” The brute didn’t answer. “How fucking ritual is this?” He glanced desperately at where the translator and hopeful guide had been, and found him gone. There was just a small piglin child staring at him judgmentally. The sword whistled towards his neck and Phil threw his shield in the way. Okay, focus on the fight for a little while. He launched himself into the air, and then back into a dive, aiming to break the shield.
Most of Technoblade’s items were already in his inventory, but he had his bedroll, and a few items in a communal chest. He reached into the storage space and then thought better of it, withdrawing his hand. Clearly, travelling with the ghast-man he’d get new books. He’d leave those ones for the next person interested in reading. And then he had to return to his sounder for the last time.
Technoblade climbed the stairs and emerged at the back of the crowd. People had gathered into a loose circle, watching the sounder Elder and the overworlder fight. The ghast-man was in the air half of the time, but instead of floating he had a strange pair of extra arms that beat at the air. He seemed very manoeuvrable. Historycauldron was an experienced fighter, but she was only just holding her own. If he had to fight his new sounder leader, he’d have to be cunning about it.
Technoblade approached, the little crowd parting around him. Historycauldron saw him coming, and elaborately tripped over a piece of netherwrack, dropping her sword. “Oh no,” she said, deadpan. “I am defeated. My people are undefended and must find another protector.”
The ghast-man landed lightly, shield still up. He glanced around at the crowd, who looked back at him. Technoblade crouched next to the sounder-gifts, still laid out on blue cloth. What was his most likely, needed role here? Where did he fit?
He knew what he was. Brute. A sounder always needed more defenders. He picked up the axe and stood, testing its weight. A good blade. He tried not to look wistfully at the bell.
“They can all be for you, if you are willing to migrate with my sounder with me,” the ghast-man said, keeping his shield up.
Technoblade always knew that if he left he would have to choose one way to be, and it was probably going to be the way of the weapon. No self-respecting sounder let an adult dabble in different jobs like a shoat. He was lucky that his originating sounder let him hang around other tasks in his off-hours. “They’re all for me?” he said.
The ghast-man nodded. “I have great respect for you.”
“What’s he saying ,” someone in the crowd said.
“He says the gifts are all for me,” Technoblade answered. He crouched back down to pick up the other gifts, fingers caressing the bell as it went into his inventory-bag. This ghast-man would let him be anything . There was a not-entirely-positive murmur from the crowd behind him, but he ignored it. Technoblade stood and looked at the ghast-man. “Let’s go then,” he said in Overworlder. "Where you go, I'll go, and where you stay, I'll stay."
“Wait,” Forgesaddle said, coming closer. “You can always use extra ender pearls.” He pressed a few into Technoblade’s hands, thunked his forehead lightly against Techno’s, and shuffled away.
“An extra pair of soul speed boots never hurt,” said Brewloom, pressing one on him and looking at him judgmentally until he bent down enough to press their foreheads together. “Take care of yourself.”
The rest of his sounder (former sounder) gathered around, shoving gifts into his hands and shuffling away after a farewell. Lala was at the back of the crowd. She shoved a potion at him. “Here,” she said, wrinkling up her face.
“Good potion,” he said, holding it to the light.
She hugged him. “My name is gonna be Etchladle,” she said into his chest.
“Good name,” he said, giving her a squeeze back.
The piglins were all lining up to give items to the brute who’d agreed to guide him. Clearly some sort of farewell. It looked like it had actually worked, he was not going to have to travel alone. Phil felt a grin spread across his face. Thank fuck, he wasn’t travelling alone. He might actually make it through this. The brute finished his farewell and approached him, tightening the straps on his inventory-bag.
“So,” he said. “Where are we going?”
“I was hopin’ you could help with that, mate,” Phil said, pulling out his map. “I need to go to a place called the Diseased Valley, which as far as I know is about a hundred thousand blocks deeper into the Nether, do you know it?” He looked up at the brute, who was staring at him. “Mate?”
“I’m not sure if I know that word you keep usin’,” he said cautiously. “Cause what I’m hearin’ is like, people together for life, a relationship, stuff…”
Phil blinked. “Oh. Oh fuck . No, means like, buddy. Friend. Co-worker?” He laughed. “I’m already married, actually.” He gestured to the ring on his figure. “She’s—she’s really fucking incredible, I’m a lucky guy.”
“Mmmyep. I do know the Diseased Valley,” the brute said, starting to walk. “We go this way. What is that other word you keep saying?”
“Other word?” Phil said, walking after him. “Oh. Oh .” He started laughing. “Oh, fuck, how do I explain this one. Does Piglin have swears?”
“Swears— binding oaths? To pledge yourself?”
“Oh boy,” Phil said.
“If we’re gonna be migrating as a sounder together, I should probably know your name,” the ghast-man said as they rested before sleep, sat on the ground and stretching to touch his toes. “I’m Philza, by the way. Phil.”
“Technoblade,” he said, building a little protective wall of netherwrack around his bedroll.
The ghast-man—Phil—paused. “Does that have a meaning in Overworlder? Not sure I can make those sounds, friend and buddy .”
Technoblade thought about it. “Crafting—building—no, creation—no, technology? Technology weapon? Technology sword? Blade? I think blade is the closest.”
“D’ya mind if I call ya Technoblade, then?”
“It is my name, I don’t mind if you call me it,” Technoblade said.
Phil tipped to the side, laughing. He seemed to like laughing.
“Did you never pick a new name?” Techno asked. “Do overworlders not do that?”
Phil’s face did something ghast-ly. “Picked a new name? My parents gave me this one, I didn’t see much need of changin’ it.”
“Wait, you keep your shoat names forever?”
“What the curse do you mean, shoat names?”
“Well once you know what sort of position in the sounder you want, you pick a name, once you’re not a shoat any more.”
“Nah friend and buddy , we keep our birth names, unless there’s some other reason to change ‘em, like if they’re the wrong gender or something.”
“You separate names by gender ?!”
“I still don’t know the fuck how you can read that shit, mate.” Phil said, staring at the map Technoblade was holding.
“Don’t know how you can’t, ghast-husband ,” Technoblade said. “It’s totally clear. The colour is the height you should be at, the marks are the terrain, you follow the path through.”
“Clear as fuckin mud, mate,” Phil said. “And why do you keep calling me ghast-husband ? My wife’s not a ghast.”
Technoblade gestured with a hand. “Not your wife, you. You fly like a ghast. And face like a ghast.”
“Face like a ghast ?” Phil protested. “Mate! I’ve got a nose!”
“That’s not a nose, ghast-husband. ” Technoblade intoned, rolling up the map. “You couldn’t put jewellery in it, it can’t smell anything.”
“I can so fucking smell!” Phil said, poking him in the chest. “Just cause I don’t have a fucking great honker like you do, I could totally wear jewellery if I wanted to.”
Technoblade shook his head. “No nose. It’s a tragic feature of ghast-families .”
“Also! I don’t fuckin fly like a ghast! I’ve got wings!”
“The black arms? Is that what they’re called?” Technoblade resumed walking.
Phil followed him. “I’m not a ghast. If anything I’m part bird.”
“What’s a bird, bruh?” Technoblade asked.
“Like a strider,” Phil said after a pause. “But they fly in the sky. They eat seeds. Shit, you don’t know what seeds are either, do you. Or sky.”
“So I should call you strider-husband ,” Technoblade deadpanned.
“Do not fucking call me strider-husband ,” Phil said threateningly.
“Mmmmyep. Does this mean you can’t shoot fireballs?”
“Mate!” Phil protested, then grinned. “Wait though, let me show you my good bow.”
“It will be fine, Phil,” Technoblade said, holding a piece of fungus just out of the strider’s reach. It moved in a small circle under the fungus, chirping faintly. “You just sit on the strider and cross the lava.”
Phil eyed the saddled strider. “Maybe I should just fly, friend and buddy .”
“Yes, that would be perfect,” Technoblade said, raising his eyebrows. “If you want to be immediately shot by ghasts.”
“ Friend and buddy ,” Phil said unhappily. “Fine.” He hopped onto the strider’s saddled head and hooked his feet. “ Curse , oh god, he’s moving.”
“That’s the idea,” Technoblade said, handing him a fungus-rod. “Just keep this aimed where you want the strider to go.”
Phil held the fungus rod out in front of the strider, and it took off at a fast waddle. Phil’s second arms— wings —snapped out for balance. “Oh curse ,” he said. “This the right way? Technoblade?!”
“Little to the left,” Technoblade said, hopping aboard his own strider and following. Striders’ heads bobbed as they moved, which Phil seemed to be having a lot of trouble coping with. He kept trying to correct with his wings, like a shoat walking the edge of the bastion with their arms out.
“How long do we have to do this?” Phil asked, white-knuckling the fungus-rod.
“Maybe a dozen forge-cycles, maybe a couple brew-cycles, depends on the strider,” Technoblade said.
“How long is that?” Phil asked. “Are we talkin’ [something] or [something]? Or [something]?”
“I think you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one, bird-man.” Technoblade said. Phil’s wings were dipping dangerously close to the lava. “Careful—” he started, and then one of Phil’s wings dipped too far and touched the boiling surface.
Phil made an inarticulate gasp and jumped upwards, dragging the strider with him into the air.
“Drop the strider!” Technoblade called, trying to direct his mount under the overworlder. Even for someone who flew so strangely, his flight was wrong, constantly spiraling around the wing that had hit the lava. He was going lower and lower.
“I’m cursing trying!” Phil yelled back. “Foot’s cursing caught!” The strider dangled below him, going blue with cold and chirping in distress.
A ghast cried in the distance. Because that was what this situation needed. Techno turned the strider in a tight circle, looking for it. “Can you fly into me? I can untangle you.”
“Don’t think I have that much cursing control, friend and buddy .” Phil said, laughing with grim panic. He tried to climb higher, and failed. The strider was weighing him down, and one of his wings was clearly not working right.
“Crash-land with fire resist?” Technoblade tried. The ghast screamed, sighting them across the lava lake. He put himself in the way of the fireball, focused, and hit it with his sword. A shower of small sparks impacted his face and chest. The ghast screamed and deflated, hit with its own fireball. Technoblade whirled his strider around.
Phil and his strider were both gone, vanished below the surface of the lava.
He’d had fire resist, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he? He’d traded for fire resist, hadn’t he?
Technoblade was just on the verge of panic when Phil’s face broke the surface of the lava, haloed by fire resist and gasping for air.
“That is a cursing bizarre sensation, friend and buddy ,” he said, arms paddling for purchase in the burning liquid.
“Mmmyep, and real bright, isn’t it.” Technoblade said, bringing his strider alongside Phil. The other strider broke the surface, upside down and legs churning. “Ready for round two?” He nudged the strider upright. It blinked, looking confused but none the worse for wear.
“ Friend and buddy ,” Phil said, even more unhappily. “Sure, let’s do it.” He grabbed the strider saddle and pulled himself into it.
“And maybe don’t stick your arms in the lava this time, bird-man,” Technoblade said.
“They’re called wings, friend and buddy ,” Phil said, shaking little fragments of lava off of himself. One sizzled as it hit Technoblade’s arm, burning its way in. “Wait— curse , I’m so sorry.”
“Eh, deserved,” Technoblade said, shaking out his arm till the fragment fell off. “Come on, this way.”
Phil followed, making unhappy noises. But he stayed on the strider this time.
“Let me see the wing,” Technoblade said.
Phil looked up at the piglin crouching next to him, drawing his wings close to his body. “It’s not that bad, mate.”
“Bruh,” Technoblade said. “So you’ve got no trouble flyin’ now, right?”
Phil slowly extended the wing in his direction. Technoblade took it with careful hands. “I’ve got good boots,” he tried. “Flyin attracts ghasts anyways, I’ll be fine.”
Technoblade looked at the wing he was holding. “Now I don’t know how flyin’ works, as I’m not a ghast,” he started.
Phil threw an arm over his eyes. “Mate,” he said.
“But it looks here to me like your weird arm strings--”
‘’Wing feathers, mate,” Phil cut in.
“Arm strings,” Technoblade continued as though there’d been no interruption. “Got burned, and your wing’s burned, and your wing shakes when you hold it out, like it’s hurtin’.” He extended a finger near the burned site and Phil braced for pain when he poked it. Technoblade did not poke it, he looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “You gonna tell me it’s not hurtin’?”
“No,” Phil said after a pause. “But I’ve been hurt before, worse. Just gotta let it heal, I’ll be fine, mate. Don’t baby me.”
“But you have a child-name,” Technoblade said absently, moving the wing at the joint. “Nah bruh, you need a healin’ potion.”
Phil paused. “Technoblade,” he started. “I know I came into this thing with a lot of supplies, but I don’t exactly carry potions like some kinda fuckin’ queen of a portal town. Potions are for emergencies and that’s it.”
“You’re in pain,” Technoblade said, sitting back on his heels. He shrugged as though that was self-explanatory.
“Mate, if I took potions every time I stubbed my toe or shit, I’d be constantly takin’ potions!” He pulled his wing back from Technoblade’s hands, shook it out, and folded it away. “I’ll be fine. Anyways it’s a moot point, I don’t have healin’ potions.”
“You don’t have healin’ potions,” Technoblade repeated, like Phil had just said something incomprehensible.
“I brought supplies for this, but I’m not rich!” Phil protested. “Do you know what a healin’ potion goes for?”
“I brought supplies for this, but I’m not rich!” the overworlder protested. “Do you know what a healin’ potion goes for?”
Technoblade considered an acid response about how healing potions wasn’t wealth, it was the basic responsibility of a sounder leader, or about how the spectrum of wealth where he came from must be incredible if he was wearing gold earrings and boots and didn’t consider himself rich, and settled on standing up instead. “Right,” he said. “I’ll have to make ‘em. Can’t have you unable to fly, half your fightin’ style’s in the air.”
Phil stared at him like he’d just said something incredible. “You know how to make cursing healin’ potions?”
Technoblade shrugged. “Netherwart, water, gold, brewing stand, takes time but it’s not hard.”
“Wait.” Phil scrambled to his feet. “Is that why you lot all want gold all the time? It’s how you make cursing healing potions?”
Technoblade tilted his head at him. “Why did you think we wanted it? It’s—it’s medicine. Helps keep the sounder healthy.”
“Thought you just, I dunno, liked the shine,” he said. He gestured to his earrings. “Jewellery and some waste .”
“Jewellery is for communicatin’ stuff and always havin’ gold on hand,” Technoblade said, picking up his inventory bag. “Beyond that, wearin’ it is showin’ off just how wealthy you are, cause you can use it as decoration. By the way, do you know your earrings say you took a vow of silence, can’t eat meat and can only eat meat, are an elder and a child, and are touched by god?”
“ Curse what,” Phil said, clutching his ears. “Earrings cursing mean things?”
“Mmmmyep,” Technoblade said. “I’ll go get the blaze rod, saw a fortress a ways back. You get water out of the warped fungus?”
“I just thought they were shiny,” Phil said forlornly. “Water, yes-yes. I can get water.”
“So we just go through the city, buy a new map, and head out the other side,” Phil said, staring across the lava lake at the huge settlement—it looked like six or seven bastions—and not small ones—all constructed on top of each other.
“Mmmmyep,” Technoblade said, arms folded.
“This is gonna be fine, I’ve got a guide, and you changed up my earrings so I don’t look like a country bumpkin,” Phil said. “We’ve fuckin got this.”
“Mmmmyep,” Technoblade said. “You have a guide who has definitely been to the city before, no one here is a country bumpkin.”
Phil looked at him. “Wait. Are you for real? Have you never been here before?”
Technoblade shrugged. “Small family, you get into power struggles when you come close to the city, we just stayed away.”
“Smaller family than just us?” Phil asked. “Cause it doesn’t get much smaller than two people.”
“No, Phil,” Technoblade said dryly. “That would be called being an orphan, and it’s not good.”
“Okay, okay, unexpected complication,” Phil said, bouncing on his toes. “But this is fine, I’ve got you to translate, we just need a map and to get out, maybe some info about the Diseased Valley, we’ll be fine. We’ve got this, mate.”
“We’ve got this,” Technoblade echoed, squaring his shoulders. “I love crowds, you speak the language great, we’re going to be fine.”
This sounder of sounders was so huge that instead of trading outside the bastion, they had a dedicated floor for exchanges. Officially neutral ground. Very crowded. Very noisy.
“Thank you,” Phil said to the trader. “I need a map please, Diseased Valley, will trade for map.”
“Oh, the Diseased Valley?” The trader shook his head. “I don’t know, we don’t get a lot of call for maps of that area. That’ll cost you.”
Phil clearly had only picked up half of that. He looked up at Technoblade.
“Says those maps are rare,” Technoblade translated, trying not to stare around him at the crowd. There was a fight happening just a couple booths away. “It’ll be expensive.”
“Yes!” Phil said cheerfully. “I have many gold for the map, thank you.”
A shoat started crying somewhere behind him. Technoblade whirled around, along with half of the crowd, and relaxed as they clearly found someone, cries turning into hiccups. He turned back to the booth, where the trader was peeling a map off of a stack of identical copies and placing it in front of Phil. “That’ll be a stack of gold bars.”
“A stack?” Phil echoed, staring at the pile of maps.
“Heh?” Technoblade said.
The trader glanced nervously between them, then puffed himself up. “Yes, a stack—translator, tell the orphan overlander that the price is a stack of gold bars. Go on.”
“Not a translator, and not an orphan,” Technoblade said, voice dropping into his lower register. He put a hand on his axe. “You sure he didn’t mishear, bruh?”
The trader’s eyes went wide. “Oh! You’re with—ahahaha.” He laughed nervously. “No, I misspoke, I meant three. I was just thinking about replenishing the stock, you know. Definitely three bars, for this map. I forgot I had spares. Three bars. For the map.”
Phil was watching this dynamic with his head tilted slightly to the side. He nodded firmly. “Three bars for the map, thank you.” He pulled the gold out of his inventory and placed them on the blackstone, scooping up the map. “Thank you!” He waved.
Technoblade looked at the trader over Phil’s shoulder, hand still on his axe.
“Hahhah,” the trader said, laugh turning into an anxious wheeze. “Come back any time.”
Phil waved once more and started heading for the exit. “Well you just saved me a cursing incredible amount of gold there, friend and buddy ,” Phil said. “Please migrate with my sounder with me forever.”
“That’s the idea,” Technoblade said, following him.
“So,” Technoblade said, peering down into a basalt delta valley filled from edge to edge with zombified piglins gathered around a single massive, slightly translucent body. “When you said ‘a mission from god to combat zombification’, you meant killing a zombie god.”
“Oh no, mate,” Phil said, fiddling with the straps on his armour. “We only kill him if it goes real bad. We’re curing him.”
“Bruh,” Technoblade said, passing a hand over his face. “I don’t know about your gods, but mine don’t heal people that often. That’s a pretty big miracle to ask for. You sure your god likes you that much?”
“No,” Phil said, shaking his head. “I mean, yes, but this isn’t a miracle. We do it just like you cure anyone of zombification. Golden apple and a weakness potion.” He wobbled a hand. “A lot of weakness potions, a lot of golden apples.” He grinned. “She’s pretty sure it’ll work.”
Technoblade was staring at him. “You can cure zombification? After it gets to this level? Cure ?”
Phil stared back. “You can’t ?”
Technoblade squeezed his eyes shut.
“Mate, I didn’t—” Phil started.
Technoblade shook his head. “Nope. Not talkin about that one. We can discuss it later, or not at all. How are we doin this?”
“Right,” Phil said. “Well, first we have to get there. How good are you at not pissing off zombies?”
Technoblade looked down at himself, then back at Phil. “I uh, I am not zombified yet?”
“Right,” Phil said, plopping a diamond helmet on his own head and fastening the chin-strap. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”
Technoblade eased his way through the crowd of Rot-infected bodies, breathing shallowly. Phil flew overhead, slow circles to keep pace. If he didn’t hit any of the bodies around him, they should stay inert, staring into the void and occasionally walking a few blocks. He snuck past another clump of infected bodies, careful not to touch anyone. The smell was awful.
“Eh, friend and buddy , didn’t wanna mention this,” Phil said, circling overhead again. “Cause I thought you were gonna fix it, and now we’re here. But how come you’re not wearing any cursing armour?”
“Not all of us are rich, bird-man,” Technoblade shot back. A rotting body started moving directly in front of him, and he froze in place. The former person—maybe still a person, if there was a cure—moved past a hands-width away. He let out a breath and started moving again. “I’ve got my axe.”
“You can make armour out of leather,” Phil said, a whisper as he dipped by. “You too poor to afford cursing leather?”
“We had to boil that leather into soup, have some respect,” Technoblade said. He was coming up on the body of the god now. A huge form, translucent as a potion, sprawled inert across the valley. The endless falling ash of the basalt delta built up in little drifts on his armour, which appeared to be pure netherite. “Here?” he asked.
“The head would be best, she said,” Phil said.
“Pog.” He hooked his hands and feet into the protuberances on the netherite and started to climb.
Technoblade was balancing his way down the body of the rotting god towards the head. Phil swooped closer to it. A massive piglin face eaten away by zombification, opalescent bone open to the air. An enormous lava-bright eye moved suddenly, tracking him in the air. Phil swallowed. “Technoblade,” he started. “We might not have much time.”
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Technoblade said, heel-toeing along the breastbone of the semi-translucent armour. “This is slippery.”
Phil circled again. The eye continued to track him. “Seriously, faster might be better.” He started to draw the potions out of his inventory. Better be prepared.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Technoblade said, finally at the gorget. “Gimmie a second. There.” He scrambled onto the chin of the god. “Now.”
“Duck,” Phil called, and swooped down the length of the god, pelting him with weakness potions. Glass shattered, and a new sickly sweet smell joined the reek of rot and divinity in the air. “Now!”
Technoblade started to shove golden apples into the god’s rotting flesh. They sunk in, hand disappearing to the wrist in the decaying body. The haze of a potion effect started to build around the god. “Did it work?” Technoblade asked.
“If it didn’t, remember; go for the fucking eyes,” Phil said, getting his sword out. “Hamstring and head—” He cut himself off as a tremor ran through the body, and then the whole thing started to shake.
“Heh?” Technoblade asked, scrambling for balance.
“Good sign, it’s working!” Phil yelled, triumphant. “It’s fucking working!”
The tremors increased, Technoblade started to slide off the god, and every zombified piglin in the valley suddenly turned to look at them.
“Oh, fuck ,” Phil said.
There was a scream torn from several thousand rotting throats, and then the only thing to think of was survival.
Don’t let them touch you don’t let them touch you don’t let them touch you don’t let them touch you .
Axe through skull, shield into chest, axe through neck, shield straight into the biting mouth of the former person trying to tear his throat out.
Screaming from too many decaying bodies surrounding him.
Don’t let them touch you don’t let them touch you .
If he kept his back to the god he could be attacked on less fronts. The god was still trembling. The god was rotting too, if he touched the god he might be infected, he’d already touched the god, he might already be infected.
Axe through arm, axe through skull, shield in front of his face, axe through chest.
Don’t let them touch you.
Phil had landed next to him. They were fighting back to back. The overlander fought like a demon, rapid stabs from unexpected angles and vicious strokes with his entire tiny body behind them.
Axe through skull, axe through ribs, axe through arm, shield up.
The god was trembling behind him.
Don’t let them—
He was already covered in a fine layer of slime; rotting body parts and ancient blood. It had gotten into his mouth. The decay was so thick in the air it had filled his sinuses. He was breathing it in with every inhale. He wasn’t walking away from this.
He was going to stand eternally in this valley, body falling to pieces around him. He might even be aware the whole time.
And his sounder was going down with him.
“Fly away!” He yelled at Phil. “Get out!”
Axe through skull, axe through chest, axe through skull again. Shield up. Stay fighting as long as possible. Keep moving.
“ Curse no!” Phil yelled back. “Just stay alive!”
The god was—no longer trembling behind him?
A glow like lava spilled out into the valley, and a voice spoke. “ You .”
Time stopped.
His mind reverberated like a struck bell. Technoblade turned to look up at the source of the voice— very far up.
The god was on his feet, head brushing the roof of the cavern high above. New flesh was regrowing to cover his face like bone meal spreading warped fungus.
The god looked down at him. “ You brought me back, little brute .”
“Me and Phil, it was kinda a joint effort,” Technoblade said, gesturing at Phil, frozen halfway through a swing that was taking the guts out of his enemy. “He brought the potions and gold, I just read the map.”
“ He is already chosen, ” the god said, unsheathing a sword the length of a bastion. “ I cannot touch him. You, however, little brute. You fight well. ”
“Heh,” Technoblade said. The attention of a god never went well, that was like the first thing you learned from myths. “I’m not that strong of a fighter, you know, didn’t even bring armour to this fight, absolutely cringe behaviour, don’t know what came over me—” He looked at the sword, which was gathering red light along its length and now pointed at him. Okay, so, whatever was happening was happening, it would be best to shut up. “—but I’m definitely prepared to learn and get stronger, Technoblade the mighty fighter—“ no actually, shut up. “Mmmhm.”
The sword was dripping bloody light onto the ground now. The god held the weapon out at arm’s length, and touched the very tip of it to Technoblade’s forehead.
A rush of energy and sound hit him like a body blow.
“You are now my chosen, little brute,” the god said. “You join the ranks of the mighty and undying, whose voices guide you. Be glorious.”
Time restarted in a rush of voices.
One moment Phil was frantically trying to keep Technoblade (and himself) alive, and then the next moment all the zombified piglins around him had lost interest in the fight. They were wandering off in various directions.
He lowered his sword but kept the shield up, adrenaline pounding in his veins. “That was hell of a lot, wasn’t it, mate?” He grinned at Technoblade, who was covered in blood and looked like something out of a nightmare. Phil probably looked pretty bad too. “Can’t believe we survived that.”
“Mmmyep,” Technoblade said. “Can’t believe.” He shook his head as though to clear his ears.
“Didja get bit?” Phil asked. He scanned the other man, looking for open wounds. Nothing visible. He had a second thought and checked himself. Seemed to have come through okay.
Technoblade shrugged. “Not technically. I just—“ He shook his head again.
“Mate, did you get blood in your ears?” Phil said, grinning. “What’s with the head shake? Look, eat a golden apple anyways.” He pressed one into Technoblade’s hand. “Don’t want to take any chances.”
Technoblade stared at the apple. “You had a spare?” he asked.
“Always keep a spare, for emergencies,” Phil said.
“Bruh.” Technoblade said, crunching into the apple. His hand left bloody fingerprints on the gold. “You mean we didn’t need those healing potions?”
“It wasn’t an emergency, mate!” Phil looked around. The god was gone. Presumably it had worked, then. “I woulda been fine.”
“You couldn’t fly,” Technoblade pointed out. “Woulda put a tiny hitch in this plan, for starters.”
“Shut,” Phil said, snapping his hand at Technoblade. “I guess we don’t need to stay here, now. Where’s the nearest portal town?”
Technoblade pulled a map out of his inventory. “Uh, this way. Couple [somethings] away.”
“Right. Will we have to sleep on the way there?” Phil said, threading his way carefully through the crowd. Had to be careful not to let his wings touch anyone. On the plus side, there were significantly less bodies to avoid than on the way in.
“Yes,” Technoblade said.
“Pog.” They shuffled through the crowd for a few minutes.
“Do you happen to know which god that was?” Technoblade asked.
“Nah mate, the wife just said he was zombified and we had to deal with him one way or another,” Phil said, sidling around two zombified piglins who were both walking into each other repeatedly.
“I think that was the Blood God.” Technolade said. “Wait, your god is your wife ?”
So. Being the chosen of the Blood God seemed to be much like being an ordinary person, except for the fact that he had a constant stream of voices in his ears being variously helpful, mocking, or just loud. About par for the course for dealing with the gods, then. Technoblade tugged at his ear like it would do anything about the sound and then made his hands settle down again. “What’s your favourite myth?” he asked Phil as they walked through a crimson forest.
Phil glanced back over his shoulder at him. “Myth? I don’t pay that much attention to myths, friend and buddy . Except my wife, of course.”
“Of course,” Technoblade said. He started to grin. “Does that mean you’ve never heard the story of Buildhammer and the Golden Strider?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Phil said. His head tilted to the side. “You’re going to tell it to me?”
“I am going to tell it to you,” Technoblade agreed. He cleared his throat. “Deep and dark, when the gods were young and the people couldn’t write, there was a man whose sounder was made up of all brutes. He came to them one day, and said to them—there is a story…”
Phil checked his inventory-bag once more and sighed. No new food had materialised in the two minutes since he’d last checked. Technoblade paused from stacking a protective wall around their camp and looked at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. Phil flapped his hands in wordless frustration to respond. “I just—” he sighed again.
“You just like imitatin’ a bellows,” Technoblade said dryly. “I can hear that, yeah.”
Phil pitched a tiny bit of netherwrack at him. “Shut. I’m just tired of eatin the same fuckin’ food all the time.”
“Mmmm, yes,” Technoblade intoned. “The bird-man with no spices regrets eating food with no spices. This is a great shock to us all.”
“Well excuse me for puttin’ the priority on things that’ll help the mission from god I’m on!” Phil protested. “I had to pack the food fast!”
“Yes, the bird-man totally eats spices, he tells us, definitely.” Technoblade said. “He just forgot to pack them this time, yes.”
Phil flopped full-length on his bedroll. “Wife, I’m bein’ bullied, please strike this man down.”
There was a pause.
“See, she did not strike me down,” Technoblade said seriously. “That means that you are not in the right and your god has abandoned you.”
“Mate,” Phil groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Just let me be fuckin’ miserable in peace, okay?”
Technoblade chuckled and resumed building the protective wall. Phil stretched out his aching limbs and rested. He still wasn’t used to the heat in the nether, and due to avoiding ghasts he wasn’t flying as much as he’d like.
He was really looking forward to being out of the Nether soon.
Once he was out he was going to find the nearest stream and put his feet in it for like, half an hour.
He’d be travelling on his own then, he could go wherever.
That was not as cheering a thought as it usually was, oddly.
There was the gurgle and pop of brewing. Phil opened one eye. Technoblade had the brewing stand set up in the middle of the camp.
Phil pushed himself up on his elbow. “Whatcha makin’?” He blinked, coming fully upright. “Wait, are you hurt and you didn’t tell me? Healin’ potions?”
“This is tea,” Technoblade said, stirring a liquid in the central reservoir.
“You make tea in a brewing stand?” Phil said, tucking his feet away to sit cross-legged on his bedroll.
He shrugged. “When travelling. Everything’s packed, you don’t have a hearth to use. This works.”
“That makes sense,” Phil said, staring at the bubbles forming in the brewing stand. They just watched the liquid boil for a few minutes.
It was weirdly easy to be silent with Technoblade, as easy as it was to banter and poke at each other back and forth. The gaps in conversation didn’t feel awkward. Travel with him had been—good, actually.
He was going to miss this, he realised, as much as he wanted to be out of the Nether. Phil watched as Technoblade decanted the liquid into potion bottles and handed him one. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said.
Phil mumbled an agreement and thanks and held the bottle by the edges, taking a cautious sip. Whatever ingredients went into whatever Technoblade called “tea”, it was smokey and sweet, and nearly burnt his tongue. He blew on the tea, caught Technoblade’s eye—the other man was drawing in a breath to say something, definitely something sarcastic—and snapped his hand at him in a “shut up” gesture. Technoblade grinned and sat back with his own tea.
Phil sipped at his drink, basking in this haven amid the constant noise of the Nether. Mob sounds echoed across the pop of lava lakes, but here in their little hollow of a camp, everything was peaceful.
Yeah. He wanted to be out of the Nether, but he was going to miss this.
The portal-town had a few traders set up in permanent booths, a single chapel off to the side for visitors to make themselves known to the Nether gods, and a hissing obsidian frame in the centre of the space. The traders and the priest watched them approach, uninterested. Technoblade turned to look at Phil inquiringly. He’d brought him here, now what.
Phil tightened the straps on one of his inventory bag and took a deep breath. “Well, friend and buddy , looks like this is where I leave you.” He tilted his head at Technoblade. “It’s been great migrating with my sounder with you, you’ve been great.”
Technoblade blinked. What did he mean, leave?
“If I ever need a Nether guide again, I’m definitely going to look you up,” Phil continued. “You can get back to your building okay, right? Of course you can, what am I saying, you know the Nether like the back of your cursing hand, just look at the last few—”
Technoblade interrupted the other man’s awkward babbling. “What do you mean, leave?” Phil was talking like they were separating for good, but that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be being left alone by his sounder. He didn’t—he hadn’t—he didn’t—
“Well, I’m goin’ back to the Overworld,” Phil said, jerking his head at the portal frame. “As I understand it, you can’t come with.”
“No, I can’t go to the Overworld,” Technoblade said, voice flat. He was being left alone by his sounder. His hands were going numb. Phil was leaving him. The voices in his head reached a new pitch of panic, which he tried to ignore. His hands were numb and starting to shake.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Phil said. “So this is where we split up.” He had his head tilted to the side, expressions Technoblade could almost read but not quite moving across his ghast-like face. “Plus I figured you’d want to get back to your sounder, friend and buddy .”
Get back to his—Technoblade stuffed down the urge to laugh. Either Phil didn’t know, or he was unutterably cruel. He didn’t actually know which one it was, right now. “You’re my sounder, friend and buddy ,” he said, eyes raking over the other man desperately. If he stared at him enough he could read his expressions, surely. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Phil’s hands came up in front of him. “Woah. When did that happen? Is this a—is this a battle thing? Cause we fought together?” He laughed. It sounded a little nervous, probably, if Technoblade was reading him right. “I respect you as a fighter, for sure, but I’ve got to get back to the Overworld. Bird-man isn’t made for the Nether, right?”
The scale was tipping a little more towards ‘didn’t know’, and his life was tipping a little more towards ‘orphaned’. “No,” Technoblade said around the lump in his throat. “Not the battle. The offer, at the bastion. The sounder-gifts. The gold. I accepted the sounder-gifts.”
Phil froze in place, then shook his head. “The gifts? Oh—oh curse , friend and buddy , I think there’s been a misunderstanding, I didn’t. Those were just to show that I was serious, that I respected you, all of you. I just needed someone to ‘travel’ with me.” He kept saying something, but it had turned to white noise in Technoblade’s ears.
Of course. Of course the overworlder had not known. And he’d been translating that word wrong all this time. It had been a journey, a hunt. He’d left his sounder for a hunt. A hunt that was now over. And what he thought he had joined had never existed.
From now on, he was alone.
If he had left his sounder under false pretences, could he go back—no. No. No, the challenge had been made and won, even if one person hadn’t known what was going on. (Of course, the otherworlder—Phil—the overworlder—hadn’t known what was going on. The sounder had never existed. There was nothing there.) He had left his sounder formally, even if he had never joined another one.
He’d been orphaned for weeks, he just hadn’t realised.
“I am going to go pray,” Technoblade said, turning around and heading for the chapel. He touched the bell at the gate and sat on one of the stone benches at the back, putting his head in his hands. The Blood God’s voices were just screaming wordlessly now, made it hard to focus. There were multiple things that made it hard to focus, to be honest.
After a stretch of time, he became aware that someone had sat next to him. It was the overworlder. Technoblade looked at his feet. Gold boots. A trader with gold and items to trade.
God, he felt cold all over, in a way he’d only felt before when he was very sick.
“Do you want to tell me what just happened, friend and buddy ?” the overworlder said. “Cause I’m missin’ a lot, but I think somethin’ just happened. I—did I ask you to be sounder?”
Technoblade waved a hand. “You didn’t mean to,” he managed to say. “I mistranslated something.”
“But that’s what those gifts meant,” the overworlder said. “I was askin’ you to be sounder with me.”
Technoblade nodded. He tried to say something, and settled for another hand wave.
“Well, curse ,” the overworlder said, head thunking back into the chapel wall. “That’s cursed .”
“It’s fine,” Technoblade lied. Yeah, his voice definitely wasn’t working right. Way too wobbly.
“Is it?” The overworlder said. “What happens to you when I go back to the Overworld? You go back to your other sounder, right?” He sounded hopeful.
Technoblade shook his head. “I left them,” he managed after a pause. “Only one sounder at a time, bruh.” He tried to smile but it didn’t quite work. “I’m orphaned now.”
“And that’s—not good, I’m gettin’,” Phil—the overworlder, they weren’t sounder, the overworlder—said.
How to explain such a basic concept to someone who apparently didn’t understand it? How did overworlders live? May as well try to explain that lava is hot and blackstone is good to build with. “Sounder is—everything,” Technoblade tried. “How you know what you are, how you take care of people, how you know what to work for. You stay together. You fight for each other. You remember each other when you’re gone.” He flattened his shaking hands on his knees. “If you don’t have a sounder, you won’t last long.”
“And I took yours,” the overworlder said.
“You didn’t mean to,” Technoblade said again.
“But I did it.”
“Mmmyep.”
“ Curse ,” the overworlder said, voice muffled. Technoblade glanced over at him. He had his head sunk in his hands as well, pulling at the strands of gold hair.
“It’s fine, bruh,” Technoblade said, forcing a grin. “Normally you have to do something really terrible to get orphaned, and I managed it with readin’ too much. I’m so good at this.”
The overworlder (Phil) stared at him. “ Friend and buddy ,” he said.
“Nah, this is good,” Technoblade continued. Enough being sad, that wasn’t helping. He could make jokes out of this. “Maybe I’ll just follow you into the Overworld. Find out what those ‘seeds’ are, that you were talkin about. Couple minutes of adventure.”
“ Curse , no,” the overworlder said, holding up a hand. “You are not allowed to do that. No getting yourself rotted to find seeds .”
“Eh, you’re not my real sounder leader,” Technoblade said. “I can do what I want.” He paused, then went for the quip. “And what if it’s birds? No getting myself rotted to see seeds, okay, fine, but what about birds?”
The overworlder laughed helplessly. “No,” he said. “Don’t do that, Technoblade.”
“Nah, I’ll go live in the wastes, bruh,” Technoblade said. He had himself under control now. Hands were barely even shaking. He could deal with this. This was the rest of his life, he could deal with this. “I’ve got a lot of skills. I’ll be fine.”
“ Friend and Buddy , two minutes ago you were saying you wouldn’t live long,” the overworlder said, dryly. “This kinda sounds like you’re downplaying the situation for the overworlder.”
“I was panickin’,” Technoblade said. “Now I’m not. I don’t even like living with people.” And then his voice wobbled there, darn it. He clenched his hand into a fist to stop the shake. “I’ll be fine.” And that didn’t sound convincing at all. He breathed out slowly. Come on now. He could handle being alone. Forever.
“Well I don’t want you to go into cursing exile because I didn’t know how to talk to people,” the overworlder (Phil) said.
“I didn’t know how to talk to people either, obviously,” Technoblade cut in, ignoring the wobble in his voice.
“Shut!” the overworlder said. “If it comes to it, I live here now or—“ He straightened up. “You said the gods cure the rot sometimes, don’t they?”
Technoblade shrugged. “It has happened. In myths.”
“Well we just cursing raised an undead god, we’re pretty much in a myth right now, friend and buddy ,” the overworlder (Phil, his name was Phil,) said. “I’ll ask my wife.”
“Your wife. The goddess?” Technoblade asked. “She takes requests?” A startling flash of hope kindled in his heart.
“Well, from me,” Phil said. “She likes me, for some reason. We’ll make it work.” His hand squeezed Technoblade’s shoulder. “We’ll make it work.”
Technoblade didn’t trust his voice right now. He nodded.
Phil stepped out of the portal backwards, keeping an anxious eye on his friend. Technoblade was standing just out of the portal’s range, a hand holding a new gold crown on his head. His goddess had promised that the enchantment would protect Technoblade from zombification, and Phil trusted her, but— please let it work.
Technobladed stared around himself. Phil glanced with him. The portal had let them out on the edge of a hillside, a forest in the distance, a little creek running by. It was a little after sunrise. A bunny had hopped up and was staring at them.
Technoblade was staring upwards. “What has happened to the roof ,” he said, stepping away from the portal. “And is that water just—out? Spilled?” There was no sign of zombification taking hold of his friend. His family. Accidentally, but he wasn’t mad about it.
Phil grinned. “Mate, I have so much to show you. Come on, let’s go find some fucking birds.”