Chapter Text
There’s a ship in Death’s Wake.
There’s a ship. In Death’s Wake.
Ships have learned to stay clear of this patch of sea over the years—the waters are treacherous, and sailors spend their nights telling stories about what lurks in the deep. Technoblade knows of a few of them. Dragons, they say; sirens. A demigod blessed by Death herself— that’s where the name came from, innit?
And, well. They’re not entirely wrong. Death’s Wake is a stretch of water spanning several dozen miles, surrounding an inhospitable island. Jagged rocks span the shallows, random sandbars threaten to beach ships, storms roll in unexpectedly where there once was clear sky. More importantly, it’s Philza’s territory, and he does not suffer the presence of humans.
The lucky ones survive. The unlucky ones… well. Tommy has his collection of ruins to poke at. He brought home a skull once, and Wilbur had to chase him out of the den. So no, any sane person has learned to stay away— far away from this stretch of ocean.
And yet: there’s a ship in Death’s Wake.
Technoblade will forever be astounded by the stupidity of humans. He lets out an annoyed click, swimming closer to the vessel. It looks… small, not like the massive brigantines Techno’s used to seeing skirting the waters. Two masts instead of three, a lower deck instead of a second floor.
…A fishing vessel, perhaps. But perhaps not- no poles trail in the water, no nets or lines or hooks. It’s suspicious.
The ship spans a whale-length, sitting heavily in the water. Maybe it’s a merchant ship, belly heavy with the gluttony of the rich. Maybe it belongs to a politician, or a dumb wealthy person, who’s unwittingly doomed their crew by cutting through the Wake.
Technoblade bares his teeth in anticipation. It’s been far, far too long since someone’s been stupid enough to come onto Philza’s territory. Techno’s been getting bored.
Surely, this ship would prove itself to be a welcome distraction.
Techno flicks his tail, drawing closer. Maybe he’ll damage the hull and force the men to paddle home. Or maybe he can scratch it up, scare some people. Maybe even sing a bit, drag someone into the water, claw them up a little. Humans are pretty breakable.
Tommy would love a new shipwreck to explore, Techno muses, drawing closer. Wilbur could pilfer all the gold, the vain witch he is, and Philza would be interested in any maps, if the saltwater doesn’t wash the ink out.
Yeah, he’s sinking this ship.
Around him, the sea hums: blood, it whispers, blood and death and conquering might— and Technoblade rumbles in anticipation. Yes, he’s been idle for far too long.
It’s time for him to live up to his name.
The ship is oddly silent when Techno surfaces. There’s no revelry, there’s no chatter or grunting or heavy footsteps. In fact, the ship seems empty, drifting aimlessly through the water.
He draws closer to the hull. Had someone else gotten to the ship first? He flexes his claws in disappointment. Perhaps a well-meaning ocean spirit, or a particularly determined siren. He dives again, skirting the hull.
It’s undamaged. No claw marks, no holes, no charred spots from residual magics.
He chirps, trying to puzzle out this mystery. Perhaps if he checks the deck, he’ll be able to see if there are any bodies left behind.
Techno swims closer.
There were a handful of human books that Technoblade scavenged over the years. Politics, strategy, geography, mythology, philosophy. Politics and geography, he handed to Wilbur—what need did he have to learn about where humans lived?
No, he was drawn to the books about how they think. Strategies to conquer, methods to wage war, stories that held meaning and relayed messages to the reader. Some of them carried obvious warnings— don’t cross the Gods— while others were more complex.
Techno clings to a loose rope, pulling himself up to peer at the deck. It’s empty. The wood floor is clean—there’s no blood, no mold, no signs of the wear that come with an abandoned ship. No bodies, either, and he can feel his fins bristle with agitation.
He remembers one of those myths which spoke of a great wooden horse—one of their land-animals, meant for carrying passengers or pulling heavy loads—which was gifted to Troy. The Trojans, pleased with this gift, opened their gates and pulled the horse inside.
Unbeknownst to them, the horse was hollow. The Greeks, cunning and sly, hid themselves in the belly of the statue and waited for the Trojans to fall for their trap. When the Trojans had spent the night with revelry, bellies full and glasses empty, the Greeks left the horse and made their way through Troy, killing the unwitting soldiers and winning the war.
If this is their Trojan horse, Technoblade will simply carve open its belly and leave the soldiers to drown.
He lets go of the railing, intending to lower himself to the water. He’ll be able to damage the ship enough to let some water in, and from there it’ll sink fast. He imagines wood splintering beneath his claws, the panicked screams of the fools who thought they could trick him, and smiles.
The rope is coarse between his hands, and the water looms below. He doesn’t want to slam into the side of the ship when he lets go, so he lowers himself slowly, feeling his arms shake with the strain of holding him aloft. His tail brushes against the hull, swaying as he carefully makes his way down.
The deck seems to ripple, bands of light shimmering and warping, and Techno freezes. In an instant, the deck goes from barren and empty to crowded with humans. The side of the ship is covered in nets. The ship is alive with movement, crew members hurling themselves across the wood.
Someone grabs a rope next to Techno, and he jerks back, lowering himself back to the water. Just a little closer, and then he can drop safely. He’s nearly at the right height.
Ropes creak, and nets spring up from beneath him. He hisses, struggling against them. It was a trap! He can see it now— the occasional ropes he wrote off were connected to hidden nets. The humans pull on their ropes, and ruck the nets against the side of the ship.
The movement slams Techno across the hull, and he gasps, winded. Rough wood scrapes against his fins.
“Pull him up!” Someone shouts, and Techno snarls. He refuses to be caught by humans. Or, maybe not all humans— the way the air shimmered tells him there’s a fae on board.
The ropes tighten around him, and start to raise him up to the deck. He slashes at the net with his claws, bites at the ties, but it doesn’t even fray.
The nets are enchanted. They were prepared for this. The knowledge makes him rage, even as the beginnings of fear trickle down his spine. What if Tommy got too close? Wilbur? What if there were other humans, ready to follow in these footsteps?
Technoblade’s claws wind into the ropes, tugging uselessly at them even as he tells himself to think. His intellect is his greatest weapon right now. The humans have prepared for his claws, for his fangs and his ferocity— but there’s no way for them to negate his mind.
Techno forces himself still, waiting for his opportunity to strike. Once he’s on the deck, he’ll be able to struggle free of the nets. He’ll focus on breaking free, and then he can double back and sink this ship. He’s angry now—the sea’s wrath presses against his skull, demanding vengeance for her children. If he was going to spare anyone before, he won’t be doing that anymore.
He rattles a challenge, watching as the humans struggle to pull him onboard. Any second now...
They drop him on the deck, and Techno thrashes, tail tangled in the net. Around him, people shout— loud, frantic, triumphant— and he snarls. He claws at the ropes, bites at the hands that get too close. He will not be captured like this!
He sucks in a deep breath, feeling the sea rise in his throat, shaping primal magics into words, into sounds.
“ Silence, ” he sings. “ Calm. The ocean is so nice today, and it’s so warm out. Don’t you want to cool off? ”
“He’s singing-” someone barks out, and the crew bursts into motion. Half of them clamp their hands over their ears— fools, it doesn’t work like that— and the rest lunge for whichever crewmates have drawn too close to the edge.
Techno keeps singing. “ Go take a swim, foolish humans— you want to swim, the waves look so nice today. Join the waters and relax, you’ll be just fine, ”
“Shut him up!” someone snaps, and then there are hands on his shoulders, his tail—
Techno snarls, breaking the spell to vocalize a threat-rattle in the base of his throat. He bares his teeth, he splays his fins, he tucks his chin to protect his throat.
“Come and get me,” he challenges, the siren’s tongue dripping from his lips. “The next one to touch me will lose a hand.”
The humans, foolish at the best of times, don’t listen. Someone grips his hair— his hair!— yanking his head back, baring his throat. Technoblade struggles, lashing back with a clawed hand. Someone yelps, but the grip doesn’t abate.
He bares his teeth, snarling, thrashing his tail against the heavy ropes holding him captive. He just needs to get over the edge, and then he can sink this whole sea-forsaken ship.
His hair is yanked back, harder, and his throat is bared to the crew. “ Let go! ” he shriek-snarls, magic heavy in his throat, but no one listens. Why aren’t they responding? Why isn’t his enchantment working?
Someone presses a wooden bar against his lips, and he snaps at it— they shove it between his lips— panic overrides sense, and Techno forgets everything except the raw desperation to get the gag out of his mouth.
“His hands,” someone shouts, “watch out for his hands!” and, oh.
He lashes out with a clawed hand, chasing away the human in front of him. His scalp aches with the force of the humans’ grip, and he can’t get them to let go of him. He can’t get the gag out— someone must have tied it on in the chaos, and he can’t get it off.
He reaches up to tear it free, and—
Someone loops rope around his arm. Technoblade shrieks in anger. He lashes out with his other arm, but they’re expecting that— his claws swipe through empty air.
“Calm down,” someone says, pressing him down against the deck. “You’re not getting out of this, just calm down and we won’t hurt you.”
“ Liar, ” Techno wants to snarl, but it’s muffled by the gag.
The person above him shushes him, pressing a knee between his shoulder blades. “You can let go of him now, Sapnap, thanks.”
The grip on his hair is released, and he has a moment of relief before he realizes why: he’s now completely prone, tail pinned down and one arm tied securely behind his back. He rattles again, twitching his tail in protest.
“There, easy— just stop fighting, we’ve got you.”
Technoblade wants to grit his teeth, wants to struggle and spit and snarl and show them how much fight he has left, but that won’t get him anywhere.
Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
It chafes at his pride, but he lets himself slump, feeling the wood of the dock press lines into his cheek.
Ease up, you idiot, he thinks, taking a slow breath. You’ve got me, so back off. All I need is a moment—
The man on top of him doesn’t relax. “Sam, do you have the- thanks.” There’s the sound of movement above him. The clink of glass on metal.
Techno holds still, breathing evenly. He lets the last tension slip out of his body. Any second now…
The human’s grip shifts as he leans over, and Techno explodes into motion. He thrashes, knocking off the weight on his back, yanking at the ropes with his free hand.
“Shit- pin him, pin him!”
“Grab the nets!”
Techno scrambles across the deck, pulling himself out of the ropes pinning his tail. Just a bit further…
“ Stop,” someone says, voice heavy with power, and Technoblade freezes. They dare—
He can’t afford to hesitate. He keeps moving, ignoring the charmed voice of their song-weaver. More fools them, to believe that voice magic will work on a siren.
“ Stop, ” the person says again, panicked, but Techno brushes the magic off of him. “ Stop moving, siren, I mean it!”
Someone slams into his back, winding him. Nets pin his torso, his tail— he snarls in protest.
“Gotcha, you slippery bastard,” the human says, and cloth is pressed against his nose. It smells— goddess , it smells— heavy and cloying and stifling.
Technoblade thrashes against it, trying to yank his head away from the cloth, but someone grips the back of his skull, holding him in place.
“Just calm down,” they say. “Make it easier for yourself, will you?”
Someone scoffs. “I don’t think he knows the meaning of ‘take it easy’.”
You’re trying to catch me, Technoblade wants to spit. Like I’d simply lay down and let you win.
He pushes against the hands holding him still one last time. His vision blurs. His sides heave with the effort of keeping himself awake. He rattles out a growl from behind the gag.
“Calm down,” the human says. “You’re done. Calm down.”
Techno twitches in protest, and then the deck fades away, replaced by the soothing embrace of unconsciousness.
Technoblade wakes up to the creak of wood, the slosh of water, and the distant sounds of voices. His head is heavy. He’s—
He’s breathing air.
Something about that strikes him as odd, and he keeps his eyes closed. His next breath is slow, even, and brings the scents of salt and old wood and smoke. Water laps at his sides.
Think. Where is he?
The ship in Death’s Wake. The nets. The gag-
Techno takes another breath, determined to keep up the facade of unconsciousness. Easy. Calm. He can break out once he knows where he is. And then he can sink this ship, and everyone on it.
A thought occurs to him, and he has to repress a grin.
Philza will search for him. Honestly, the humans that have captured him might be better off with Techno’s justice instead of Phil’s. At least Techno might leave a few alive.
“I know you’re awake,” someone says, and Technoblade bares his teeth. He opens his eyes.
He’s laying half-submerged in a glass tank, head resting up on the lip. The room is dark, barely lit, and the door is covered in locks.
“Good morning,” that infuriating human says. “Sleep well?”
Technoblade bites back a snarl, turning to face the human. He’s seated well out of reach, one leg crossed over the other and a pistol held loosely in one hand. He’s decorated in all sorts of trinkets— green feathers are tucked into his hat, beads hang from cords, his waist is adorned in colored sashes and belts and pouches.
His face is covered by a bone-white mask. It would be unnerving, if Techno were that easily cowed.
“We’ve taken the gag off for now, but if you try and sing again we’ll put it back on. And— ” the man taps the gun against his leg— “I bet I can shoot faster than you can enchant me, so. Keep that in mind.”
Techno grits his teeth, and says nothing.
“My name is Dream, captain of the Cursebreaker ,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Technoblade stares the man down, letting the silence stretch on. The captain twitches, bringing a hand up as if to rub at his mask, before lowering it back into his lap. A nervous tic, perhaps.
“I’m sorry about all of this,” he tries again, gesturing to the room. “It’s the best I could afford under such short notice.”
Techno lets himself grin, baring his teeth. If the captain wants a response, he’ll have to try harder.
“Oh, you fucker-” the captain huffs, slumping back in his chair. “I know you can understand me, don’t just sit there and make me look like an idiot!”
The captain’s hand is still settled on his gun. Technoblade eyes it. Is this where the captain gives up on his facade? Where he stops pretending at civility and resorts to violence?
Dream glances down at the gun, and visibly lets himself relax. “This really is just for self-defense. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Liar. Technoblade shifts in his tank, a growl bubbling in the back of his throat.
The captain leans forward in his seat— still out of arm's reach, still with one hand on his gun. “I have a proposition for you.”
There’s a pause where Dream waits for his response, before the captain presses on. “Help me find something, and I’ll return you home. Simple as that. Easy.”
Techno presses his claws into the glass, watching as they make small divots in the surface.
Dream clicks his tongue. “If you break that, I won’t be able to fix it,” he says, level. “Go ahead, if you want, but you’ll regret it once you’re forced to spend the next week in a puddle.”
Techno flicks his gaze up to the captain, before dragging his claws across the glass with a low scrape. The human winces.
“Are you throwing a tantrum? Is that what this is? Prime, just my luck that I end up with the most obstinate, frustrating siren on the West Coast!” He brings one hand up to press at his mask in frustration.
Techno grins. It’s easy to mess with this captain.
“I— look. I’m not taking you back unless you help me,” the captain says. “You can stay in captivity, or you can-”
Screech.
The captain sputters. “You’re doing this on purpose-!”
Shrieeeek! Screech.
Technoblade grins.
“Quit that.”
Techno meets the captain’s gaze, one hand poised to scrape against the glass again. Dream sighs in relief. “ Thank you. Now-”
Screeee!
The captain buries his masked face in his hands and screams.
“Captain!” someone calls from outside the door. “Captain, are you okay?”
Dream groans. “I’m fine, Bad.”
“I heard screaming.”
“And?”
“And you need to be more careful, you— you muffin !”
“I’m fine, trust me— give me a second to finish up, okay?”
The room falls silent. Dream spends an extra moment slumped in his chair, before he straightens up.
“I can see you’re not willing to communicate, so I’ll leave you alone,” he says. “But if you want to eat, you’ll have to tell us what you need, or we won’t be able to give it to you.”
With his threat lingering in the air, the captain stands up and walks to the door.
Technoblade watches as he speaks to the guard. He hears the click of a lock disengage. The door swings open, and then it snaps shut.
The first lock clicks back in place, followed by a second.
Technoblade grumbles to himself, muttering a few uncharitable things about his new captor. His captor. Eeeugh.
The Captain is good, and that’s the most infuriating thing about it. He’s not stupid, he’s not underestimating him, he’s not making any of the dumb mistakes that would let Techno slaughter his way free. The captain beat him, and that chafes at his pride.
Technoblade growls in frustration, claws raking against the edge of his tank.
There’s still time to escape. As long as he draws breath, as long as he has the strength to move, he refuses to stop fighting. He doubts the masked Captain will be stupid enough to relax, even after his victory. But perhaps his crew will slip up.
Or—Techno could play weak, he could bow and scrape and make the Captain believe that he’s won. If he steps too close to the tank, Techno will tear his throat out on principle.
He may have lost the battle, but for as long as Technoblade lives, this is a war.