Chapter Text
When someone mentions the word "Aunt", the image that would come to most people's minds is probably either a smiling woman in her forties with three kids and lives in a white suburban neighborhood, a sunglasses-wearing cool aunt who takes you on car rides, or a sad cat lady.
Aunt Clement was none of these things.
Technoblade had always wondered why she insisted on being called Aunt - she has too many wrinkles on her face to be under forty, so perhaps Grandma - yet she was not an haggard old lady either. And if Techno was honest, calling her Grandma would make the whole thing creepier than it already was.
He meant, he could just relax a little bit if the horror game was called "Creepy Aunt" rather than "Creepy Grandma." The former sounded only like a pedophile, while the latter was a whole biblical level of eldritch horror.
Looking back, perhaps it was in his best interest that Aunt Clement had only ever referred to herself as Aunt - it made the graphics so much better while also retaining that major psychological horror that had probably been the inspiration for Hannibal.
And now, there she was, standing in the doorway, looking as much like the creepy foster homeowner as Technoblade remembered her to be nine years ago.
The woman was abnormally tall, reaching at least 7 feet, her head barely scraping the ceiling. Everything about her was sharp - sharp cheekbones, a pointed jaw, and eyes so sunken and nose so high that it cast a deep shadow over her eyes, in which her piercing blue eyes seemed to glow.
She wore a pristine sea blue suit, a cashmere coat, and a funny little rich people hat that Techno had forgotten the name of. He knew for a fact that the suit was Ralph Lauren, though, mostly because she had drilled it into his head that success is measured in designer clothes. (Honestly, she would probably need anything designer because of her stature.)
Her face was ageless. Old, but not that old. Young, yet she was definitely not young either.
When he was a child, Techno kept expecting her to bust out some vampire moves and start singing "I am Dracula!" But unfortunately, she turned out not to be a vampire in disguise.
Right now, as Aunt Clement smiled at him, her smile warm yet her eyes so, so cold, Technoblade can only feel a sickening dread slowly creeping up his chest.
Nope. He told himself. It's allllllllllll fine.
He could handle this.
Phil had sprang into a defensive stance beside him, hand tightly gripping the celestial bronze dagger. The living room was still too much of an enclosed space for long-range weapons to be effective, so Phil would not be working with his best expertise. This gives them a slight disadvantage.
But he can't let Philza get hurt. No.
So he swallowed it all down and kept his face as deadpan as he could.
"Hey, long time no see." He said. "So, this is your new crib, huh?"
Aunt Clement tutted. “Ah, petulant as always, little hero.”
“Fancy place you've got here. What’s wrong with New Jersey? Did the house still smell like roasted marshmallows?"
Her eye twitched. "You burned it down."
"Do I look like someone who would intentionally commit arson? Nahhhh. Didn’t the insurance company say it was due to negligence of a potential fire hazard?"
Her watery voice didn't sound so smooth as she gritted her teeth.
“You ruined it! My beautiful, beautiful Clementine Gardens! Now I have to make do with this pitiful, tiny box among the common folk because my son cannot offer a higher budget anymore." She spat bitterly.
"That is rather bourgeoisie of you."
"Enough snarkiness from you, little hero." Aunt Clement raised a stopping hand, her right eye twitching. "The Fates did not lead you here for little witty comments."
"Thank the gods you at least appreciate my humor."
Aunt Clement's smile was somewhat strained.
"Isn’t it just wonderful now we are united again?”
"Not really the word I would apply to this situation."
"Nonsense, darling!"
Aunt Clement seemed to have regained her composure. She clasped her hands, and a prismarine blue cane appeared in her grasp out of thin air.
She smiled a whole eight-tooth smile. Her teeth were sharp like a shark's.
"You will come back, I knew you would. My son had foresaw this. It would be like nothing has changed."
"You know, a wise man once told me that people change like the tides in the ocean."
(Philza choked and nearly lost his grip on his dagger.)
Aunt Clement gave an unappreciative stretch of her lips.
"The ocean," she spat, "People think they know so much about the ocean."
"Factually incorrect. More than 80% of the ocean is entirely unexplored by humanity. Frankly, we don't know a lot."
The woman peered closely at him, leaning forward on her walking stick, and eyed him up and down. Technoblade felt heavily and brutally judged as if he were seven years old again, or that one time he told Skeppy that AP statistics was a piece of cake.
He briefly thought that she was going to bash him in the head with her walking stick right then and there, but he quickly disregarded it - nah, he was too strategic to lose.
So he gazed back at her calmly, raising an eyebrow.
"Is that polyester I see on you, young man?" After some moments, she demanded.
Technoblade briefly glanced at his own tattered Camp Half-Blood orange T-Shirt (which is 100% cotton, thank you very much) and worn-down black cargo pants (100% polyester).
Ah, how could he have forgotten?
“Fashion choices, Auntie,” he said good-naturedly, “embrace diversity. Orange is the new 19th-century aristocratic attire.”
Philza frowned. “So that’s why you're wearing that dress shirt and cravat when I met you in New Jers - never mind.”
Aunt Clement looked absolutely outraged; her expression suggested she was about one second away from smiting them down with a great grand speech of proper upper-class clothing.
But then, she took a deep breath and calmed herself, and her sharp face twisted into that standard sweet smile again.
“Excuse me, dear heroes, how rude I was! I had forgotten to introduce myself - of course, what with the wonderful reunion at all. I am Aunt Clementine, legal guardian for Wilbur Soot and Tom Simons.”
It was in this moment that Technoblade knew he had *beep* up.
The bedrooms were absolutely quiet.
Shit.
“They're incapacitated right now, aren't they?" He asked flatly.
Aunt Clement rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, child, you would think I didn’t find out about that imbecilic satyr?” She clapped her hands, “They are passed out on the floor now, I would assume, from inhaling too much Hydrogen Sulfide, a handy little gas."
She tilted her head and sighed motherly, which disgusted Technoblade to no end. "Teenagers these days, always so eager to rush off into the world. But I suppose, it does, on some level, some good for them. After all, the world is an oyster for the seekers of glory.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”
The woman waved her hand elegantly. “Of course, you wouldn’t understand. If you did, you would not be where you are right now -” She approached him, looking mournful and disappointed, like she felt truly sorry for him. “All alone, helpless, abandoned, wearing Zara.”
“What’s wrong with Zara? It's not like I shop at the Banana Republic.”
“The Banana Republic would be even better than Zara!” She snapped, “This is not how I taught you. You have strayed from the path. You were meant for greater things, my young hero!”
“I am not your hero!”
Aunt Clement stopped a few feet in front of him, towering above him and Philza both. Her piercing sea blue eyes glowered down from the shadows of her fancy hat.
“You were, are, and always will be, Alexander.” She said coldly. “There is no escape from your fate.”
She raised her cane, and he plunged into the abyss.
He was seven years old. It was a slight noise of a conversation that had stirred him from uneasy sleep in the middle of the night. His palms were sweaty and his hair stuck uncomfortably to his forehead. A gust of cold, damp wind blew through his bedroom door, opened ajar.
He sneaked into the hallway. It was completely dark, but he had learned his way in darkness and used his senses as a wolf does. Following the sound of talking, he crept down to the end of the hallway, turned left, and ended up just a tiptoe away from the sliver of yellow light that was the crack of the study's door.
The smell of sea salt filled the air. Something was wet and dripping, probably his lung.
Two voices were inside, one masculine and one feminine. They were speaking in hushed tones, but he heard every word clearly as if in broad daylight.
"He is gifted, that is true," The woman said, "I could see him doing a great many things...... But is he really the one? He seemed to lack......the spirit."
With a start, he realized that it was Aunt Clement's voice. Her 's' sounds had always prolonged just a moment longer, like the soft hiss of water.
"Do not worry." The man answered. His voice was eerily smooth, just like that of Aunt Clement's, but carried a steadiness that the older woman could never reach without two packs of aspirin and some alcohol. "He is the one, I can assure you. I have foresaw it."
"And of the prophecy?"
If he were dumb, he would have missed that millisecond of hesitation from the man before his reply. But he was not dumb, and he could tell that the man was omitting information.
"I have secured it; it is not something you should be concerned about, dear Mother. The boy fits the first title perfectly. With all due respect, I can say that he is the first demigod of the prophecy."
"The Protector?"
"Aye, that is his name, isn't it? Alexander."
He suddenly felt cold, very cold. Every hair on his body was up and trembling. Whatever he was going to hear, it was too grand for his mind to bear.
"Back in the days, it meant 'Protector of Men'. Yes, he is the Protector, and he will make the final decision to abet Olympus's fall. He will be the first and foremost of them all, in the New Age of Men."
The man chuckled softly, and it didn't sound like a good guy laugh at all. "After all, I've always had a soft spot for them."
He had understood only half of what they were talking about, but something in his blood boiled, and all he could see was an image of him - grown up, tall, bloodied - standing on top of a hill beside a great pine tree, ruins under his feet.
An owl hooted outside the window.
That night, he ran away.
Technoblade snapped awake. His knees buckled underneath him, and he gritted his teeth to keep his stance. Philza steadied him, grabbing his arms.
"Are you okay?" he questioned frantically, then angrily at Aunt Clement - "What did you do to him?"
The woman's face was blank. "I only showed him his own memory. A memory that Alexander did not want to remember."
There was a moment of speechlessness when Technoblade stared into Aunt Clement's piercing blue eyes, and his blood boiled just the same way as it had done nine years before.
"I do not use that name anymore." He said flatly.
"That doesn't mean anything, young demigod." Aunt Clement's eyes blazed with an icy fire he had come to hate. "You will follow your fate, and complete the greatest deed no demigod has ever done, no matter what your name is."
That was why Technoblade had never liked prophecies.
Deep down, he knew she was partly right. Sorry that he was going to quote Shakespeare, but - "a rose by any other name will smell as sweet" - it doesn't matter if he was Alexander or Technoblade.
No.
No, it does.
"I will be no pawn," he said coldly, "no matter what the deranged, power-hungry, glory-obsessed old lady had to say."
Said old lady stared at him.
"I am no 'old' being! I am ancient!" She rumbled, "I am more than four-thousand years old!"
Techno smiled impassively. "Pity, society as a whole condemns disrespect towards elderly people."
"But fortunately," he continued, seeing dumbstruck creeping up Aunt Clement's face as he took off his ring from his middle finger, "Philza here can testify that I never respect elderly people."
With that, he attacked.
As fast as lightning, Philza jumped in with him. Together they sprang at Aunt Clement, sword and dagger ready to kill.
Technoblade reached for the first strike, thrusting First-Bringer straight at her chest, but she parried it with her cane. There was a sharp 'clang', and Techno felt the tremor straight to the crook of his thumb.
An acute pain shot up his sword hand, and he quickly jumped back, just narrowly avoiding the second swing of her what-stuff-was-it-even-made-of cane, which would have batted his ribs into pieces.
"Fighting is meaninglessssss!" Aunt Clement hissed, "Surrender now, and you may still have glory!"
Now, usually, Technoblade talked a lot while he fought. Ask the hellhounds, dracaenae, telkines, and cyclopes he had killed. His mouth tended to blabber; he would make some small talk or just generally do live commentary as he slashed and parried. His ADHD really helped, which was probably the only good thing his ADHD had ever done, and it made battles so much more fun.
But Aunt Clement, on the other hand, was a different opponent. First of all, she's immortal. If Techno had any lower standards, he would have landed a blow on her, cut her a bit, then called it a day. But - this leads to the second point - she is kind of his worst enemy at the moment. Well, enemy was not really the word he was looking for, more like someone he's really annoyed with. Anyway, he wanted to concentrate.
So he ignored what she said and kept his attention on his footwork. Step back, block, step up, slash, got bound again, retreat, duck the giant walking stick of death, strike again.
This is not an effective solution to this fight, he knew. Aunt Clement would just go on forever until she tired them out. The only reason she was not snapping them to dust yet was Philza, who was moving with agility previously unknown to humankind, slashing at her with his dagger. Most of Philza's hits were evaded, and she still hasn't bled, but it was a good enough distraction.
Technoblade needed to end this quickly. If he wanted to defeat Aunt Clement, he needed to do something big.
And that something was risky, dangerous, and would probably get them both killed.
For that, he needed an opening first.
"Hey!" He yelled, "I heard that you sons brought you so much shame that your sisters won't even look at you at Thanksgiving!"
"Liesssss!" Aunt Clement shrieked, "There's nothing wrong with my s-sonsssss!"
"If that helps you sleep at night, Auntie."
She hissed angrily and swung to strike his face - a wild, uncalculated swing, leaving her upper torso open and defenseless.
Techno riposted sharply, using the momentary slip-up which her anger had incited to step closer and strike, First-Bringer aiming straight for her heart. But a random gust of wind knocked his sword sideways, and it nearly fell out of his hand.
(Swordfighting tip from Technoblade: kids, always grip your sword tightly. You never knew what your enemy would do. Look at Voldemort, he didn't hold his weapon tight enough and got expelli-armed, now he's a pile of dead villain ashes. You don't want to be a pile of ashes.)
He steadied his stance swiftly and parried an incoming murderous walking stick. He caught it in a bind, his sword against her cane.
For such a vain person obsessed with socially-approved standards of success, she sure had a lot of strength.
"Demigodssss!" Aunt Clement hissed angrily, "Drop your weapons immediately!"
Techno gritted his teeth and pressed with all his might. With a sickening, nail-itching screech of metal frictioning against metal, her cane flew out of her hands and landed with a loud clank on the floor.
Aunt Clement screamed something in really vulgar Ancient Greek. Her cane flew back into her hands, but it was too late - Techno had already quickly followed the disarmament with a sharp swipe to her side.
Her sleeve fell clean off, along with most of the buttons and cuffs. A thin line of golden ichor seeped out of her wound.
"My Ralph Lauren Purple Label Handmade Wool Gabardine Suit!" Aunt Clement wailed.
That was when things started to go really wrong.
(Did it ever get any better in the first place, though?)
Aunt Clement started to glow. Technoblade had a heart attack thinking she was going to reveal her true form and turn them all to demigod dust. But instead of a blinding white light, she emitted a bright prismarine blue like she was a human-sized night-light. Sudden winds rushed in from all directions; the air was so wet and salty, he might as well be underwater.
And her form started to charge.
Her rich people hat turned into a vibrant coral tiara. Unbounded, her dark hair flew around her face like a mop of seaweed in a storm. The torn suit transformed into a billowing white, sea-blue dress, and on it, patterns of sea life and images of wealth and riches seemed to move like shadowy waves.
Her cane turned into a serpent - a gargantuan, ancient leviathan. The handle, its murderous head, hissing venemously - literally. Its mouth was dripping poison, opened wide, exhaling poison gas (probably Hydrogen Sulfide). Its body was covered with shiny, razor-sharp, blue-green scales.
Aunt Clement 2.0 Pro Max, weapon in hand, stood furious and foreboding in front of them. Both the immortal and the reptile looked absolutely murderous.
Techno and Philza shared a look. They reached a mutual agreement of oh shit.
But at least it was something they expected.
"Alright," he muttered, "time to go bonkers."
No, today is not the day for Technoblade to die. Never.
He felt an acute tug in the pit of his stomach. He heard the rumbling of a thousand voices all at once. Among the haze, he might have noticed that Aunt Clement's smug expression had started to drop.
Think of Philza, think of yourself. He closed his eyes. Think of how she had manipulated you, misguided you, forced destiny upon you.
Red clouded his vision. With a guttural shout, he raised First-Bringer and attacked.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion - Philza's cooperative strike with his dagger, Aunt Clement raising her serpent, the little particles of dust in the air. He could see every detail, every weakness of the humanoid mind.
Cut, slash, parry, strike closer, riposte. Strength at his fingertips, a thousand pieces of advice rang in his head. His sword was one with his mind. He was invincible.
Suddenly, as sharp as a siren, the voices twisted towards one spot - there, as Aunt Clement screamed, raising her serpent staff to strike him, he found an opening.
Fatal weakness. Technoblade lunged.
The sea-serpent's mouth was as wide as a watermelon. It descended at him as fast as lightning, a cloud of poisonous gas blowing straight at him. He didn't even flinch as he dove right into the green mist. Celestial bronze twisted in his hand, finding the source of life - it was so close now.
He could feel it. The vibrant ichor pumping in her veins, her immortal heart beating as loud as thunder. Her golden blood sang an angry cacophony of sea storms and the deep ocean, in rhythm with the discord in his mind.
Blood. They chanted. Blood for Athena.
First-Bringer sank straight into Aunt Clement's chest.
The titaness screamed. Ichor spewed out like a geyser, spraying his face and hands golden.
"Die." Technoblade said coldly.
"You cannot kill me!" Aunt Clement rasped, "I am a Titan!"
His left knee was on her stomach, securing her in place, his left hand grabbing her throat.
"You will reform in Tarturus," he assured her, "I heard the views are nice."
Her prismarine blue eyes widened with true fear. Ichor spilled out of her mouth.
Still, she managed a strained, twisted smile.
"You are truly gifted, little hero."
She stared at him dead in the eyes.
"I can see you as the First-Bringer to Olympus' doom."
Technoblade gritted his teeth. He pulled out his sword sharply, earning a painful cry from the Titaness. The tip of the blade was entirely immersed in golden liquid.
Aunt Clement's chest heaved up and down, her breaths were the winds of a dying storm.
"Tell me the whole prophecy." He demanded, "And I will let you live."
He could almost see his reflection in her piercing eyes, as blank as a skyless sea. His ichor-splattered face and his own blank, bloodthirsty eyes.
The Titaness grinned sinisterly. "Oh, now is not the time."
Then, she whispered something into his ear.
Technoblade's eyes widened. He raised his sword to stab again, but it was too late - Aunt Clement's form shimmered and dissipated into water foam. Instead, he slashed into thin air, the inertia sending him tumbling to the ichor-covered floor.
"Technoblade!" Philza shouted and rushed forward, grabbing his arms to support him.
"I'm fine!" Techno muttered, but held on to Philza for dear life as he struggled up.
His voice sounded strange and hoarse, but he was in no shape to think.
Aunt Clement's voice echoed in his mind. Her words were pained and raspy, but smooth all the same:
"My son had already foresaw this. Welcome to destiny, hero, the prophecy had begun."
Just this moment, the bedroom door burst open. Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo tumbled out, their faces white as a sheet.
They looked prepared to fight, each holding a weapon of their choice - a steel tube for Wilbur, two broomsticks for Tommy, and Tubbo had his lips to his reedpipe, ready for some smashing tunes.
They all froze at the sight of probably the biblical definition of eldritch horror before them.
Technoblade wiped the ichor off his sword on his shirt and flipped it back into a ring.
"Hey, guys," he said.
Wilbur was the first to recover. He stared at Technoblade like it was Black Friday 90% Off Everything.
"What the fuck just happened?"
