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The end came with the anvil.
That silver, glinting anvil which had hung forebodingly over his head while he watched his life be reduced to worthlessness in an unfair trial. If the moon was out tonight, it was hidden from sight. Perhaps criminals were not worthy to bask underneath its cool rays.
But Techno was no criminal. He screamed this to his captors, he begged for his life, but it was useless. Their hearts had been corrupted, their minds clouded by unjust grievances. Rain battered down onto their heads: Techno told himself it was condemnation from the gods. Nearby, Ghostbur whined and took shelter underneath a half-ruined structure. Its ruin was no doubt a result of Techno’s withers, but that was justified. The ends justified the means.
But this— what would it accomplish? He grasped at the silver cage bars desperately. In his mind, the voices wailed deafeningly.
“Don’t do this, Quackity.” He growled. The man looked at him like he was scum, “You don’t want to do this. The spillin’ of my blood is a guarantee of violence in the future. It may bring you temporary satisfaction but in return, I will bring unendin’ war. Think about this— it’s not worth it.”
A glint of silver shone in Quackity’s eyes. It was the look of a madman. Realisation plummeted into Techno’s stomach: the rictus cleaved into his blood-splattered face would not wane until he was dead.
“All out of tricks, Blade?” He snarled. Hooking his fingers into the cage grille, he shook the metal. The nuts and bolts clattered against each other. If his hands were not bound, Techno would clutch his floppy pig ears to protect them from the deafening sound. “You finally understand how it feels? To be defenceless? To be at death’s mercy?” Vile spit flew from Quackity’s maw, “Tubbo knows how that feels! Tubbo knows how it feels to be trapped! Don’t you, Tubbo?”
Techno looked at the president from behind a curtain of scraggly pink locks. If he’d had a choice, he would’ve never executed Tubbo. Didn’t Quackity know that he saw Tubbo’s petrified face in his darkest dreams, his childishly large eyes illuminated red and blue from the incoming fireworks? Didn’t Quackity know it haunted him?
But Quackity didn’t matter. Tubbo was president— if Techno could convince him to pardon him, Quackity would have to obey, right? His word was law. As much as Techno detested L’Manberg’s political system, just this once he would use it to his advantage.
“Tubbo.” He panted. Rain trickled down his face like tears, “We’ve spoken about what happened during the festival. You know the kind of pressure I was under.”
“Peer pressure isn’t an excuse anymore, Technoblade.”
Techno flinched. When had he changed his tune? The boy looked at Techno with dark pebbles for eyes. His jaw trembled as he curled his scarred fist around the lever.
His one chance of escape was gone. Gods. He was backed into a corner now, metaphorical tail between his legs. Death was foreign to him— it was true that Technoblade never died. Though that now was about to change, he thought with a shiver.
Techno’s life rested in the president’s hand. Quite literally. One shift in weight and the lever would plunge and, along with it, the anvil. Techno’s eyes flickered up to it. Even in these brutal winds, its gargantuan weight ensured it stayed as still as a statue, as firm as law, and in prime position to crash down onto Techno, shattering his skull into a thousand minuscule shards, exploding his muscles and flesh, violently tearing his first canon life from him.
All it took was a slight shift of Tubbo’s fingers for Techno’s fear to spike. Throwing himself against the grille, he screamed, “You kill me here, I come back and serve you a death a thousand times as painful as this. You have no idea what you’re doing. No idea what you’re unleashin’.”
Quackity took a calm step closer to the cage. His skin was coated in a layer of rainwater, his hair was flat against his forehead. He sneered, “When you come back, I’ll be ready. To do this. All. Over. Again.”
“You— you wouldn’t dare.”
The man grinned deviously. “You wanna bet?”
Tubbo’s fingers flexed around the lever. Techno focused on that. He saw every callus on his flesh, every bit of dirt underneath his nails, the way his tendons bulged as he yanked the lever down.
He— he yanked the lever down…
Everything moved very slowly as Techno looked up. Upon being freed from its binds, each drop of rain that had accumulated atop of the anvil bounced into the air and down to earth. In the darks of Techno’s eyes, the anvil was reflected, becoming larger and larger, grimmer and grimmer, until the rain was not the only thing that soaked him.
The end came with the anvil.
And the beginning commenced with a gasp.
Techno bolted upright. Desperate hands flew to his head, feeling for injury.
Wherever he was, it was gorgeous. He’d never seen such beautiful green pastures before. The tall grass cradled him on the hillside, it was soft and comfortable, he felt like he could quite easily fall asleep here. Bumblebees and butterflies fluttered past and up into the cloudless blue sky, leading his gaze to an incredible medieval-style structure built on a floating island. A stream of turquoise water spilt down from the island and splashed into a still lake below. All kinds of birds peacefully floated on the water, some taking flight and landing onto the roofs of the houses which bordered the lake. There were many different builds, all with different architectural styles. The mismatched houses were endearing in the same way a patchwork quilt was: despite their differences, a small community had clearly weaved together to create a peaceful environment.
It couldn’t be further from the Dream SMP.
Techno flopped back against the grass and took a few deep breaths. Where was he? He’d died— why hadn’t he respawned at home? That was supposed to be how it worked. There was no logical explanation for this. Oh, Gods… he felt sick…
There were only two reasons why a person wouldn’t respawn: they hadn’t died, or it was their final life lost. No matter how hard Techno tried, he couldn’t come up with any ideas for how any of those reasons fitted him. He’d died. Been killed. Slaughtered. That anvil came down and completely, utterly obliterated him— there was no way he survived it. He had no memory of dying before then (his catchphrase about never dying was built upon truth) so this was definitely not some afterlife for those who’d lost all three lives. So what was going on?
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. The confusion made his head spin. He felt as if he’d ate some suspicious stew or drank a badly-brewed potion. Panic was a foreign feeling to him. In the few rare moments of panic he’d experienced, he’d always ran to safety and recuperated. But where was safety in this strange new world?
His staggered breathing and racing heartbeat were so loud in his tears that he barely heard the footsteps approaching him, nor the rhythmic beating of wings. Suddenly, a collection of perplexed faces popped into his field of vision. But there was no time to inspect them. Technoblade promptly passed out, the faces fading into fuzzes and the world around him turning dark.
Techno came to slowly, his eyes too blurry from sleep to take in his surroundings. Wherever he was now, it was less comfortable than lying on the grassy ground. Instinctively, he rolled onto his other side— and plummeted several feet.
It certainly woke him up. Techno rubbed his sore behind with a tired grumble. Where had the rest of his bed gone? The Dream SMP was a weird world but not weird enough that beds would magically be halved. And… what was that smell? Bird poop?
Memories rushed back to him and his heart sank. He wasn’t in the Dream SMP anymore, was he?
“Uh, hiya, mate.”
Techno couldn’t feel his floppy pig ears perk up, but he knew they must have— they always did that when he was excited. That was his best friend’s voice! Finally, something familiar in this strange new world!
“Philza!” He frantically looked around. He’d heard Phil’s voice as clear as day but the man was nowhere to be seen: he was alone in what appeared to be a house. It was made of dark and light woods, though there was a portion made of blackstone. A large tank of sparkling blue water was connected to a bar and a balcony encircled the room. It tapered up into a high ceiling, where beams crisscrossed over each other. It must have been from one of those beams that he fell from. But how did he get up there?
A chuckle rang out from above, along with the steady beating of wings. Something shot out from behind one of the beams. “Up here!”
Techno’s eyes almost burst out of his head when he registered what had darted out from above. Since when had Phil had wings?
The man wore flowing green robes. Techno caught sight of a tighter black garment underneath which went all the way to his wrists and ankles. That was normal. That was just Phil with a fashion change. But the feathers could not be explained. A pair of magnificent and enormous black wings held Phil suspended in the air. Their size made the wings slightly intimidating but that didn’t discount from their beauty. When the feathers were struck by sunlight, they were revealed to be not only black but also violet, blue, green, a whole slew of colours!
“Phil…” Techno gasped. His friend looked at him with a confused expression and gracefully lowered himself onto the wooden floor. The last time Techno saw the man, he was under house arrest. Thank the gods he looked in good shape now. Phil’s house in L’Manberg was close to the execution podium, had he seen the anvil come down?
Barely thinking, Techno scrambled to his feet and threw himself at Phil. The man made a slight oomph! noise at the sudden contact but embraced Techno. He breathed in his scent of oats and pine and let out a shaky but contented sigh.
“Mayday! Mayday! Maydaaaaaay!”
Techno flinched as he felt something come hurling at his feet. The entire building shook at the force of the projectile. Phil made a displeased sound and grouchily murmured, “Tommy…”
Tommy? Techno looked down and, sure enough, there was Tommy. He was mucky: dried dirt coated his cheeks, arms and even his hair. When he smiled up at Techno, his diamond blue eyes sparkled.
“‘ello!” He yelled.
“Hi, Tommy,” Techno replied with a perplexed frown. Like Phil, Tommy had grown a pair of wings. They were smaller than Phil’s and the colour of snow with brown speckles. Since when did everyone have wings?
Tommy’s face morphed into confusion. He scrambled to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger at Techno. “Hold on— how do you know my name?”
“He knew my name as well.” Phil murmured, “How odd.”
Techno stumbled out of Phil’s embrace. What was he talking about? Of course he knew their names! Phil was acting like they hadn’t known each other for their entire lives. And Tommy looked at him without even the tiniest trace of anger. That was not normal.
Techno stumbled over to the nearby window and gazed out at the outside world. There were the same rolling green pastures he’d seen earlier, along with the mismatched houses and sparkling lake. The golden sun made the water shimmer. It was beautiful but, after a few moments of staring, Techno’s eyes unfocused and his reflection in the glass became visible.
Ever since he woke up on that grassy hillside, it had been shock after shock. The world was different, his friends were different, even his appearance had changed. Techno had always known that his ancestry could be traced back to piglins— a mighty porcine species that lived in the Nether. This was reflected in his pointed canines, floppy pig ears and bright pink hair.
But in this strange world, he couldn’t rely on anything to be the same as what he had previously known. Not even his appearance, it seemed. For in the reflection of his glass, a strong, broad warrior with piglin features did not look back at him. A lanky, brown-haired loser with bulging blue eyes gaped at him.
That was the final straw. Techno couldn’t take it anymore.
“What is going on?” He breathed out. He spun on his heel and staggered back to Phil and Tommy, “Someone tell me— what is going on? Phil?”
Tommy squinted at him, blue eyes darkened with suspicion. His white feathers ruffled as he said, “He did it again. Phil, why does he keep on doing that?”
Techno also instinctively looked at Phil for guidance. It hurt when the man looked at him like he was a stranger, but surely there was an explanation for that too.
“Are you— are you the human?” He stuttered.
Techno felt like tearing his hair out. They were asking him questions? He was the most confused person here! “I-I don’t know! You tell me? Am I human? Wait, w-what do you mean the human?”
A group of whispers was getting louder, slowly approaching. For a moment Techno thought his voices had returned. The chatter inside his head could be greatly irritating but right now he was desperate for any kind of familiarity, even if it was the voices and their mockeries. But, upon turning his head, he realised that it was not the voices, but instead a whole new host of characters.
There was Tubbo with two curled antennae sprouting from his head and hovering above the ground with the help of two fluttering wings which glinted in the sunlight and there was Ranboo, skin as dark as obsidian, with clothes far too regal for the humble teenager Techno knew. Lava dripped from Jack Manifold’s fingertips and Wilbur— whose skin held a translucent grey quality— floated over to the large tank of water, where Niki had her face pressed against the glass. Since when did Niki have a pink fish tail? Since when did any of them look like this?
“Is he…” Wilbur floated towards Techno. He seemed ghostly, but not like Ghostbur. Techno took a step back.
“There’s no way.” When Niki spoke, bubbles floated out of her mouth.
“But who else can he be?” Ranboo chimed in, voice low and cautious, “A human spawned into a world of creatures.”
“That’s what the prophecy said, didn’t it?”
Techno’s head whipped back to Tommy. Slowly, he asked, “What prophecy?”
But he was ignored. Everyone’s focus had shifted to Phil, who stood with his broad arms over his chest. He looked at Techno pensively. After a long silence, he nodded and said, “You’re right, Tommy. He’s the chosen one.”
Techno gulped. If it wasn’t already impossible, he felt like things were going to get much more confusing.
It was many hours later that the reality of the situation sunk in.
As Jack cleaned his finished glass of beer, Techno placed his pointed index finger down on the bar table. “Let’s go through it one more time.”
“Sure. Gather round everyone, we’re onto take nine.”
“You shouldn’t have given him that beer, Jack.” Tommy tutted, “His tiny human body can barely take it.”
Techno shot him a pointed glare but couldn’t deny the truth in his statement. This new body was much weaker than his old one. After falling from the beams earlier, his behind still hurt (he was sure it was bruised badly). A single glass of beer was enough to skew his logic. Usually, it would take at least ten beers for that to happen!
“Alright,” He said through a burp, “So when I died in the Dream SMP, I was transported here to the Origins SMP. An alternate reality where everyone I know has creature characteristics. I understand that part.”
“Good. What about the prophecy, mate?”
“That’s where it gets confusin’. Explain to me one more time.”
Techno felt tugging on his sleeve. It was Ranboo, though it took him a few moments for that connection to be made due to his altered appearance. He pointed to the other side of the room and said, “If an explanation isn’t sticking, what about a demonstration?” He then crept over to Tubbo, who was in clear distress.
Techno slowly got to his feet and began to approach Tubbo, only to be stopped by Phil. The man silently shook his head with a tight-lipped frown.
“Don’t go near him in this state— he’ll sting without warning. We learnt that one the hard way.”
This world’s Tubbo had seemed just as excitable and bright as the Tubbo back home in the Dream SMP. But now… he was different. Blank. Empty. He was floating an inch off the ground, wings frantically beating, and his thin antennae were going haywire. When Ranboo made a tiny step towards him, the floorboards creaked and Tubbo’s head snapped round to him. Angry buzzing sounded from his mouth— a warning. But throughout it all, his face remained expressionless. As if he was nothing more than an insignificant, brainless bug.
There was no trace of the happy boy Techno knew.
“What…. is happenin’ to him?”
“His creature side is taking over.” Phil’s voice was low. He looked at Tubbo with worry, “It’s been happening to us all. More and more frequently, too. We lose our identities, anything that separates us from our other biology. Each time it happens, it takes longer to return. If we don’t do something soon, it’s possible that we’ll eventually be stuck like that. Forever lost in the mind of a creature.”
It took one hour and twenty-three minutes for Tubbo to return to normal. Wilbur timed it. A heavy silence hung over them all. When Tubbo’s antennae finally stilled and the frantic flapping of his wings came to a sudden pause, he stumbled back and slid down with his back against the wall.
“I— oh, Ranboo.” He gasped. Ranboo was instantly by his side, protectively taking him into his arms. Tubbo took a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “We need to find the crystal. I don’t know how long I can stand this. I don’t know how long I can stay strong.”
If Techno had his old pig ears, they would’ve flicked at the mention of the crystal. He recognised that from the tale of the prophecy. One day, a chosen one would spawn and begin a quest up into the mountains to find a mythical crystal that could end all suffering if it was brought into the overworld light. The chosen one would meet horrors beyond imagination and foes as mighty as the mountain they plagued, but he would persevere and become a hero.
That’s what Phil said, anyway.
Techno didn’t feel much like the chosen one.
The others gathered around Tubbo. They piled into a tight hug, with their afflicted friend at the centre of the attention. Exhausted, he quickly slipped into sleep.
Techno watched from the outside, heart heavy. Despite the chilling memories of the recent execution, Techno held no resentment for Tubbo—or rather, he held no resentment for this world’s Tubbo. It had become clear to him that the people here were totally separate from the people he knew on the Dream SMP: this was evident through the kindness they showed him. This world’s Tubbo had committed no crime. He didn’t deserve this pain: none of them did.
When the sun set, most of the others chose to leave. Tubbo was carted out of the building by Ranboo, Jack and Wilbur and Niki dove from her tank into the lake below, leaving Techno and Phil alone.
“Well, it’s been a big day. You spent a lot of time knocked out, but why don’t we sleep?” Phil suggested. He began to climb up the rafters, but paused when he realised Techno wasn’t following, “Hey— what did you say your name was again?”
It was weird to hear that question come from someone who looked so much like the person who knew him better than anyone else. With a sad sigh, he replied, “Technoblade. It’s Technoblade.” He didn’t feel much like Technoblade at this moment. He’d never known how helpless it felt to be human. So puny and weak. He would give anything to return to his old strength.
A gentle hand on his shoulder broke him from his thoughts. He looked up at Phil (because apparently all humans are tiny), who told him, “I can hear the cogs grinding inside your mind. You’re worried about this, aren’t you? There’s no need to be. You were born for this.”
Techno scoffed. “Maybe if I was in my old body. I’m useless like this. Even if I trained, I doubt I would ever turn this form into anything as strong as my previous one. I… I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can fix this.”
“In your world, are people born strong?”
“What kind of question is that, Phil? No one’s born strong, not even in my world.”
“Exactly. No one is born strong, not in your world and not in mine.” He spread out his magnificent black wings, flexing their full size. They really were incredible. But even in this world, Phil was not boastful and he tucked his wings away, “Maybe it will take some time before you’re ready for the quest. Everyone here has faith in you, but we also know that you need our help. And that’s exactly what we’ll give you.“ Phil smiled and squeezed his shoulder, “Who knows: the crystal might even have the power to send you home.”
Home. That sounded good.
Techno smiled. This Phil was not his own, but he was just as comforting. He took a deep breath and nodded. His silent way of saying thanks.
“In the morning, we’ll start your training. Let’s say— a thousand laps around the pube?”
“A thousand laps around the what?! ”
The two dissolved into cackles, which floated out of the windows and into the night air. The stars in the Origins SMP shone brighter in the Dream SMP and the nights were quieter. As Phil and Techno set up camp in the beams and their friends snoozed in their beds, they were all blissfully unaware of the trouble brewing in the mountains.
Hidden by thick foliage and the rough natural terrain, a magic mist snaked its way through the land. Everywhere the mist moved, the undead wrestled their way out of the dirt and skeletons were reanimated as evil harbingers of chaos. Following the mist, the dark army marched up the mountain and into the cave where the fabled crystal was hidden.
The crystal was an enchanting green colour, a stark contrast to the bland stone it was surrounded by.
A bodiless voice reverberated around the cave, announcing the approaching army. Voice trembling, it cried out, “The chosen one is here. Protect the crystal at all costs. Protect. The. Crystal!”
The crystal sparkled. It was the key to saving the Origins SMP but— being guarded by such fearful foes— would the chosen one ever be strong enough to retrieve it? If there was anyone who could save them, it was Technoblade. Just give him a little bit time to acclimate and train, then, watch out monsters, he’ll be ready!