Chapter Text
It was dark and cold in the SUV. Ranboo didn't like it but couldn't do much of anything about it, left to sit in the back seat and twiddle his thumbs.
Doc had said this help was the good kind but so far the only thing that had happened was the masked man threatening them and the man with the bucket hat arguing with Doc. He was scared; afraid they'd be stuck here, fearful he'd get shot by the guy wearing a green hoodie, petrified Doc wouldn't come out of the Hotel. The old man spoke of how Elaina had betrayed him, but truth was she'd never been indebted to him.
Elaina had been living her own life before she'd been introduced to the mafia. Ranboo, on the other hand, had not. He'd been a street rat, lost and alone. Doc had fed him, essentially made him owe him and had thrust adoption papers at his chest.
Sitting in the back of a chilly SUV, lip bleeding from how much he'd bitten it, Ranboo wondered not for the first time what his life would be like if he hadn't been caught that day.
Pulling at his Dora the Explorer watch, he sighed. Someone else did too.
He startled, head shooting up as Eret burst upright. Their shadow glared at him, their head turning to stare him down.
"H- Hello," he stuttered.
Then, Eret was gone.
Blinking to make sure he hadn't been hallucinating, Ranboo slowly stood up as much as he could, hunched over the seats to peer down at where Eret should be lying. Instead, he looked down and found them huddled in the nook between the seat and the back of the drivers' seat, hunched over, breathing haggardly on the itchy carpet floor. From how far the blond man had pulled the driver seat forward, there was a lot of space in the backseat footwell. It left Eret sprawled out, smaller than a mouse.
"Hey," he whispered, tapping softly at the back of the chair. They jerked like a beaten animal, blinking wide teary eyes up at him.
Ranboo didn't think he was staring down the head of a mafia but then he remembered those pictures; the kind smile and soft eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Eret. You're safe, Doc and everyone is at the Hotel right now. They're getting Tommy and Tubbo!"
He'd expected some sort of reaction, maybe a smile or a breath of relief. What he didn't expect was for them to cower back, attempting to curl up into a ball of nothing on the floor.
"Dream—" they made a choked sound as he spoke, slapping their hands over their ears– "Dream's here..."
Severely out of his comfort zone, Ranboo stared down at them. The bundle of coats they'd fallen in had probably shielded them from any serious injury, protecting their current injuries. He bit his lip, thinking as it stung, and pushed forwards, climbing over the three seaters' back. They didn't look at him, head buried in their legs, awkwardly cradling their broken one. Now that he was close enough to feel their shuddering breaths through the seats, he also noticed how bad they were shaking.
"I have your phone," he said, getting nothing in response. Chewing on his lip now, he pulled out the bag the blond haired man had set the phone in, rifling past a couple handguns and a copious amount of bullets before he found the slim iPhone. Tapping it on, he squinted against the bright light and slowly began to push it towards the quaking ball in the corner.
"Here," Ranboo whispered, ever so lightly tapping their knee with the phone. They twitched and probably would've fallen out of the vehicle if the door was open. The stark light of the phone cast them with an ashen disposition, bloodshot eyes peeling open to scrutinise the blazing screen.
Hesitantly, their hands appeared from their bundle, scraped knuckles shining in the glow. They painted a ghostly picture as they trailed lithe fingers over the cracks, softly tapping in the pin. Eret kept glancing up at him, so he lowered himself down opposite them, sitting level with them on the floor. It wasn't comfortable but the last thing he wanted to do was make them panic again.
The gunfire started up again, impossibly louder than before. Eret flinched, head knocking down into their chest as they dropped their phone. It slapped off the ground with a thump, a beacon in the darkness. Ranboo blinked at them, inner eye seeing a cracking halo around their head, the fraying tendrils licking at the material around them, withering it away. They blinked white eyes back; luminescent vivid eyes that were large and pulsed in their skull.
"My name's Ranboo," he whispered to block out the boom-boom-boom that seemed to shake the ground. The storm wailed, winds slamming against the side of the SUV and forcing Eret's head into their hands as they weakly panted for air, gasps reduced to nothing more than rough wheezes.
"It's okay," he assured, his voice drawing their glowing gaze. When they blinked, corroded metal wings with daggers sharp enough to slash flesh twirled around them, flexing and stretching in the small SUV, pressing against the windows as the wind hollered in outrage. The thousand eyes of Argos shuddered open to blink on the primaries, pupils flickering as the daggers ruffled. "We're safe here. Your friends are coming back."
In the shine of the phone, he watched their adam's apple bob before they buried their lower face in the long dark green coat Dream had pulled from a bag. They snuffled it, gaze flicking back up to him before they rose a well-protected, coat smothered arm towards him. Ranboo tilted his head, Eret responding by grabbing the coat wrapped around them and offering him a corner.
"I– uh, you want me to sit with you?" He queried.
They nodded once, hair flying down into their eyes. They brandished the coat flap more forcefully.
He dithered, "But your leg."
Eret looked at him - really looked, eyes glimmering in the phone's light - and gave a jerk that was probably an attempt at a shrug despite their raw collarbones. They gestured again, mouth wobbling as he paused. Worried, Ranboo gave in, shuffling forwards to sit closer to them and share the blanket. There was enough space that he was able to carefully folded his long legs and slide down beside them. He managed to avoid bumping into their awkwardly curled broken leg, settling the phone in his lap as he wrapped the coat around himself, half buried in their side, mindful of the litany of injuries they sported.
"Your phone," he murmured, tone low and reassuring, softly pressing the device into their hand.
They settled against the door and the drivers' seat, content in the corner. Ranboo watched them flick through their apps, finally coming to one and pressing on it. A block world loaded up, Eret's character staring out of a stone castle with multicoloured windows.
"This m'castle," they managed, voice rough and hoarse, hardly a whisper of sound. Ranboo crowded close and watched Eret jump around the world, giving him a tour of their huge fortress.
Grian and Mumbo attached themself to the front, leading the group through the building to an elevator that went up to the twentieth floor and stopped. They cited the men on the other floors were just men of the Hotel; not mafia.
Truthfully, Technoblade couldn't care less. So long as he got to kill somebody, nothing mattered.
"The children are in the drawing room," announced Mumbo, Grian having been more quiet after the brief walk to the elevator. He looked pale - probably the broken ribs that Technoblade wasn't sorry for. Little shit had tried to choke him out and would've succeeded had he been anyone else. The Blade was not in the habit of apologising to his would-be murderer.
"I'll go," said Phil, "I'm less bloody and it's easier for you to cover me."
The Hermits shared a glance. "Jevin and Iskall are guarding the door, with Zedaph and Impulse inside."
"And?" Phil grouched.
"That means you'll need some help taking them out." Mössner growled. "Are they all with Elaina?"
"Maybe not the boys, but the other two are."
"And we all know Iskall would sooner die than be disloyal," Mössner huffed.
"Well, technically," Grian chirped up. "He already has been. But then, we don't know if he knew knew or if he didn't so it's a half and half situation."
Technoblade tuned out the nonsensical rambling and checked the charge handle and mag on his beautiful Beretta. Cheekily nicknamed Orphan Obliterator, the Cx4 Storm was possibly his most prized possession. She was in pristine condition, maybe a little more blood speckled than earlier but her barrel wasn't too hot. He stole a glance at Dream and found him tapping his leg as they walked, frantically clicking his AK's safety on and off.
"You'll break her," he intoned.
"Nightmare's sturdy," waved off the other, tugging at his hood. Guy's hoodie was other-worldly in that despite the recoil and all the moves he pulled it never seemed to fall or slip onto his neck. If Technoblade didn't know any better he'd feel like a sidekick to an anime's protagonist. "She'll be fine."
"That's what they all say, then their gun breaks in the middle of a firefight and everyone's running to me, crying over being dead."
"No one cries when they're dead, Techno," Dream chuffed a laugh.
"Mhm, their bodies just explode thanks to all the gases in there."
"Sad explosions?" Dream giggled. It made his reddened mask crinkle.
"Are we ready?" Philza asked, turned around to stare them both down. The stairs up to the twenty-first floor were just around the corner, if the blueprints were right. The Hermits didn't seem to be veering off-course, either way.
"Yep," Dream popped the final consonant. "All good."
"Hey guys," called Mumbo, shouting towards the stairwell. "It's all good. There's no trouble."
"That sounded like trouble," a woman's voice shouted back. A moment later, a tanned woman with green eyeshadow and a meticulously pinned up braid popped her head around the corner. No sooner than her head appeared did it disappear. "Who's with you both?"
"There's people with them?" Another voice asked, softer but definitely male.
"Cleo, Ren," Grian announced. "Doc's alive."
"What?" Echoed Ren, a sandy blond stepping out. His scruffy sweater and khaki shorts seemed out of place when the woman stepped out after him, showing off her high tank top and long silken maxi skirt. She wore gold bracelets, twin pistols in her hands, whilst the man clutched a Heckler and Kosh G36 assault rifle. Cleo and Ren were two of Cuba's most prized fighters.
Elaina must've seen them as collateral if she was sending them down to guard a stairway.
"Doc!" Cleo gasped, blinking rapidly as the old man walked towards them. She holstered her guns and sprinted into the man's hug, blinking tactics failing as her makeup gave way to her tears. Ren slipped in from the side and the three of them stood there for a few seconds before parting. Wiping at her eyes, Cleo simmered: "I knew you wouldn't have died so easily. Elaina can suck my dick!"
Mössner chuckled and gestured upstairs. "My associates here are looking for two teenage boys, around Ranboo's age. You don't think you could help us out?"
"Of course, Doc," they both said. "Anything for you."
The hallways up on the mafia level were a tad more decorated, red paint and golden archways smattered artfully around paintings and fancy doors. The doors were all the same heavy wood, some looking no more important than others. So far, the only issue Phil had with the place was the fact they hadn't ran into anyone.
Behind him, Technoblade and Dream shifted; both on high alert. Phil clutched his sweet Benehime tight and prepared to have to shoot the Hermits down if they turned.
In their world, paranoia was a life-saver. Phil would not die before he got Tommy and Tubbo the fuck out of this hotel and had gotten back to England; he certainly wasn't going to kick the bucket until he was thirty years into retirement and had grandkids and was living his best life in the countryside.
"Next floor, we'll split," murmured Ren. He was a meek fellow, quiet and reserved.
"I'll go for the kids," Phil repeated.
"And we'll take the rest of the floor," assured Dream.
Prowling up the stairs, the group of eight broke into three and five. Phil split left, darting ahead with Mumbo and Grian to follow the maze of the halls. To his eyes, it all looked the same, no matter the changing bloodstains as they charged past and downed everyone who stood in the way. The two Hermits were quiet and quick, capable of whirling on Phil and taking him down perhaps too easily, although they never did - instead, intent on barreling their way through the groups of armed men that popped up on their peripherals.
It didn't take long, the natter of gunfire echoing in his old ears, before the progression stumbled quite deliberately upon a double doored room. Mumbo slowed, taking position on one side as Grian took the other. Phil stopped at a distance, watching the two men share a long look.
The doors flung open. Two muscled men skimmed the cusp of his sight, one with long braided hair and a grizzly beard and another with his purple hair tied back in a bun. Iskall and Jevin.
"It's us! It's us!" Squeaked Grian, hands dancing through the air as he waved the two down. Phil was beyond the sightlines of the two in the room, allowing this ruse.
"Grian," grunted another accented man - Iskall, he recognised from a few audio recordings. The rumours of the Hermits coming from all over the world really weren't exaggerated. "What is going on? The comms are down."
"No time to explain in full but," began the small blond.
Mumbo finished, "Doc didn't die to a car bomb."
"What?" Asked another voice - Jevin. "But... he did?"
"Nuh-uh," chirped Grian, grin wide as he fiddled with his guns. "He's the one making this noise. Him and the ones from Arkhos."
There was a stint of silence. Iskall burst into a roar of a laugh, more bear-like than human. The click of a safety being flicked off was loud.
"Who put you up to this?" Snarled the man. "Mössner is dead, boys. Elaina will have your heads if she hears of this."
"Well, she won't hear it from me," snickered Jevin. "This is funny. For real, who paid you two this time?"
"No one," Phil said, stepping out from his alcove. The laughter abruptly died down, the two friendly Hermits shooting him wide eyed stares as he rolled up beside them and bore into the two men staring down at him. "On behalf of Arkhos, I suggest you move aside."
"Ph— Phil!" Came Tommy's hoarse cry, voice wobbling. There was a sniffle and the shifting of metal. "See, Tubbo? Told you we'd be fine!"
His vision shorted out as he caught a glimpse of the two huddled on the floor, cuffed together by the wrists, before Jevin shifted and blocked his view. Dragging in a breath, Phil attempted to keep calm.
Benehime vibrated into his hands. The two men had created a wall between him and his boys.
"For the last time," he warned, voice low and barely more than a growl. "Move aside."
Jevin leered, "And if we don't?"
"Cover your ears and look away, kids," he called, the shuffle of cloth indicating they'd done just that.
A blink later the purple haired man fell; a bullet through his skull.
Iskall thundered a warcry, lunging at him. Mumbo intercepted, hand swirling up in a karate chop that dug into the larger man's neck and had him twitching on the floor. Grian popped a shot into his back.
"Weak points," the moustached one shrugged gleefully when Phil gave him a look. "Everyone has them."
Brushing it off, Phil stepped over the corpse on the ground and tracked red onto the shitty looking rug the two boys were huddled atop. He crouched to cover their view and lightly tapped Tommy's shoulder. "Tommy-"
The boy flinched back, Tubbo rolling back with him, face buried into Tommy's chest as the blond pulled his eyes open. A mess of emotions swirled in those reddened eyes, each one worse than the other. His black and blue cheeks painted him a pale pallor, weak and almost sickly. The sight made Phil's chest burn, fingers twitching to beat whoever had done this to the grave and beyond.
"It's alright," he reassured them, offering a crooked smile. Phil pushed Benehime away from them, on the floor, and opened his arms in a hug. "We've got you."
"Phil!" Wept Tommy, the impact of him slamming into Phil's chest rocking the three of them. Tubbo was crying, big heavy tears rolling down his cheeks, eyes red and puffy. From the looks of it, both had been crying. And he'd set them off again.
A fiercely protective feeling burst forth in his chest, a lion rumbling for justice as he attempted to hold the two teens as close to himself as he could. Mumbo and Grian had joined the two Hermits in the corner, the four softly mumbling to themselves; Phil paid them no mind, too busy rocking the kids back and forth as they blabbered and shook.
"Is- I- Is Eret o- okay?" Wailed Tubbo, pulling his ruddy face up to peer at him through blurred vision. Phil shushed him, wiping away the tears that had made his chin into a waterfall and nodded.
"They're alive," was all he could muster. Tubbo sagged and for a moment Phil feared he'd passed out on him, before he felt the soft shakes and the boy's arms tighten around his poor waist.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," the kid was babbling, voice quivering with his eyelids. Tommy pulled Tubbo into a side hug, looking up at Phil with bright eyes as he gestured to the cuffs keeping them bound.
"Are there keys for these?" He asked the Hermits, rocking back on his heels but staying crouched to keep the boy's attention away from the doorway. His waist smarted and he'd likely have bruises but they were worth it.
"Here," a blond with silver and purple highlights in his hair called; Zedaph. His violet eyes shone with regret, the small loop of metal he threw landing neatly in Phil's outstretched hand. He ignored the man and fiddled with the key, gently freeing the boys.
"C'mon, boys," he murmured, easing them up. Dried blood decorated the rug, Tommy's knees torn and crusted. His chest ached a little more as he pulled their heads into his chest and hurriedly gestured to the Hermits to clear the doorway. Mumbo and the brown haired man, Impulse, striding over to move their dead comrades into the corner of the room.
Slowly, he edged the boys out of the room and found himself at an impasse.
He tapped the comm in his ear back on. "I got the kids."
"Is it safe to leave them downstairs?" Dream asked.
"Bit messy down there," reported Wil, panting as he likely sprinted up the stairs.
"Can you get to the twenty forth floor and mind them, Wil?" Phil queried, gently pulling Tubbo into his side as the boy stumbled and began crying again. God, it was like he was handling six year olds, not sixteen. The thought ached as he watched Tommy attempt to smother the smaller boy into his side.
"Sure," gasped the brunet. "Just gimme a minute. How do I know what floor I'm on?"
"We left about six bodies in a 'W' on the fifteenth floor," said Dream.
"Oh," replied Wil. "Haven't seen that yet."
Phil gestured for the hallway to be cleared and began the slow movement of bringing the boys closer to the stairwell. It took Wilbur ten minutes to show but when he did, the boys were on him in an instant, Tommy clutching the taller man for dear life as Wilbur struggled to wave Phil off.
Anger stewing in his core like molten slag, he took off up the stairs like a madman, hollering over the comms that he was en route.
The top floor was quiet. Technoblade slunk along, Orphan in his hands, lusting for an end to this fight.
"The office is in the centre of the building," informed Mössner, telling them what they already knew. The old man turned to his growing posse - he'd picked up three other Hermits on the twenty-forth floor: an albino called Tango; a green haired man, Joe; and some wide eyed guy, Scar - and dismissed them with a sharp gesture. "Spread out. Gut anyone that isn't with me."
"Yes, sir!" The group nodded before they were gone.
Mössner turned back to them, jaw set. Technoblade saw a spark of why Eret had elected this guy to run Cuba.
It took five minutes to get to the centre, the number of men surprisingly sparse. Perhaps they'd wiped out the majority of those home in the first couple of floors, but a deeper part of his brain said, no, I bet they're in that room waiting to gun you all down.
He was more inclined to believe the instinct that had kept him alive all these years than anything else.
Finally, they were around the corner from the large office. It was one of the bigger rooms in the hotel, large enough to be one of the private king-sized suites. Hunched around the corner, the three stopped, guns ready. Technoblade turned to Dream and fired off a quick hand gesture, the hooded man nodding and whispering to Mössner to watch his own back.
The Doctor looked startled for a moment, but that was all Technoblade seen of it as he and Dream shot out of their alcove and raced down the hall. He kicked the doors open and Dream began the firefight. The cowards had bullet shields set up around the desk, the blonde woman sitting arrogantly on the old mahogany. She had the remaining Hermits with her - Wels, Hypno, Keralis and xBC.
"Arkhos," she greeted them, snide grin a tad too big. "Welcome to Hotel Renaissance."
Technoblade jerked back as the Hermits returned fire, black shields parting to reveal a machine gun that tore through the door like it was mince meat. There was a blink where Techno shared a glance with Dream before they were scurrying back, Dream safe on the left side whilst Technoblade sprinted back up the corridor to avoid the wall-munching terror that chased after him. Nightmare began firing, the other Hermits popping off shots as Dream tried to cover him.
He slid across the carpet, rucking up back where they'd started beside a grim Mössner.
"That's new," said the old man.
"No shit."
Across the way, Dream yelped as a bullet caught his arm, a blur of green marking his escape as he cartwheeled down the corridor.
"We're pinned," came the hiss over the comms.
Phil responded, "I'm on my way!"
"Machine gun," snarled Technoblade. "We're split up."
"Aw, shit," Wilbur gave a huff, the chatter of Tommy very close to the mic.
"Are the boys okay?" Dream inquired, shifting at the end of the corridor. He'd torn the hem off his hoodie to wrap his arm and had changed the main hand for holding Nightmare. Technoblade grimaced and remained low as the bullets screamed through the wall directly ahead of the door. Obviously no one knew how to work a machine gun because keeping it firing like that would overheat the thing - stupid but good for them in the longrun.
"Scraped and bruised, but not dead," replied Wil.
Technoblade fished his vape from his pocket and sucked in a lungful. Behind him, Mössner gave a scathing noise that was ignored.
Suddenly, the tat-tat-tat slowed, the click of an overheated barrel ringing through the air. He smirked and shoved the vape back into one of his more secure pockets.
Dream pushed his gun up in a signal. Technoblade jerked his Beretta right and the two hung low, converging on the door as muted curses slithered through the open doorway. The smoke and dust of the destroyed wall made it hard to see, Dream's dirty hoodie the only real point Techno could focus on from sheer experience alone - he'd been doing shit like this with Dream for years, this was nothing new.
They were five feet apart. The door was right there–
"Elaina!" Shouted Mössner, voice bellowing through the decimated hallways. Dream startled back, retreating like a scared pup as a few bullets pinged through the wall dangerously close to his head. Technoblade sneered, inwardly cursing the old man, and rose up to take aim through the holes in the wall made up of bullet holes.
He got a few pot shots off, breaking the wall some more as he dived to the ground to avoid the return fire.
"Doc?" Came a man's voice.
"Keralis!" Mössner yelled back. "I need in."
Technoblade wasn't about to turn around and tell the old guy that his plan obviously wasn't going to work because he was a tad too busy making sure he didn't loose his head but he sure as hell thought it.
There was a scream and all of a sudden, there was silence.
Mössner, insane senile Mössner, strode past him, uncaring for Technoblade's sprawl on the floor without the natter of the machine gun. Scrambling to his feet, Technoblade followed after the doctor as he disappeared into the office.
Dream met him there, the two of them standing ducks in the doorway as they took in the sight of a tall man standing with his rifle to the blonde's head. She was sneering, face twisted in a way that bellied her beauty, the Hermits around her standing like deer in headlights.
"Doc?" Questioned one of them, all eyes on the greying haired man as he strode into the room and clapped a hand on the tall man's shoulder.
"Good to see you, Keralis," he said to the man, eyeing the long braid that swirled down his back. "I like what you've done with your hair."
"You're dead," muttered the brunet, evidently not believing what he was seeing despite his hold on his gun not wavering. Technoblade entered the room, Dream a second behind, and the attention shifted to them.
"Arkhos," said a brunette; Stress. She pouted and slung her golden pistols back into their holsters. "Well, this is fucked."
"What's going on?" Asked a silver haired man, lowering his Browning B525. Welsknight.
A man wearing a balaclava shifted behind the desk, silver hair sparkling in the glow of the lights. Technoblade brought up Orphan before Hypno could bring his rifle up and levelled her out. Pointing his gun at losers always made him feel better. The guy backed down, gun clutched loosely as he stepped back behind the desk silently. Technoblade snorted at him and moved on to the next hunt.
"No one move or the blonde gets it," he said, stalking forth to push the barrel erringly close to the woman's forehead. "You the one that ordered for the boss and kids to be captured?"
"And what if I am?" She sneered, perfectly at ease. Her legs were crossed, comfortable atop the table despite how her short red dress rode up her thighs. Techno stayed alert, well aware her sharp heels could randomly jerk up and cause quite a bit of pain.
"Elaina," Mössner said, voice carrying all sorts of emotions. "Why–"
"I've told you," the woman interrupted, tone sly and mocking as she flicked her hair over a pale shoulder. Cold hazel green eyes bore into the old man as his knees wobbled. "You're weak, always licking up to the British boy. You do not have what it takes to lead, padre. You never did."
There were no words Mössner had, if his defeated sigh said anything. Phil appeared at the doorway, Benehime gentle in his hands as he steadied her out. Dream offered the man a nod.
"Elaina Exe," declared Mössner, shoulders set. His voice didn't waver this time. "I'm disgusted that I ever thought of you as a daughter."
Movement caught Technoblade's eye, side-stepping in time to let the hulking man - xBC - rumble past him, his fast tackle having failed. Phil took the shot and the man dropped with a bang.
Elaina shouted, kicking back off the table and falling behind it as Hypno levelled his gun at Mössner. Keralis lunged for him, but not after the guy got a shot off, Mössner falling. Wels toppled over himself in his haste to retreat as Stress rounded on Elaina and fired at her. Technoblade tugged Dream out of the way of a stray bullet, noting the growing red stain on the man's arm.
Stress gave a cry as she dropped to the ground, clutching her abdomen. Elaina stood over her, gun raising–
Phil's shot missed as his ankles were kicked out from behind. The bullet pinged into the ceiling, shattering the chandelier and raining glass shards over them. Growling, Techno pulled one of the abandoned shields on the ground onto his back as he stooped over a panting Dream, shifting the shield into his forefront before charging into Elaina as she tried to escape after failing to kill Stress. She glared up at him as she hit the ground, scrabbling at the ground under herself before the butt of Orphan came down on her and she dropped.
Some guy with purple sunglasses stood at the doorway, knees buckling as Phil twisted round and shoved his boot at his kneecap. A loud thump rang out as the man fell, shrieking. The shouts drew Keralis' gaze, the man's long braid flying around him as he jumped over the large desk, leaving Hypno to bleed out with his own gun shoved down his throat.
"Xisuma!" The man hollered, helping a startled but unharmed Mössner to his feet on his way past. "You damn traitor!"
"K- Keralis!" Whimpered the man, desperately scrambling away as the man pulled him to his feet and held him up by his shirt. "P- I didn't - I didn't know!" He wailed in English, quickly switching to a Northern language as he babbled and cried.
Technoblade looked down at the unconscious form of Elaina and tugged her onto a couch at the side of the room. She lay there, Mössner coming over to frown down at her as the room slowly calmed. The machine gun sat quietly in the centre of the room as its occupants slowly deflated.
"Thank you, Arkhos," Mössner said, shaking each of their hands despite the blood on them. He was grinning, relief palatable as he smushed kisses into the foreheads of his Hermits, softly hushing Xisuma and reassuring the survivors. "It is a great shame to see my people so decimated, however I understand. I wish you safe travels."
Phil stood at the doorway, silent as Technoblade looked to Dream.
"Are there any planes that will fly in these winds?" Dream pried, fingers running over Nightmare's hot barrel with feather-light taps. His head was tilted in that way that meant he was pissed, breath whistling in through gritted teeth.
Mössner sighed, nodding, "One can be arranged."
With a breath, Technoblade realised they'd 'won'. Arkhos had come out of it with no less men and a half-dead leader. Not exactly the deal they'd wanted.
"We'll be in contact," Phil took over, sniper rifle sturdy on his back as he frowned. His face was drawn tight, someone else's blood splattered over his jaw. "One term of the new contract will be her death."
"I understand," agreed Mössner, casting Elaina one final look. "How about now?"
With that, the old man hefted his shotgun up and ended it.
Technoblade thought of Eret, pale and dying slowly, and couldn't help but feel it was anti-climatic. She deserved to feel the same pain they did. He stood there, stoic, and gripped Dream's uninjured forearm when the other wavered.
"Alright," said Phil, the only one to speak in the silence of the office. "Alright."