Chapter Text
A million years paled in comparison to the few nights they spent together. With screams of agony left in their past, they savored the moments of pure silence. Each weighed down with their own grief, prospering in each other's presence. If either of them had proper say, they would stay in those moments for the rest of eternity.
Unfortunately, there were battles to be fought. There hadn't been news from the outside world in years, but when the winged one heard word of an old friend of his being slain in battle, the immortal cashed in one more favor. He cashed in violence, from the one who swore it off for good.
The fight had gone smoothly. With 100 mortals at their sides, the two immortals fought a war they had no intention of losing. Both felt the exercise of the battle familiar, fighting like they had taken no time off. When the opposing side called surrender, the two stood victorious with 49 mortals cheering behind them. The winged one went off to discuss surrender, while the other went in search of injured folks. He had no plans on saving the injured he deemed too far gone, instead he planned on giving them the quickest death possible.
Of course, not everything went to plan. There were some people on the opposing side adamant on walking away with some form of victory. That's how the blood centered immortal ended up chained like a wild animal, arms and legs bound together, limiting his movement to strictly his head. He fought hard against the binds, but when the four men lifted him up by the chains with a stick, he knew he had to tread lightly as to not end up a pig on a spit. He huffed angrily and called out to his friend, only to have one of the men's glove shoved in his mouth. He saw one of the men carrying his prescious weapons, and decided he hated that person and everything he stood for. He decided he hated the government who threw those men into his path. He decided he hated himself for not having killed the too young man that was now leading the others to his demise.
He didn't expect the young ones to try to kill him so soon. They had tried everything. Drowning, electric chair, stabbing, hanging, poisoning, suffocating him, freezing, burning, falling, beating him, shooting him, starvation, dehydration, sleep deprivation, dropping an anvil on him, pushing him in front of a train, dropping him off a cliff, even ripping his heart out. That last one was from the most innocent sounding of all, which surprised the immortal to no end. Over the year he had spent with the four, the smallest one seemed the least likely to do anything like that. Yet after that instant of the smallest tearing out the immortal's heart with his bare hands and watching a new one grow in place with a smile, the immortal quickly noted him as the most sadistic one.
After that incident, the smallest one came and tore out his heart daily. Apparently he had found quite the group willing to buy the heart, and was making quite a living over continuously selling immortal hearts. Of course the immortal had already tried ripping out his heart in the past, back when he found immortality a curse rather than a gift, so at least he knew the heart wouldn't carry his immortality. It would just be like a normal heart, only it would stay lively looking forever. One of his captors had started bringing him food once a day, after 2 years of captivity. That one didn't like to talk much, and had some cloth over his eyes, but he took care of the prisoner. He was almost the oldest out of the four, second only to the leader. He always had a book when he was with the immortal, taking down notes of his findings for the day. He never got mad when the immortal spoke, instead finding the elder's knowledge to be interesting.
They exchanged names after the anniversary of the fourth year. The boy with cloth- Ranboo, had explained that his companion was getting death threats for the hearts. Apparently they had been killing anyone who used it. That meant that they would be moving, and would only take the immortal- Technoblade, with them if he would act as a worker. Helping around the house and doing whatever was asked of him, not resisting what anyone wanted to do. If Technoblade didn't comply, he would be left to rot. Eaten away by creatures for the rest of eternity. Technoblade decided he did not like the sound of that.
Moving base was harder than it sounded.
Specifically for Technoblade, who found himself doing all the heavy lifting, the others only packing things up. Technoblade hated the sound of being a slave for these four men. They were just about in their late 20s, they had plenty of strength in them. Though one of them had said something about him being a "bodyguard for future generations".
Technoblade hated that idea more. He just wanted to go back to cold nights huddled by a fire holding a cup of tea and playing chess with his friend. He wondered how his old friend was doing, even though the old man had probably moved on by then. He didn't know how long it had been, but there had been 1681 visits made to him since he'd gotten there. He assumed they made visits once a day, but sometimes the visits were so close together that he couldn't tell if it'd been hours or mere minutes. He'd always had a horrible sense of time, but it had never been an issue until 1681 visits ago.
While they were on the road, Technoblade had to sit in the back with all the stuff. The youngest said it was so he couldn't see where they were, and Technoblade took note of how the youngest's voice seemed to sing as he spoke. Technoblade ended up not minding sitting in the back. It was much like sitting in the cell he'd been in the last four years, except his legs were thankfully unbound. More so he could stop himself from going flying as there were no seatbelts and his hands were still tied, but Technoblade appreciated it nonetheless.
As much as he thought he'd hate it, Technoblade didn't find himself despising working for the four. It was nothing at all like he'd been used to, but he found himself enjoying the company of the four. Even as they aged, had children, inevitably died, Technoblade stayed. Even after the next generation came and went, he stayed. Even after most of the four's great great grandchildren had moved out, and it was just Querril's family left, Technoblade stayed. He stayed with the family for 87 years, until they couldn't afford the house anymore and practically forced him to leave. He had fought them on it, but one of them pulled a knife on him, and ignorance caused him to tempt them. He walked away with a cut across his face. It was the first time he'd ever bled, but it made him leave really quick.
He didn't know what to do when he was out on the streets. He had been given his weapons back early on in turn for training the generations. Everything was different than he remembered. Even though he was close with the families, he'd only ever been in the backyard and the house. He didn't know what life was like beyond that. The cut on his face stung, the first time he'd felt pain since his old friend had hit him with a training stick on accident. He was baffled, more so when a loud object came barreling towards him. He didn't think to move out of the way, more focused on the person inside the object. The big contraption hit him, but stopped on impact. He hadn't moved an inch, nor had he felt anything. The thing had huge dents where his legs were, clearly having folded in on itself from the impact. He continued walking away, the man inside the vehicle having given him a mission. The man in green, reminding him of the one he lost over 100 years ago.