The Phoenix Games

by Anonymous

Summary:

Philza knew what dying looked like. He'd seen it often enough to recognize the pallor of a slow, inevitable death, and he saw it in the face of his son. No matter how much he wished to deny it. His only hope was the phoenix medallion, a trinket with the ability to revive the dead. The only way to win the medal? Participate in the Phoenix games, a lethal competition overseen by the sky gods.
If Philza wins, he walks away with the lives of both him and his son. If he fails… well, Philza had never seen the point of outliving his child anyways.

Technoblade didn't take after his mother in looks. His brown hair, his eyes, even his personality came mostly from his father. The one thing he'd inherited from his mother was her rage. So when Technoblade said he was going to make the sky gods pay, he meant it.
He just had to survive the games long enough to put his plan into motion. And if he failed, Technoblade would at least make sure his death meant something.

Notes:

Does this technically count as a hunger games AU? It's been inspired by so many things I think it wraps its way all around to being original again. Thanks to the many awesome writers and artists out there who inspired this, if not directly than through your sheer enthusiasm for your projects. You have my thanks, and extra kudos <3

I hope you enjoy!

I should note that this is based entirely on fan-depictions and my own ideas. I don't keep up with content creators, so if you've come with the expectation of accurate timelines, events, or character depictions, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed ':D All the characters represented are the character only, as best as I have written.

Chapter 1: Players

Philza hated the hub. Blistering heat hit him as soon as he left the portal--an effect of building a giant plaza of stone in the sky with nothing to draw away the heat--mixing uncomfortably with the nausea of dimensional travel. The sound was nearly as bad, a rush of noise and confusion that was always overwhelming when contrasted with the quiet of the forest he came from.

The hub was full of people swarming about, here and there, streams of steady traffic that pressed too close and left no exits. They threatened to crush those who couldn’t offer a bit of threat back. Chayanne and Tallulah, capable as they were, definitely fit into that category. Philza lived in fear that they would be caught up and swept away in the tide whenever they were visiting with him.

Not having them there was worse.

Phil elbowed past a tall being with almost draconic features, only for the creature to immediately turn and begin shouting at him. Philza ignored it, gritting his teeth and resisting the urge to pull a dagger as he continued to force his way through the crowd.
It would be so easy. And also just as likely to cause a stampede or get him arrested as it was to get him where he was going. He couldn’t help Chayanne if he was arrested.

The registry, at least, wasn’t far from the portal to the plaza. Philza had wondered about that sometimes as he hurried his kids past it, like they wouldn’t see, like they wouldn’t know one of the biggest living legends of history. If his kids hadn’t heard the story before he’d adopted them, he’d eat his own hat. And if they hadn’t heard it since, then Philza would be questioning the completeness of the story books they’d been reading.

There was a bubble of space around the little white building, squat and unobtrusive as it was. People didn’t walk past the registry, they walked around. Philza strode right inside.

The registry was quiet. Soft. Especially so when the door fell shut behind him, blocking out the noise and leaving silence as clean as the night. Philza let out a breath. The air smelled of birch and petrichor. Plants peeked from nooks and corners on the shelves that pressed against the walls. He felt some of the weight drain from his shoulders.

A woman sat behind a desk at the front. Antlers poked from her brown hair, creating a canopy from which pale vines and dripping blossoms hung. The desk was carved with the symbol of the phoenix-–a rising sun with wings spread wide before it.

“Welcome.” The woman smiled. The smile was a thin thing, pulled close over her teeth, but seemed no less genuine for it. “How may I help you?”

Philza felt something settle inside him with the voice, a cold determination that settled over the anxiety like a blanket. Or a shroud. “I’m here to register for the Games.”

“The games…? You mean the Phoenix Games?” She leaned closer, her voice lowering as if discussing a secret as her eyes softened with pity.

Philza laughed, throwing his head back in a humorless bark. “Yeah, the Phoenix Games. Not much else I could be here for, is there?”

She leaned back, surveying him carefully. “There are other options, you know? For your...”

“Son. If there were other options I wouldn’t be here.” The fury was still there, stoked by pain and helplessness rather than buried by it.

“Very well. If you would like to follow me to another room where we can discuss further and collect the paperwork?” She got to her feet, revealing the body of a centauride. Her smile, though still comforting, revealed the edges of pointed teeth. There was no hiding the glint of divinity in her eyes, and Phil knew she was a god even as he followed her away.

She settled him in an even closer room, with stacks of papers and shelves and more greenery, pointing out wavers for Philza to sign his life away. Literally, as he signed away liability for death, disfigurement, dismemberment—really all the d’s. Destruction of his soul probably was in there somewhere. He filled out medical forms on himself, on Chayanne at the quiet prompting of the god. “If you go, we might be able to care for him.”

By the end, his head was spinning and he nearly stumbled as he stood. He didn’t know how long he'd been sitting.

“You may take any weapons and mementos that you wish, though you should know there is a chance they would be lost in the arena,” the god told him as she led him to the outer door. “If there is anything you want to pass on to your children, it would be best to leave it behind.”

Philza nodded, but she stalled him before he went out the door. “The game begins in two days.” Two days. The words filled him with equal flutterings of hope and anxiety.

Her face split into a cutting smile as she pulled open the door. “Good luck.”

And with that he was sent reeling into the sunlight, into the crowd, the noise. Two days to prepare, to get his head on straight, to pack. To spend time with his kids.

*-*-*

The waiting room was silent, as silent as Technoblade ever remembered them being. The room felt like the air of a morgue, stifling under the weight of fear and grief. Still, quiet, like the aftermath of a thunderbolt as the ground trembled and you wondered; if it struck again, would it still miss?

Technoblade shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was an uncomfortable chair, twisted from metal and plastic and held together by glue. The tiny movement felt too loud. He wondered if anyone could hear his fidgeting. He thought the tapping of his fingers was quiet enough, but it was hard to tell when he could hear every rustle of his clothing and every sigh from the acolyte across the room.

There was no one else there, but still he waited, second to a pile of paperwork stacked high on the acolyte’s desk.

Technoblade didn’t think he could stop his fidgeting. He shifted his attention to stare at the walls instead, counting the perforations in the yellowed panels as he tried not to stare. Or go insane from waiting.

He’d zoned out when the man behind the desk finally coughed, making Technoblade jump, and set his pen aside aside to stare pointedly. “Technoblade?” The man’s voice sounded like he’d spent his life inhaling parchment dust, enough to turn his insides to paper. The stare had been perfectly primed with just enough indifference, exhaustion, and plain irritation to make Technoblade want to disappear as he scuttled to stand before the acolyte.

“Name?” He raised his pen again, shifting over a new document and staring up at Technoblade from beneath dark eyebrows. His name tag proclaimed him to be Jerry.

“Uh-” Technoblade coughed, clearing his throat. “Technoblade.”

“And why are you in?”

His attention was fixed on the pen as it scrawled mesmerizing swirls of ink across the page. “I’m here to participate in the games.”

The pen stopped, the skittering scrawl giving way to an even heavier silence. “The games.”

“Yeah, uh… I heard-”

The man cut him off, softening with the first hints of compassion Technoblade had heard from him. “Who are you in for?”

Technoblade looked up, staring full into those weepy eyes and the pale crescent of a moon scarred across the acolytes forehead. The mark of a sky god. His expression hardened. “My mother.”

Chapter 2: Set

Summary:

He had to tell them. He couldn’t, not when they were happy and distracted and he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what he’d done himself. Later. He’d find a way later, tonight, before Fit could leave.

“I’m home!”

For a moment there was silence, and then Philza heard the skittering of little claws as Tallulah practically launched herself down the hall towards him. He managed to catch her in his arms, bending down and holding her close for a second.

“Hola, mi hija.” She pulled back, grinning up at him and bouncing on her toes. Philza couldn’t help a fond smile as he straightened, brushing her hair back. “How is your brother? I brought gifts.” He’d stopped on his way back to find some, and also to eat and get something to drink. He couldn’t return home like he’d been—he’d have worried the kids, and there was already enough worry in the house.

Tallulah lept back, pulling out her book and pen to start scribbling with a concentrated expression. Fit got there before she could finish, carefully closing Chayanne’s door behind him before striding into the room.

“Phil! Chayanne’s doing alright, and same with Tallulah. Not much has happened since you left, aside from your kids being little terrors.”

“Thanks, Fit.” Tallulah scowled at the interruption, scribbling out what she’d been writing to start on a new line. She turned it to face him a moment later, bouncing on her toes. A single word was scrawled there, large enough to read despite the bouncing.

“Gifts?”

Philza laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Gifts. Let's go collect your brother, and then I can pass them out. He's not sleeping, right?” That was directed to Fit, who shook his head.

“Nope! If he was, you getting here would have certainly woken him up.”

“Oi!” He pretended not to notice Tallulah tucking her hand into his as they walked, slipping her book into a pocket to cling to his shirt with the other. “You’re the loudest of all of us. If anyone’s waking him up, it would be you.” He tapped lightly on the door before pushing it open, a smile already in place.

Chayanne was struggling to sit up, scowling as he tried to untangle his blankets. The sun was almost enough to hide the paleness of his skin, even with the sheen of sweat across his forehead. The air was warm and faintly stifling, filled with the smells of home and a trace of sickness.

There wasn’t much changing that. Chayanne started to shiver if someone so much as cracked a window and the doctors had told Philza to keep him warm, even with the fever. Apparently his body had a hard time regulating temperatures now.

Tallulah let go of Philza’s hand, slipping silently over to clamber onto the edge of Chayanne’s bed, pulling out her book again. Philza followed, avoiding the floaty at the end of the bed and untucking some of the blankets so Chayanne could sit.

“Hey, my little warrior. How are you doing?”

Chayanne smiled up at him, dark shadows visible beneath his eyes. His forehead was warm when Philza surreptitiously checked his temperature, but not as hot as it might have been. His hair clung to Philza’s fingers in sweaty strands.

“That bad, huh?”

He rolled his eyes, making an effort to swat at Philza which Philza made a half-hearted effort to avoid. It bounced off where once it would have bruised.

“Yeah, I get it. You’re strong. I think-”

Tallulah bounced once on the bed, drawing both of their attention and cutting Philza off. She thrust out her book for them to read. The word “gift” had been circled multiple times and was surrounded by exclamation marks.

Chayanne shot him a questioning look, and Philza laughed again. Quietly, like laughter alone could break something. “Gifts. I brought some things back for you and ‘Lulla. They’re not much,” he continued, pulling a packet of seeds out of his pocket for Tallulah, “but I thought they’d help pass the time while you guys are home.”

He’d had a harder time finding something for Chayanne, the typical weapons or ingredients off the table. He’d settled for a metal box thing instead, maybe about the size of his palm with sides that twisted to make a puzzle.

He seemed to have chosen well enough, Tallulah taking the seeds with a delighted expression while Chayanne’s brow furrowed at the sight of the cube. His hands dipped with the weight of the metal and he immediately started twisting the pieces to try and figure it out.

He had to tell them. He couldn’t, not when they were happy and distracted and he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what he’d done himself. Later. He’d find a way later, tonight, before Fit could leave so he could make sure that someone would be watching his kids

“You’ll stay through dinner, right Fit?” He did his best to make his voice casual, to make it seem like he wasn’t watching his children from the corner of his eye, hoping they’d make the question more convincing. Tallulah perked up, immediately fixing those little dragon eyes of her hopefully on her uncle.

Chayanne was starting to lag, though, despite the barely fifteen minutes that he’d been up. He was leaning further and further over, and his eyes had narrowed as if having a hard time seeing.

“I do need to get back at some point, but I suppose I can stay for a bit longer,” Fit was saying.

“Good, you can– Why don’t you take a nap for a bit, Chayanne,” Philza said, gently tucking the blankets closer and grabbing a glass of water from the nightstand. “We can bring you out to the front couch to supervise our cooking once you’re done? And Fit will be able to yell your instructions at me if I get anything wrong.”

Chayanne nodded tiredly, putting his gift aside to wrap his hands loosely around the cup. Philza was still the one holding most of the weight. There were only three months left, they’d said. Maybe five, if he held on for a while

The games wouldn’t take three months.

Fit nodded, his voice going subdued. “Yeah, I can do that.”

They left Chayanne there, closing the door softly upon that room of sunlight, dispersing throughout the house to work on their own projects. Tallulah never wandered far from Philza, following him like a phantom.

And when the sun began to sink they opened that room and Philza was able to scoop his son up, blankets and all, and laugh as he brought him to the couch. Tallulah turned bright again, spinning around until she nearly fell, kicking her feet against the arm of the couch as she perched upon it, and practicing her flute as Chayanne stared with intent eyes.

Fit only had to yell almost too-late instructions three times as Philza cooked, and it turned out pretty well, even if Philza did say it himself. They were nearing the end of the meal, sat in a circle on and about the couch in the living room, when Philza cleared his throat.

“So.” He looked up at the others. “You know how I went and did a bunch of paperwork today?”

An exaggerated roll of the eyes and a nod from Chayanne.

“Weeeell. I might have found a way to help.” The room went silent as everyone froze. Philza glanced around, taking in their expressions. “I didn’t want to mention anything in case it didn’t work out, but there should be something that can help Chayanne.”

And then Fit was on his feet. Tallulah was still sitting frozen in shock, one hand wrapped clinging to Chayanne. “Really? That’s great! What is it?”

Chayanne looked like he’d had his feet knocked from under him, staring at Philza in confusion and hope.

“It’ll take me a while. The paperwork was for the right to go get it, but you might be cured if I can find it. You could be cured.” Tallulah leapt up, staring between him and Chayanne before spinning in almost aggressive happiness. Philza’s eyes were still locked on Chayanne, the rest of the room fading away as he took his hand.

Chayanne almost crumpled against him, grabbing his shirt with weak claws and burying his face in Philza’s shoulder. He felt him nod once, and that was it. There was nothing that would stop him from helping his son.

Philza swept him up, crushing Chayanne against him in a hug. “I’ll save you.” Or die trying. “I’ll need to leave soon, either tomorrow afternoon or early the next morning. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll be back.”

Tallulah’s hands wrapped themselves in the edge of his shirt, and the rest of the world existed again. Fit met his eyes with equal determination.

—

It was only after the kids were tucked in that Fit met him in that quiet hall, arms crossed and face serious. “What aren’t you telling them.”

“Fit.” He’d needed to tell him. “Let’s talk in the kitchen, less chance of disturbing them that way.”

“Phil, you know I’m always willing to watch the kids but there’s something you aren’t-”

Philza spun, coming face to chin with Fit. “I joined the games.”

“The-”

“The games. The Phoenix games. If I can get the token then-”

“Phil. That’s- You might not come back alive.”

Philza didn’t move, his face set. “It’s the only way to help.”

“How is getting yourself killed going to help them?!” He kept his voice quiet, even as his fists clenched. “How am I going to tell them? What about Tallulah?”

He breathed, pressing his eyes closed in the darkness for a moment to steady himself before opening them. “If everything goes well, I’ll return within a few months with the token and they’ll never need to know. If not–”

“You could die.”

“--I’ll leave a letter. You’ll look after Tallulah, right? And Chayanne, all of the rest of you? You don’t have to do it alone, but-” He swallowed, twisting his hands together.

“You know I will. I’ll make sure they’re taken care of and that the others know. But Phil-” Fit grabbed his shoulders, and Philza looked up. “Be careful. There’s more riding on this than I think you know.”

Chapter 3: Home

Summary:

“You’ll come back, right?”

“Oh, Tallulah.” He dropped to his knees, looking into those tear-filled brown eyes. He shut the book carefully, pulling her into a hug and running his fingers through her tangled hair. “Oh Tallulah.” He looked up, searching for strength in the distant sky, for words in the drifting petals of home.

“I will never leave you alone,” he whispered. “I promise. Even when I’m far away, I will always have someone looking out for you.”

The day before departure passed in a flurry of preparations. Philza spent the day packing, spending as much time with his kids as he could, reading until his voice was hoarse, and writing the notes.

He hid them in the most inaccessible spot he could think of, with a letter to Fit explaining where and when to find them if he didn’t want to make it.

Writing his will stalled him, late that final night, staring into a flickering candle flame with his shoulders slumped and a pen in his hand.

He’d never expected to need a will. Not now. Not now. Not ever, really. Not when he was still so young and he’d spent so much of his time alone, he never thought there would be anyone left behind to need one.

Yet somehow there were. Two of them. Kids he never expected to have but loved so desperately.

Philza sighed, running his fingers through his hair before taking up the pen again, ignoring the drooping of his eyelids as he continued to write.

The exhaustion clung to him when he forced himself awake early that same morning. He nearly tripped over the pile of things he’d gathered by the door as he headed to the kitchen, eyes blurry with sleep. Gray light faded through the curtains.

Philza stifled a yawn as he swung open the yellow-painted cupboards to start breakfast. He didn't think he would have time to eat with his kids, but at least he could get something started for them and whoever would be watching the two.

He wasn’t exactly sure who would be picking them up that day, since last he’d heard Fit had put together an entire rotation to watch them. Tallulah and Chayanne should still be asleep when they showed up, which meant Philza wouldn’t need to worry about leaving them unattended.

As if his thoughts had summoned the sound, he heard noises down the hallway. Philza paused, waiting as claws clicked down the hallway with a sad smile. Tallulah was the one to round the corner, of course, hiding fangs from an open yawn behind her hand. She was already dressed, though she looked half asleep.

“Hey mate,” Philza whispered, resuming his cooking with slow movements. He didn’t think he could wake Chayanne by cooking, but he didn’t think he would wake Tallulah either. “Did I wake you?”

Tallulah blinked, yawning again. Her gaze slid over the kitchen before seeming to focus on a chair. She dragged it over and climbed on the counter. She seemed content to watch him, listing to one side slightly with exhaustion.

Philza resisted the urge to prop her up, keeping a careful eye on her while he continued cooking. He worked in silence, save for short dints of humming. Something about the morning seemed wrong to break with words, and before he knew it the sun was rising.

His stomach seemed to drop with the first rays of golden sun, the normalcy weighing heavier with each moment until he couldn’t hold it anymore. “I need to go.”

Tallulah jerked upright, suddenly wide awake and staring at him with worried eyes. It had never been normal to begin with, this last day.

“I only have an hour before I’m supposed to be at the train station, and I need to go through the hub. Fit or someone should be here before breakfast, okay?”

She only stared. Philza swallowed hard, turning away, and heard the impact as she hit the ground, following after him as he collected his bags. She only disappeared for a moment, vanishing into her room for a second before she was back to following him.

They stopped outside of the door, the blossoms of the orange trees waving above them, and Philza turned back.

Tallulah stood there, rocking back and forth on her toes, her hands clenched tightly in her dress. She didn’t look at him.

“Take good care of your brother for me, yeah? And yourself. Be good for the others.”

She nodded once, and Philza could see the tear that streaked down her face to plop into the dirt. She wasn’t wearing shoes. He saw when she reached into her pocket to pull out the book, presenting it to him with trembling fingers to leaf through the pages. Past conversations, blurs of life before the sickness, and Philza felt a lump rise in his throat long before he reached the final message.

“You’ll come back, right?”

“Oh, Tallulah.” He dropped to his knees, looking into those tear-filled brown eyes. He shut the book carefully, pulling her into a hug and running his fingers through her tangled hair. “Oh Tallulah.” He looked up, searching for strength in the distant sky, for words in the drifting petals of home.

“I will never leave you alone,” he whispered as she shook silently into his shoulder, talons tight in the cloth of his shirt. “I promise. Even when I’m far away, I will always have someone looking out for you.”

She shook harder, and Philza could feel the tears seeping into his shoulder. He held her tighter for a moment, fighting back his own tears and the thought of Chayanne laying in bed, unmoving and pale. “Be good for me, okay?”

Another nod. Philza had to pry her away in order to stand, leaving her alone, wringing her hands behind him in the flowers like falling snow.

*-*-*

The ash had been still today, the heaving clouds and smog unbroken by what some called rain. Not that it would have stopped Technoblade.

He knelt upon the ashy ground before his mother’s grave. People said the graveyard–created in the third war with hunks of blackish brick for walls–was haunted. Technoblade had always found that people were haunted more than places.

He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to be said between him and his mother. There never had been. He sighed, shoulders slumping. Technoblade tapped the knife on the ground twice before getting to his feet. This was goodbye. He didn’t have anything to leave behind, and no future to promise.

He tucked the knife into his belt and left the place of shattered bones behind, left the soul-lights and all their brimstone. He did not leave the ghosts.

Promises swept after him like the train of a monarch's cloak, enshrouding, enfolding, covering him beneath their weight.

Chapter 4: Train

Summary:

The ticket was thick and glossy, with dark feathers inked into the corners that flashed violet in the light. His name had been stamped into the middle of it.

Philza felt incredibly watched.

The hub was no less hot in the early morning, before the morning rush. The oven-like bricks continued to radiate the warmth they’d picked up the days before. Philza had wondered if they’d ever run out of that heat, or if they’d just keep picking it up, day after day. If they’d ever fill up with heat completely, and what would happen then? Would the stones shatter? Or proceed to roast everyone as they transitioned fully into an oven? Or maybe they’d turn into a sun of their own, combine their heat and mass to become just another ball of fury in the sky. He thought he’d heard something about heat and matter at some point, something something, combine together, something. He hadn’t been paying much attention.

No matter. He shook off the distraction, turning his attention back to navigating the hub. There were fewer people now. It was funny, one would think that the number of people moving to escape the morning rush would create a morning rush of their own, but no. The space was as empty as he’d ever seen it. Only a few shops even had their doors open.

The train was there though, when he twisted through the cramped streets. The black paint gleamed in the sunlight, looking almost unreal as it stood shining and proud in the empty station. The station felt like the registry, silent in that muted way, cut off from the outside world and avoided by all. Really, Philza should just start navigating by where people weren’t at this point. It seemed to make as much sense as anything else when dealing with the games.

Even the ticket booth was empty, and he hesitated a long moment before approaching the building. He didn’t exactly have time to wait, and a ticket was certainly something that he needed. It had been outlined in his contract, the price written out in bold numbers, even if there was no one around to actually give him one or a way into the booth.

He got the feeling that stealing from the sky gods wouldn’t be the best plan, given that he was about to enter their domain. Hence, he dropped exactly the amount of the ticket onto the counter before trying to reach through the gap to grab one.

Philza never got the chance. The money slid into the slot as though scooped by an invisible hand and vanished through the counter. The ticket wheel began to spin with a ticking whir before a single ticket broke off and fell through the gap to rest right where his change had been.

Philza stared.

If there was this amount of magic having to do with everything in the arena… He might be in for a bit more of a challenge than he imagined. While he was about as proficient with runes as the next guy, the ability of gods went far beyond what any mortal could do. Even a trained one. Magic was meant to look like magic, but the sky gods shattered that, just as they did death.

He was half sure that the ticket would burn his fingers when he reached out to grab it, but it felt normal, albeit extremely fancy. The ticket was thick and glossy, with dark feathers inked into the corners that flashed violet in the light. His name had been stamped into the middle of it.

Philza felt incredibly watched.

He shook out his shoulders, glancing around the empty station. He could reason it out as him being the only only one to sign up from this district. They’d have known the name to go on the ticket then. Maybe someone had printed it out beforehand, though he snorted at the thought of an entire string of tickets with only his name. Or the idea of a god sending out a disciple to do it for them.

The feeling followed him until he showed his ticked to a clear box on the side of a carriage door, then flickered out as though it had never been there. The door opened with more magic, or so Philza assumed. It could be redstone, though he didn’t see any of the mechanisms that usually heralded the dust’s presence.

The lighting of the train was dim, and Philza hesitated for a moment before getting on. It felt… final, somehow. More final than the paperwork, more real than the sickness. Like a piece of the abyss, a portal to another world.

With a final check to his things, an absent prayer to the heavens, Philza stepped inside the train.

The door snapped shut behind him to the hiss of pistons, closing away the light of the outside. The windows were tinted, see through when he got close to them but dark enough to keep the sun from shining in. The seats were plush and Philza longed to sink into them as the train rattled to life below his feet, beginning its chugging plunge.

He set the feeling aside, going to inspect the train instead. By the time Philza sank into sleep, he had confirmed that there was no one else inside. There wasn’t even a conductor near the front, the machinery spinning away on its own, which meant there was no one there to tamper with his things. He was safe.

Philza collapsed into the nearest couch he could find and passed out with his hat tipped over his eyes and his bags spread out beside him. He was already asleep by the time the obsidian portal appeared before him, swirling magic filling the center. He missed the flicker of light as the train passed though the portal and vanished from the world.

Notes:

(Starting to run a bit low on chapters, so the next one should be on time, but after that it's a matter of how fast I can write )

Chapter 5: Rules we Follow (bend and break)

Summary:

The Watcher, and the rules of the game.

-*-*-

“Welcome!” The blur spun, violet eyes opening on its dark face and flaring across what looked like moth wings. “To the Phoenix games. You’re all familiar, I have no doubt.” The Watcher grinned, another eye taking the place of its mouth.

Technoblade clutched the hilt of his dagger close as he stared into the depths of the portal. There was no way to see the end. The end of those depths, the end of his planning, the end of the fall.

Once he stepped into that portal, there was no going back. There was no more time, no fixing things if they went awry, no preparing. Once he reached the other side, the gods would be in control. Until he could find a way to rid them from the world, or die in the attempt.

Technoblade pressed his eyes close, taking a deep breath as he counted up his things. One, the dagger in his hand, its handle carefully wrapped in worn leather. Two, the necklace beneath his shirt, chipped and scuffed from the many years. Three, the tattered book in his pocket. Four, the bag, with enough food for one, maybe two meals at most. All he could scrounge up.

He took a breath in, opened his eyes, and fell.

There was no bracing for what was on the other side. Technoblade had been through several portals over the years, including one to the end, a trippy experience that felt like doing a cartwheel through dark waters. Some would dump a traveler several feet above lava, or bring them to the center of the earth. He’d read of portals that would vanish when the traveler went through, or flip the entire world on its axis.

This one felt like stepping off a stair. His stomach dropped for a split second before his foot jarred against a white stone floor. The memory of his old world lingered, hovering before his eyes until it cleared, leaving him blinking out at a wide white room framed with two pillars.

Technoblade immediately twisted, only to see the portal in the shape of a deep pit behind him. The pathway wavered like water, dark and dirty as the ash that stained the planet he hailed from.
Technoblade let out a slow breath, turning back to the space between the pillars.

The air tasted sterile, and not in that old, mold tainted way that marked the office he’d signed up in. It felt empty, like no one had ever been there or no one ever stayed. His steps echoed as he walked, bouncing off of distant walls. He kept his eyes peeled, looking for any signs of magic as he went. Or straight up divine intervention.

If this was the first test, he was pretty much done for.

The paperwork hadn’t mentioned anything about an entrance exam, but he doubted the sky gods would care much about that. Also the “paperwork” had amounted to less than a single page. “Do you acknowledge that you might die, yes or no. If so, tell your loved ones goodbye and start planning your funeral.” So within context it made sense that they wouldn’t have mentioned anything along the lines of a test.

He was still staring up at the tops of the pillars when he stepped between them and sky swept across the ceiling with a gust of wind. The quartz roof vanished as if it had never been, revealing rows of amphitheater-like seating hovering like clouds in a broken ring around the circular room.

Identical pairs of pillars formed open archways into- Technoblade couldn’t see what they lead into. The air glared back at him, glimmers of violet sparking around the edges of the space, and Technoblade grimaced, blinking to try to clear his sight. When he tried to think back, the only thing he could remember between the columns was a blur.

There was another person sitting on the floor near the center of the room, her shoulders hunched and her back towards him as she stared to the pedestal in the middle. She had pink hair, tied up in twin buns on the top of her head, and a bow with a matching quiver lay by her side. Violet glimmered from the base of her neck, a fold of her clothes, a pillar top high above.

Technoblade let out a slow breath, finally releasing his grip on the handle of his knife. He was being watched. Finally.

There was something relieving to the eyes, as anxiety inducing as they were. They meant he hadn't failed, yet. All he had to worry about was not failing in the future.

… He probably should have put some thought into how he would interact with other contestants, considering they were a thing that existed. He hadn't, and now his mind was coming up dreadfully blank as he stepped farther into the room, surreptitiously scanning for more of the glimmering eyes. There was another in a corner, lazily blinking down at them.

He could just… not interact, right? Be the silent loner type? The woman didn’t seem to have noticed him, so that would… work. He leaned back, watching the people as they arrived and waiting for the subsequent arrival of eyes. They appeared one by one, each exiting through the pillared columns.

None of them seemed to have any more idea about the changes of the room than he did, either seeming uncaring of the changes or some form of… shocked, maybe? He wasn’t the best at judging faces, but none of them seemed more familiar with the place than any other.

A few of the others started up conversations as they entered, including a sort of… enderman hybrid? He had the fine, pressure resistant scales of void-things speckled across what portions of his face and hands were visible, two different colors of eyes, and an excessive amount of height. He seemed to know the pink haired woman from before, startling when he saw her before moving to talk to her.

There were other hybrids as well, including anything from a cow hybrid to what might have been a slime. There were other humans too, including a man in dark green robes and- someone he thought he recognized from the pit.

Technoblade shot up straight. No. Oh no. That was definitely someone he knew. Did they know him? Had they seen that he was there? That could… okay, ideally Whisper’s presence would make things better. More things to catch the Watcher’s eyes could only be a plus, right? But it depended on how much he knew, and how much he was willing to fight Technoblade.

He let out another breath, carefully avoiding looking at Whisper directly. If he looked too hard, there was even more of a chance that Whisper would see him, assuming he hadn’t already. He fell to counting the eyes instead, trying to pick out more of their hiding places while tracking Whisper’s movements.

He didn’t get much of a chance to spy before a crack of thunder split the room, making him jump with the force of the sound. His vision went dark, but it was back a moment later. There was a dark shape in the middle of the platform. A quick glance up showed new arrivals in the floating seats.

“Welcome!” The blur spun, violet eyes opening on its dark face and flaring across what looked like moth wings. “To the Phoenix games. You’re all familiar, I have no doubt.” The Watcher grinned, another eye taking the place of its mouth. “Still, there are perhaps a few things I should cover.”

He halted in the air, raising a hand. “Firstly, the prize.” An icon appeared above his hand, drifting in black smoke. Technoblade thought he could see Nyx in the seating, and taken with the thunder and Zeryne’s presence, he wondered how much of the presentation was actually The Watcher's doing.

“The Phoenix medallion, with the power to revive the dead. Die with the token, and you will be revived as fit and whole as you have ever been. Sickness, injuries, or even age will be burned away as if they never had been.

“The price of life?” The Watcher closed his hand, dark wings fluttering as he strolled across his makeshift stage. “Death. As it always has been. Only one person can escape the arena with the token, so be prepared to kill and die. The token is hidden somewhere in the world. Hints and helpful items, to say the least, are in these chests–” a wave of his hand and a hop higher into the air and chests appeared beneath him on the platform. Technoblade heard at least one person gasp. ”--and across the arena, if you can find them. To give everyone a fair chance, of course. And to add a little extra bonus, a little interest–” He paused, grin sharpening with more eyes, appearing like fangs in its face. A wave of his hand. The entire room moved, twisting to see what had changed.

“You now have extra lives. Some of you. I don’t know which, or how many. That would make things less fun. Not more than half, no less than two. Die as a Phoenix, and your killer gains your life and the Phoenix revives. No player can have more than a single extra life, no matter how many they kill. If anyone should die without someone taking their life, then that life is gone. The extra lives are only valid inside the arena, and the Phoenix medallion, as always, takes precedence.

“So I suggest you don’t die. It might be better to eliminate any potential threats before you try to escape. After all, it would be a shame if it were all for nothing, wouldn’t it?” The eyes in its head glowed brighter, and the large ones on the Watcher’s wings broke apart into tiny swarms.

Technoblade could see some of the swarm of eyes sneak away, trailing down a shadow to scatter into the corners. Watching, always watching.

The Watcher clapped, and Technoblade saw the spaces between the pillars snap into clarity, revealing different biomes. The Watcher himself twisted, stretching, dripping away like ink on a canvas as his voice carried on. “I think a countdown would be fitting.” The crowd shifted as one, some getting to their feet, all of their hands falling to rest on their assorted weaponry.

“Three.” Technoblade's shifted so the pillar was directly to his back, just in case anything came from behind.

“Two.” His hand wrapped around the hilt of his dagger, leather damp with sweat as he clutched it, glancing between the eyes and the people before him.

The Watcher had fallen away completely, the eyes the last to go, like some cousin of the Cheshire cat.

“One."

The walls fell.

Notes:

(The Watcher is such a dapper little soulless eye guy.)

Chapter 6: Begin

Summary:

Beginning of the Games, and the first choices.

-*-*-

The adrenaline felt like euphoria, felt flying, felt like hunting. It turned the players from people to prey; threats. The arrow itched beneath his fingers, begging to strike.

Only the memory of Chayanne stopped him. This wasn’t for him, this wasn’t a hunt, not a job, it wasn’t for Philza. This was for Chayanne, and Philza wouldn’t be any good to him dead. The loot in the center, well enough, but not worth dying over. The risk of making an enemy, the same. Philza had food, he had hints, or he could dig them up or rip them from the corpses left behind.

He’d never been beaten to a prize and he wasn’t going to be now, no matter what he had to do.

Notes:

(Ever just randomly realize that you've forgotten how to write? O.o)

Philza took off with a turn of his heel the second the god said go, pulling an arrow to nock in the same movement. He was far from the closest to the doors, but he made do, the bow in his hand offering enough threat that no one decided to get in his way.

Other players ran for the chests, and the first bang of a lid being thrown back coincided with the first round of snarls, a chorus of shouts, thunks and shrieks starting up behind him.

Philza ran, his shoes making a pounding beat against the marble.

Another player made it through a gateway, vanishing to a plain of reddish sand. Another group–two, a lanky hybrid and a short pink haired woman–dragged each other through a mountain door, and Philza resisted the urge to take a shot.

The adrenaline felt like euphoria, felt flying, felt like hunting. It turned the players from people to prey; threats. The arrow itched beneath his fingers, begging to strike.

Only the memory of Chayanne stopped him. This wasn’t for him, this wasn’t a hunt, not a job, it wasn’t for Philza. This was for Chayanne, and Philza wouldn’t be any good to him dead. The loot in the center, well enough, but not worth dying over. The risk of making an enemy, the same. Philza had food, he had hints, or he could dig them up or rip them from the corpses left behind.

He’d never been beaten to a prize and he wasn’t going to be now, no matter what he had to do.

His foot broke the doorway, a twig snapping underfoot as the ground turned from solid marble to springy mulch. The forest had been the closest doorway, but Philza would have chosen it even if it wasn’t. He lived in forests. He knew forests, for as much as the knowledge would hold up in the arena of the gods.

The canopy hung heavy over his head, an almost roof-like weave of leaves and branches. Columns of sunlight battled their way through, beacons of light almost lost amid the gloom.

He was lucky there weren’t many exposed tree roots, and lucky the lack of sunlight meant there weren’t many low hanging branches. The thick trees almost blocked the curving line of another biome, a swath of craggy cliffs spiraling from the sky gods’ amphitheater, the same one he’d spotted in the doorway next to his.

Right. First things first. He had to get as far away from the starting point as possible, far from any threats. Then he could start hunting for clues. Food was a necessary third, water included, because the games lasted until someone won and he only had enough, truly enough, for perhaps a week.

That would be easy though, with the brown and red caps of mushrooms shining through the gloom even– he nearly stumbled in his sprint. Even rising into the trees, as a pillar of white resolved into not a different tree, but a giant stalk supporting a spotted top.

The sight brought back memories of fairies, of storytellers with their weaving hands and souls too kind to recognize the stories a young Philza was used to.

The thought was out of place, taking its place beside the fleeting thought of magic and the distorted feeling of a world much larger than it should have been.

Would a god hide their emblem here?

Philza didn’t have time to stop and stare, and the sight flashed past. His breathing was starting to labor in his chest. Humans were only made for so much sprinting, and he was pretty sure the dearth of oxygen was contributing just a bit to his scattered thoughts.

He kept running, though. The other biomes, though hidden now behind the dark trunks of the trees, couldn’t have been more than a few minutes' dash away.

He couldn’t hear the other players, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close by. The forest swallowed sound, it swallowed light, making it nearly impossible to judge time.

Philza was forced to slow eventually, gasping for breath as his chest heaved. It hadn’t been long enough. He hadn’t gone far enough. Some of the hybrids were no doubt close behind—unless they were dead—their features allowing them to run faster and longer without growing tired.

He had to keep going, but he couldn’t at that pace. Philza fumbled for his canteen, sliding his arrow back in its quiver so he could take frantic glups of water. It gave him a chance to think. Gave him a chance to strain his ears for the sound of approaching players. Gave him a chance to hear his own thoughts.

What would Philza do if he ran into another player? Or if another player ran into him. His hand tightened instinctively on his bow at the thought. If he could find a phoenix… They’d chase him, if they knew he had their extra life, wouldn’t they? And there was no way to tell if he’d gained one unless they came back to life in front of him.

He’d seen people teaming up, he’d thought. Was that something he could do instead? Make a pact? Betray it?

It didn’t matter at the moment. The air was silent now that his breathing had slowed, empty except for what could have been a bird, or what could have been the last lingering cries of the battle at the portal room.

Philza exhaled, capping his canteen and tucking it into his pack. He’d make the decision when he came to it, if he came to it.

He picked his path more carefully when he began again, peering as far into the dark trunks as he could. There wasn’t much he could do except keep going, and hope he found something on the way.

Chapter 7: Fight or Flight

Summary:

Beginning part 2

-*-*-

Technoblade really should have taken the time to think through what he was going to do before he was in the thick of things, but to be fair he’d had other things to worry about.

Technoblade really should have taken the time to think through what he was going to do before he was in the thick of things, but to be fair he’d had other things to worry about.

He was relatively safe from his position by the door, but safe didn’t win any favors. Safe didn’t win any wars, and astonishingly, in this case safe didn’t mean survival.

So, with approximately half of a dream and one fifth of a plan, Technoblade sprinted for the middle. The first fight had already broken out, between a pair who had been talking just minutes before the start of the games. He blinked once, banishing the image of the player’s shocked expression to the darkness behind his eyes.

The rest of it blurred into a familiar cacophony. Like a painting, a mix of abstract lines and the most familiar color of all.

He dodged a downward swipe from a beleaguered cat-hybrid who’d broken away from the main brawl only to run into him. It was clear the guy had never fought a day in his life, eyes blown wide with terror.

He would have been destroyed in the pit and- Focus. Technoblade snatched his knife from his belt, the blade a shine of silver as he spun it to slam the hilt against the hybrid’s skull. He couldn’t let his attention drift. Hopefully the guy would be up in a few minutes, the path clear enough that he wouldn’t get caught up in stupid fights before he got out of there.

The eye still glinted from atop a pillar, though the other gods had vanished, a flash of clarity in all the confusion. He couldn’t go through this on rote, even setting aside that his knife hardly counted as a weapon. Don’t die, don’t stab anybody, and put on a show. Got it. He got this. He was so incredibly good at doing this-

He slammed into the first person bent over a chest, twisting to throw them further away and stomping on their foot in the process so they wouldn’t follow him back. He ignored the chest—too vulnerable of a position to get caught in—in favor of the next fight, some dark haired guy with a sword and actual experience but slow reaction times.

He obviously wasn’t used to the weapon, likely using it as intimidation or taking it from a chest, and nearly dropped the thing when he raised it to defend. Technoblade disarmed him with a strong twist to the man’s wrist, forgoing his knife to straight up punch the guy, who fled the moment Technoblade let his arm go.

There was a split second for him to reorientate, gauging nearby threats and the closest door. Whisper was still on the other side of the treasure pile, blue hood hiding his face as he fought. There was a random guy with armor not too far away, a man with a staff he absolutely knew how to use inching closer, several non-combatants- More wounded or dead underfoot, more people breaking off every moment they managed to survive. One got a knife to the back as they ran, a last effort to take out the competition.

Technoblade caught a slash of his own from an older man, fighting back the typical battle thrill demanding he fight back, follow up with the easier move and stab with the knife still in his hand– He wasn’t able to fight back a grin, jabbing instead with an stiff hand at the man’s shoulder. It was enough to make the guy stumble back, taking his weapon with him and minding his business.

Whisper vanished out a door, another three contestants following after him like a pack of dogs.

The rest of the space was getting bare, and Technoblade ducked to grab what he could from the chests. The floor was slippery with blood and he was forced to catch himself on the wooden edge, conscious all the time of the last contestants creeping closer.

He was deluding himself if he thought he would be the last one in the center. It wasn’t like he needed it, either.

(The eyes still gleamed from their watchful distance, slipping from crevice to shadow.)

He needed food.

(He needed to survive.)

The chests were a mix of half looted already and full of things he couldn’t carry. Armor was too bulky to carry and too slow to put on. Weapons, as useful as they’d be, weren’t essential at the moment.

He was able to grab a cloth bag that might have food from one chest, a weird rock from another, and a flint and steel before the clack of wood told him he was out of time. He bolted for the doors, ignoring the urge to turn and fight. He hated running, but it wasn’t a defeat. Just a retreat, a re-strategizing.

The nearest doors were useless, a mess of swamp and a plain that looked terrifying for some undefinable reason. He angled for the closest trees instead, avoiding cutting through the platform of chests. It didn’t stop a distinctly heavy step from falling behind him.

Technoblade turned, half ducking as he raised his dagger to meet the swing of a blade. His arm nearly buckled under the force of the blow, the dagger not meant for a full on sword fight, but he was able to redirect the blow enough to keep his head from getting cut off.

His opponent’s face was hidden beneath their armor, leaving a menacing emptiness where expression should be. Technoblade huffed, shifting back and away to present less of a target. There wasn’t much he could do against full armor, which left him with stalling.

“Really bruh? I was leaving! How about this, I leave you with your stuff and I go and don’t burden you with my probable death.”

The suit of armor snorted, and the corner of Technoblade’s mouth ticked up in response even as he tried backing away so very stealthily. The armor noticed, following him with a tilt of its head.

“I don’t see what I get out of this.”

“I won’t bother you? There’s a decent chance of mutual destruction if I run into anyone? A slightly cleaner conscience?” The person was slow to follow Technoblade’s retreat, though whether that was due to the weight of the armor or any abundance of caution, he couldn't say. “I’ve gotta say, all that kind of pales in comparison to what happens if you don’t let me go.”

“Let me guess-–you’ll kill me?”

“Oh, definitely,” Technoblade said as he turned and sprinted for the door. Armor guy didn’t follow him more than a couple of steps, so he was taking that as a win for diplomacy. None of the rest followed him, and Technoblade plunged into the closest trees, disappearing into the gloom of the roofed forest.

Chapter 8: A Measured Dose of Insanity

Summary:

The best laid plans of mice and men are not what we're dealing with today

-*-*-

“Alright,” he said aloud, trying not to feel awkward about talking to nothing. Or rather something. Or really- it was an awkward situation, kind of something and nothing at the same time, which was doing wonders for his anxiety the more he thought about it so he just wouldn’t.

Notes:

Late? ... I don't know what you mean. Clearly this chapter is exactly on time, and writers block and my complete lack of a concrete outline did not gang up on me to delay it's production. They would never. After all, writers block and writing outlines have always been known as such kind creations that would never team up for the torment of readers and writers alike.

Technoblade didn’t run far. He was pretty sure most of the danger was ahead of him, actually, or above him, rather than chasing after him. Instead he slowed to a walk when he was barely out of sight of the center, ignoring the trees around him to inspect his items.

The rock was glowing. It was a weird rock, which was kind of obvious considering that it was glowing, but besides that it was also covered in weird… bumps. Those were the glowing parts, almost like fireflies had been trapped inside. It sounded like glass when he tapped it, all strange and hollow like those baubles that people put on trees. They made good weapons, those baubles, and he nodded to himself, tossing the rock once in the air before slipping it into his bag.

Hopefully it wasn’t an explosive. Or hopefully it was? Technoblade wasn’t sure yet, he’d figure that out when he got to it. At any rate he didn’t need a light at the moment, and it probably wouldn’t explode on his person. That would be bad, if it did.

The flint and steel was just normal flint and steel, from what he could tell, though it had a good durability on it. That got the same treatment, tucked away into a small pocket within the pouch he’d brought.

He took a moment to listen before checking the bag, staring out into the forest around him to see if there were any other contestants nearby. He couldn’t see anything, though a glimmer of light from above him did catch his attention. The eyes were harder to see in the forest, the collection of colors and textures making it so they didn’t stand out quite as much. There was still one, two… perhaps four, that he could see, and he’d get better at finding them with time.

The air was silent, too, if you could count what he was pretty sure was the shrieking of insects as silent. No players, at least, and Technoblade let his shoulders relax, trying hard to keep his expression even as his mind spun.

“Alright,” he said aloud, trying not to feel awkward about talking to nothing. Or rather something. Or really- it was an awkward situation, kind of something and nothing at the same time, which was doing wonders for his anxiety the more he thought about it so he just wouldn’t. “Here’s the plan. I’ve totally got a plan, okay-”

(Five. He didn’t know how good their hearing was, though all evidence pointed to them having the ability. Just keep talking )

“I got stuff.” He pulled open the bag. “Not much stuff, admittedly. I need- oh, food. That’s a good thing.” There was an empty waterskin on top, and a pile of paper-wrapped parcels that certainly seemed like it might be food of some kind. That would be good if he ever found a water source.

“I need armor. Weapons, and that means finding people. I need to find Whisper. Who knows what-” there was something else in the bag. He felt it when he went to tie it to his belt, something heavy at the bottom of the pouch.

He plunged his hand back in, coming up with a polished stone. He had no idea what type. Nothing in any of his studies had included types of rocks. It was smooth, red, a little smaller than his palm, with streaks of orange and tan all the way through. The Phoenix Emblem had been carved into the stone with lines as dark as coal. It looked like it had been seared into the rock.

Technoblade froze, staring down at the rock as he traced the shape. “I need someone to figure out whatever this is supposed to mean, apparently.”

It was obviously a clue of some kind, but what it meant was a mystery that Technoblade was not going to dig into. Well, he may have tried smacking it on a tree to see if it broke open when he started moving again. It did not, and he was out of ideas.

He kept rambling as he walked, commentating on various objects he passed and floating random ideas. There was a fine line between talking too much and talking too little. Talk too much and it became boring, became evidence of a ploy. Talk too little, and he faced the same problems.

Which was why he was almost glad when the light started to dim and he nearly got impaled by an arrow.

Chapter 9: Night

Summary:

The first night.

-*-*-

There was a brief moment of stillness, when he found a foothold in the rough bark and the stars shone glittering through a hole in the canopy, before a rattling groan sounded from behind him.

It was hard to tell time in the forest. Philza didn’t know how long he had been wandering, breathing in the musty smell of the woods, when the light began to fade. He hadn’t run into any other players, but he hadn’t run into any chests either. He thought he had a pretty good lead on anyone from the center.

Philza was debating whether to stop for the night or press on. There wasn’t much point in continuing without light, but there was always the chance of someone catching up. Who knew what was in those chests? It wasn’t something he could worry about now.

He’d just found a tree to climb when the last of the sun slipped away and the sky turned black. There was a brief moment of stillness, when he found a foothold in the rough bark and the stars shone glittering through a hole in the canopy, before a rattling groan sounded from behind him.

Philza had long since returned his bow and arrow to their respective cases. He leapt from the tree, sprinting in the clearest direction he could remember from before the light vanished.

The zombie may have been the first, but it was far from the last. A chorus of sounds broke out, the rattle-bones of skeletons mixing with the groans of the zombies. Of course there were mobs. Why wouldn’t there be? It wasn’t like the rest of the world was hazardous enough already! He was already running out of clear paths, and Philza was all too aware that he might be running into more danger than he was escaping.

He narrowly avoided a tree branch to the head, a blot of darkness against darkness his only warning. There was a space beyond it, the pitch black of the forest making the starlight of the clearing seem bright.

He spun, drawing his bow and arrow and hooting the second the zombie stepped into the light. The zombie staggered, and Philza didn’t hesitate to loose another two arrows into it. The thing didn’t feel pain. It would gladly follow him to the ends of the world if given the chance, and Philza didn’t intend to let it.

The third arrow hit and the magic keeping the zombie animated dissipated. The monster fell into nothing more than a pile of rotten flesh. He didn’t have a chance to celebrate his kill before a skeleton stepped out of the woods, bones clacking. More mobs followed after it.

Philza couldn’t stay here. Especially not when the shriek of a phantom had him glancing up at the open air above him. For now he kept retreating until his back hit a tree, picking off mobs with as much caution as he dared.. He didn’t have an unlimited number of arrows.

The woods were just as foreboding as the mass of mobs. He needed a direction, and a shimmer of light provided that. It could be nothing, might be nothing more than starlight against the ground, but it was a direction.

Philza took off, the jolt of another arrow enough clear his path slightly. It wasn’t much of a path, the glow so patchy and dim as to be almost hallucinatory and spread across trees and ground alike. Twigs caught in his hair as he ran, and there were no less monsters this way.

He was on the verge of giving up and finding a tree to give at least some kind of shelter when his foot hit a plank. A plank, not a root, the wood ringing hollow underfoot.

He nearly tripped in surprise.

The next step was dirt, which meant- What was it, a path? A pit trap? There. A sharp edge against the sky amid the soft blur of leaves. A shelter. Some type of sky base. Another glimmer of yellowish light caught his eye, shining against the well worn wood of a handhold.

Philza lunged in tandem with the release of a skeleton’s bowstring. The arrow got there first, slicing its way through his arm as he yanked himself off the ground. That was his good arm, too.

The rest of the rungs were found through touch, scrabbling his way up a ladder made for someone just slightly shorter than him on pure instinct. His foot banged against the side when he hauled himself up. Philza collapsed against the wall, heaving for breath and waiting for the mobs to appear.

He could hear them clamoring down below, but none of the mobs ever made their way up the ladder. Finally he could rest.

Eventually the adrenaline faded and the ache in his arm made itself known. His whole body ached, but especially that.

His kids had made him soft. It had been too long since he’d gone adventuring, and he wasn’t used to it anymore. Still, it was the thought of those same kids that forced him upright to look at his arm

The blood leaking from his arm was warm and slick, sticky against his clothes, and Chayanne would be disappointed in him if he didn’t do something about it. He unslung his pack, digging in his pockets for bandages to wrap the wound with. He’d brought those, though he hadn’t brought light.

It was hard to see the wound in the dark. He could only thank the stars for what he could see. “You hear that?” he asked the sky, hissing a breath through his teeth as he pulled the bandages tight. “Make sure me and my son get out of this alive and I’ll owe you one.”

He doubted it would work. The gods were real; that didn’t mean they cared. Never hurt to try, though.

Philza finished tying the bandage, leaning back with a sigh to stare at the gaps in the roof. He could feel every beat of his heart, feel the loose ends of the bandage tickling against his arm, feel the exhaustion pulling at his eyes.

He was safe here, or at least as safe as one could get in the games. Philza let himself drift, still listening for any sudden sounds.

The last thing he saw before his eyes closed for good was a blur of violet watching in the dark.

Notes:

I swear they're going to meet up eventually, it's just the chapters keep undergoing mitosis when I try to make them longer.

Two chapters, two or three more (according to my invisible outline which frankly should have been enough of a warning), and THEN! Then I can finally write the scenes that have been plaguing me throughout all my other writing ':D

Thanks for sticking around so far, and as always, I hope you enjoyed.

Chapter 10: Fox-kind

Summary:

Making friends.

-*-*-

Philza shifted slightly, and the fox-hybrid’s head popped up. His ears swiveled in Philza’s direction, eyes searching the trunks.

“Hello?”

Notes:

I'd say "look what the cat dragged in," but that seems a little on the nose for this chapter. Here's to hoping the next one is on time! (It probably won't be. We're currently entering the rapid decline from "hypothetical outline" to "potential black hole from which no plot has ever emerged," but shhhh. I can believe. Belief in the schedule is what keeps me writing.)

Philza woke to sunlight painting the inside of his eyelids rose and the sound of dying mobs. He laid there for a moment, appreciating the sound, until the discomfort of the floor forced him up.

He rolled out of the beam of sunlight, blinking his eyes open to find a shelter even more cramped than he thought it was the night before. The space was only a few blocks wide, barely enough to lie down or move in. It was also flooded with light, its place near the tops of the trees and the copious gaps between the planks providing plenty of places for the elements to pour through.

That confirmed Philza’s suspicion that the shelter was meant more for defense against other players or mobs than a genuine refuge. Parts of it even looked burnt, old charcoal smearing against his fingers that might have been from cooking fires or any number of mini disasters.

There was a chest, though, made of the same dark wood as the rest of the shelter. Apparently that was what he had kicked the night before, rather than the wall. Which was probably for the best, considering the look of some of those planks.

He settled before the chest, tapping carefully to check for hollow places or loose parts. There were no signs of traps or hidden compartments, and Philza threw the lid open to find exactly what he had expected: Nothing. Just dead leaves and water damage, with an extra sprinkling of dust to top it all off. He sighed, leaning back to inspect his arm.

Day one, and he’d gotten dust, a half broken treehouse, and a possible infection. Lovely. His sleeve was crusty with dried blood, but the cut itself didn’t seem too bad. He’d have to leave the bandages as they were until he could either get more or they got bad enough to be worth the expense.

He stretched carefully, trying to work out the sore muscles from the day before. Breakfast was whatever he’d brought, and silence between the dying groans of the undead served as his cue to repack his bag and drop to the forest floor.

They weren’t entirely gone, obviously, the sun not having the chance yet to burn them to ashes. There were few enough to dodge, though, listening for the shuffling steps of zombies and keeping an eye out for skeletons.

There was something about the forest that made it feel later than it was. Not only in the day, making it hard to tell afternoon from early morning, but in time in general. It felt ancient. Locked in time. And the mushrooms were still weird.

He yanked stray skeleton arrows from the trees as he went. The craftsmanship was terrible, but they could still kill. He slid them into his quiver, the intact ones, at any rate. They were an offense to his own fletching.

There was a sound of clicking stones from further in the forest, in its dark shadows. Philza froze, straining his ears to hear better. Those were definitely stones, and- a groan. A human groan, and he was moving, listening the whole time for signs of more people.

Philza flitted through the trees completely silently, boots ghosting over the ground. He saw the player before they saw him. A boy—young adult? Philza wasn’t very good with ages. Anyone younger than him seemed too young in a situation like this—Leaning over a pile of rocks. A cairn, perhaps?

His leg was clearly stuck, fox-tail swishing in clear irritation as he tugged at it. “C’mon you stupid thing, get out of there-”

Philza’s clothing blended into the background, muted greens making him harder to see. Hearing was another matter. Philza shifted slightly, and the fox-hybrid’s head popped up. His ears swiveled in Philza’s direction, eyes searching the trunks.

“Hello?” He must have made some kind of noise, because the fox-hybrid’s gaze settled in his direction. His entire body slumped in relief. “Oh thank goodness. Can you help? I think I wedged my foot in and I can’t get it out.”

Philza unslung his bow, stepping out from behind the trees in a single motion. His voice sounded cold, even to him. “And what’s stopping me from shooting you where you stand?”

The fox-hybrid yelped, attempting to jump backwards only to stare in horror at his trapped foot. “Nononono- don’t do that, I am extremely killable right now, don’t do it!”

Philza snorted once, the wood of the bow creaking in his hands. “That doesn’t sound like much of a reason, mate.”

“No!” The fox-hybrid tugged once more on his paw before giving up. “I can help you! I can- what do you want, do you want rocks? I can give you rocks!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a grave.”

The hybrid went entirely still. “Are you accusing me of grave robbing? That is a serious accusation. I am an upstanding citizen. I pay my tax- I make sacrifices!”

That won an actual laugh, the coldness leaking out of Philza’s tone as he gently release the tension on his bow. “I doubt you would be able to recognize a grave if you were standing on it. Don’t worry mate, I’ll get you out of there, even if a rock isn’t a good exchange for a life.”

The fox-hybrid’s ears flicked uncertainly. “Good?”

“Yeah. Good for you. Even if I’m not sure what I’m getting out of it just yet. Truce?”

He nodded emphatically, a mess of dusty brown hair flopping with the motion. “Truce.”

Philza slipped the arrow back into his quiver, slipping closer. He wasn’t quite sure what made him change his mind. He wasn’t quite sure that he had. It should be easy enough to kill the guy if it came to it later on.

Still, he found himself hesitating a block away. “If I get you out of this, you promise not to try and kill me?”

Another exaggerated nod. “I swear it. I don’t think I could if I tried.”

That was enough, and Philza ducked down to examine the trap.

“My name is Fundy, by the way.”

“Fundy, huh?” He really had gotten himself stuck. The paw was jammed in the crevice of two rocks, and it looked like something in the pile had slipped, leaving more stone piled at awkward angles to pin him in place.

“Yeah.” There was a brief pause, filled with the clacking of stones as Philza moved them away, before Fundy spoke again, his voice half hesitant. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Philza, if you must.” The last stone shifted and Fundy jerked back so suddenly that Philza was sure he would vanish into the trees to, presumably, never be seen again. Which would be more than fair. Fundy hadn’t said anything about sticking around.

He didn’t, capering around in circles instead as he tested his foot. “I’m free!”

Free, and very clearly limping. He could barely touch the ground with it before yanking the paw up again.

Not Philza’s problem.

He dusted his hands off as best as he could before getting to his feet. “Well mate, if that’s it, I’m off.”

“Wait!” Fundy spun around, eyes going wide. “Where are you going? Don’t leave. What are you looking for— I can help!”

He raised a single eyebrow, tipping his head evaluating as Fundy limped closer. “Pretty sure we’re all looking for the same thing here.”

“What are the chances we actually find it,” he asked, taking two quick steps closer. “And what are the chances we survive on our own, any of us? I nearly got picked off by mobs, I only survived because I covered myself in dirt, and I’ve already seen others forming groups.”

“And you didn’t join them?”

“No. If they get too big the groups implode.”

“No chance of that here, then.”

“Right…” Fundy seemed to realize what he said and brightened visibly. “Wait, exactly. Yeah, exactly! You mean-?”

“Sure. Why not, mate. Lead the way.” He stepped aside with a half sardonic smile.

Fundy didn’t seem to notice, chattering happily as he walked. He seemed to have attachment issues to rival ‘Lullah’s, glancing back constantly as if he thought Philza would vanish if he took his eyes off him for more than a second.

He was also useful, setting aside the drain of resources.

“Zombie ahead.” He changed direction slightly as he went, tail wagging happily as he munched on the bread he’d begged off of Philza. He was still limping, though not as badly. The foot seemed to be improving the longer they went on, though it might have been a lack of caution the longer he knew what to expect that kept him from yanking it up so quickly.

Philza followed slightly behind, watching the trees carefully. He hadn’t heard a mob since joining up with Fundy, but still. It never hurt to be careful.

“So where do you think they’re hiding it? There’s got to be clues, right?”

“Should be. I haven’t seen any, but that’s the idea.”

“They wouldn’t move it, would they? Like, they pick a spot and then it stays there. How long does it normally take? There’s no way it isn’t already here, like they wouldn’t just leave it out of the arena for suspense. How are we supposed to find where it is?”

“No clue, mate.”

He jumped over a log, landing with a slight wobble. “Do you think-” He glanced up and went completely stiff. “Chest!” He was up and off, scrambling through the sparse underbrush as Philza struggled to follow him.

“Chest? You’re sure?”

“Yeah!” He bounced in place pointing at a smudge of brown in a tree. “That’s definitely a chest. You can grab it, I’ll go see if there’s more!” He was gone before Philza could stop him, flashes of orange fur still visible between the leaves.

Right. Well, he was hardly going to complain about more stuff.

There was a slight clearing in front of the tree, not nearly as big as the one he’d found the night before, scattered with various mulch, mushrooms, and sticks. Rungs had been pounded into the trunk. They looked strong enough to hold him, pounded in with wooden nails.

Philza took a step forward only for something to snap beneath his foot. There was a second of falling before his foot was yanked out from under him. “Sh-” His pack slammed into the back of his head, cutting off the curse. His stomach twisted as the air was suddenly beneath him.

“Fund-”

Laughter rang out from the trees, a cackling, hysterical sound. Philza cut himself off, face settling into a grim line. Fundy appeared from the trees, still laughing. “You- You know, I was going to ally with you. And then you threatened to shoot me, and I thought I could find someone better.”

“I was allied with you. And this wasn’t part of the deal.” If he had the vocal chords for it Philza would be growling. “Let me down or you will regret it.”

“Nah.” Fundy strolled closer, and Philza noticed that the limp was gone. The only sign it had ever been real was a slight favoring of that foot, nearly indiscernible. “I don’t think I will. I did promise not to kill you, but your stuff… Conquests of war, right?”

He came into range and Philza had a knife angling for his smug face the moment his hands twitched. A new line of crimson cut its way across the side of his cheek, narrowly missing an eye, and Fundy yelped, jumping back to level Philza with a savage glare. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

The motion set Philza spinning on his tether and stole the air from his lungs, whatever of it remained after the effect of the trap. “No, I don’t think I will.” He would not lose his stuff. He could still defend himself, even with the blood rushing to his head and his tools out of reach.

Fundy just tilted his head, staring as he scrubbed the line of red from his cheek. Philza didn’t know what had ever made him ally with the fox-hybrid, any trace of innocence gone from that face.

“You will.” He turned, and Philza gripped the knife tighter only for the hybrid to trot into the trees without another word.

Leaving him alone. With splotches beginning to fill his vision and aching limbs. With nothing but growing dread and the creaking rope to keep him company.

Notes:

Philza is so good at making friends.

I have no idea how to write characters. Or conversations. Or write in general really! But we're dealing. Not as well as Philza obviously, but we're dealing!

Chapter 11: Murder and Sleep, the Redeeming Factors of Night

Summary:

Night redux, in which Technoblade has some realizations about the game and assumptions he's made.

-*-*-

“Phoenix,” he whispered. He hadn’t thought they were real. He hadn’t thought about them at all, aside from the casual note that anything spoken by a god was not to be trusted. He had no need to bother with them anyway, assuming he could even tell them apart from the rest of the hapless contestants. But this… He tapped the armor once, eyes flicking up and accidentally meeting the gaze of a watching eye before looking away.

“Well that’s not good.”

Bones cracked as Technoblade drove his dagger through a skeleton’s skull. The mob crumbled to dust and dry bones and he bounced on his feet, absorbing the recoil and automatically readying himself for another battle. Enemies were hard to pick out from the gloom, though eyes peered at him through a veneer of leaves, but the area seemed empty from most immediately murderable threats.

Technoblade tried not to let it get to him as he picked his way through the remains of zombies and skeletons alike, spinning his knife casually through his fingers. A tree he passed had a suspiciously glowing knot and the knife flicked out, burying itself smoothly in the wood. The glow vanished, and Technoblade’s mouth ticked up in a small smile.

Bullseye.

And a good test, too. The enchantments seemed to be working. The knife had buried itself to the hilt with relatively little force, which meant sharpness was for sure, and the new absence of light was a promising sign for the less conventional ones.

He wrenched the knife from the tree, tossing it so it spun dazzlingly in the air before catching it by the handle. “Is that it?”

He shouldn’t be taunting the gods. It was a bad idea to taunt anyone with power really, because the answer was always ‘no,’ that was never it, and they took a measure of pride proving so.

He kept his tone light and curious as he brushed past a tree, looking for more enemies, for more eyes. “I could have sworn there’d be more, but I suppose that’s what the contestants are for… ”

Another gleam, violet and bright. He’d leave it for now. There was such a thing as the wrong kind of attention, and he didn’t want to bring too many eyes into focus on what he was doing here. That was a bad thing, generally, as it had the potential to either bring all the eyes or none at all, and neither option was good for him.

They stood out more in the darkness. Nothing else did, but Technoblade was used to working in the darkness and he had a light if he really needed one. Literally, if he felt the need to set a forest ablaze, but that seemed to be a generally poor idea while he was still in it. Especially considering that despite being from what some people called literal hell, he was not in fact fireproof. Yet.

There might be a way around it, considering everything else he’d found in dusty old scrolls.

Was that technically dark magic? … Next question.

To be fair, a lot of things were dark magic. Like reanimation, he thought as he casually stabbed another zombie. They could see from miles away, which was odd considering the rather questionable state of the organs most would call essential to vision. And the exaggerated case of a lack of brain, which skeletons should actually be a much better candidate for, or hypothetically a soul other than magic, which was an interesting tangent when one really thought about it… Aaaand he was getting distracted.

Not that there was much to get distracted from while fighting zombies. A point which was proved by the zombie collapsing with a final stab. They weren’t exactly all that sturdy. Or bright. Though they’d certainly horrify someone who wasn’t used to the self-forming spirit web called the undead. They were more annoying than anything else.

“I should find some place to sleep.” He wasn’t tired, not exactly, but it was one of those practical concerns which technically speaking most people would consider, and Technoblade needed to do something, needed to say something. There was no point to watching somebody without a goal, and he was there to be watched. And more than that eventually, but one step at a time. It was dangerous to think too far ahead when there might be something Watching.

He slunk through the trees, keeping a careful eye out. A phantom’s shriek rang from overhead, but he wasn’t worried. The trees were thick enough that any swooping attack was more likely to injure the attacker than Technoblade. Skeletons were more of a threat, and he skirted carefully around the far side of a trunk when he spotted one in the distance.

“You know, technically I could take them on. Is it better to take them all out, do you think? Or leave as many as I can be. I might get stuff if I fought them.” Rubbish. Garbage. Absolute trash for loot, but technically stuff and more than he possessed at the moment. “Then again, I don’t really have armor.”

He ducked under a branch, only to stumble over something. It was not a root.

Technoblade crouched, examining the gleaming… thing as best he could. It was empty. Shiny. Glinty metal. It looked like armor, and he glanced sharply upward. There was nothing that seemed to have caused it. None of the remains that were typical of mobs lay scattered around.

Which meant someone had been here. Either they’d taken the drops, or… They’d left it. Because they couldn’t carry it or died, he couldn’t be sure which. It might very well be a trap, and Technoblade brought out his rock with an uncharacteristic tension. It glowed, brightly enough to draw attention from more than things without eyes, and he kept on glancing up to ensure that he was alone.

There was a difference between hunting and being hunted, and Technoblade had proof now that there was something in the dark, something unknown. It didn’t matter if he could beat them in a fair fight, if they saw him before he saw them then there would never be a ‘fair fight’ to beat them in. Light was far better at drawing attention than it was at illuminating threats, but in this case it was warranted.

The metal was armor, a single vambrace without a spot of blood. The surrounding area had been trampled, leaving a mess of footprints and a depression where a body had lain. And there had been a body. He could tell because of the ash. It lingered heavy on the ground, clumpy and cold, without a hint of burns on the surrounding earth, pale gray against the dark soil and gold armor.

“Phoenix,” he whispered. He hadn’t thought they were real. He hadn’t thought about them at all, aside from the casual note that anything spoken by a god was not to be trusted. He had no need to bother with them anyway, assuming he could even tell them apart from the rest of the hapless contestants. But this… He tapped the armor once, eyes flicking up and accidentally meeting the gaze of a watching eye before looking away.

“Well that’s not good.”

If there was a Phoenix nearby it meant there were people. Either the potentially revived player themselves, or whoever killed them. There were other options, but social interaction, that pesky dance of trying to figure out if everyone wanted you dead or if you wanted to kill them, was about the worst fate he could think of at the moment. Which meant it was almost certainly the correct choice, and in more ways than one.

There were more eyes watching, and he couldn’t afford to let the ruse slip.

He took the vambrace, fastening it to his arm before swiping up his pride and joy, the rock, to dump back in its pouch. The area went dark, just as it was always supposed to be, and Technoblade continued, getting to his feet and brushing off the ash on his hands.

“I could befriend a person if need be. I could totally convince them not to kill me in the murder match, mhm. That is definitely a skill I possess. Charisma just oozes out of me.” Or, worst case, he could kill them all. That was probably more likely, but there was always a chance.

If he could befriend them, he wasn’t entirely opposed to an ally. Not that they’d actually be allied when it came down to things, but he’d wanted someone to win. Assuming, y’know. He didn’t die. Or eventually if he did, it would probably be a good thing if someone got something out of the whole ordeal.

It was too much to think of at the moment. Too many possibilities to keep track of when there were no guarantees that any of them were viable.

He’d work it out in the morning, when there was actual light to work with other than his own. In the meantime, murder and sleep seemed the best path forward, with plenty of mobs to offer up their services and trees that couldn't be the worst place he'd spent a night.

Notes:

My evil Kermit is the urge to add jokes to everything.

That, and take three extra hours to come up with a chapter title and summary once the difficult writing is complete.

Chapter 12: In Case of Social Interaction Break Bones

Summary:

The merits of mushrooms and the matter of trust.

-*-*-

He trailed off, still picking his careful way through the roots of the forest. If he found someone, an ally could help. The problem was loyalty. Even if they had the right skills, he couldn’t tell them who he was, what he was there for. There was no way they’d trust him. Technoblade wasn’t the kind of person people liked without reason. And the exceptions were truly deranged individuals he wouldn’t trust with a clownfish.

He was up bright and early the next morning. More early than bright but really both of the descriptions were lies and Technoblade’s favored form of sleep happened to be insomnia or hibernation. This tended more to the hibernation side of things, even with a stray branch threatening to poke out his eye if he moved and the distant shrieking of mobs in the distance.

Technoblade was right in thinking it wouldn’t be the worst night of sleep he’d ever gotten. He wasn’t even wishing his bones would stop existing when he dropped down, which was a resounding success in his eyes. Maybe not in others’ eyes, but he didn’t have the ability to read thoughts like the Watcher so he was the only one that mattered, really.

He stretched, glancing off into the gloom. He didn’t have much of a direction to go on if he was trying to find anyone. Paths were hard to follow in the dark, and he’d been more focused on finding a suitable tree to sleep in than keeping track.

What he did have was the phantoms’ screams. He’d slept that night, and phantoms were drawn to fatigue. Whether that was what created them in some way, condensing them from magic, or if it was simply a lure Technoblade could not say. But the fact that he’d heard them meant there was a person in the area and gave him a clue.

Technoblade started walking.

There wasn’t much in the forest to catch his attention. Trees, trees, more trees, the occasional mushroom, the occasional giant mushroom, which he proceeded to carve a piece from to serve as his breakfast.

It was terrible, oddly spongy and chewy and bland in all the wrong ways. The small mushrooms were better, if only for the added seasoning of the dirt they came from. Technoblade couldn’t help but grimace at the texture, but they were better than nothing and had the added bonus of making dry hardtack seem almost tasty in comparison.

“You know, I could be poisoning myself on accident.” The chance of accidental poisoning was getting less and less likely the more he had to force himself to continue eating, but the poisoning was technically still an option.

“Are mushrooms poisonous?” He paused for a second to consider it before realizing that he had no way of telling if he was right and continuing. “I know dandelions are poisonous. Or that might have been tulips. I could…”

He trailed off, still picking his careful way through the roots of the forest. If he found someone, an ally could help. The problem was loyalty. Even if they had the right skills, he couldn’t tell them who he was, what he was there for. There was no way they’d trust him. Technoblade wasn’t the kind of person people liked without reason. And the exceptions were truly deranged individuals he wouldn’t trust with a clownfish.

“Trust,” he sighed, raking his knife against another gleaming eye hidden in the tree bark. It vanished. “That’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? Trust.” At this rate he could hand over all his clues for the token and they still wouldn't trust him. Really there was about a fifty percent chance that whoever he found would try and kill him on sight, more if he'd overestimated his apparent threat level.

Speaking of finding someone, there were voices up ahead. That or really weird birds.

He slowed until he was almost motionless, listening hard as he crept slowly forward. Those were definitely voices, and more than one of them. The eyes were watching too, more of them congregating ahead and to the left.

Technoblade followed, slinking lower and lower to keep from being seen as the group came into view.

It was Whisper, clad in his purple cloak. He’d found lackeys somewhere, two of them, what looked like a mooshroom hybrid with reddish hair and horns and a human with dark hair. The mooshroom stood apart from the rest, likely a guard. And another man hung from a snare, scowling at the rest as he slowly turned on his tether.

Technoblade let out a quiet breath, pulling back into the foliage. Right, well. On the plus side, Technoblade heard that rescue missions were a great way to build rapport.

On the minus side… He glanced at his dagger, then back to the sword Whisper kept tied to his waist. He was going to need a bigger knife.

Notes:

Amazingly, mushrooms can be poisonous. And dandelions are not. But things are happening! Finally! It's going so slowly, and the chapters keep splitting at every plot point ':D

Chapter 13: Escape

Summary:

Keeping enemies.

-*-*-

Philza scowled, attempting to blow a strand of hair away from his face with a huff. “I’ve had a rather rough day, mate. I don’t suppose you could come back a little later?” The group had shown up before he had a chance to escape, and he was well and truly miffed.

Notes:

(This chapter has been altered. If you read it within the first day of it coming out, you've missed nearly half of the current chapter!)

“Hand over your things, and we might end this peaceably.” The cloaked figure suggested, his voice quieter than anything reasonably considered a normal speaking volume. Philza assumed the fellow was staring at him, but it was a little tough to tell through the shadows of his hood.

Philza scowled, attempting to blow a strand of hair away from his face with a huff. “I’ve had a rather rough day, mate. I don’t suppose you could come back a little later?” The group had shown up before he had a chance to escape, and he was well and truly miffed. Politeness was his best way out though, even if the definition of ‘best’ and ‘out’ was a little bit sketchy or if he could only manage the tone. Baby steps, and he would be walking in no time.

“It could be better,” the guy offered in the same voice as before. It came off as distinctly patronizing. “We’re looking for the Phoenix Medallion. Do you have any clues to its location? You’d be welcome to join us once you’re defanged.”

“That’ll be a problem. Since I’m rather attached to my fangs.”

“You could get them back. Once you’ve earned some trust or we’ve lost some dead weight.” The man shifted slightly closer, tipping his head to consider Philza’s gear. “Did you make that bow?”

“Touch that bow and I’ll-” The man’s hand shifted to his sword, but that wasn’t what cut Philza off. A kid stepped out of the forest behind the guy, hands hanging loosely from his belt. A fringe of brown hair nearly fell into his eyes, and he looked almost awkward to be there despite his height and the way he’d been the way to reveal himself.

“... Hullo.”

-*-*-

Did Technoblade have a plan? He always had a plan. He was coasting on so many plans he almost didn’t have places to put them all. Did actions in the clearing expedite his plan slightly? Maybe! But that didn’t change the fact that he definitely had a plan and it was going swimmingly.

… Technoblade couldn’t swim. Not much chance to learn in a desolate wasteland. Figure of speech.

“Long time no see. How’s it-”

Whisper spun, snatching a dagger from somewhere in his sleeve and falling into a defensive position. It didn’t last long. “Get him.”

The other two guys, who’d been handily frozen with uncertainty moments before, leapt into action. Technoblade fell back, slipping his dagger from its sheath and hoping he wouldn’t trip as he retreated. “No ‘hello?’ No ‘how are you, fancy seeing you in these death games’?”

He turned the moment he was out of sight and ran, tracking over the same path he’d taken to get there and listening to the crashing of the other two as they followed him.

They were out of sync, one drawing steadily closer as the other floundered. Whisper was still far behind, not having left the clearing.

He took a banking turn to the right, watching for the guy following him. A flash of brown, and Technoblade spun, bringing up his right arm to block with the bracer. Metal rang, steel bouncing off gold and Technoblade pressed closer, snatching his dagger out with his left hand and spinning it to face the right way.

The guy was fast but untrained, his face set in a determined snarl as he swung. He kept trying to blunt force attacks into working, using trained drills that paid no mind to the reality of the situation.

Technoblade sidestepped one attack, redirecting the blade with his own. He caught the next slash on his bracer, trapping the sword between the armor and his knife and twisting sharply.

Something snapped, and the guy dropped the sword with a cry, grabbing at his wrist and backing away. Technoblade kicked the sword into the air, catching it with his right hand. A single step, a single swing, and the man was dead.

He turned on his heel, sprinting back to the clearing with a stolen sword. He didn’t wait to see if the man turned to ash.

-*-*-

The man in the cloak stayed frozen for a long moment, staring into the trees like he was scared the other guy would come back. Philza watched, trying to figure out how to work a knife through the rope around his boot without drawing attention. A lot of things just got a lot more uncertain, and Philza didn’t like uncertainty in situations like this. It meant things playing out around him rather than through him, and he didn’t like being trapped.

The man cursed suddenly, shooting to his feet and slamming his knife into the scabbard. Philza flinched, eying him as he began to pace and mutter.

“Problems?”

“Yeah. And you’re going to help me deal with him.”

He blamed the blood rushing to his head for how close the guy was able to get, a hand darting out to grab his bow before he could react. Philza slashed towards him, only for his wrist to be grabbed in a vice grip and twisted. The knife dropped to the ground, and Philza stared into the shadows of his hood.

“Don’t. You have one warning. Survive and you might join me. Or not.”

He finally let go of Philza’s wrist, slipping a few arrows from the quiver in the same motion. Then he darted for the woods, disappearing into the gloom.

Philza didn’t connect the dots until he saw the attacker from earlier reappear.

-*-*-

Technoblade didn’t really bother being stealthy on his way back to the clearing, since he kinda figured he’d blown that and being distracting was kind of the point. The clearing itself was concerningly empty when he arrived with Whisper nowhere to be found. The guy was still there.

His eyes widened when he saw Technoblade, narrowing in concentration before flying open in panic. “Look out! He’s got-”

Technoblade was already dropping to the ground, turning to look behind him just in time to see an arrow thud into the tree.

“Did he steal your bow?” A flick of his left hand sent his dagger to slice through the rope keeping the blond in the air, forestalling an answer as he crashed to the ground with a yelp. The dagger ended up in a tree.

“Bruhhh.” He was pretty sure that Whisper had stolen the bow. The guy had a bow before, and now he didn't. Whisper didn't have a bow, and now he did. It was pretty simple arithmetic.

Just like how arrow plus Technoblade equaled dead, as another arrow landed in the ground beside him with a spray of dirt. He rolled away, coming to a crouch behind a tree.

“Yep, he sure did!” The voices sounded worryingly chipper, and Technoblade looked out from behind his tree to see the guy struggling to remove the rest of the rope. The snare must have drawn tight enough during his time in the air that it refused to slip free.

“Not cool, man.” Whisper would be circling, trying to find a clear shot through the trees. Technoblade moved, shifting slightly towards the right and away from the darkest portions of the forest. Whispers clothes blinded surprisingly well into the gloom, and he couldn't see him. “Takin’ a guy's things without stabbing him first?” He paused. “Not that I want you to get stabbed.”

“I am going to kill him.”

He’d gotten the rope off of his foot, and was staring in the direction Whisper presumably went while moving towards-

“Not that one!” Technoblade jerked forward and an arrow veered wildly off course. He froze for a split second, but he’d already made it this far. Why not the rest of the way? He crossed the rest of the clearing in seconds. “How about you take the sword and I take the knife and actually maybe we run, since I don’t know if you’ve noticed but sometimes a tactical retreat is called for and he has the advantage?”

“I’m getting my stuff back,” the guy huffed, though he was already following Technoblade’s lead. “He’s not getting away with this.”

He laughed. “He’s not getting away with anything. Whisper will chase me to the end of multiple earths, as he’s proven. You’ll have plenty of chances to get your things.” Speaking of which, he still had Technoblade’s knife, and there were eyes watching.

“That so?” He was starting to huff, eyes fixed firmly on the trail ahead. His ankle looked twisted, there were bandages wrapped around loosely around one arm, and the top of his head only came up to about Technoblade’s chin. It was a marvel he’d manged to keep up as well as he had.

“Yup. You could probably even get double revenge with all the people he likes to recruit. Right turn.” The path directly ahead had been blocked by a mushroom and a tangle of leaves.

“You seem to know a lot about– Do you have a plan where we’re going?”

“Nope.” He was starting to feel out of breath too. He wasn’t made for this sort of exercise. Better to fight to the death than run a marathon

“A strategy for how to lose them?”

“Bruh. You are–” He cleared a fallen branch, leaping over it while the mystery ally chose to slide beneath it– “severely overestimating my ability to strategize while running for my life. Here’s a plan.” He heaved in another breath. “If we slow down, we can fight. You got two working limbs, I got a defunct knife. We got this–”

“--No. Different plan.” He took a hard right, and Technoblade nearly tripped in his effort to follow him. The forest was thicker here, roots and branches and mushrooms fighting for space.

He ducked under another tree, then beneath the cap of a spotted mushroom. Technoblade followed, glancing up to see he’d wedged himself between the cap and the stalk, his feet off the ground and knife clenched between his teeth.

“Bruhh.”

His eyes took on a dangerous glint, and Technoblade was quick to scramble into position within the mushroom, his voice lowering further. “This can’t be good for my audience retention.”

He was stuck with one arm pinning the sword awkwardly to his side–he’d forgotten to grab a scabbard–while the other held him in place. All he could see was a mosaic of twigs and mulch below. The sound of crashing branches drew closer, Whisper and what was probably his friend. Technoblade did his best to hold his breath as the sounds of pursuit drew closer, closer, then ebbed away.

Notes:

The greatest character trait is REVENGE!

Also the chapter got cut in half since it wasn't done and I wanted to post today.

*-*-*

Update! I wasn't happy with how I'd left things so I wrote the rest and it is now POSTED as the second half of this chapter. Said words are completely unedited, but that isn't much worse off than the rest of the story and I still prefer this to how it was before.

Chapter 14: Delay

Summary:

Taking names.

-*-*-

He was forced to skirt by the trap from earlier to find the trail to the hideout, too unfamiliar with the woods to try another route. He could recognize patches of mushrooms, a fork in a tree branch. His foot throbbed, seeming to twist more with every footstep, but he’d deal with that. “What’s your name?”

Notes:

Note: If you read the last chapter right after it came out, you're probably missing about half of it! This chapter makes a lot more sense with the extra context.

Philza dropped to the ground when he thought their pursuers were far enough, grimacing as some of the weight hit his leg. Later, he’d figure out how bad that was. For now, he took the knife from between his teeth and set off. A thump from behind him showed the other guy was following.

“You know they’ll be back, right?” It wasn’t exactly loud, but the voice wasn’t nearly as quiet as Philza would have liked.

He glared, moving a finger across his throat in a clear threat. His tag-along just shrugged, raising his hands in acquiescence. One of which was still holding a short sword.

… Philza would have to do something about that. There were a lot of things he would need to do something about, including his own missing weaponry, the person that took them, and the slowly worsening wound on his arm. It hadn’t really been happy with being dangled upside down, and he hadn’t exactly been treating it all that gently since.

At the rate things were going, he’d be nothing but a medical index for injuries by the time the games were done, but alive. He refused to be anything but, and to that end…. He snuck another glance back at his new… friend, for lack of a better word, who still carried the sword but seemed more focused on staring into the trees than finding new ways to stab Philza in the back.

“Alright.” Would this be a mistake? Probably. It was last time, but allying seemed the best option for the moment. “Who was that?”

The guy raised his eyebrows in what might have been surprise. His tone made it seem more like sarcasm. “Wow, we can talk now?”

“Shut. Yes we can talk, just- quietly. I’d rather not lead them right to us.”

“Fair enough. You mean Whisper?” He seemed to have taken the conversation as an invitation to speed up, falling in beside Philza. Philza eyed him warily, but the fellow seemed just as oblivious as before. He was also faster than Philza, even without the injury, keeping pace easily.

Philza sped up slightly in spite. “I wouldn’t know. Hood guy?”

“Ahh, yep, that’s Whisper. He’s a mercenary. I met him in the Pits. He had a short term contract, or something like that. He didn’t stay with the rest, and they always made a big deal of him when he showed up. He tried to concuss me with a flower pot once. Pretty good at strategy, decent at fighting, and a mess of other skills from whatever other jobs he’d had. Tracking is the only one I know for sure.”

“Yeah, well. He’s not the only one.” He was forced to skirt by the trap from earlier to find the trail to the hideout, too unfamiliar with the woods to try another route. He could recognize patches of mushrooms, a fork in a tree branch. His foot throbbed, seeming to twist more with every footstep, but he’d deal with that. “What’s your name?”

“Uhhhh, Technoblade. Why, what’s yours?”

That sounded like a fake name. Less so because of the name itself, which was almost too ridiculous to be fake, and more because of the hesitance of the delivery. Well, Philza didn’t have nearly enough investment to care if his name of all things was accurate. “Philza. Does this make us allies now?”

“Uhh, sure. Like the name thing, or the fact that we’re currently running through a mushroom forest being chased by a gang of mercenaries?”

Philza snorted. “Watch it, I’m a mercenary too. You’re sure they’re chasing us?” He’d reached the edge of the first clearing, and he slowed, turning to look at Technoblade.

Technoblade nodded, slowing to a stop as well. His eyes were shadowed by his hair, but it was obvious that he was still staring at the trees.

(Philza dismissed the idea that there could be an ambush. He’d been the one to lead them there, and the motives didn’t make sense with what Technoblade had done so far.)

“Oh yep, absolutely. It might take a few days to make a plan or catch up, but Whisper would hunt me to the end of time if he could. Or until he beats me, which is pretty much the same thing. Are we stopping?”

“Yep. I’ve got a base.” The ladder rungs were on the left, blending in surprisingly well in the light. Technoblade could probably find it if he looked hard enough, but that was Philza’s job, not to give him reason to look.

“Just one thing first.” He swiveled, raising his stolen dagger. Philza didn’t think it would be that threatening, what with the height difference, weapon difference, and the way he was leaking blood, but he had to try something. Even if that was a charade. “Promise you won’t betray me if I lead you to it.”

Notes:

Fun fact! One of the past arenas was actually an array of floating islands.

Also I have a couple of life things starting up soon. I'll still try to keep to a chapter a week, but I don't know how busy I'll be. I might end up missing a few updates, so sorry in advance.

Chapter 15: The Troubles of Topiary

Summary:

Of stratagems and swords.

-*-*-

He paused, raising his hands in as disarming a method as he could without actually losing an arm, arms, weapon, any and all of which would probably be bad, unless he were to somehow find the phoenix token and use it to revive himself before using it for any other, better purpose.

“I’m not going to, like, stab you or anything," he started. " On the first day? Nahhhh. That would be tactically unsound, and you can tell I’m a master of strategy.”

Notes:

I live.

Technoblade is living his best life, while Philza is getting annoyingly endeared to the person he's pretty sure will knife him at the first opportune moment.

I attempted to write this chapter so many times, but POV's! I tried them both, I tried them all, which coincidentally the number that makes "all" just so happens to be two, but I tried them multiple times! Clearly the thing to actually result in a chapter was the AO3 author curse.

Technoblade had been a bit distracted keeping an eye on the gleams watching them from the trees–-dozens, at his last counting–-and the chance of yet another ambush. No offense to Philza, but currently the guy ranked below rocks in terms of his current risk assessments.

He was pretty sure Philza could take care of himself, even with the busted leg, and in the event that his ally passed out and could not take care of himself… He’d figure it out then. He’d probably notice if his ally passed out randomly.

And as for attacks, it was a bad idea to stab the guy who was the one ferrying you through a mildly haunted dark forest. Or was it infested. The zombies probably counted as an infestation, though the gleams were a bit more critter-like.

Technoblade hadn’t actually registered Philza’s words by the time he was turning, surprise skipping terror to go straight into exasperation. “Bruhh.”

He was moving before he could realize he actually needed to address what Philza had said before the guy thought he was coming to murder him or something. Which, judging by the halting step back he almost took at Technoblade’s approach, Technoblade had already failed.

He paused, raising his hands in as disarming a method as he could without actually losing an arm, arms, weapon, any and all of which would probably be bad, unless he were to somehow find the phoenix token and use it to revive himself before using it for any other, better purpose.

“I’m not going to, like, stab you or anything," he started. " On the first day? Nahhhh. That would be tactically unsound, and you can tell I’m a master of strategy.”

“It was a betrayal, not a stab wound,” Philza said with a faux lightness as he shifted his weight further onto his uninjured foot, blade still pointed in Technoblade’s direction. “Metaphorical knife and all that.”

“I promise not to betray you.” Technoblade met his eyes, and realized a split second later that he’d been silent too long. “I mean, come on, a betrayal? This early in the games? Nahh. We’re way more likely to be killed by something else before it becomes relevant.”

A snort of laughter, and Philza finally lowered the dagger. “Shelter is up there, in case you want to get off the ground before your shadow catches up.” He jerked his head towards the sky, and Technoblade followed the gesture to a hut hidden in the treetops. Hidden handholds, carved and natural, made a path to the top. Obvious when you looked, but hidden enough to withstand a quick glance.

“Smart. You found this last night?” He took the rungs two at a time, checking the area briefly before checking on Philza. The space was open, airy, with plenty of gaps to spy from, or get spied on. It was enough.

Philza's reply drifted through the floor, muffled as Technoblade slid the short sword across the floor to make room and clear when he lay by the gap in the floor to offer Philza a hand up when he was in reach. The ankle looked bad based on the way Philza winced when he shifted earlier.

"It’s either that or I built it in one night with no tools, so pick whichever one you think is more likely."

There was a flash of surprise when Philza looked up to see him, but he accepted the hand, raising his arm--the one still grasping Technoblade's knife--high enough for Technoblade to grab.

He took the opportunity to slide the dagger from Philza’s grip with his free hand before pulling his ally up the rest of the way. The move earned a look, but no real protests as sheathed the knife and shifted the sword closer, settling on the chest by the wall.

Philza sat down with a heavy thump on the other side of the room, pulling the sword closer to his side before moving to examine his foot. “What’s the deal with the knife, anyway?”

Technoblade didn’t have to fake his look of surprise. “The knife?”

“Yeah, mate.” His words were cut off by a hiss of pain as Philza pulled off his boot, revealing a… very not good looking foot. “You offered to trade a sword for it and kept staring at me like you wished you could teleport it by pure will.”

“It’s fraaaagile.”

“I pulled it out of a tree. It was buried to the hilt.”

“Exactly.” His fingers brushed over the handle, a nervous tick to make sure it was still there. He’d need to stop that. He couldn’t be so obvious. “A tree. You really think it would survive stabbing a person?”

“Right. Because people are the tricky ones.”

“It’s only for stabbing things that really deserve it.”

That earned a single laugh, short and sharp, before Philza remembered where they were and the sound was muffled to a smile. “And trees made the cut? Mate, what did the plants do?

“Philza.” He turned to stare directly at the man, keeping the same tone. “When I was a small child, a tree tripped me. From that day on, I swore revenge.”

Philza’s face contorted into a truly impressive collection of expressions before he finally ended up smothering a laugh in his arm, leaning against a wall for support.

Technoblade couldn’t keep himself from a small smile of his own at the reaction. Hopefully that meant his plan was working. “Why are you laughing at my tragic backstory, Philza? I could have been traumatized. Clearly, all plants deserve to die for that.”

Philza, who had been recovering, doubled over in another bout of near silent laughter. “You’re insane,” he finally managed, flicking tears away from his eyes. “Did you even have a plan after rescuing me?”

“I always have a plan. And at that point it just so happened to include inconveniencing Whisper.”

Philza took a breath, eyes rolling up to search the inside of his head for guidance. A time tested strategy, but Technoblade interrupted him before he could get too far. Who knew what sort of wisdom he might find there. It might tell him not to team with Technoblade.

“And now it’s making sure you’re well enough to fight. How’s the leg?”

He grimaced, pulling his leg closer to retie the boot. “It’ll do.”

Sounded fake, but okay.

“The real problem is the arm. I got nicked, and I’d rather not get an infection because I ran out of clean bandages.”

Technoblade nodded, tapping his fingers against his leg as he thought. “I’d offer to share, but I have what I came in with and what I got from the chests, none of which includes any bandages or equipment. The first thing we need to do–” there were eyes watching him from outside when he stood, pacing to one of the gaps. He almost lost his train of thought, hand itching for his knife. “-is get a potion.”

Technoblade forced his gaze away from the watching gleam. “I’d rather not stick around for a month waiting for things to heal. Even if they would be passable before then.”

“That wouldn’t be ideal,” Philza acknowledged as he unwrapped his arm. The bandages were bright red, and a dead giveaway to anything with a nose meant for tracking. Another reason to fix it quickly besides the obvious.

“I’m planning to get this over and done with before two months are out. Sooner, if there’s any chance at all.” He looked up, almost seeming to dare Technoblade to disagree.

He was hardly going to. Technoblade nodded once in agreement. “Ambitious. We’re going to need a plan to take out Whisper for that.”

Notes:

Pay no attention to the increasingly deranged names Technoblade's chapters are going through. I am totally posting this at a totally reasonable time, and drafting it then too, and as such there will definitely be no glaring errors. ... If there are you should let me know. For posterity, so they too will know that I am a perfectly reasonable person who never posts at odd hours after redrafting a chapter six times with no editing, and can read secure in that proof.

Notes:

Updates weekly until I run out of chapters or finish :)

Final thoughts:

End notes may change with time.

I love comments and kudos, if you're willing to leave them, and I think spinoffs are the coolest things ever. So if anyone happens to make something based on the fic, I'd love to see it!

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy.