Chapter Text
Before time was able to be told, before rivers ran across the plains of the earth, before minds invented and nimble hands drew the stories of the past, there was Life, and with Life, comes Death.
Life and Death brought light and dark to every corner of the earth, gave and stole breath to every newborn and elder, kept the fire of hope in the chests of mortals and likewise let it burn itself out.
As they had throughout the years, mortals would pray to them, but the gods didn’t answered. The time too precious to waste on a small life, and was better well spent creating new ones.
Mortals would know these beings throughout times as many names. Life and Death, Light and Dark, the Angels of Creation and Destruction, but few would know the Angels’ true names.
To mere mortals, they were Life and Death. But to the Gods, they were Kristen and Philza.
With every passing day, shadows fell across the earth, only to be battled by dawn’s warm light casting the shadows back to the Nether.
Slowly, more and more gods were created, and humanity was birthed. And as the mighty storm of life grew, the Gods knew it was too dangerous for life and death to walk the earth together any longer.
So the Gods decided that Life will traverse the universe, creating stars shining almost as bright as her children’s eyes.
The Gods decided that Death will stay by his earthly home with his children, and reap the souls for Life to guide anew.
While Life was surrounded by her creations, Death stayed on the earth with his children.
Eons upon eons passed, and Death’s two oldest aged, entering their adolescence.
The Blood God was to aid his father, drawing his weapon and drawing life’s essence from his foes.
Mortals grew to fear and praise him, and Gods grew to respect and admire him, for in every battle he fought, he arose as victor.
The younger of the twins held his passion in creation rather than destruction. The God of Music, they called him, the God of the Arts, praying to him with countless hymns and seeking his knowledge in the delicate craft.
But Music, alike his brother, was a coin of two sides. While true, the Blood God brought pain, he also gave mercy in war.
Music was an expression of emotion, and emotions can be tampered. The Madness God sent his music to his enemies, consuming their minds with his voice.
The desolation gods held little mercy, but few knew of the love they held for their family, the youngest of which was still a mere mortal, not yet gaining the gift of immortality and title as a deity. His aging, prolonged for the next few centuries, was indeed slowed, but the fragile life his mother gifted him with was tethered by a fraying string.
Theseus, the saints whispered. Theseus, a god hushed his child with the all the gentleness of a mortal father rather than the harbinger of death. Theseus, two brothers murmured to the child with hair like the sun and eyes like the shine of the oceans waves that caress the sandy shores of the earth, vows of protection and guidance leaving their lips.
Upon their sky kingdom, few but the residing gods themselves graced the stone walkways. Few dared to cross the gods, and those that did were cast aside like ants.
The youngest son was held upon the eldest shoulders, a small smile gracing the eldest’s usually stoic features. None would assume that the two teens had ever sent leaders spiraling to insanity, nor have driven blades across the delicate skin of a man.
The youngest laughed brightly, giggles spilling out as the oldest spun around, dropping him to the awaiting arms of the middle son, who cradled the smiling boy close to his chest, feeling as though no music he could create could ever rival the joyous melody of Theseus’s laughter.
“Wilby! Wilby!” Cheered the youngest as his brother twirled him in his arms, cheeks tinted pink with youth splitting into a wide grin, face highlighting the telltale roundness of his age.
The small boy laughed once more, before leaning over and tugging on the the cascading braid of the pink haired boy who stood next to them with one hand, the other occupied by a flower picked in the very garden they stood in, petals washed red like the enemies the man he grabbed onto had slain.
“Techie! Play, play!” He shouted, and Wilbur lowered him to the floor, where he began to run, laughing as the others gave chase to the grinning boy.
They raced through the halls, nimble long legs slowing down for small toddling, arms prepared to catch the boy, were he to topple.
A pair of green clad legs stopped them all in their tracks, as they saw the Angel of Death loom above them.
“Dada!” Left the youngest’s lips in a cry as he hugged his fathers leg. The father’s eyes crinkled kindly at his sons, as he herded them into a hug.
Philza held all of his sons in his arms for a moment, as if committing every detail to memory.
Philza picked up his youngest and rested the young one of his hip, wings tucked back behind him.
Theseus reached out to the dark appendages, and with unnatural gentleness he traced the soft feathers, before burying his face into them.
Father and sons let out a chuckle at that, and the youngest yawned, tired by the days events.
“Are you tired, Theseus?” Asked Philza, running his hand through his son’s golden locks.
Theseus let out another yawn, head bobbing in agreement as he nodded off, worn out already by the running.
Philza brought Theseus down the halls of the palace, reaching a room in which a crib was placed.
Theseus was set down by Philza, who left a gentle kiss to the crown of his head.
“Goodnight, mate.” He said softly, voice hushed at the young one’s state of near rest.
The two others rushed over with feet pattering against the floor, lightly shoving each other to get to their brother first.
Technoblade, once again victorious, intertwined the boy’s hand with his own, the small fingers lightly grasping at the larger ones.
“Goodnight, Theseus.” He said, reluctantly pulling away as Wilbur shouldered him.
The young madness god reached down, running a finger down the boy’s pale cheek, cooing at him as blue eyes blinked tiredly back.
“Sleep well, Theseus,” he said, pulling his hand away. “Sweet dreams.”
The family made their way out, Phil snuffing out the candle, leaving the bedroom bathed in comforting darkness.
As the family said began to ready for sleep, none were aware of the tragedy that would take place.
Philza was not aware that mere hours later, he’d be awaken by the wailing of his youngest. Not a cry of laugher, but of fear.
Technoblade was not aware that he would rush into the room, sword at the ready, father and brother at his side, only to see a glimpse of porcelain and golden locks, ones that could rival the sun, disappear into the dark night.
Wilbur was not aware that he would rush into his brother’s room in time to see blue eyes, tears pouring from them, look at him in desperation before disappearing.
None were aware that all would be left would be the red carnation, colored startling more red than before.
And as a father collapsed to his knees, a brother punched a wall, and another stumbled to the dropped flower, the gods prayed for the first time in eons. But their mortal didn’t answer.