Archive of Our Own ^beta

They were being led deeper into the building, winding passage after winding passage Ranboo quickly lost track off. The man holding his lead kept tugging it – short little yanks that he hated, he hated them - whenever he tried to stop and take note of something.

Everything was passing by too fast, in a blur. After how overwhelming the market had been, his mind was still playing catchup. Some part of him still expected to blink and wake up in bed or something equally bizarre. When they arrived at a set of iron doors the other man stopped – light hair, dark eyes. Remember him, Ranboo tried to warn himself. He's in charge of the other one, which makes him more important. Which makes him more dangerous – a key was then pulled out of a pocket and fitted into a lock. The door was opened and Technoblade was ushered inside. The blond man followed him in, before the door fell shut and Ranboo was alone. Alone with the stranger still pulling on his lead. They only went a couple of doors down and then Ranboo was pushed into a different room, small and filthy and bare. It smelled like dust.

The man stepped forward and cut through the ropes around his wrists with a dagger. Ranboo rubbed them awkwardly. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Your items," the man said tersely, nodding towards a table in the corner. There was a heap of clothes on it too and Ranboo had a dreadful suspicion he knew exactly where this was going. His hands didn't tremble as he emptied his pockets. This was fine, perfectly fine. Aside from his communicator, there wasn't much more than some lint and a stray piece of paper in them. His weapons and potions had already been taken when they were captured and Ranboo had traveled lightly today. Most of his valuable items were still safe in his chests at home. He turned his pockets inside out to show there was nothing left in them, but the man didn't move or speak.

That dreadful suspicion soon turned into the abject horror of understanding.

"I don't suppose you'd let me keep this? I made it myself, so I promise it's not worth much." Ranboo joked lightly while he took off his crown, putting it on the table in front of him. Humor was good, humor was smart. Talking made him a person and being a person in the eyes of their captors was a good thing, surely. It's harder to hurt somebody who is a person to you. But he hadn't even finished the sentence before the man swiped his crown off the table, turning it over to catch a metallic glint of gold in the dim lights.

His locket came off next. Ranboo held onto it a little longer than the crown, a little more hesitant to let it go. Eventually, he decided to take the pictures out instead. Jewelry was nothing but materials, crafted and reworked into something precious. It could easily be replaced, while the pictures could not. He clicked it open, revealing the photograph of himself with Tubbo and Michael that he kept in there. Ranboo couldn't remember where it had been taken – or when, by who even – but he remembered being happy when they took it and that was the important bit.

On the opposite side of the locket sat a different photo, just Michael by himself this time. He was bundled up so thoroughly with one of Tubbo's jackets and Ranboo's scarf you could hardly see his face peeking out above the fabrics, pink pig ears angled upward as if listening to something off-camera. Ranboo slipped both pictures into his memory book for safekeeping, which he put on the ground near his feet while he changed clothes.

The shirts they had provided were all two sizes too big, loose around his frame and somehow reaching halfway down his thighs. Meanwhile the pants he got couldn't even cover his ankles. Ranboo picked the book up again and – finding himself without convenient pockets to keep it on him – tucked it under his arm. Or he tried to but was stopped when the man grabbed his wrist. They snatched the book from him before Ranboo could even react.

"Wait-" He wanted to get it back but then the man was stepping away and he was opening it and leafing through it and Ranboo felt frozen by pure panic, tail swaying nervously. "Wait, give that back! I need it!"

"Don't worry," the man said, closing his book with one hand and throwing it back onto the table without care. "Where you're going you won't."

And Ranboo wanted to protest because, well, he was pretty sure he did need his book actually but he was already being grabbed by the elbow and pulled along again and he was certain it would be useless to complain so he resigned himself to getting it back later, once this whole thing had been dealt with - if he could remember, at least.

And he sure hoped it would be dealt with soon.

The man took him from the changing room and down the hallway into a different one. This room was more crowded and that immediately put Ranboo on edge until he noticed Technoblade was there too, which at least eased some tiny speck of worry. The piglin had also been forced to change clothes into a simpler getup, but he didn't look half as uncomfortable as Ranboo felt. He had his arms crossed in front of himself, barely glancing at Ranboo as they walked in.

The light-haired man was there leaning against the wall and the redhead that had carted Ranboo around joined him, speaking in a whisper. Behind the desk sat an older man who had thin greying hair and looked at Ranboo with an almost dull expression, clicking his pen a few times. "This him?" he asked.

"Unless you got several other enderman hybrids stashed around here somewhere," Technoblade answered calmly. Too calmly, really. Ranboo blinked, suddenly confused as to what was going on. Had they been talking about him before he came in?

The old man's gaze shifted over him, taking in his appearance without a word. Ranboo hunched in on himself automatically, drawing his shoulders down and curling his tail around his leg. It had been a long time since somebody had managed to make him feel sick just by looking at him without the whole eye contact thing but boy did he hate it when that happened. He had to put every ounce of himself into not trilling or making any other noises.

Eventually the man nodded. "Yeah, you were right. I don't think we'd be losing much keeping him out of the ring."

"Right?" Techno answered, stance relaxing some as if this statement relieved him. Ranboo frowned at him. "So I'm guessing we have a deal."

With a hum, the man started scribbling something down on the papers he kept in front of him. "What can he do instead? We're not handing out free room and board here, ya know. If he can't work I ain't keeping him around."

There was an ominous edge to how he said it that made Ranboo shrink back instinctively.

"Oh, Ranboo's great at making potions. He can whip you up anything you need, faster than any of your current shmucks can, guaranteed. Cleaning weapons or crafting shouldn't be a problem. He cooks too. He's a little liberal with the salt but aside from that it's perfectly edible."

Ranboo almost interrupted them but then Techno turned towards him. He froze with denial stuck partway up his throat. "First aid too probably," Techno said. "The kid's a quick learner." And almost too swift to be noticeable, Technoblade grinned at him and nodded.

Awareness dawned on Ranboo immediately because clearly Techno was lying - lying very, very poorly at that – on purpose. Ranboo wasn't the best at brewing, not the worst either but he was rusty since he hadn't done it in a while. He borrowed Phil or Techno's supplies more often than not and rarely crafted his own if he needed anything more complicated than a pickaxe. And he didn't cook too much either, aside from throwing a steak in the oven and leaving it there until it was almost charred to the core. His first aid skills were abysmal at best, others were always telling him to look after himself more.

But with just that glance Ranboo could tell why Techno was saying all these untrue things.

"Good enough for me." The man finished up the notes he was taking. "Your first fight will be this afternoon. If you're true to your word, I'll be true to mine and the kid doesn't have to enter the ring. We can always use him for extra hands backstage." He leveled Techno with an unamused stare. "I won't be going easy on you though, I still need two fighter's worth out of my investment so you better not be lying about your skills."

"Lying? Me?" Technoblade put one hand on his chest in mock offense. "I wouldn't dare."

"Investment..." Ranboo echoed suddenly, feeling the weight of their situation start to sink in. "Is that what you call kidnapping people for slavery?"

The blond man surged forward instantly, face contorted in anger. His fingers curled into Ranboo's hair before he had time to blink, pulling on it and making pinpricks of pain erupt across his scalp. He cried out, unable to move. "Shut your mouth, runt! You will learn to hold your tongue around your owners!" With a shove, he pushed Ranboo onto the ground.

Ranboo barely caught himself on his elbows, though he was just glad the man had let go of his hair. The need to curl in on himself – hide away, protect himself – was overwhelming. He knew he couldn't though. Not with them still looking at him.

"Only speak when spoken to, we got it." Techno helped Ranboo upright hastily, but his voice held venom aimed at their captors. As soon as he was able to he put the enderman behind him, physically getting between Ranboo and the other men still in the room. "Like I said the kid's a quick learner. He'll know."

Ranboo nodded, unable to look up again and deal with more eye contact. He kept staring at the floor. "Y-yeah. No talking. Gotcha." Reaching up, his hands sought out the locket he would usually fiddle with when he was nervous or scared. But it was gone. Maybe forever.

Horrifyingly, he had a sneaking suspicion this wouldn't be dealt with anytime soon at all.

Ranboo stood by and watched as they took Technoblade away, the tension a physical entity brewing within his chest.

He kept his hands in front of him, fingers tracing every bump or rough patch of his skin in a futile attempt to comfort himself. Rationally – with the part of his brain that he should be using – he knew Techno would be fine. But that didn't mean anything against all the other thoughts muddling around up there.

So maybe it was a small mercy that he didn't get that much time to dwell on it at all and the door opened again for somebody else to take him away. They gave him the short walkabout of the place to show him where to find anything he'd need to do his chores, though Ranboo feared he wouldn't remember much of it later with how distracted he was. Probably he'd come to regret that once somebody asked him to fetch an item for them. The infirmary was small – compact – and only had a single brewing stand used for the occasional potion, though a few more sat in a cupboard that hugged the wall. Several cots occupied the rest of the space, all empty except for one where a man was stitching up his own arm. The doctor who worked there greeted them off-handedly, too busy for a proper introduction. They seemed nice enough, from what Ranboo could tell.

Only two doors down – close together, easy to remember. Ranboo couldn't be more glad – was a staircase that led to the kitchen. The room was almost twice as big as the infirmary, showing where the arena's priorities lied. A woman with long blonde hair pinned up into a bun and a stained apron tied around her waist bustled around the others working there.

"Got some fresh meat for ya', girl!" the man who had been leading Ranboo around said, grabbing her by the elbow harshly.

She pulled out of his hold rather quickly, clearly uncomfortable with it, but when her eyes settled on Ranboo she smiled slightly. "Hi, give me a sec alright?"

He nodded numbly, at a loss for the strange normality this person radiated. It was almost enough to make one forget where they were. Awkwardly, he tried to shift around so he wasn't in anybody's way, finding it easier said than done in the tight spaces of the kitchen. The room didn't have any proper windows either, which made sense since they'd come down a staircase to get there. This floor was basically a basement. Small rectangular gaps with grates in front of them were set high in the wall and served as their only ventilation aside from the stove's wall-bound chimneys. They did provide a perfect view of the pitch and the vague outline of people sitting on the stands, but nobody was fighting at the moment.

"-re you listening?" Ranboo tuned back into the conversation in time to notice the woman was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Uh, you were saying?"

She laughed, then held out that same hand to shake his. "No worries, I know how bad it can be for a first-timer. It's overwhelming, huh." She angled her head to the side. Ranboo caught a glimpse of a long scar on the slope of her neck, partly hidden by her blouse. "You were brought in this morning?"

Her tone made it seem like a casual conversation, throwing him off. "I think so? Hard to tell the time in those cells."

"You'll get used to it. I'm Clarissa by the way."

"Ranboo. Nice to meet you?" It came out more as a question than anything.

She nodded. "Good. Any experience in the kitchen, Ranboo?"

"Does cooking a steak count?"

Her laugh was light and heartfelt, the kind of laughter you would compare to wind chimes and which felt completely misplaced in this basement. Contagious as it was, Ranboo couldn't help but feel a little more at ease with it. "It's better than some of the folks I get down here. I can show you the ropes though, maybe teach you a thing or two? For now, how about you just start with peeling the potatoes."

"Okay." Potato peeling, sure. That should be within his capabilities, hopefully, usually. There weren't a lot of ways you could screw that up at least. When Clarissa turned away to get back to work, Ranboo let out a panicked squeak. "Wait, where are the potatoes?"

"Pantry is the door across from ours, can hardly miss it!" she responded without turning around.

Well, that wasn't too bad nor too far. He could remember that too, even without his book. Ranboo left the kitchen, then stopped in his tracks at facing an empty hallway. There wasn't anybody around. He was all alone, for the first time since being brought to the coliseum.

Which might be why he found himself back at the staircase, staring at the handful of steps as if they were the most daunting of challenges. Ranboo looked around again – made sure nobody would walk in on him – before going up and checking the door.

It was locked, of course. He berated himself for even thinking it was worth a shot.

Defeated but not surprised he went back to the pantry. There were several bags of potatoes and Clarissa didn't specify how many she wanted him to peel so he brought an entire bag. If she had noticed his longer absence – unlikely, with how she was running around keeping an eye on the entire kitchen at once – she didn't mention it. She simply handed him a knife and Ranboo sat down on a wooden stool to start peeling.

Repeated motions kept him occupied, made it easy for his stray thoughts to wander. Technoblade would be having his first fight today and if he did well, they would make him fight more. Maybe better opponents, higher stakes. The risk of him getting hurt would increase over time, all while Ranboo sat in this room peeling potatoes. The logical solution would be for them to escape before anything bad could happen, Techno had said so himself. And Ranboo had to make sure of that.

Distantly and with a painful tug on his heart he wondered how the others were doing. Phil might be worried, though Ranboo couldn't remember if either Techno or himself had told him where they were headed off to. Still, if they didn't come home for days that'd be worrisome to anyone. Tubbo would notice if he didn't visit tomorrow though, definitely. Tommy too. Ranboo hoped they would notice at least. Sometimes he thought they might not notice, might not miss him. No, they would, they would-

"Ah!" He pulled the knife away from his palm. Flexing his fingers, he watched the purple ooze of blood drip from the fresh cut.

"Oh shit, here." Clarissa pushed a towel into his hand. Ranboo allowed her to grab his wrist and inspect the wound. "Doesn't look too bad, I'm thinking you will live."

"I hope so," he said. "Would be stupid to die from being distracted."

"What were you thinking about that got you so occupied?"

Ranboo opened his mouth and then closed it again before deciding honesty might be his best option. He couldn't see any harm in it. "Home."

Clarissa's face fell. "Yeah, don't take this the wrong way but you'd probably be better off not doing that too much."

She pulled a bandage from her apron, clearly prepared for kitchen incidents. Ranboo took it from her gratefully. "What do you mean?"

"Just... the coliseum is not that bad, alright? Once you've been here a while you'll become used to it. There's food to eat and a roof over your head, which is more than some slaves have. The handlers might seem scary at first but their bark's a lot worse than their bite, promise. If you don't go stirring up trouble, things can be good for you here."

"I..." Ranboo sighed, unconvinced. "I guess?"

"Give it a chance," she said, already walking away. "You might even grow to like it."

Ranboo learned later that it was actually quite simple to tell when it was night because the lights would go out.

It had to be some kind of redstone mechanism he figured, because with the simple flick of a switch their entire floor was plunged into darkness. After a few seconds his eyes adjusted and he could tell shapes and objects no different than in daylight, only the colors had become a monotonous blue-grey. Technoblade was lying on the cot across the room, blanket discarded on the floor and hands beneath his head.

He won, he'd told Ranboo all about it. So he'd be back in the ring by the next morning. Ranboo hated how that made his gut clench.

"So what's the plan?" Techno asked, probably because he could feel Ranboo staring.

"Hm, it's a work in progress," Ranboo admitted sheepishly. He had tried the door and the door had been locked.

There were knives in the kitchen, but it wouldn't be easy to smuggle one out. Even if he could, Ranboo had no clue what he'd do with it. Stabbing somebody seemed like a last-ditch resort, not a carefully crafted escape plot.

"Yeah, we'll have to keep an eye out." Techno sounded unhurried, not concerned in the slightest.

Ranboo – on the other hand – felt inches away from having a panic attack. "That's not much of a plan..." He laughed wryly. He knew his breathing was too rapid to be considered fine. He wasn't fine.

Because they were kidnapped and locked up and either one of them could get hurt and Ranboo had to do something about that or he would feel guilty about it forever but he couldn't do anything and-

"Hey!" Techno sat up, the cot creaking beneath him. He could lean forward and reach out and with how small the room was that was enough for him to put his hand on Ranboo's elbow. "Do you trust me, Ranboo?"

Ranboo did not have to think about his reply. "Yeah, I do. I mean, I think I do."

"Good enough for me." Techno pulled back. "Then trust me when I say it's going to be fine, yeah? Nothing's going to happen to you." He laid back down, rolling over to face the wall.

Which – as well-meant as it probably was – only sent Ranboo spiraling worse.

Because oh, oh. He wasn't just kidnapped, he was a hostage. Held in exchange for cooperation and good behavior. And if Techno got hurt, it wouldn't just be Ranboo's fault. It would be for Ranboo too.

None of this would have happened if it weren't for him.

And even if Techno couldn't see it, Ranboo nodded to himself in the pitch black of their cell, coming to a simple conclusion. He got them into this mess so he would get them out of it. No matter what it would take.

His first fight had left the handlers impressed.

Not so much by the match itself as by the people in the stands who had recognized Technoblade from his Hypixel days. It wasn't exactly what he had planned on happening, but he'd take it. The arena master had him brought into the office again and asked whether there was any truth to the rumors of him being a former champion.

Funny, considering Techno hadn't exactly been keeping that under wraps. It had been part of him convincing them to take his deal. But they must have assumed he was lying. He pretended to need to think about it for a hot second, before shrugging. "Yeah, I guess I did win a couple of times."

Gossip spread like wildfire on smaller servers. Before the end of the week, there would be people showing up to the arena specifically to watch him at work. Others might come to fight him – to find glory in defeating the unbeaten. But all thoughts of putting Ranboo out in the ring were forgotten at once and that was all Techno truly cared about.

Their lunch the next day was a meager helping of porridge served in metal bowls, distinctly lacking any seasoning that would otherwise have made the dish appealing. Ranboo's face contorted in disgust after the first spoonful. "What did they put in here, sawdust?"

Techno kept eating. "And a pinch of sand, I believe."

Sliding his bowl onto the table, Ranboo sat back down. "I miss my infinite cake."

The door swung open, the same handler who had helped Techno gear up yesterday now stepped into the room. He was a short man with cropped green hair and three slits along his neck that Techno assumed were gills. "You, with me." He gestured with one clawed hand. Techno got up to follow him. Ranboo did the same but the man waved him away. "You can stay. They'll send somebody for you when they need you."

Ranboo plopped back down onto his cot, face falling. "Oh, okay."

Techno gave him a glance and a reassuring nod before walking outside. One of the armories was pretty close to their cell and it was the one they went to again, compared to the day before it was bustling with activity. "We're having a battle royale today, last man standing wins. They tend to draw larger crowds," the handler explained at seeing his confusion. "My name is Mel by the way. I'll be in charge of you, so if you ever need anything you know where to find me."

"Right." It had been a while since Techno had competed in a free-for-all. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't deny there was a tiny part of him that reacted with happy anticipation, as did Chat. They had always loved battle royale tournaments. "Sword and shield?"

"Anything you want really, so long as it's not sharpened. You can immobilize your opponents however you see fit but it's a bloodless match today, newbie stuff. We have a whole arsenal of blunt weaponry for the occasion." Mel grabbed a crossbow off the wall - Techno noticed a thin pale green webbing between his fingers - and turned it over in his hands before throwing it at Techno, leaving him to catch it midair. "You used these back on Hypixel, right?"

"Somebody has been reading up on my Wikipedia page," Techno answered. He was glad to have the bow though. It felt solid in his hands, familiar.

"Bolts are over in the chests," Mel directed. "You can have free pick of the rest too. I'll be around." He turned away to deal with the other fighters.

Techno went and picked up a bundle of the crossbow bolts, noting their solid wooden tips. Non-lethal maybe, but they would still hurt appropriately when making contact with unguarded skin. Reluctantly, he decided to use the misshapen leather armor today. It would be better than nothing out there.

When the match was set to commence, the arrival of the gladiators was complimented by a rising pitch of trumpets playing over the ruckus of screaming voices. The handler hadn't been lying when he said free-for-all matches drew in a larger audience, the stands were packed. Techno stared at the masses and wondered which ones of them knew that this arena used slave labor. Then he wondered which ones would actually care if they did.

There were close to twenty warriors in the ring, give or take. Most of them had opted for swords, making Technoblade pleased with his pick of the blunt battle-ax with a longer handle. Moving fast would be crucial, sure, but hitting hard would be more important still. With this many combatants, the last thing he wanted was a drawn-out fight that would leave him with less stamina when the match was at its most decisive.

He flexed his fingers on the handgrip, trying to use the few seconds he had to spare to get more accustomed to its weight. Fighting with weapons not his own was such a pain, he had never missed his gear as much as he did in this arena. Then the trumpets were cut off by a single gunshot and chaos erupted.

Techno hung back, knowing somebody else was more likely to make a move on him first. As predicted a younger man with scars running up both arms immediately charged at him. Technoblade deflected the blow from their sledgehammer, skidding back in the sand.

Phil would often jokingly compare Techno's fighting style to a dance. Piglin nature, he called it. There was a lightness to his steps, armed with the knowledge that the only attacks needed to be feared were those that connected with their target. All Techno had to do was make it so he didn't get hit, which he was very good at. He caught or dodged their every strike, then with practiced ease he turned the ax in his hands, gracing their chin with the end of the handle. The man flinched, giving Technoblade the opening he needed to catch them unguarded. Slamming the side of the weapon into their chest with enough force it left them on their knees wheezing for breath and probably out of action for the remainder of the battle.

Straightening his back, Techno wasted no time and aimed at the nearest opponent with his crossbow.

It was easy pickings from there on out since most of the other combatants were paired up and engaged in their own skirmishes at this point. Hitting moving targets was a piece of cake when aiming for their torsos, but Techno tried to hit most of them in the legs so there would be less chance of them getting back up. Anybody that did get close to him would meet the business end of his ax.

Before long there was only one other person left standing on the pitch not incapacitated. Her dark eyes narrowed as they fixed on Techno, shoulder-length hair sticking to her sweaty face. A deadly, scaled tail whipped out behind her.

Another hybrid. Techno couldn't know if she was a voluntary participant or fellow prisoner. Chat told him it didn't matter and he was inclined to agree with them.

She ran towards him, dodging the two bolts shot her way. Techno snapped the crossbow back to his side, wielding his ax with both hands instead. Not wasting any of her momentum, she barely slowed down when getting within reach of him and slammed her sword into his side.

Technoblade bit back a hiss, pain flaring upwards from his hip. It wasn't enough to knock him over and his opponent still had her weapon extended. Using that to his advantage he tried to disarm her but failed. Before he could react she had pulled away and moved again, and this time he wasn't in time to dodge.

The sword hit him square in the face, an unpleasant crack echoed through the arena. Technoblade reared back as blood started pouring down his face.

He could taste it on his tongue – metallic, wet. The voices roused alive, always much more eager once blood had been spilled. Swelling in volume, in pitch. Techno didn't mind them swallowing all outside noise. It could help him focus.

The woman had pulled back, surprised that she hadn't managed to throw him with such a powerful hit. Any other person would have surely been downed by it. She surged forward to strike him again but this time Technoblade caught the sword in one hand before it could connect, twisting to unbalance her before slamming his own ax into her temple. She crumbled to the ground immediately.

The post-battle rush passed in a blur. Technoblade walked back to the arches, trying with his arm to stem the bleeding from his broken nose. It hurt – but not worse than some other injuries he's had to endure before. Mel quickly helped him out of his armor, took the ax and crossbow from him, then nodded him in the direction of the infirmary. "So much for a bloodless fight, huh?"

Some of the other participants were already there tending to any wounds they sustained during the match. Inside, Technoblade was surprised to find Ranboo wrapping a bandage around a fighter's wrist. He was probably called in to help because these types of matches meant a lot more fighters were in the ring, likely to get hurt. He looked up at Techno when the piglin entered, dropping his end of the bandage in surprise. The man he was tending to grumbled, trying to catch it before it could roll off onto the floor.

"What happened?!" Ranboo blurted. Then he started shaking his head. "Wait, no, that's not- Stupid question, let me get you a potion or something."

"It's fine," Techno answered, but Ranboo was already in motion. He sat down on one of the cots and grabbed a whole wad of tissue papers, pressing them against his nose. Just as Ranboo was returning to his side, Techno pushed the bone back into place with a sharp crack.

The enderman physically cringed. "Oh my- Did you have to do that?"

"Beats leaving it as is," Techno said simply.

"Here." Ranboo shoved the small health potion into his hands. Techno knew he didn't really need it but drank it anyway, the pain instantly fading under its sickly sweet influence. His nostrils felt clogged up with dried blood.

"Thanks," he said.

"Was it..." Ranboo stopped. Techno waited for him to finish his thought. "Was it hard? The fight."

"Nah." He licked his lips, the telltale sticky aftertaste of glistening melon hard to shake. It had always left him slightly nauseated – one of the several reasons why Techno preferred golden apples. "Turns out fighting in the pit is like riding a bike. You never really forget how to be good at it."

And he didn't want to think about why those words made Ranboo shrink and turn away from him as quickly as they did. He didn't want to think about if it mattered that Ranboo despised what he was doing or not. Technoblade knew he would continue doing it either way.

"So you said your future matches have no rules. What does that mean?"

Technoblade lifted his arm to make it easier for Ranboo to reach around and help him latch the leather armor into place. It was a newer set that hadn't been worn down as much by other fighters' use, yet it still didn't fit properly. The rough hoglin hide sat too tight around his chest while moving loosely at his wrists and knees. Techno hadn't questioned their choice of material, he could respect symbolism when he saw it.

"I'd say it means exactly what you think it does, Ranboo." He pulled back when the other was done fixing the straps, rotating his shoulder to test the armor's sturdiness.

Ranboo stretched from his bent position with a frown, then went back over to the bench to resume cleaning a box of rusty old swords a handler had tasked him with. Technoblade knew Ranboo had asked for a chore in the armory despite hating the place specifically to be able to be present for the preparations. Hearing that Techno had been upgraded from pre-game matches to the main show had made him nervous.

Other fighters hung around the armory, also getting prepared. Sharpening their weaponry with care, no more blunt swords or dull axes. This was the real deal. Ranboo had glanced at them apprehensively more than once.

There were no rules against killing people during the advanced events. It wasn't encouraged to do so either – the arena would run out of trophy fighters rather quickly if that were the case. But you could incapacitate your opponent in any way you saw fit, with no consideration of whether the injuries might turn out to be fatal. Techno turned the netherite sword over in his hand. The blade had perfect edges, honed with a wet-stone mere hours before. He could cut through unarmored skin as if it were wet paper with this thing.

"That's still not very fair," Ranboo said. He used the sandpaper in his hand to gesture with. "I mean, not all the fighters have the same equipment and weapons. Pros get to take their own items into the ring, while slaves have to fight with what they're given."

"I think that's the point," Technoblade answered at the same moment Ranboo muttered a discontented "I guess that would be the point though" under his breath. Techno heard the crowd's screeching and a loud horn signaling the previous fight was over. The referee in charge of the matches today gestured to let him know he was up next.

Quickly, he refastened his hair into a bun to keep it out of his face during battle. "Ranboo, do you think the odds were always fair back in Hypixel?"

"I know they weren't." Ranboo stared at the sword in his lap, odd-colored eyes reflected in the freshly polished steel as he glared. "That doesn't make it okay."

Techno didn't have a rebuttal to that. Maybe because he agreed, or maybe because there was something to be admired about Ranboo's naive idealism.

Technoblade just wasn't the right person to do so.

He didn't recognize the guy until they were both halfway across the pitch, standing opposite each other before the match. Their hair had been cut shorter and their face sported a new scar that ran perpendicular to their jawline across their cheek. But despite the changes, they were definitely the same man Techno had fought during his very first battle in the arena.

Judging by the vicious smile on their face they must have known ahead of time who they were going up against – perhaps they had even requested it. They circled Techno like a predator would circle their prey, making a spectacle out of it. They hadn't lost their taste for theatrics, at least.

"We meet again, sir pig." They spread their arms and bowed mockingly, shifting the sword in their grip with a bit more ease. Technoblade could tell they had been training. Perhaps they'd even put up a decent fight this time. "I want you to know I've been looking forward to this."

Techno turned his head to stare at the audience on the benches, enjoying the show. "Yeah, who were you again?" He tried not to laugh at how easy it was to raise their hackles when they visibly deflated at his disinterest.

A horn that signaled their cue to begin interrupted their rebuttal and the man pushed off on one leg, charging with less reluctance than before. Technoblade got into a position to parry them. The time for fooling around was over, he had a fight to win.

gg ez
blood for the blood god
E
E
I seriously don't even remember this guy lol

Despite how much more forceful their strikes had become, Techno still didn't have a hard time dodging their sword. Nevertheless, their movements had improved in fluidity and speed, so they had an easier time managing Techno's counters as well. He wouldn't say they were evenly matched, but he had to put some actual effort into responding to the attacks thrown at him.

When their swords met next, both fighters pushed forward and forced each other into a stalemate. The man grinned, vicious eyes scrunched together. "I'm going to have you regret making a fool of me on the day we met."

"I don't think I was the one making a fool of you dude," Techno drawled. "You were doing a fine job at that yourself."

Face darkening, they drew back. Techno was still pushing so he adjusted his foothold and thrust this blade against theirs, angling downward. The satisfying sound of fabric ripping was followed by their pained hiss as blood started pouring from a cut in their arm.

"Fuck!" They jumped back, fist curling into their sleeve. Surging forward again, Techno raised to catch their attack as he had done earlier. Normally, this would be the moment he could overpower them with ease, but when he got close enough to be within arm's reach they dug into their pocket.

Technoblade barely had time to blink before they shucked a small glass vial at his face.

It shattered against his sword, liquid raining down on him. The man had already jumped away, holding their free arm in front of their face to cover their eyes with their clothing. Techno understood why when he felt his own eyes starting to sting from the potion's fumes.

Closing them didn't help. The faint prickling only grew until his eyes were burning and his sight started to blur. Techno rubbed at them, but it only served to make them hurt more when the poison dug deeper into the soft tissue.

He couldn't see anything, vision reduced to a swirl of black.

"I wouldn't get distracted if I were you!" the man laughed. Technoblade could hear their boots sinking into the sand, knowing when to throw up his sword and block. Unable to tell where they were aiming for meant he had to rely on guesswork to predict where they would strike. The chest area was the largest target he could think of so that was where Techno tried to deflect.

The sudden pain of their blade cutting into his thigh proved him mistaken.

Stumbling back he heard the man advance on him quickly, emboldened by their self-made advantage. Techno didn't know how long the blindness potion would last, but surely it would be long enough for them to make quick work of him if he didn't figure something out fast. He barely managed to catch a slice aimed at his throat, only anticipating it by the sound of netherite cutting through air. The voices were silenced for once, and distantly Techno was grateful for their awareness of the situation. He needed his hearing more than ever now.

Not that it made any difference since their next strike was too sudden for him to parry without his vision anyway.

Pain wasn't the first thing that registered. Instead, Techno felt an uncomfortable wetness – sticky and warm. It spread across his chest and when he exhaled it was his lungs that brushed against the sword's sharper edges. His opponent pulled their weapon out of his ribcage. Techno sank onto his knees.

The metallic taste of blood forced its way up his throat. He coughed, each inhale becoming more labored than the previous one. A foot slammed into his side, the swish of the sword coming down again above him. With instinctive strength and reflexes honed by war, Technoblade threw himself sideways only in the nick of time, rolling out of the crossfire. Their attack dug into the ground instead of between his shoulder blades.

Before they could attempt again he kicked them. The man yelped, grip loosening around the sword still stuck in the sand. A second kick send them sprawling on the ground beside him and - still blinded but determined not to let that stop him - Techno grappled his way on top of them.

no weapons?
E
b lood for the Blood God
E
t echnohurt
j ust beat the shit out of him

Only a strangled shriek made its way up their throat when Technoblade curled both fists into the front of their tunic. He pulled them up as far as he could go while his lungs were straining for air he couldn't get inside them, then slammed their head down with all his strength. Again and again he did it, until he couldn't feel them struggle underneath him anymore and their arms had gone limp against the ground.

When they finally went still he stopped. The audience was screaming, applauding, the noise forming an echo chamber that made it too hard for Techno to think. He got up and through his blinking could finally make out some shapes and colors. A blur of black and white running its way towards him.

"Technoblade!" And then Ranboo's hands were on him, putting pressure on the wound in his chest. Techno grunted in pain, trying to push them off but unable to. "Techno, are you-"

"Not fatal," he said quickly. Too low, the sword must have scraped off his ribs. He was thankful for the armor though, it made the difference between a regular stab wound and the sword skewering him clean through. Technoblade never dies the voices were chanting in unison. He coughed, blood pooling behind his teeth that he spat out into the sand. "I've had worse. Still hurts though."

His vision was coming back fully by then, just enough for him to see Ranboo nodding with a pinched expression. He looked worried, but otherwise perfectly unharmed. "I do believe we should visit the infirmary now."

Techno laughed, iron sticky and thick on his tongue. A small price to pay, he couldn't help but think. "I'd say that's a good idea, yeah."

Ranboo was watching the fight while pretending to clean swords.

It wasn't too hard to do. In fact, he was probably the only one in the entire armory even going through the trouble of pretending. Many others had full-on stopped what they were doing to see the match unfold as soon as the glass vial had been pulled from the other man's pocket. Potion use in the arena was not the most common of sights. But when the sword was pierced cleanly through Technoblade's chest Ranboo actually flinched.

The weapon he was tending to clattered to the floor when he got up, making more than one head turn in his direction. Ranboo hardly noticed – only knew by the subconscious shiver that always ran through him when too many eyes were put on him. As if his enderman instincts could sense it. But that was shoved aside in favor of pretty much scrambling towards the arches, pushing past the outraged handler who tried to make a grab for Ranboo's arm.

"Technoblade!"

Ranboo barely caught himself from barreling straight into him, heels digging into the sand. He put one hand on Techno's shoulder to press the other against the rapidly growing stain of blood seeping through leather armor. Armor that had absolutely failed in its job. Techno let out a pained noise. "Techno, are you-" Ranboo cut himself off with a nervous warble, low in his throat.

Despite a rushed reassurance that the wound wasn't fatal, Ranboo knew it'd need some kind of medical attention, especially with how Techno took to leaning on him while he walked his way back to the armory. The handler at the gate didn't comment on Ranboo's little 'running onto the pitch in the middle of a match' stunt, though probably only because it saved them the trouble of accompanying Technoblade to the infirmary themselfs. They instructed Ranboo to do it instead – he wasn't about to complain.

The physician (whose name Ranboo was no closer to remembering) watched them enter with an unamused expression on their face. By the look of it, they were a lot busier today than Ranboo had ever seen it be before, which... wasn't the most reassuring of thoughts. "Guess we'll... wait a bit?" he said uncertainly.

Technoblade shrugged as he sat down on one of the cots. "Won't kill me to wait. Probably."

"Probably," Ranboo agreed, not falling for this attempt to lighten the mood. He really wanted to just go up and grab a potion or something, but after being lambasted over it before it was an offense he'd rather not repeat. They had made it clear it wasn't his choice who got the potions and who didn't. Plus, he already had two small vials sitting in the chest underneath his bed that people were suspicious of going missing.

At least it was better than polishing swords. Much better, in fact. The repetitiveness of the task was nice – it was similar to peeling potatoes in a sense. Comfortable, conversant, easy too – but it hurt his wrists. When the rust would not flake off naturally, prying it loose could be difficult. No, Ranboo would take the potatoes any day of the week.

Technoblade rubbed at his eyes, blinking a few times. Aside from being more watery than usual, Ranboo couldn't tell any lasting effects of the potion. That was good. But it did bring an earlier question back to mind.

"Uh, about the guy on the pitch. Did he know you?" Ranboo asked. "What he did felt awfully personal to me."

"If you'd call... kicking his ass once... knowing him," Techno answered. He had to stop between words to take deep, rasping inhales. "I have... a bit of a... talent... for getting on people's... hit lists... Don't know if... you've noticed." His usually deep chuckle was awful and wheezy.

"No, I did. I did notice." Ranboo laughed. "That's how we uh, how we met. If I recall correctly."

Techno frowned. "Was it? It's been... a while."

"First time I came to your house it was to execute you. Or... hm, not sure if I knew that at the time so maybe it doesn't count. Yeah, let's only count the times after that. The good, nice times."

"Sounds fair to me," Technoblade said with a shrug.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Ranboo watched other people scurry around the room completely ignoring them and tried not to bounce his leg, tried not to tear off his skin. He tried not to so hard. Nope, no sir. Wasn't going to-

Technoblade said something next to him Ranboo couldn't quite catch, so he bend closer to listen. After a few strained gulps of air Techno could try again. "Breathing," he lisped then, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. "Getting kinda... hard. Can't-"

"What?" Ranboo asked, head whipping around. Technoblade didn't answer but slumped against him. His head rolled to the side a little, chest moving rapidly up and down. Despite that, he wasn't making much of a noise. And that... well, Ranboo might not know a lot but he knew that was bad. Very bad. "Techno?!"

He got up and cringed when Techno slouched onto the cot. Ranboo hurriedly helped him lie down properly. "Uh, m-medic?" he called out to nobody in particular. "Can I get some help over here?"

Thank Prime somebody noticed his distress. It was the handler who always came to their room to get Technoblade for fights and who also brought their food. Somewhere from between waves of concern Ranboo's mind was kind enough to recall his name as Mel.

"What's wrong?" he asked, as if Technoblade wasn't right there choking on nothing. Ranboo wanted to grab the man and shake him but was too busy pulling the leather chest plate out of the way to reveal the wound that lay beneath.

"I- I don't-" Ranboo bit his tongue, hard. The pain helped him refocus. This wasn't the time to panic. He had to do something useful. "I don't think he can breathe properly?!"

Techno stretched out his arm, coughing too hard to talk. He thumped Mel on the chest once, then did the same on his own chest trying to convey his problem without words. Mel nodded.

"He has a collapsed lung. We're going to need to release the air," the handler answered, already turning around to one of the bedside tables.

Ranboo idled on the spot, nerves too frayed to do anything else. "How do you know?"

"It's a pretty common thing for fighters, we see it all the time." He caught the look on Ranboo's face and his expression softened. "It's nothing to worry about, really. I'll help."

And Ranboo latched onto that security immediately. "Tell me what to do."

Mel turned back, holding up a needle. It had to be at least four inches long, Ranboo stared at it in horror. "You hold him still, this isn't going to be fun."

And without the least bit of hesitation, he bend forward to jab it into Technoblade's chest.

The piglin flinched – probably more of an involuntary spasm than anything else. Ranboo threw himself on top of him, keeping Techno's body still with the weight of his own. Mel pressed the needle in deeper, the sound horrible and squelching as it dug into flesh and organ. He seemed to be searching for something specific, wiggling the instrument around. Every time it moved Techno twitched in pain, jaw clenched to keep quiet. Ranboo started speaking before he knew why.

"This is why I like healing potions. This is why you're supposed to carry them on you all the time. Because if you don't fix the... the holes in your fleshy bits right away air gets into them and this happens and it's not good... it's not very good, is it?"

"Who are you talking to?" Mel asked, still twisting the needle in place.

"I don't know," Ranboo whined desperately. But then Techno's hand found his wrist, fingers curled around it. He squeezed – almost too tight, almost too painful. Ranboo shot up and noticed half-lidded eyes narrowed, staring at him. Techno nodded, urging him to continue.

Somehow, the distraction was working for both of them.

"But apparently – apparently – you can just stick a needle into a person and reinflate their lung when it's gone all flat. Who would have thought? I certainly hadn't. I don't think I've ever had that thought. Do people have thoughts like that?"

He was rambling, complete nonsense. Ranboo hated that spewing words was all he could think to do. He hardly even noticed when Mel pulled back and Techno stopped moving as much under him, breathing gone more steady. It was still raspy, interspersed by the occasional cough and cut off winces whenever his chest prompted another spike of pain. But he was breathing again.

"See?" Mel said, rubbing the blood off on his own pants. "Piece of cake."

Ranboo didn't answer. Techno was breathing.

Or he was trying to, an endeavor made slightly harder by Ranboo still being half on top of him. Techno huffed lightly, pushing him off. "Not even close," he said.

Ranboo wasn't sure if he felt the need to laugh or cry. Perhaps both, simultaneously. That didn't sound very productive but he could make it work.

"What's going on here?" The physician had finally noticed an emergency was happening in their own infirmary. Took them a while, Ranboo noted bitterly. "Mel, how often have I told you to leave running this place up to me? Get your hands off my materials."

"And how often have I told you stab wounds should get potion priority right away?" Mel shot back. Oh, Ranboo thought. They don't like each other. He didn't know why, but felt like that might be important information. He wished he could write it down.

"Slaves never get potion priority," they hissed back. "That's been ordered from up top and you know I can't argue with that. Unless you want to?"

Mel balked, mouth slapping shut with enough force for his jaw to audibly click. He looked like he wanted to argue, Ranboo wished he would argue. For only one person – one person he could have deluded himself into thinking might be on their side – to stand up for them.

But then Mel dropped his head, looked away. "No," he said. "I don't." He turned around and walked out of the infirmary without saying a word of goodbye to either of them.

The physician rolled their eyes, not even looking at them when they spoke. "If you're done," they said to Ranboo still curled in place and Technoblade breathing unevenly on the cot. "Go back to your cells. I have actual people to help."

They fell asleep in that position, Ranboo leaning first the side of his head and then gradually his full weight against Techno's shoulder.

It was comfortable. Technoblade ran warm - Phil used to take advantage of it all the time back in the arctic. Said it was due to him being Netherborn, natural heat running through his veins. When you stood close enough it was almost the same as standing near a recently extinguished fire, residual warmth from the flames flecking across your skin. Still, when he woke up Ranboo found the blanket draped carefully over his shoulders, protecting him from the colder stone wall they were both sitting against.

Techno was not awake yet, chin tilted forward against his chest which rose and fell with steady, labored inhales. Ranboo was relieved simply by the calming sound of his breathing. Techno didn't look half as pale as he had the day before either.

The health potion must be helping.

Ranboo got up carefully, noticing the glass vial had stayed where he had left it on their small wooden table. He'd ended up not diluting it but there was still plenty inside so he delicately put it back in his chest for safekeeping. Techno had said no more stealing, but Ranboo couldn't help it that when he looked over his loot it didn't feel like enough at all. Besides the two potions for emergencies, he'd only stashed half a golden carrot and a handful of normal apples that were starting to develop rotten brown spots. He picked one up to eat, knowing he'd prefer it over the tasteless oatmeal they'd be getting for breakfast.

Before he could so much as take a bite though, there was a commotion in the hallway outside. Ranboo froze, waiting for a moment before pushing himself up against the door to try and listen. Two people were talking, voices too distanced to be understood over their own heavy footsteps. But they were coming in this direction.

Something which worried Ranboo because it was morning and the lights weren't even on and morning was supposed to mean no fights so why were they coming to their cell if there were no fights-

He sprung back when the door was thrown open.

It wasn't Mel – kind sea-green eyes, gills along his throat, almost but not quite stood up for them though Ranboo still liked him despite it. But nope, it was the blond man who had taken them, sold them to the arena. There was another nameless handler with them who Ranboo recognized from the armory.

Technoblade had been woken up by their noise, blinking a few times and rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hand was reaching out to the spot beside him and Ranboo briefly felt guilty about moving and getting up. He kinda wished he'd just stayed put. At least it meant the potion was out of sight.

"You, come with me." The handler hadn't even glanced at Ranboo.

Slower than usual to react since he'd been asleep barely a minute ago, Techno started to get up. Ranboo took the opportunity to insert his concerns. "Why? There are no fights this early, right?"

The blond man was quick to anger and when they moved forward Ranboo instinctively shrunk back, phantom pain of them grabbing him by the hair the day they arrived too vivid in his memories for him not to react. There was no need though, the other handler was faster. He grabbed the man around the wrist and stopped them.

"Give it a rest, yeah?" The handler grunted, tone heavy with fatigue. If Ranboo had to guess he hadn't been awoken too long ago either. The blond man scoffed and reluctantly pulled their arm back to their side, but they did not attempt to hit Ranboo again. The handler looked at them – Ranboo still standing curled inwards and Techno now up on his feet next to him. "I've been asked to prepare you for a special event. You've got your first challenger."

Techno snorted, laugh half subdued by how tired he sounded. "Took them long enough."

"Challenger?" Ranboo repeated, angling for an explanation.

The handler opened his mouth to respond but the other man cut in before he could. "Somebody personally requested to fight the pig guy." Their grin grew, twisted with minacious glee. "It's good money, these private events. So we're happy to grant them a special time slot. Whenever they want, we provide."

"Big shots, huh?" Techno grinned slightly. "Should I be honored or what... Sadly I'm a bit indisposed at the moment."

If their smile had fallen away any quicker Ranboo would have been sure it must have hit the floor. "What?"

"I don't know if you missed it but I was lowkey skewered by a guy on the pitch last night. I mean, come on, if he'd put his sword any further through me I'd practically be a shish kebab." Technoblade gestured at his chest with his hands, the bandage peeking out from beneath his shirt where it was wrapped around his shoulder.

Ranboo nodded to himself in agreement. This was fine, this was perfectly fine. They wouldn't make Technoblade fight the very next day after he barely made it out of the infirmary alive, surely.

The blond man's next words made that hope fall apart. "I don't see why that's our problem," they hissed, viciously

Techno frowned, sounding a little sharper when he answered. "It should be your problem unless you want your favorite high rollers to be disappointed when the match falls apart within seconds because you put injured fighters out on the field. Pretty sure that's frowned upon actually."

"There's no need to play coy. You've proven you can deal with the occasional disadvantage, they want to push that luck," the handler said almost good-naturedly. "With your track record, this might even out the odds more than it disrupts them."

"Great. I'm still not fighting like this though."

And this time when the blond man advanced on them Ranboo didn't feel the need to shrivel up and hide himself. Not with Technoblade standing beside him, spine perfect-straight and jaw set firm despite there probably still being a literal hole in his lung - or at least the side effects of having one the day before. Not with Techno refusing to so much as flinch when the man got in his face.

Ranboo had admitted yesterday to being scared. He wished he could take it back. He wished he could be brave enough to not feel fear seize his entire being when those pale eyes settled on him next.

"Fine. Guess this one will have to fill your spot then."

Their hand curled around his wrist, vice-tight and cold fingers digging into his skin. Ranboo stopped, felt his entire body go rigid and ready to be dragged along like a rag doll if he couldn't snap out of it quick. When they tried to pull him he did jolt – hissed and clawed at their hold on him. His nails found flesh to burry into, to rip at. Their blood was much warmer than their touch and even if he only managed to shred the surface he felt satisfied all the same.

Only for a moment though. Then they screamed and lashed out with their other arm, their fist catching Ranboo on the side of his skull – right against his temple. He stumbled back and everything happened too fast. Technoblade said something but his attempt at moving forward was stopped when the handler pulled out his sword and aimed it at Techno's throat. The man was still shrieking – anger and poison and Ranboo was scared, frightened, he couldn't stop being scared in this place. The first kick landed in his stomach and the second hit his shoulder hard enough to smash it into the ground. They raised their boot to bring it down on his fragile clavicle.

"I'll do it!" Techno yelled, trying to step in only to find the sword barring his way yet again. He pressed on with more urgency. "Leave him alone and I'll do it! Whatever you want."

Their foot hovered over Ranboo a moment longer and he was afraid they would still snap his bones clean in two. They were malicious enough to do it, senseless enough. They hurt him because it was easy and Ranboo might never have wanted to hurt someone back as much as he did then. Their flesh stuck under his claws but it was not enough - it would never be enough.

Deciding against it they sneered, looked down on him with nothing but disdain before turning around and stalking off outside. The handler watched them go, not surprised by their outbursts but clearly disapproving of it. Ranboo knew some of the handlers – maybe most of them – had been fighters once too. It might be why they felt an ounce of sympathy from those send into the ring.

But at the end of the day, they were people while Ranboo and Technoblade were only slaves.

"Let's go," he said simply, putting his weapon away and nodding at the door. Technoblade exhaled, curled his fists and followed.

There was certainly something strange in seeing the armory so close to abandoned.

Once again – not for the first time and probably not the last – it crossed Techno's mind that what had presented itself before him might be an escape opportunity in the making, assuming that he knew how to capitalize on it. There was always some reason for him not to however, and often that reason was found in the person left behind in their cell. He could not leave, would not leave without a guarantee he could take Ranboo with him.

Repeatedly he clenched and unclenched his fingers, finding peace in the rhythm. A pale substitute for the usual ways Techno could release pent-up energy, but good enough for the moment. Soon, he would have an outlet better than anything he could provide for himself anyway.

"Blunt weaponry?" he asked, turning the battle hammer over after it had been handed to him. It was heavier than Techno liked, middle-sized handle but with a solid metal head. Not the claw hammer type, but one specifically used in combat for hard-hitters. What was it with people taking him for the brawly type anyway? Prejudice much.

"It's what the challenger wanted," was the only answer he was given.

"Whatever." Techno slung the weapon up on his shoulder instead. "Let's get this over with, I'm losing out on sleep for this."

As was to be expected for a private event the audience was a lot more modest. A handful of people sat in the stands that flanked him on his right, matching uniforms in black and grey leading Techno to suspect they were part of a dedicated regiment. Either this was a cruel hazing ritual for new soldiers or a malcontent general trying to take out their frustrations on an impartial victim.

Whichever the case, Techno hoped they weren't too ambitious about showing off in front of their comrades.

The man that approached him from the other side of the arena was carrying a pernach, the trademark curved shape of the iron such as Techno hadn't seen in ages. Not a lot of people chose this type of mace as a primary weapon. Perhaps as an additional thing to have on hand in melee – strapped to a belt and only pulled out when in dire need. But not as a first pick.

Its presence alone was enough to make him suspicious.

When only six feet remained between them the man stopped and bowed. Technoblade only hesitated for a split second before returning the courtesy. The entire vibe was already so different from all other fights he had there so far, it was definitely throwing him off. Yesterday somebody pulled a fast one on him to play dirty and today they're upholding the rules of honorable combat.

field of honor lol
E
E
blood for the blood god
pretty sus
E

No matter what Chat might think of it, Techno preferred this over the chaotic messes he'd been entangled in before. The man threw back his shoulders, unclasped his cape to let it fall on the ground and to ensure they could fight face to face. He nodded at Techno to indicate he was ready for the match to commence and once more waited for him to return the gesture before proceeding.

When he did, the other did not delay.

They wielded the pernach with scary flexibility. Where others might be weighted down by the bulkiness of such a weapon, this man brandished it as if it were an extension of his arm. Technoblade did manage to catch his attacks, but it was more a testament to his own skill than it was a lack on their part. Heavy hits pushed him back in the sand and left little room for him to counter.

So Techno waited, inhaled before each strike and exhaled when the vibrations of their attack rippled in aches across his raised arms, slamming into him through where their weapons connected. It was the only thing keeping him from being knocked over, barely so since his lungs hadn't recovered from the day before yet. As soon as there was a pause between blows – short, barely a second, the man regaining his own footing before being able to continue – Technoblade moved.

His aim was true and under different circumstances, it would probably have helped him turn the tides of battle. But he was weaker than usual and the hammer felt clumsy in his hold. He didn't move as fast as he'd hoped, didn't swing as smoothly. They managed to jump back with the weapon only barely skimming their shoulder. Thrown off-balance, they reeled a little and Techno knew he couldn't allow them time to recover.

Pushing off on his toes, he tried to come at them from above to gain a different kind of edge. Height differences could be exploited. His hammer came down on their wrist just as they were raising their arm, the crunch of bone breaking a sickening noise. Distantly he could hear the audience gasp.

The pernach had fallen from limp fingers, though the man's face had barely twitched with pain even at having their wrist shattered. Techno lowered his own weapon a fraction – assuming the match would be over since his opponent was left unable to continue.

Chat tried to warn him about this mistake, but their frantic yelling came too late.

In a single smooth motion, the mace was picked up again, the man switching to his other hand effortlessly and with no signs that they were any less experienced using this one as opposed to the other. He twisted his body around, used the momentum to put both speed and force behind his blow, and slammed it into Techno's left side. His attempt to dodge by jumping sideways backfired in the most horrible way when it only ended up exposing his flank, arms thrown out and unable to protect his chest.

Instead, he felt the pressure rip through his ribs as if they were toothpicks. An instant sharp pain stabbed into his side, letting Techno know at least one of them had snapped in half. He was thrown onto the ground, landing on his back. Chat wouldn't stop screaming.

A shadow loomed above him. Techno rolled out of the way, the mace found its home in the sand instead of against his stomach. He swiped at the man's feet with his claws, making them back up and giving himself time to straighten again. Their eyes met and if Techno didn't know any better he'd say the general – for that was what he had to be, no common soldier fought like that – was smirking.

They went back to trading blows. Techno was trying to ignore how his entire side flared with pain, a bruise already forming where the penchant had hit him. But what was more worrying were the possible internal injuries, cracked ribs and ripped organs bleeding into his chest cavity. Stabs of agony traveled up into his left shoulder and vaguely he was aware of that being a bad sign – a terrible sign, really.

E
end it faster
kill him faster
E
E
his spleen's fucked
you're gonna bleed out dude

Their attacks were too fast for him to intercept, too strong for him to push back against. His head was starting to feel woozy, blood loss sneaking up on him. He could feel how his grip around the hammer's handle kept slipping, getting worse by the second. Still, Technoblade persisted. He wasn't going to let this be the end of him.

blood for the blood god

The man's lip twitched, a brief flash of confusion and then admiration displayed across his face when he realized Techno wasn't backing down from the fight. In fact, his strikes only became quicker, the gap between them shrinking into tight desperation. The hammer finally managed to connect against the man's hip, staggering him.

Techno went for the kneecap next.

He missed, pitched forward and when a wave of dizziness surged up to meet him he couldn't stop it. He faltered and didn't catch himself before the pernach came down on his lower back. Not as hard as it could have, only enough to force him to his knees. With a strangled grunt he collapsed onto his elbows. The man was so close – too close. Techno allowed himself to fall flat, curled on his side to kick them off. They evaded his clumsy attempt easily, batting his leg away with their arm.

Dark spots at the edge of his vision were slowly taking over. How much blood had he lost? How much of it was leaking inside him, spilling into open spaces between muscle and sinew. Was this really how he'd die?

pathetic

For the final time, the pernach plunged towards him. Technoblade didn't close his eyes. Didn't flinch as a bash that would surely be strong enough to cave his brain in descended towards his face.

Then - less than an inch from him – it stopped.

The man held it there a moment longer, their body heaving with deep inhales. Shoulder shaking with exhaustion from the fight. Sweat trickled down their face, their right arm with its broken wrist dangling next to them.

But they smiled before throwing the mace into the sand to offer Techno their hand instead.

Techno took it, grunting in pain he was pulled to his feet. He stumbled again almost immediately, dizzy and nauseous and let's be honest not being killed by having his skull crushed was a minor convenience when a ruptured organ would make quick work of him too. A firm grip on his elbow was the only thing keeping him upright.

The modest audience that had been spectating cheered for their superior, but the general ignored it in favor of turning to the handler who had ran onto the pitch to declare the winner.

"He fought well," the man told the handler, voice unexpectedly deep – a timbre close to middle age. "See to it his wounds are tended to. We will call upon your services again."

A few hurried nods and some more exchanged words Technoblade barely caught through his dimming awareness and then he was passed off to the handler as if he was nothing more than a tool, a broken toy in need of repairs. He'd usually hate their touch on him, but currently Techno was glad for the support. It was the only thing keeping him from simply lying down right then and there.

His side hurt, his shoulder ached, his head pounded to the tune of his slowing heartbeat. Pain was creeping up on all sides and it'd be so easy, too easy to yield in the face of his growing fatigue and simply stop existing for a bit. They led him inside, Technoblade blinked and when he opened his eyes again he was already being dropped onto a cot in the infirmary. He must have blacked out for a moment.

Giving in completely and slipping unconscious was a tantalizing thought – one his mind entertained if only to have Chat screech at him even louder, reminding him that somebody with injuries as grave as his current ones was as good as dead for it. He needed to stay awake, they urged him. If he wanted to survive he needed to stay awake.

So he curled his claws into his palm to press sharply into his skin, hissed at the draw of blood. It was a simple focal point, some small thing piercing and real to draw his attention towards in favor of oblivion.

And like that, Technoblade waited to see if anybody would actually care to help him this time.

Ranboo was only just starting to doze off when the door slamming open pulled him back into full awareness again.

The first ten minutes after being left alone had been spent by him pacing from one end of the room to the other – something that took only a handful of steps between his long legs and how cramped the cell was. The blond man's abuse had left him with a few bruises, the pain dull and faded. But it was nothing compared to the clenched, tight feeling in his gut. Ranboo could deal with being hurt, it was easy to control.

You could decide to not feel it, or ignore it to the same effect. Compared to anxiety which was a clawing, furious beast harder to suppress.

And for a selfish moment, he wished Tubbo was there with him, soft hands and eyes made of honey. Tubbo would tell him to breathe or show him how, in and out and in and out at a steady predictable rhythm. He would tell Ranboo to name things he could see around the room out loud since that would often work to calm him down.

"Bed," Ranboo muttered to himself. "Horrible, uncomfortable... kind of too-small-for-my-weird-enderman-height bed." Well, that didn't help at all.

So after those first ten minutes, he crawled onto the cot instead, pulled the blanket over himself while curling up and tried to take some refuge in the residual heat left behind by its earlier use. When it had been him and Techno and nothing else, no arena and no people who wanted to hurt them, only for a blissful hour or two.

Before he could fully drift off into sleep the door opened and it all came crashing down again. What else should he have expected?

(Ranboo was not one to believe in superstitions. In fact, he avoided them like the plague. Superstitions too were considered an enderman-thing. Every Haunting had its own beliefs for what could be the origins of all life's bad coincidences. Not remembering his own family meant Ranboo did not know what he was supposed to believe. So he believed none of them just to be safe.)

It was the same handler that had come too early in the morning and spoke of challengers who carried Technoblade back inside. He had one hand wrapped around the piglin's middle and Techno's own arm slung over his shoulder to be able to support him. Ranboo had never scrambled off the bed quicker, hitting the ground with both knees at the same time. The handler mumbled out a strained thanks while almost buckling under the weight of keeping Techno from slumping. He dropped him onto the bed.

Ranboo sat there, almost unable to grasp what he was seeing.

Because Technoblade looked bad, worse than he had when his lung was literally not doing its sole job of allowing him to breathe and how could that even be a thing? How could somebody look more fucked than they did when they were practically dying?

The handler had already turned away, banging the door shut again with the same force they had used when entering. Technoblade snorted and raised one arm to grant them a sarcastic salute. Ranboo returned to the bed's side, still on his knees.

"What happened?" he asked.

After a few lethargic blinks, Techno's eyes settled on the enderman kneeling beside him. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to snitch on me, Ranboo."

"I...I promise? I guess?"

Technoblade gestured for him to lean in closer so he did, careful to avoid touching him. The bandage around his chest was still there but peeking out from beneath it Ranboo could see several contusions he knew for a fact weren't there before. The skin was a mess of red and blue – some darker patches of past injuries that were only just fading already being covered by newer ones.

Once he was close enough Techno pitched his voice into a whisper. "Don't go telling anyone else this cause it's- it's kind of embarrassing Ranboo, but I did get my ass kicked by someone." And against all logic, Techno chuckled.

Ranboo had heard Techno laugh before. Plenty of times, really. He remembered how scared he used to be of the piglin when he'd only known him through others. Had only heard the stories of bloodshed and violence and destruction. Truth be told, nothing that Ranboo had seen after had ever proved to him those stories couldn't be true – some of what he had seen had certainly affirmed them in his mind. Technoblade was a person who could be incredibly scary.

But he wasn't a person to be scared of.

Because even more so than the blood and the withers, Ranboo had found a man who had offered him a place to stay when he was cast out by others. And who had shared his supplies and his warmth without asking. And who couldn't ever leave his house without saying goodbye to his emotional support polar bear.

And Technoblade laughed, like the rumbling of an ocean. Soft yet unrestrained. Unintrusive, never afraid to be what it is.

This was not like that. This was – Ranboo tilted his head and considered for a moment, while Techno rubbed a hand down his pale, bruised face and exhaled a shaky breath. This was exhaustion and blood loss.

Oh! Oh yes, this was blood loss and potion effects and Techno needed help and there Ranboo was getting distracted by frivolous thoughts about oceans and the nature of humor because it felt safer than confronting his growing worry that Technoblade was going to get himself killed very soon and it would be his fault.

He fell back with a gasp, one that made Techno startle his eyes open again, then hurriedly pulled out the chest from under his bed.

"We can give you what you didn't finish yesterday, then dilute the second potion so it'll fit in two bottles-" Ranboo started saying, already reaching for it.

"No potions," Techno said, pushing up on his elbows. It took him a lot of effort, brow dotted with sweat at the simple action of sitting upright.

"You said I could help!" Ranboo protested, almost sounding like a petulant teen being scolded.

"I did. And I don't mean you can't. But they already gave me one. Practically shoved it down my throat actually. They could learn a thing or two from your bedside manners."

Ranboo faltered, fingers still curled around the glass. "W-wouldn't more be better though?"

"Doesn't work like that. Potions only repair surface damage, they can't magic away anemia. Besides, I'd rather not risk an overdose."

And Ranboo knew that. How could he not know that? Maybe he forgot, maybe he was too eager to help to remember. Whatever had put Techno's life in danger had already been fixed, he needed to be able to rest, to get better. Plus the side-effects of excessive potion use could be a pain. Already Ranboo could tell the tremor in Techno's fingers and his sweat-clammy skin was more due to the number of potions he'd been using lately rather than anything else.

"Yeah... okay." He stood up, brushed some imaginary dirt off his pants. "So, we just wait then?"

Technoblade nodded, shifting his position. Ranboo only then realized he'd probably sat up because lying on his back hurt too much. He cringed at the thought.

"Now we just wait."

They didn't have to wait long.

The lights came on and breakfast was brought by – oatmeal again, big surprise there. Ranboo got out the apple and ate it. He went back to pacing, trying to distract himself by counting the cracks in the wall. When the door opened for the third time that day Mel walked in, looking anything but happy to be there.

He hooked one finger into his belt, pulled at it a bit. Ranboo followed his seafoam green eyes as they dart around the room, unable to look anywhere but the two of them. Until eventually, "You got another fight."

(What was that he'd thought about not believing in superstitions?)

Technoblade had to brace his arm against the wall to be able to stand up, only barely managing not to fall over. Mel's mouth was drawn into a thin line as if the sight left a bad taste in his mouth. Perhaps Ranboo had been too hasty in judging him. Perhaps he was going to help them after all.

Except Mel didn't say anything, only watched Techno start limping his way across the room.

"He can't fight like this," Ranboo pointed out. If he was the only sane person left in the world then so be it.

"I know," Mel answered uncomfortably. "I don't make the rules."

"Nah, you just enforce them." Techno pushed off from the wall, almost failing to keep his balance. After a few firm inhales he steadied himself.

"You can't be serious," Ranboo tried again, hating himself. Because there was nothing he could do with words. Words never meant anything. Even back in L'Manburg they hadn't. Actions were more important than words. People were more important than sides.

Techno attempted a kind of half-shrug that fell completely short. "S'not really like we got any other choice."

Ranboo needed to choose actions and people.

"We do!" He turned and Mel almost shrank back when Ranboo pulled himself to his full height. Sometimes, he overlooked how threatening that could be to people. "Let me fight. I will do it in his stead."

"Ranboo," Techno warned. Ranboo decided not to let him finish.

"You send him and you'll have... well, you'll have a dead fighter on your hands and that can't be good for you. Needing to dispose of the body won't be fun either. Or, or maybe you wouldn't need to worry about that but it's going to ruin somebody's day."

Mel did not look convinced. "Kid-"

"Please," Ranboo said then, making eye contact the best he could. He couldn't look away. He shouldn't. Not until this worked. "Please, I don't- I can't do anything else to help. Please just let me go? You have to send me instead. I can fight, I won't win but I promise I can fight."

He could tell the exact moment his pleading won the handler over.

"Fine," Mel groaned. "We'll just..." He threw his hands up. "We'll figure something out. Let's just go before we all get put through the wringer for being late."

Technoblade did not protest. And if it was because he knew it would be useless to or because he secretly was relieved he'd be spared the pitch – Ranboo didn't know if he'd ever find out.

There was also an upside to having spent so much time in and around the armory the past few days. Nobody would blink an eye at Techno being there, even when he wasn't gearing up to partake in the upcoming match himself. Ranboo looked sorely out of place by comparison, especially since he seemed unable to straighten his spine or stop fiddling with his hands. It drew more than a few gazes.

"Stop squirming," Technoblade advised him, "You're drawing too much attention." It sounded harsher than he meant it, but it was for Ranboo's own good.

"R-right." Ranboo locked his hands around his waist instead, but his twitchy tail gave him away. Techno was almost tempted to step in and ask to be let into the ring after all when Mel returned.

"Okay, so the good news is I managed to shuffle some match-ups around. You're in the preliminaries." He waved a piece of paper around as he spoke.

Techno hunched back, using the wall as a brace. The worst of his worries had been Ranboo taking on whoever he was originally meant to go up against, forcing the enderman to go straight into the main event. Preliminaries meant no killing, only downing your opponent. Preliminaries meant no risk of Ranboo dying. This was good.

"What's the bad news?" he asked.

"They're starting in three minutes and today's another battle royale style. No time for armor, just grab a sword and get your ass out there. Try not to be the first one to go down." The last words were directed at Ranboo who - to his credit – managed to draw himself from a stunned state rather quickly.

"Oh! Oh, that's not a lot of time, okay- Was kinda hoping for some preparation."

"You don't need preparation," Techno said, following him as Ranboo gathered up one of the blunted swords and then walked towards the arches. They could see the audience beyond, forming one tide of unrecognizable faces. "It's just Hypixel again. You're probably a stronger fighter than half the people out there."

Ranboo let out an undignified chuckle bordering more on a squeak. "And what about the other half?"

"Well, you don't gotta be stronger than them. Just smarter."

The starting shot seemed to physically rattle Ranboo, shoulders shaking before locking into place. He swallowed uneasily and Techno gave him a final pat on the back disguised as him pushing Ranboo forwards into a walking motion. As soon as he started moving though, he didn't look back. All tension fell from Ranboo as easily as shedding a cloak and his tail had gone from nervous swaying to a defensively straightened in an instant.

Technoblade smiled.

A peculiarity often observed on the battlefield, this was something he had seen countless times before on rookie recruits. As if they had a separate mindset in everyday life that was more fearful, it seemed even the most nervous of amateurs could refind their steady hands and bravery when it mattered most. In the face of violence, they adapted to war easily. If they couldn't, they would die and weren't cut out to be soldiers after all.

And on a much smaller scale, professional fighters weren't that different. Ranboo changed visibly, slipping into something hardened and experienced. Whatever part of him that was still scared had to be shoved into a corner of his mind until after the fight was won.

(If you spent too much time in that state, maybe it became easier than being out of it. Maybe you tired of shifting between battle-weary and unprepared all the time and you forgot how to be vulnerable. Maybe you were no longer a part of the war as much as the war was a part of you. Technoblade would know all about that.

He was grateful Ranboo had not yet reached that point.)

The chaos of a one-for-all tournament made it hard for Technoblade to follow exactly what was happening, lacking the bird's eye viewpoint the audience did. It took him considerable effort to focus, keeping on the lookout for any blur of black-and-white he could tell. He watched as Ranboo used his skills to his advantage, moving quicker than a lot of his opponents due to his lithe frame.

They had been training before they were brought there. Techno might have underplayed his feelings over the matter – had smothered them in the guise of making certain all Syndicate members were equally able to protect themselves and others should they ever come to conflict. But that didn't diminish any pride he felt at seeing Ranboo put the tricks he'd learned from Techno to work in the arena.

The number of fighters still upright started to dwindle, until there was only a handful left. Ranboo moved slower. Techno narrowed his eyes, seeing the telltale signs of exhaustion. In that same position, he had been mindful of making this mistake – spending too much energy early on when battle royale fights tended to get drawn out longer. Still, the odds of Ranboo winning weren't slim. He was doing well.

He was doing great, until the person that currently faced him down grinned.

Techno had seen them staring at Ranboo intently before the match. But he'd written it off as just another curious onlooker, somebody who'd never seen an enderman hybrid before and was trying to gauge their competition. Turned out that was exactly what they had been doing, as they proceeded to draw a bottle from their pocket.

And it was almost a little too similar to what the spiteful man had done to Techno with his potion of blindness. Turned out Ranboo wasn't the only one who was picking up on new tricks.

The liquid inside was not as dangerous as a potion could be at first glance, clear and almost making Techno mistake it for empty from a distance. He could tell where the sun caught in the water though, refracting the light.

For an enderman, it was much worse than any potion.

They thumbed open the cork that kept the bottle shut, using their momentum to launch its content in Ranboo's direction. With no armor to protect him, Techno could only watch as Ranboo raised his arm to shield his face from the worst of it. The thin fabric of his shirt soaked through completely.

Techno was too far away to see it, to hear it. But he could perfectly imagine the sound of Ranboo's skin melting off his flesh.

And he needed no imagination for the shrill cry that cut deep enough to cross the distance. Ranboo dropped onto the floor with a pitched scream, curled in on himself protectively. Technoblade pushed off from the wall before a firm grasp around his elbow stopped him. Mel shook his head near unnoticeably, urging Techno to stay put. The surge of energy that had seized him at seeing Ranboo hurt was already waning in the face of prolonged blood loss and his half-healed injuries, making him too aware of how much his body still hurt and how tired he was.

There was nothing Techno could do.

Besides, the man who had thrown the water had already moved on to another fighter. Within minutes the battle was over and they were declared victorious.

Technoblade managed to keep his calm. He kept it throughout Ranboo uncurling himself slowly when he realized the battle was over, kept it through him walking back into the armory with the muscles in his neck straining with how hard he was clenching his jaw, kept it through Mel's barely hidden worry and Ranboo waving him off and assuring him it was fine – he didn't need medical attention. Techno kept it up all the way until they were back in their cell, not having uttered a word to each other.

"Ah-" Ranboo hissed when he peeled his sleeves up, revealing the acid-burned flesh beneath. The wounds were red and glistening, turning gradually paler at their uneven edges before fading into his skin completely. His clothes clearly hadn't protected him at all, except maybe to keep the water from scalding even deeper than it already did. "That's not, hm, the best. Not the best, I think."

Techno held out his hands. "Show me?"

After a small blink of hesitation, Ranboo put his wrists in Techno's palms and let him inspect the burns.

Something bitter and spiteful tried to claw its way into the pit of his stomach but Techno pushed it away again.

"Get a piece of cloth and I could dab them with the potion, if you want?"

Ranboo pulled back a little too quickly for it to be ignored. "No, I- I don't want to make a big deal out of it."

I don't want you to know how badly it hurts, Techno's mind translated for him. I don't want you to use this to keep me out of the arena in the future.

That bitter and spiteful ball had turned into a clump of self-loathing rather quickly, there to remind him why this had happened. Whose fault this was in the first place. He shoed it away harder.

"Yeah, you're right. Doesn't look too bad." He forced himself to sit down, still dizzy. Weak. "And I mean, you did make top ten so, you know. Might be some hope for you yet."

Ranboo laughed feebly. "Good to know that training has been paying off."

Silence fell over them again and this time it was a lot less comfortable than before.

The potions were doing their job of keeping him in fighting condition, which was all Technoblade needed out of them.

He knew it wasn't exactly healthy, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice for the time being. He'd never been the type of person to treat his body badly on purpose – compared to Phil who ran from negative emotions by hiding behind physical strain or Wilbur who spent their days in Pogtopia dealing with his stress by smoking until the entire ravine seemed blackened from it. No, Techno valued his body for what it was: a tool. For how he needed it to survive and for how he had crafted it into a weapon to do so.

But he had been known to ignore his own limits or push past them for reasons he'd justified to himself as being necessary. And so - despite knowing he might be fast approaching one of those limits – it was almost too easy to continue. Obstinacy was such a hard habit to shake.

The more battles he could partake in, the less Ranboo would be called upon to replace him. Thus was the deal. Simple logic, really. Chat roared and made a ruckus as they always did. Techno had accepted long ago there wasn't anything he could do that would please all of them. For every voice agreeing with him, there were always ten more throwing their opposite opinions in his face. Just another reason for him to disregard their concerns completely.

He knew what he was doing.

If his hands were too shaky on his weapons he needed only to tighten his grip. If his vision swam with dizzy nausea he needed only to rely more on motion and color to see. If the repeated exposure to blaze powder made it feel like his skin was itchy and tight and made his throat too dry to swallow he needed only to drink another cup of water and return to the pitch.

"Maybe you could take a break tomorrow?" Mel suggested. "They're doing try-outs for new fighters in the morning. Making them go up against our regulars to see what kind of meat they're cut out from, if they're worth training. I'm sure Ranboo could compete." Threading around the actual thoughts he left unspoken as if they were landmines. Ironically, Techno noticed but didn't comment. Funny – how long had they known each other? A week or two at most? And already Mel had figured out how he needed to phrase things if he wanted any chance of Technoblade not shutting him down right away.

"Don't need it," Techno answered bluntly. The potion of swiftness he was drinking was sugary sweet, closer to syrup. Unwelcome under any other circumstances, today it formed a good counterbalance to the lingering bitterness of the regeneration potions he'd been downing three times a day. Every potion was undercut with that same astringent taste because of the nether wart but the ghast tears truly made it so much worse.

Techno would rather take the saccharine of glistering melon - or in the case of swiftness just pure sugar - any time. If he closed his eyes and tried not to think about it too much, he could almost imagine it was one of Niki's post-meeting treats, like she used to bring to every Syndicate gathering.

"Really?" Mel's lips quirked upwards, almost amused. "Because I know he'd be more than happy to."

"I know he would be." Techno didn't elaborate, getting back on his feet. The swiftness would probably drag his numbed legs through till evening. Then it was only a matter of getting enough sleep so that they would function by sunrise. His kneecaps had taken one too many hits lately.

And then he was staggering back to their cell, using his hand to push against the walls and keep his balance. Mel was bearing the rest of his weight. Keep it off his feet, keep it off his legs. Keep it off his twisted ankle that had been forcefully pushed back in place. A health potion for the pain and he should be good to go again.

He couldn't remember the door opening or being dropped on the bed, only knew they had arrived from how the world stopped moving and the echoed worry of Ranboo's voice reached him in muffled beckons. Technoblade closed his eyes and groaned – maybe if he gave a sign of being alive he would be left alone.

Except Ranboo wasn't talking to him. Not by the urgency of his voice and how far away it was. Hopefully, that meant he could simply go to sleep.

what are you doing?
get up
get up
E
get some water before u shrivel up and die
technosick?
technodead soon
E

"You're exaggerating," he told Chat. Because they were, they always were. They were a bunch of overdramatic fools the likes of which even the audiences at ancient theatrons would consider rowdy and he'd rather not hear from them. "I'm fine, I'm fine-"

And then Ranboo was next to him, hand hovering tentatively enough Techno's double vision produced two mirror images of them. "You have a fever," the enderman said, already reaching for something to the side.

"You're also exaggerating," Techno told him.

"I promise I'm not." Ranboo shoved one hand under his back. Techno wiggled and tried to push him away but it was an affair made extremely difficult when his arms refused to lift themselves. A glass of what he could only assume was water going by the lack of potion smell was pushed under his nose. "Drink."

"Yes sir-" Techno tried to joke, then almost choked when Ranboo tipped the glass forward and kind of almost waterboarded him. He might have apologized for it, though Techno was too focussed on how disgustingly dry and grainy his mouth felt to comment. Okay, maybe Chat had been a little right. He was shriveling. Only a tiny amount.

He jolted at something cold being put on his forehead, taking a second to realize it was a rag Ranboo had soaked in water too. Techno's head pounded, his brain must be trying to break out of his skull through every orifice it could find. Leaking from his ears, bursting through his eyeholes. It overtook all else, stole his ability to hear or see or think. He couldn't care to resist, tunneling into that vague feeling. Further and further away

He slept uneasily, dreaming of their snow-covered commune.

Then he surged awake because what his brain was doing earlier must have given his stomach a bright idea or two. He rolled over onto his side, pulled up his knees when the cramps wrecking him barely lessened, barely let up. Gagging, it felt as if his very organs were trying to force their way up his throat. Techno was left dry-heaving for a minute before there were more movements and he was lurched up. Just in time for his stomach to give up on the battle completely. He vomited all over himself, the watery splash of it landing in his lap. Tears stung at his eyes, Techno blinked rapidly to dispel them.

The same voice from before had come back, the same hands. Techno should recall who they belonged to – he couldn't. The world wasn't making a whole lot of sense to him at the moment. There was too much of everything going on. But they didn't make him feel threatened, didn't make him feel as if he needed to fight them off. And that was a whole lot more than he could say for most strangers. The voices agreed, whispered some pale forms of comfort into his being. They could never relate to physical suffering – not Techno's, not that of others. Still they wanted him to know that the person he was with could be trusted, he was safe.

So whoever it was, Techno didn't resist as they wiped up the half-congealed stew he had puked out and then crawled into the bed too, repositioned Techno so he was lying with his head in their lap. They brushed at his hair, skin feeling warm and sticky with sweat. Wherever their fingers went it became better.

"Thanatos?" he asked, voice rough and pained through his parsed throat. "Or Hypnos? Cause I know which one I'd prefer."

"What?" the person asked. Their hands drew away. Techno wished he'd kept quiet, maybe then they would have stayed put. He loathed losing their comfort. Then they returned and he couldn't hold back a pleased sigh.

"Which one are you, Death or Sleep?" He tried to think, struggled through it like struggling through quicksand. "They're brothers in Greek myth. Twins, I believe. Two sides of the same coin. Appear before mortals to taunt them of their upcoming fates. They're nice guys like that."

"Well, you're not dying. Hopefully. If I can help it, no. You're not dying."

"Good." Right then Techno would have settled for either, whichever of the two would bring him oblivion the soonest. But in the long shot, not dying would probably be preferable. "Sleep then?"

"Sleep," the person agreed. Not Phil, Techno told himself. Though that was the only person he could think of, the only person who would ever take care of him like this. Nobody else had ever bothered. "We should both sleep."

Phil would come soon. He would always come for him and take the pain away.

Once more he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Technoblade's fever had broken by the next morning.

Ranboo hadn't slept at all, kept awake by some acrid combination of worry and anticipation. It had taken him longer than he liked, but some vague plan had started to take form in his mind. It was only the start of one, the first step in something that would probably need a whole mile of work to make him feel at all confident in its chance of success. He desperately wanted to think on it longer, be more certain of all possible outcomes and how to deal with whatever could go wrong.

They didn't have the time to wait though. Techno didn't have the time. Ranboo had felt a growing sense of urgency at half-awake mumbles and clouded red eyes with not a smidge of recognition in them. He had to go ahead with his plan, unprepared.

Mel's entire face scrunched up in disgust when he entered the room. Ranboo couldn't tell why until he remembered the vomit, hastily scrubbed off with a rag and left in a corner of the room. He stopped smelling it a few hours ago – Endermen didn't have the best sense of smell to begin with and after a while of sitting next to the source it had blended into the general stench of this place.

(Ranboo missed the fresh pine scent of Snowchester that made it feel homely. The ever-present firewood smoke of the Arctic commune that promised a warm fire behind every door.)

Ranboo had asked Mel yesterday to be allowed to fill in for matches. Technoblade was in no condition to protest. It was an easy assignment, young-faced teens with not a blemish on their cheeks and dirt beneath their fingernails hoping to become volunteer fighters, recruits for the arena's future. Ranboo was fine, he was great. He just had to remember not to look them in the eye, not to think about what would become of them.

What had become of Mel's brother.

And when nobody was looking he took an arrow that had missed its target, broke off the sharp metal arrowhead with a snap. It dug into his flesh until dark trickles of blood were flowing down his hand and Ranboo shoved it down somewhere secret, wiped the blood off so it became yet another stain on his already ruined shirt. Nobody would be any the wiser.

His heart beat faster, his guilt felt as if it had been branded on his face. Surely they would notice, there wasn't any reason for them not to. Even the faintest sound of the metal, every brush of it against his side was magnified by his senses into all-encompassing proportions and any moment somebody would grab his shoulder and shove him in the dirt and kill him for trying to sneak this past them.

Except none of that happened and Ranboo left the pitch with an arrowhead in his pocket, the wooden shaft buried in a corner beneath the sand. All weapons were accounted for and nobody would bother to count projectiles used.

Against all expectations, he had managed to pull off step one without suffering a heart attack.

"Did they not say you're allowed to skip out on kitchen duty since you're enrolled as a fighter now?" Clarissa shook her head, like seeing Ranboo all hunched up on his stool peeling potatoes was the most impossible thing she had ever seen. "I love to have you here, but you only really have to come down when you've got no matches."

"No, I asked. I wanted to. It's..." Ranboo left the pause there, hoped it would sell the lie as more convincing. "It's better down here than in the cell, I guess?"

He got an empathic nod in response and maybe it helped that it wasn't entirely untrue either. Where the cell was small and claustrophobic and currently smelling of puke, the kitchen was loud and crowded and gave Ranboo a headache. He probably hated both equally, when it came down to it.

But it was all part of the master plan.

Because before long Clarissa asked him to fetch something again. And before long Ranboo was standing in the pantry – standing in front of that cupboard – with nobody around and an arrowhead in his pocket.

A while ago Tommy had shown him how to pick locks with those. Tubbo had lamented on how much easier it was with hairpins but Ranboo didn't have any pins. And he hadn't practiced with either, so he had little confidence in it working either way. But it was a possibility. Slippery, already coated in blood, it was hard to get the metal to sit firmly in his hand. He wanted to try and do it without scratching the lock up, that'd be easily noticed. But at the same time, he had to work fast since somebody could enter the room at any second.

He inhaled, kept the air there for a tad too long just to feel it burn in his chest. Then he attempted to force the lock open.

The pointed part wouldn't smooth into the gap. Ranboo tried to remember Tommy's exact words, filtered through the laughter and sunlight that coated everything in his already hectic memories of that afternoon. "Wiggle it," Ranboo told himself, trying to do just that. "You have to wiggle it in place and angle it up."

It slipped and almost fell to the floor. Ranboo caught it and tried again, putting some more pressure into it. After what felt like an eternity though it probably wasn't more than a minute the padlock gave and clicked open. Barely suppressing a few little chirps of joy, Ranboo hastily removed it to get inside the cupboard.

"Not a lot of time." He said it out loud as a reminder. Getting in had been the easy part. Now he had to decide what to take and how to hide that he had taken it. What could he smuggle back to the cell unnoticed? What would they discover was gone right away? What would they not care about going missing?

There was only one item he actually needed. If he could not take a communicator the entire point of risking this break-in had been in vain. There were several – some looking older than any Ranboo had ever seen, with big buttons and grayscale screens. Others more modern than what they had used back on their home server, the flashy type a Hypixel admin might have carried around. More functionalities, but if Ranboo couldn't figure out how to use it that'd be pointless.

The lowest row of communicators was partly obscured by the bags on the bottom of the cupboard, so Ranboo took one of them before pushing the bag against the back panel. Unless somebody were to need it – which wasn't likely, hopefully – it could take them a while to notice anything had gone missing.

He grabbed a few more golden carrots for his other pocket but didn't want to risk anything else. This was enough. Not a lot, but enough. Better than nothing. Much better than nothing. "A start," he said. "It's a start."

He closed the cupboard and replaced the lock, good as new.

Step two was all taken care of and he hadn't died yet. Which meant that overall, things were still going better than he could have hoped.

Mel was kind enough to take away the puke rag and bring Techno a fresh shirt since he had vomited all over his current one. Even better, this generosity was offered to them with an additional gift of luxury Ranboo hadn't expected to see again so soon: warm water.

An entire pail full of it.

Finally, Ranboo could get the blood off himself – and the grime that had become stuck to his skin such that the difference between filth and freckle had become indistinct. If he asked Techno to soak a cloth in it, then squeeze it until all droplets were gone and it was only slightly damp it didn't hurt. Then he could wash up a little. Techno had recovered enough to do the same, splashing handfuls of water on himself with a delighted noise that sounded halfway to purring. Ranboo tried and failed not to stare at some old faded burn scars that ran along his arms.

Vaguely, they reminded him of Tubbo. He couldn't say why.

Ranboo's own blisters from the water had healed as much as they would ever do, a tapestry of flecks and dots not unlike the stars speckled across a night sky. He didn't hate them, he had many more like them all across his body. Some faint, others standing out ugly and jagged. His hands had become numb to water's effects a long time ago, but other parts were still sensitive to it. Ranboo had never found it in himself to hate his scars.

He didn't think Techno did either, from the way he displayed them – or wasn't going through any measures to hide them, anyway. Ranboo had seen a lot of them already. Techno didn't wear his cloak inside his house, bunched his sleeves up all the way to his elbows when he worked at his brewing stand.

But when he took off his shirt to change it, Ranboo still was caught off-guard at there somehow being more than he expected. Covering almost every inch of Techno's chest. He traced one that ran all the way from Techno's collarbone down his sternum, wider around the middle and curved off to the side.

"Had a run-in with a boar spear," he said upon noticing what Ranboo was doing. "Real funny lot, those guys."

Ranboo pulled his eyes up again. "I can imagine."

Techno laughed. When he tried to reach up, that quickly changed into a pained chuckle. "Uh, this is a bit cringe of me to ask but, maybe you could help me? With my hair. I'd do it myself but-"

"Oh, yeah! No, I'll help." Ranboo practically jumped over to the other bed. He wanted to be helpful.

"Yeah, just-" Technoblade flinched when Ranboo yanked a little too hard. "Ouch, be careful with it, will ya? If the worst knots are out, that'd already be more than enough."

"Hm, I can do that." Ranboo nodded as he got to work, scooping water over the mess that Techno's hair had become and combing his fingers through it to detangle what he could. It wouldn't be perfect, but it'd be better than it currently was. For every chunk of strands he washed out, Techno pulled them forward over his shoulder to braid them.

Then a glint of gold caught Ranboo's interest.

"These are..." His fingers stopped their work to hover over the intricate web of thin golden lines spread out between Techno's shoulder blades. They seemed to originate from somewhere higher up, disappearing under pink hair when they reached the nape of his neck. The rest spread downward, becoming thinner and more faint at the curve of his spine.

"Totem scars," Techno said. "From being crushed by the anvil. They're pretty cool. Look better than regular scars, at least."

"They're uh, interesting." Ranboo got to work again, hoping his hesitancy would play off as intrigue rather than remorse. "I didn't know totems left scars."

"Heh, yeah." Techno tugged, braided another section of hair. "You just don't get rid of death that easily, Ranboo."

He couldn't know if it was a warning or a joke. All Ranboo knew was that more than anything else, he couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for Techno dying twice.

"This was not part of the deal."

As far as protests went it was a lackluster attempt, Technoblade knew it was. He had become complacent – had allowed them to fool him into thinking at least some of his bargaining chips were worth more than theirs. But the house always played for keeps.

They had just been happy to leave him with the delusion until it no longer fit their schedule.

"Well, this will earn them more," Mel said. "I'm sorry, I can't do anything about this." His voice did not waver, did not crumble. Anger at the circumstances simmered beneath the surface as it always had, but Technoblade knew then he could not consider Mel an ally.

Mel had been forged to be exactly what the coliseum needed out of him as a handler. Somebody who had seen the pitch and carried with him that experience. Somebody who had nothing outside of this server to want to return to. Somebody who conflated fear and loyalty, and would freely question the arena's operations without daring to step out of line. Technoblade might not be able to resent him for it, he couldn't accept it lying down either.

Because Mel had come into the room and told them they had a match to attend. And when Ranboo and Technoblade had faltered, waiting on him to clarify which one of them he was speaking to, Mel had sighed and muttered. "Both of you."

The deal had crumbled as if Techno had never even put any effort into making it.

To say he was pissed would probably be the understatement of the year. Escaping had always been on the back of Techno's mind – a constant reminder that this bargain he made was only a temporary solution. He wouldn't settle for escaping anymore though. He wouldn't rest until this entire arena and everybody who had ever spent a dime on running it was reduced to nothing more than a smoking crater of bedrock.

And when the Blood God's conduit made such a promise, it was a vow.

Retribution would have to wait until this traitor's match had been dealt with. Another battle royale – no rules. Ranboo was acting brave. Maybe he had learned to mask his fear better over the past few days, maybe he was only doing it because Techno had told him fright would be taken for weakness in the ring.

The sun was setting and the stands weren't as crowded as usual. Instead of densely packed people pushing against each other to spectate and bet, their audience was dotted far and few in between along the seats, sitting in small clusters or by themselves. Technoblade scanned them quickly to gauge how off-putting and different the atmosphere had become, he recognized a group of people wearing the same uniforms as that of the general he had fought.

Suspicion raised the hair on the back of his neck like an animal cornered.

He had to focus on the battle though. The crossbow was once again being strapped at his side, the bolts not the same blunt-tipped wooden once of before. These were lethal when used correctly. Ranboo had opted to carry a shield instead of a long-range weapon, standing next to Techno at the arches waiting for the starting signal.

"I'll watch your back, you watch mine?" he asked, almost failing in concealing his growing nerves with how his voice pitched higher at the end of the question. The large slab of wood was big enough to conceal his entire face.

"I think you'll already have a hard enough time watching your front with this thing." Techno pushed the shield down, showed Ranboo where to readjust his grip. "Solid choice though. Could be used as a bludgeon in a pinch."

"Heh, that's uh- One way to look at it, I suppose. I don't trust my bow skills."

"Haven't you been practicing with Phil?" Techno shifted his hooves in the sand, anxious to get started. Waiting was the worst part.

"I have, yeah! I have. He said," Ranboo interrupted himself to hoist the shield higher with a little grunt. Techno was surprised the weight hadn't toppled him yet. "He said I still needed some work to get on his level."

Technoblade snorted. "Funny, he told me the same thing. I think the old man's just proud his eyesight hasn't worsened so much it's ruined his aim."

"Yeah, kinda surprised his arthritis doesn't keep him from being able to notch an arrow."

Their starting signal was almost swallowed up by Techno's laughter. Both ran out onto the pitch together and like last time, Technoblade waited for somebody else to take a stab at him first.

A heavy-set man with curled hair took the bait. Techno evaded their first strike with ease but recognized the difference in this fighter's level as opposed to last time. Their reactions were much smoother, their attacks swift and with little hesitation. None of it made any easier by Techno trying to keep an eye on Ranboo during all this – hoping to keep him close by.

But before long he had no choice but to focus on his opponent, realizing that a lull in attention could mean the difference between leaving unharmed or getting his throat slit by this guy. They were not attacking as expected from somebody meant to incapacitate. They were striving to kill.

Techno managed to dodge beneath their next attack, slammed his hand into the bottom of their chin to force their head back and used the downward strike of his elbow to push into their stomach. It was enough to bring them to their knees. Knowing them getting up again could make the difference between life or death, he twisted around their side to get behind them and sliced his sword through their ankles, severing the fragile tendons of their Achilles heel. The man screamed – a smothered yelp then cut off by them curling into the sand.

E
b lood for the blood god
finish the job
kill him
E
E
Ranboo pog moment?
h e's doing good I'm so proud
b lood

Taking a cursory moment to check that Chat wasn't misleading him about Ranboo still doing well – they probably wouldn't lie about something this important. But after years of suffering their idea of funny pranks Techno was more than a little skeptical of all their claims – he went back to the onslaught.

The level of these fighters was something else. Many of them were more skilled than what Technoblade had come to expect, and they fought with a sense of desperation that had dread building in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't seen any of them before either, despite having come to know most of the arena's regulars by sight. The relative silence was unsettling too, he had grown used to the coliseum's ruckus. Frantic oohs and aahs and people leaping in joy when they won big money. These intent but quiet observers weren't there for the same reasons the usual crowds would be.

And when Technoblade managed to pull off the impressive feat of shooting a bolt exactly so that it might pass through a fighter's thigh and into their other leg to lock them together, he caught one of the strangers in the audience nod and write something down.

Which could only mean tha-

Ranboo hurt
E
w ake up get back in the game
Technoprotect
E
E

Chat had warned him with seconds to spare. Quick reflexes paying off, Techno managed to get between Ranboo's exposed back and the sword aimed towards his neck in the nick of time. Ranboo was already on the ground, a wound in his leg bleeding into the sand.

Right above the kneecap. Not lethal. Ranboo still put his hand on it to quell the bleeding, dark purple seeping through wavering fingers.

Technoworry the voices mocked in tandem.

"Thanks." Ranboo turned to smile at him, revealing an impressive black eye – courtesy of the fighter lying prone at the enderman's feet.

Techno downed the person who had been trying to take advantage of Ranboo's unguarded rear, before looking around and realizing it had been the only other person left on the pitch. The end signal of the match echoed around the eerily muted field. Nobody in the audience cheered.

"From top ten straight to third place. Not the worst comeback." Techno held out his hand to help Ranboo upright, but he winced when he tried to put any weight on his injured leg. Techno let him lean on his shoulder instead – made slightly awkward by Ranboo being one of the few people in the world who was actually taller than him.

"Guess I'll be coming for your spot next," Ranboo said.

"If you want to defeat me, train for another hundred years."

The infirmary felt empty and deserted after-hours.

Not content to wait on the physician to give them the time of day and since there was only a cot or two occupied, Techno picked up a needle and thread himself. The handler positioned at the door keeping an eye on things didn't seem to mind him improvising their health care. Techno put the needle over an open flame, nudging Ranboo to sit down.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asked Techno while extending his leg for the piglin to inspect.

"I've done this before if that's what you're asking." He wiped the worst of the blood away to see the cut better. As he'd thought, deep but not dangerous. Stitches should go in smoothly.

"It's not. It's not what I'm asking at all actually."

"Sure, I know what I'm doing. Done it to Phil plenty of times too. And on myself." Threading the needle, Techno got a good hold on Ranboo's leg to keep him from pulling away. "Just a heads up, this is probably gonna sting a bit."

Ranboo winced at the first push of needle against skin. His leg stiffened and it was only because Techno was grasping his heel that he didn't slip and dug in too deep.

"Don't move. It'll be over quicker if you don't."

Ranboo nodded frantically, fingers gripping onto the cot. His claws dug into the bedding, ripping cloth to shreds. Techno tried to be quick, deftly pulling on the string to bring the two sides of the wound closer together. He looked around to see if anybody was close enough to overhear them before talking. "How about you tell me the plan?"

"W-what-" Ranboo managed, too distracted by the pain to answer.

"When I was sick. I was out of it but not that out of it. You got something in the works, right?"

"Oh, yeah I..." Cutting off again with a barely subdued whine, Ranboo closed his eyes to concentrate. Probably sidetrack himself from all that was going on. "I got what we need to get out, I think. Out as in off-server. A communicator to send a message. Problem is it won't work until we're out of these walls and then it'll be a while for the message to go through and for help to arrive so-"

"So we still need somehow to get out of the coliseum itself," Techno finished for him. "And preferably in a way where we don't get hunted down again immediately."

"That's the uh, the idea." Ranboo smirked. "Not being hunted down sounds lovely."

"Okay, we can work with that." Picking up a bandage, Techno wrapped it around Ranboo's leg. "Should be good to walk on that again by morning."

And with no more deal to protect him, Techno knew Ranboo would need it.

Ranboo had only dared to turn the communicator on once, right after he got it when Technoblade was still lost to the throes of fever.

The screen lit up almost instantly at the push of a button, but two things became apparent when he did. The first was that it had no signal. Either the thick walls of the coliseum's cells were obstructing its reach or – and this was almost too pessimistic to consider, still Ranboo did so anyway – they had built something to purposefully jam any unauthorized communicators used down there. Either way, the chances of them managing to send word out to the outside were slim, at least until they got outside.

The second equally worrying thing was the battery life. One small line flickered in and out of focus as if the LED display hadn't decided whether it really belonged there. Ranboo quickly shut the communicator off again, not wanting to waste what little power it had.

They would probably only get one shot at a message, it would have to be short and relay all important information in as little text as they could manage. They would have to do it after breaking out – with whoever the arena bothered to send after them hot on their trail – then wait until Phil could actually get whitelisted and arrive to help them. Ranboo didn't doubt Phil could be quick about it, even more so if he grasped the situation Ranboo and Techno would be left in until then.

But he couldn't know ahead of time if quick would be quick enough.

It was a risk they were willing to take, just one they couldn't jump headfirst into when unprepared. It remained to be seen if their circumstances would leave them much of a choice in the matter though.

Following the strange after-hours match, another morning passed where they were left alone for an unprecedented amount of time. Techno had been on edge ever since the day before and this time it was him pacing the small length of their room. Ranboo couldn't put his finger on why exactly he also felt apprehensive over how that audience stared at them, judged them. How it had felt less like entertainment and more like something far more sinister he couldn't even think about without scaring himself.

The door opened but it wasn't Mel. It was the blond man for whom Ranboo's dislike was pretty much immeasurable at this point. He glanced down at their arm and tried to not show his satisfaction at seeing the scars his claws had left on their wrist.

"Out. Both of you." He didn't speak to them the same as Mel did, like you'd speak to people. He barked as if they were animals too stupid to comprehend basic instructions. His hand had settled on the sword at their hip the moment they walked in, lingering there in expectancy of trouble.

Ranboo looked at Technoblade who shrugged in response, also in the dark to what was going on. They both got up and followed the man outside, where another handler was waiting to bring up the rear. To Ranboo it mimicked their arrival a little too much for comfort – back when they were still expected to try and run away.

Why? What had changed so suddenly that they would try to run again?

They were led in the opposite direction from where they'd come in. The opposite direction from where Ranboo remembered the arena master's office to be. That was good, that was reassuring. They went right past the armory where they'd usually be brought for matches, also fine. Then they stopped at the door to the infirmary.

Ranboo's heart sank to the bottom of his ribcage, not unlike a stone tossed in a well.

Near the back of the infirmary was a second door. Ranboo had never gone through it – had been lucky to never have to. It's where they carted people who were dead or dying. People who had their stomachs ripped open and guts spilling onto the floor. People who had their brains leaking through their skulls. They were brought into there.

A small room, smelling strongly of antiseptic. Strong enough even Ranboo could pick up on it, he watched Techno recoil a little when they entered due to his more sensitive sense of smell. Instead of several cots there was a single long table against the wall – raised and made out of metal with flimsy paper covering it. The table's legs hadn't been cleaned properly, still coated a rusty color from stray blood splatters.

The physician was already inside, pen in hand while they poured over a clipboard. They looked up when the blond man entered, adjusted their glasses and waved them towards them. "Okay, let's get this over with. Which one first?"

"First for what?" Techno asked, not moving a muscle.

Ranboo managed not to flinch when the blond man stepped forward. He'd reacted rather volatile to them speaking out of turn before. But instead, the doctor held up their hand.

"Wait outside," they said. And against all expectations, the blond man huffed but did as he was told, joining the second handler on the other side of the door.

Clearing their throat, the doctor picked up one of two clipboards and motioned for Technoblade to stand in the middle of the room. "You're being assessed for sale."

Somehow, that sinking feeling had changed into a dreadful pull. Ranboo must have made a noise without realizing it, felt his back hit the wall.

Techno remained deceptively calm by comparison, but it was clear the gears in his head must be running a hundred miles an hour from how he furrowed his brow. "Sale? You mean slave auction, right?"

"Correct."

All of a sudden last night's match made sense to Ranboo. The shift in mood and how different the audience had been. That wasn't a fight to be bet on. It was a preview for potential buyers to see what would be up for sale soon.

Because that's what was going to happen. They were going to be sold.

"Once in a while, the arena gathers up the slaves who either aren't cut out to be fighters or worth more to someone with different plans. Then they'll organize an auction." They relayed this information as another might report the local weather; unaffected.

Numb – too far beyond what could even be called shock anymore – Ranboo stood by and watched as the doctor wrote down their worth. They inspected Techno from various sides, asked him questions about his physical condition Ranboo couldn't pick up on. All he heard was static. "Open your mouth," they said and Techno did. They scrutinized his tusks for a moment, then nodded.

"So what's my value?" Techno asked in jest.

They ignored him, waving over Ranboo instead. His legs were shaking too much to walk normally but he still shuffled to the front and tried not to shrink under their inspection.

"No permanent injuries?" They questioned.

Ranboo shook his head, felt as if his brain was rattling around in there. "Fit as a fiddle."

He traced the pen with his eyes as the doctor wrote on their paper, unable to read what it was between the writing being upside down and his vision tunneling through sheer panic. Techno's hand settling somewhere on his arm pulled him back, kept him from spiraling completely.

Breathe in, breathe out. It'll be fine.

When their notes were finished, they put both charts down and fixed their eyes on them. The door was still closed. "Listen. The chances of you both being sold to the same buyer are extremely slim. You're looking at an army as a potential buyer, or somebody else who will want you for your physical skills." They pointed at Technoblade as they said it, then directed themselfs at Ranboo next. "While you're being sold as a trophy more than anything else. Enderman hybrids are near unheard of and rare means money to these people."

And while some vague part of him could recognize the doctor was giving this information to them out of compassion, that didn't reduce any of Ranboo's distress because oh, oh... if they were split up they would never find each other again. If they took Techno away to fight in some war he could die or get killed trying to escape or if he did manage to flee then he still wouldn't know where Ranboo had gone. Sold to some creep who wanted to keep him in a glass cupboard like you do with your most prized possessions and show him off to their rich friends while muttering on about how much gold it had cost to purchase him.

No, no, no they couldn't allow that to happen.

Techno's fingers curled around him tighter, an anchor. The only thing left keeping him tethered to reality. "Why would you tell us this?" Techno asked, barely concealed suspicion.

The doctor didn't take the thinly-veiled accusation to heart. They finished their notes and started towards the door. "Why wouldn't I? Mel and I disagree on a lot of things. He believes in trying to extend a hand to those he thinks are in need of his help, no matter the risks. I believe in finding those who can help themselves and pointing them in the right direction. Which I can only do from a position of privilege." They smiled and it chipped off something of their harsh, uncaring facade. For the first time, Ranboo saw what laid beneath that which they upheld to convince the handlers of their loyalty. "But at the end of the day, we both believe that what happens here shouldn't. If you have a plan, I recommend you don't dawdle. Enact it before they take you off-server."

Before either of them could process what they had said, they opened the door. The blond man was waiting on the other side, arms crossed and growing impatient.

"You can have them back," the doctor said coldly. When they turned, it wasn't even like Ranboo was seeing the same person anymore. "They'll be some fine wares for the auction."

If they expected to be kept from the ring because of the upcoming auction, they had been sorely mistaken.

When considering this in a positive light, Technoblade would consider it a testament to his skill. There was no reason to sell damaged goods, but clearly the handlers didn't expect him to get hurt (or worse: die) by putting him in the pitch. Not that some of the prior events didn't contradict this rationale. Still, they were trying to squeeze every last piece of gold out of their slaves in the arena before making the big bucks by selling them off. It was despicable, player lives traded around like commodities.

(And Technoblade did not dwell on how that very thought made his skin crawl. It leaned a little too close to him lying awake at night listening to the tundra wind lashing at the walls of his freshly built cabin, wondering what the purpose of a weapon was if it wouldn't be wielded. If it had any worth beyond that what other people gave it - a tool to fight their wars for them.)

"What did you say about your aim before?" Techno asked, holding the crossbow up so he could adjust the wrist strap. It was too loose, risking it would fall off in the midst of battle. He pulled the leather tight, tight enough it would probably leave welts. Better safe than sorry.

"Is this all we're getting?" Ranboo looked around the benches anxiously, searching for any sign they had missed something. If he was expecting any other weapons to materialize out of thin air he'd find himself disappointed. Only bows today, limited arrows. Such had been the handler's order. Technoblade had picked up the crossbow out of habit. Heavier and more bulky than a regular bow, he'd rather have the increased speed and force it provided for arrows despite being notoriously harder to aim. Techno wasn't scared about missing his target.

Ranboo did pick up the normal bow, seeming uncertain with his choice. Techno had seen him use both equally well in the past, so he wasn't going to butt in.

"It's interesting," Techno ventured, notching the first arrow while they waited. "There's ten of us but it's not a battle royale. Mel said we would know what we needed to do when it happened."

"Oh, I hate that." Ranboo laughed a little. "Can't they just tell us what's up? Or do they know we won't like it when they do?"

Their starting signal was near deafening. Techno eyed the other fighters as they walked onto the pitch, all on one side of the circle instead of facing each other. The opposite end of the arena remained empty.

"Who are we fighting?" Ranboo shout-whispered. The eight other fighters had clearly gone through this routine before, holding their positions with pinpoint focus. They were all watching the open arches across from them.

As a cloud moved from in front of the sun, a few rays broke through an otherwise clouded sky. Techno caught the glint of metal – heavy ropes being undone, rotted fingers pushing through the bars, handlers with shields standing to guide what would soon come out of these cages onto the pitch and towards the waiting fighters.

"Looks like it's not a question of who," Techno said. "But what."

Ranboo hardly had time for a surprised chirp at the realization and then the cages fell open. For a moment nothing happened and even the audience seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation. Then the first lumbering husk started to stagger forward, its guttural moaning almost confused in nature. Taken from its natural terrain and dropped into unfamiliar territory.

It stumbled onto the sand of the arena, taking a few steps before the fighter standing left from Technoblade raised their arm and shot an arrow into the undead creature's throat. It fell back, pitching onto the ground with strangled noises. Another husk hissed at the commotion, drawn by the motion.

More of them advanced, pulled by the dual encouragements of more sounds luring them forward and the smell of fresh meat allowing them to hone in on their intended prey. After everything that had happened, Techno still found himself a little stunned that a makeshift husk horde was what this arena would invest in as their chosen entertainment.

And entertainment it was. The audience ate it up with glee. Suddenly what had been a handful of slowly approaching husks turned into a wave of them, more and more pouring into the arena. Unlike normal zombies, their grayish flesh would not burn beneath the daylight – tattered clothes and putrid skin sloshing off their bones making for a horrendous smell. Techno raised his own crossbow to start picking a few off.

Husks weren't very fast. Despite being outnumbered they wouldn't form a threat against a group of skilled archers. But the lack of arrows was worrisome and they didn't have any other weapons to fall back on. On top of that, husks didn't die unless you took them out properly – destroy the brain. The one who had been hit in the throat before was still twitching on the floor, trying and failing to get up while its undead comrades walked over it, uncaringly trampling it underfoot. Techno realized this was a matter of testing their aim. Every arrow they wasted could be the difference between life or death.

Others had started to fire at the oncoming horde – Ranboo among them – and Techno did the same. The husk's numbers dwindled rapidly, most of them not making it more than half the way towards them before being picked off. Techno was about to start wondering how effortless this was for them when Ranboo cried out beside him.

"There's more to the right!"

Another batch was approaching from that side, too close for comfort. Out of the corner of his eye, more were spotted on his left which told Techno they were dealing with a similar situation there. The handlers had released more creatures from both sides, hoping to catch them unaware. Surround them. An increasing number of shots were being fired, but trying to be quick about it meant their accuracy wasn't as good anymore, leaving more undead to slip through their defenses and within a range that made using the bow difficult. One husk reached towards him, slender fingers outstretched and Techno smacked them with the crossbow, forcing them to the ground. He used his hoof to bash their skull in.

A pained cry had barely ripped out of Ranboo's throat before Techno was already moving, dodging another husk's attempt of making a grab for him. Ranboo had pushed the one trying to grapple its way on top of him off, nails scratching at his face. Its claws cut into his cheek, digging deep enough to draw a waterfall of blood.

Techno rammed into its side with his shoulder, throwing the husk to the ground. He planted his hoof on its throat to keep it still while he shot it with his last remaining arrow. Ranboo dispatched two more coming towards them. There weren't many left by now.

Except for the one sneaking up on them from behind. Techno became aware of them too late and turned, throwing his arm up to shield himself. Their teeth sank into his flesh, molars ground against his bones. Pain shot up the limb, only worsening when the husk tore at their meal like a man starved. Techno lashed out blindly, finding a misfired arrow stuck in its hip. He pulled it out and redirected it, jamming it into their eye socket. It screeched but wouldn't let go. Techno pulled it out again before driving it back in, over and over. Finally, their jaw dislodged from his arm with a spray of blood as the husk collapsed.

And then it was over.

The crowd erupted again. Techno put his hand over the wound, pressing fingers to teeth marks to staunch the bleeding. Ranboo wiped the scratches on his cheek, smearing red all over. He smiled gratefully. "That was uh, what did you call it... interesting."

Techno smirked and shook his head. "Let's not do it again."

Ranboo frowned down at the bite next, blood still flowing out of it in lazy pulsations matching Techno's heartbeat. "We need to get that cleaned. I don't think husks are well-known for their amazing dental hygiene."

"Not sure they can even hold a toothbrush, honestly. I'd rather not get another fever."

The other fighters were returning to the armory, Ranboo made eye contact as they started back as well. "Tomorrow?" He clenched his hands, tail flicking once.

"Tomorrow," Techno confirmed with a small nod.

One more day and then they would take their opportunity to break out of this hellhole.

Ranboo barely slept through the night.

His mind was frantically running over everything that could go wrong, which was a lot. A whole lot could go wrong. But when morning came he was eerily calm. Or maybe hours of worrying had left him desensitized. He would take it.

Technoblade had a fight in the afternoon, but Ranboo was called to help in the kitchen again during the morning. Just as they had planned, just as they had hoped. Nothing was going wrong yet.

They had the communicator and the health potions in the chest. What Ranboo needed to do was smuggle some more food, maybe a couple of extra potions. Anything they would need to survive the time it would take for help to arrive – which could take hours to days. He was in too much of a hurry to look last time but if there were pods of invisibility or swiftness in the cupboard that would be ideal. Techno would take care of getting them at least one weapon from the armory. Ranboo didn't have a clue how he was planning to do so, but he trusted Techno.

When dinner was brought tonight and the door to their cell was opened, they would overpower whichever handler had been sent to feed them – Ranboo didn't know if he'd prefer it to be Mel or was praying for it not to be him – and make a break for it.

And all Ranboo had to do was get inside that cupboard.

He peeled potatoes – breathe, breathe – while waiting for Clarissa to call on him to get ingredients from the pantry. She hummed while she worked, apron swaying with the motion as she danced through the kitchen. Her voice was always light and melodic. She reminded Ranboo of Niki in a weird way, half-up hair and hands that worked with more tenderness than he could comprehend.

They would be back. They would return and free every single one of the people whose freedom this arena had ever taken away.

"Ranboo?" She always said his name in the same manner when she was trying to catch his attention, soft and careful not to startle him. Mindful of his tendency to daydream. "I'm thinking carrots for in the stew tonight, could you fetch me some?"

His heartbeat stalled, Ranboo pretended to be lost in thought to play his reaction off. "Y-yeah, sure."

Mechanically, he got up. Clarissa had turned around, not noticing his strained behavior. A whole lot could go wrong. This is where it could go wrong. He walked into the pantry and immediately got the arrowhead from his pocket. Forcing the padlock open went a lot faster this time since he knew what he was doing. He dropped it on the ground in his haste but decided to ignore it for now.

Because he'd opened the cupboard and this is where it could go wrong and he had to be quick.

A few more golden apples, another health potion. Ranboo considered taking a second communicator but the chances that it would work better than the first one were slim. They only needed one message, anyway. No invisibility potions – of course not. Why would they be lucky enough to find exactly what they'd need? Ranboo was part-way into picking up a swiftness pod when the door opened.

He froze. It wasn't the best reaction, not a logical one. He wasn't capable of doing anything to hide his guilt. Clarissa stopped in the doorway with her mouth open in greeting, swallowed down when she saw what he was doing.

"Ranboo, how did you-" She interrupted herself, walked forward with big strides that almost had him shrink back. He couldn't do it. Not from her. "Close that right now, what if someone sees you?!"

There was little to no anger in her voice, rather she sounded worried for his sake. Ranboo wanted to bawl, wanted to cry and shake her and implore her to go with them when they escaped because she didn't belong to be here either, regardless of it being impossible. He didn't get to do any of those things though.

The door opened again.

For a second nobody moved. The person that had walked in was the last person Ranboo wanted to see. Clarissa shifted, put her body in front of the cupboard as if she'd be able to conceal what was going on. It was already too late, the swiftness potion was still held in Ranboo's hand. His horrified expression would tell the rest of the story.

"I told him to get something," Clarissa said firmly. She didn't get out of the blond man's way as they advanced on Ranboo. "It's not what it looks like, sir."

Deep down, Ranboo's respect and fondness for her was glad it hadn't been misplaced. Not that it mattered, not that it would make a difference. Everything he feared had gone wrong and as much as he appreciated Clarissa's attempt to stick up for him it wouldn't make a difference.

Because the blond man pushed her aside like it meant nothing, their hand curled harshly against her shoulder. His other hand found Ranboo's wrist and unlike last time he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

"I knew it!" They hissed, loud enough that Ranboo flinched away from them. There was nowhere for him to run, nowhere to go. "I fucking knew some little rat was stealing shit. I should have known it was you."

And then he was being pulled outside, Clarissa unable to do anything but watch them go. The blond man called a second handler and then the three of them started marching back to their cell. Ranboo's pulse accelerated.

Not only would they know about him stealing, they would find the other items he had hidden. They would take them and then they'd never be able to escape and they would be sold as slaves and separated and Ranboo would never see his home again-

The door to the cell slammed open, the blond man was screaming. Techno raised an eyebrow at them as if he had no idea what the ruckus was about. Ranboo knew the situation was terrible, but he had to salvage what he could.

"He doesn't know!" he heard himself say, desperate. Urging them to believe him. "He didn't know I was doing this, I've been keeping stuff for myself in my chest."

Techno's face remained impassive, not a muscle twitched.

The blond man pulled out the chest from beneath Ranboo's bed, throwing the lid. They scoffed as they took out the health potion, the various pieces of food Ranboo had stashed.

But not the communicator. It wasn't in the chest anymore.

Ranboo's eyes flicked over at Techno, who kept one of his hands against his pocket subtly. A whole lot was going wrong, distantly Ranboo could be glad one thing wasn't. Techno could have heard them coming what with the ruckus the blond man was making in the hallway. And he had managed to at least hide the one item they couldn't do without.

"Check the other one," the blond said, nodding at Techno's cot. The second handler pulled out the chest but found it empty.

"He didn't know," Ranboo repeated a little quieter. And though they didn't look exactly convinced, they also clearly didn't care too much to find out the truth. Ranboo was the one who had been caught. He was the one who would be punished.

Their fingers tightened around the upper part of his arms like a vice, nails catching on the fabric of his shirt. They started pulling and Ranboo couldn't do anything but follow. He still couldn't breathe. Everything was going wrong.

"Where are you taking him?" Techno asked, voice raised a bit.

The blond man was relentless in dragging him forward. "That's none of your concern."

"I say it is," Techno growled. But Ranboo was already being pulled into the hallway and the second handler stepped in to keep Technoblade from interfering. Ranboo didn't know where they were going, didn't know what was happening. He was scared, scared and unable to breathe.

And then a completely different door was opening, heavy-set and dark oak. The pitch-black room beyond was somehow even smaller than their cell. If he'd stand in the middle he wouldn't even be able to spread his arms out without touching both walls. It was empty – no furniture, not even a light source – and smelled dewy, moisture clinging to the stones.

Stumbling over his own feet, Ranboo was shoved inside. The door closed, locked, barred. He rattled the handle but it was impossible – stupid, stupid.

It was locked and he was alone, all alone. With no idea when he'd be let out; if he'd be let out.

He couldn't breathe, inhales speeding up at the realization. No matter what he did, air refused to enter his lungs. Ranboo's eyes had become as used to the darkness as they could, but there was nothing to see aside from the walls closing in on him. His vision tunneled, shrinking down and he sunk onto the ground, pressed his back into the wall and pulled his knees up against his chest.

The room was too small and he was all alone.

Panic was an understatement for what he was experiencing. Whatever it could be called was clawing at his throat, pounding against his skull and his entire body trembled under the onslaught. He was close to leaving it behind completely, lightheaded and empty. So he dug his claws into his palms instead.

The pain was good and helpful. The pain made it so he couldn't wander. It became an anchor, a tether. Blood and warmth and sharp, sharp pain that could connect him to his own mind.

But it wouldn't help him breathe.

A whole lot could have gone wrong, Ranboo had just been foolish enough to think he'd already come up with the worst possible scenario and how to deal with it.

In the solitary darkness of his brand new cell, he figured he'd been wrong.

Techno knew as soon as he heard people approaching that something had gone wrong.

Ranboo hadn't been taken away that long ago, an hour or two at most. It was too early for Mel to pick him up. Besides, he never made that much noise when coming down the hallway. Whoever it was making their way to the cell had lighter steps, but faltered as if carrying something heavy or pulling somebody along who stumbled after, with a third person following them.

He got off the bed and knelt down to drag Ranboo's chest from beneath the cot. There was no time to decide or second-guess if there was anything else they needed more, so Techno got the communicator and slipped it in his pocket. Mere seconds after he had kicked the chest back in place the door opened.

The first thing Technoblade noticed was that Blond's face was as red as a tomato, a vein visibly bulging in their throat as they yelled erratically. The second and to Techno far more pressing issue was the way they were dragging Ranboo around as if he were a rag doll. If it weren't for his enderman genetics, Ranboo's arm would have been forced out of its socket by such manhandling.

Techno kept calm – it was in their best interest to defuse the situation. But what he wouldn't give to bash their head into the wall.

"He doesn't know!" Ranboo said suddenly, seemingly coming back to himself a little. His eyes were wide, pupils narrowed to thin slits. Terrified.

Chat didn't like that one bit and neither did Techno. He forced himself to remain calm.

They checked the chest and Technoblade was glad he'd taken the communicator when he had the chance. While this would throw a wrench in their escape plan for sure, at least they wouldn't need to start from scratch. As Blond emptied Ranboo's chest and pocketed all that he'd managed to gather over the past weeks, Techno made eye contact with him instead.

Barely, he moved his wrist, putting his fingers over his pocket casually. He couldn't tell if Ranboo had gotten the message.

"Check the other one."

Techno moved aside, allowing the other handler he didn't recognize to look under his bed. They never moved any of the supplies – never had any reason to – and apparently, that was paying off.

"He didn't know," Ranboo said again. Blond side-eyed him, doubtful. Then as if deciding they didn't care either way, they grabbed Ranboo's arm again. The enderman flinched but didn't wrench loose or defend himself, resigned to his fate. They started leaving the room.

Techno didn't need to be a genius to have an incredibly bad feeling about this.

"Where are you taking him?" If he failed to sound as calm any longer, that would be for him to deal with later.

"That's none of your concern," Blond answered. They already had their back turned on Techno.

And he spent a spare thought on imagining what he'd do if they'd come alone. Techno would not have to hesitate before grabbing them by the collar and showing them in no uncertain terms what he thought of that.

Naturally, they were a coward and hadn't come alone. When Techno advanced on them the other handler was quick to bar his way. "I say it is!" he tried, knowing it wouldn't help. Ignoring him, the blond man left the room with Ranboo firmly in his grip.

The unknown handler stood still waiting for what Techno would do, position overly defensive. Techno stared them down for a moment.

He raised his arms with a sarcastic "boo" but they didn't look to be appreciating his dry sense of humor. They closed the door behind them when they left and just like that Techno was all by himself. With not a clue where they had taken Ranboo or when he'd be brought back.

And worse, what they would do to him in the meantime.

"This will be your last fight," Mel said. "The auction is the day after tomorrow."

As much as Technoblade was grateful to have the warning, he couldn't muster up the appropriate reaction. He didn't know where Ranboo was, Chat wouldn't stop pestering him about it. His own worried thoughts wouldn't stop pestering him about it either.

He told Ranboo they needed more supplies. Did they really though? Couldn't they have managed with what they already had? He hadn't weighted the potential gains with the very real risks and now Ranboo was paying the price.

Technoblade might have ruined their best shot at getting the heck out of there.

He didn't bother going through with his initial plan to smuggle a weapon back to their cell either. Not only was it doubtful they'd have a second chance to break out, Techno knew he'd be more closely watched now than he had been before. They probably didn't believe Ranboo's insistence that the escape plan was a solo endeavor. They simply hadn't seen the point in punishing both of them when this was just as effective.

His opponent was a challenger. Techno didn't recognize her. He couldn't tell if he should.

Her face was a blur to him, her voice static. It was impossible to concentrate with his mind someplace else. When their cue for the battle to start reached Techno through the haze, he made an effort to pull back to the present, to the situation at hand. Deal with this fight first, then figure out what to do about Ranboo.

There had to be something he could do.

protect Ranboo
E
E
pretty sure he needs your help asap actually
E
I vote we just leave him
wow rude
shut the fuck up for real
E
what do you think these folks' idea of a punishment is?
major L for Ranboo
E

Helpful as usual. Techno tuned Chat out, readjusted the sword in his grip. The woman moved slowly, calculated. She had the more patient fighting style you'd expect to find in a tactician, but when she struck she did so unrelentingly. Techno blocked her attacks with some difficulty, a gap in her defense would be harder to find compared to others. He needed to really concentrate.

Why couldn't he?

His first attempt at a counter was deflected. His second attempt never got close to hitting home. The crowd was getting louder as the fight dragged on, the voices were getting more frantic. His head pounded with their combined clamor.

Physical sanctions would probably be avoided if Ranboo was to be sold as an exhibit. A possession you'd show off to get bragging rights. Techno was sickened by the idea – but maybe it would play into their advantage this once. They wouldn't want to inflict any visible injuries on valuable merchandise.

what about invisible injuries?
E
you'd be surprised what a good shirt can hide
E
E
psychological torture pog?
E
we know how good memory boy deals with mental warfare

Isolation? It was possible. Confine their prized showpiece to a small, dark room where he'd have no chance to run away before they'd make the bucks they were looking for.

But where then-

Techno's train of thought hit a roadblock when his opponent lodged her sword in his shoulder.

And he couldn't be angry, since it was his own fault he got distracted. He couldn't be entirely bothered either. The burning pinch where the blade dug into him was a faster way to drag him down to reality than anything else. She moved up and towards his armpit when she drew back, making sure to carry through a bigger target. If she'd done a better job at it, she might have even been able to sever the tendons needed for Technoblade to move his arm.

(Compared to what Ranboo could be going through at this very moment, it was nothing)

It did help him focus, long enough to finally slip between her attacks. When she raised again – finding false confidence in drawing his blood and getting sloppy – Techno moved. It was over before she could react.

Today, he didn't wait for the referee to name him a victor. He didn't wait for the audience applause to die out nor give the customary post-match respect to the fallen fighter. Techno walked back to the armory and then straight through it and past whoever called out his name. He didn't stop walking until he reached his cell again and could sit down.

The cot opposite his was empty and his victory had never felt as hollow before.

The person who had called after him had followed him. Mel, carrying a roll of gauze and a stern expression of pitiful reproach. And Techno didn't respond but sat there dutifully to receive his scolding for misbehaving – or for putting himself in danger. He couldn't tell which.

He sat there and allowed the bandage to be applied to his bleeding shoulder and acknowledged Mel's prompting to keep some pressure on the wound only with a nod. But he didn't move as the handler left the room again in a hurry.

(You promised to keep Ranboo safe, one of the voices reminded him. More vindictive and tainted than its brethren. There were always a few like that, but usually Techno had an easier time keeping them out. For some reason, he listened to it now. Perhaps because it was right.

He had promised to keep Ranboo safe.)

Techno sat there and watched red start seeping through the bandage, unable to bring himself to do anything about it, wondering what the point of it all had been if he couldn't make true on that promise.

His throat hurt from screaming.

Raw, aching. He hadn't started there. No, it was a gradual descent. A slippery slope stumbled towards in blind darkness until you tripped and fell headfirst and slid the rest of the way down down down-

Ranboo had begun by telling himself to stay calm (and knowing it would fail miserably).

Breathing, in tempo. Counting to know how long for each inhale, for each exhale. Tubbo would often count for him. When he was having an anxiety attack the numbers got all messed up in his head and the seconds were too hard to keep track of so Tubbo would take Ranboo's hands and count out loud, telling him all he had to do was follow along.

Tubbo wasn't with him though – nobody was, he was alone. Ranboo had to count all by himself. He couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. He ticked his claws against the stone and that worked, kinda? It was a good enough substitute. Breathe in time with the noise, easy.

Except then there was nothing else but the noise. The room was too quiet, too small. And there was no sound except his claws tapping against the floor, getting quicker. It turned into a continuous scratching and then he forced himself to stop and he could breathe a bit better but he still could barely see or hear. He got up – stupid. There was nowhere to go.

Walking circles around the cell and walking circles around his own thoughts. They still needed to get out. Everything had gone wrong and they needed to get out. The room was so small and Ranboo needed to get out. Everywhere his tails flicked it hit solid stone, his feet kept bumping into the walls. The room was so, so small.

Ranboo's head was starting to hurt but he couldn't give into it. He couldn't lose his hold on the present.

(Maybe it would allow him to get out, but Prime only knows where he'd end up instead)

He crept his hands along the bricks, looking for cracks. Any part of the surface he could work with. There were small dents and fractures, wide enough to force his claws into. Chip, chip, chip. Until it tore the skin and he bled and then Ranboo screamed.

He stumbled back, hit the wall and crumpled. Curled up, held his bleeding fingers. This wasn't going to work. Stupid, stupid. He needed to wait, wait for them to open the door and come get him. They wouldn't lock him up forever. No, this was punishment. He had been a bad person.

This was his deserved reward.

Except it wasn't? This was all wrong and he needed to get out. He got up and the cycle continued. They didn't bring him food or water. He didn't sleep. He lost track of time. And Ranboo screamed.

How long? Hours, perhaps. Days, months, years? Ranboo wouldn't be able to tell the difference anymore. He had been locked up forever. Had he ever not been locked up? He must have been, must have known the outside world. Must have known blue skies and fresh air and the feeling of grass beneath his feet.

Not that he could remember any of that now. Smudges filtered through, colors and motion. The shape of a face he would want to cradle or arms he would want to hold him. People who made him feel safe or places he would have called home. Ranboo had forgotten who would be waiting for him if he ever got out. Instinctively, he reached for something in his pocket but there was nothing there. It sent him into a panicked frenzy once more – more panic, more, more. Why wasn't it there? He needed it to remember. He needed it.

It hurt, ached, tore his heart to shreds. He rocked back and forth, slammed his hands against his forehead several times. "Think, think, think-" He could implore his uncooperative memory for all eternity but it wouldn't help.

Had there been anyone there in the first place? Maybe he had made them up.

Right, yes. That had to be it. The house in the snow and the people who had helped him build it. The room with the table and chairs that he went to and then they talked about things that concerned them and afterward, they went upstairs and there were snacks and laughter and one time Ranboo set off fireworks against the boreal lights. The mansion big enough to play hide-and-seek in where it was never cold, almost smelled of honey and flowers. Sitting on a bench and listening to music that they could sing along to.

None of it was real. He had made it all up.

Exhaustion was pulling at his remaining thoughts, lulling them to join the numbness that was there. Ranboo lied down, hunched in on himself to make it more likely for his body warmth to linger through the night, before falling into an uneasy sleep.

A man entered.

Ranboo did not remember them. He was sitting against the wall, tail curled around his legs. Arms braced on his knees. The light burnt his eyes, Ranboo almost flinched. It felt like he hadn't known that door to open in ages.

The man said something, slowly coming closer to him. Their hair was short, green. Ranboo wasn't scared of them for some reason. They knelt before him and helped him drink from a cup of water. Even though his throat was still raw from his breakdown, Ranboo was parched. He hadn't had anything to drink since... well, since getting locked up and he didn't know when that was. It felt forever but he knew how his mind could get.

Tricking him, deceiving him, abandoning him.

He drank the water and nodded gratefully. Words were too hard on him for now. Standing felt too hard as well but they still helped him up with hands on his elbows. Ranboo couldn't concentrate on where they were going but he didn't need to with them leading him. And there was light and space and he was out of the horrible room.

He could breathe again.

They approached another door. Another cell? He didn't have the energy left to panic, as much as the idea of being locked up again terrified him.

It wasn't the same kind of horrible tiny cramped space. Not quite the picture of luxury either, but there were proper beds at least and a small table that had some food on it. Ranboo hadn't been very aware of his hunger before, but smelling whatever it was that sat on the tray made his stomach growl. He was so distracted by it, he didn't even notice there was another person in the room.

Not until they practically jumped him. Their hands hovered over his face, his shoulders, his arms in turn systematically checking him for injuries. They were talking too but the words all flew by too quickly. Ranboo couldn't really keep up.

Then, finally a question he did understand. "Ranboo, are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I... I don't think so. I just- I-" his chest hitched, his breathing was getting all fucked again.

He wasn't in the small room anymore but still his mind wouldn't behave.

Except the person pulled him closer. Despite Ranboo being probably a head taller than them – Ranboo was usually several heads taller than everyone – they made it work by putting their hand on the back of his neck and forcing his chin down to fit against their collarbone. Their grip was firm, enclosing, warm. Ranboo expected it to make him panic more, remind him of the claustrophobia he had felt in the small room. Instead, he sunk into its comfort.

And he finally felt somewhat safe again.

"Techno," he mumbled – almost as if he needed the confirmation. Double-check if his memory wasn't still playing tricks on him. Technoblade nodded against him. "How long was I away?"

"Two days. It's uh, auction day or whatchamacallit."

"Oh..." Techno pulled away from him and Ranboo reluctantly let go. If he could have, he'd love to have remained like that. Just until he didn't feel as if his entire mind was fragmented anymore. There was no time for it, he had to pull himself together. "That's not good."

Techno's shirt was dirty, stained blood around the shoulder. There was a bandage, but it hadn't seemed to have done its work. Ranboo was too apprehensive to ask about it.

"We'll figure something out," Techno said. If nothing else, his nonchalance about a very dire situation was admirable.

They still had the communicator. They still had a few hours left. Ranboo had lost all certainty of their escape, yet he wasn't as scared anymore. Not now that they were together again.

"Yeah," he agreed. "We'll figure something out."

The auction would not be held in the coliseum.

This deserved a separate space on the server dedicated to nothing but the sale of people, a place with the appropriate amount of bells and whistles to make the illegal act seem almost appealing to those that engaged in it but who still had a smidge of morality in their bodies. Somewhere ornate and hidden, where they could masque their dirty market from the public eye.

Technoblade did not care when two handlers arrived to take them there. He was prepared, or as prepared as he could be under the given circumstances. The communicator was hidden on his person, and he had gotten Ranboo to eat and drink as much as he could stomach – who knew how long it would be before either of them could get a proper meal again.

Whatever it would take, they would break out.

They were shackled properly this time, no more flimsy ropes. Dark blackened metal cuffs with curse of unbinding, because the universe was cruel and prone to make things harder for Technoblade than they had any right being. Chat was already giving him the good ol' L routine.

It was just another small hitch in the continued disaster that their escape attempts had been so far.

Outside, several more slaves had been lined up to be auctioned off. Techno saw the woman who had broken his nose during one of his first fights, and a younger boy he'd seen mucking about the armory as a helper. One handler took the front and one the back, while the others kept on either side to keep their merchandise from wandering. Mel was among them, walking to the side of Ranboo and not making any eye contact. It all was a little too rehearsed to instill any confidence that they'd make a mistake.

And thus, little chance that there would be a good opportunity.

Nobody spoke – Technoblade knew the handlers would have told them to shut up if they'd tried – and before long they were near the back of another building. Techno looked up at the windows, curtains drawn, sloped roof and cornered in on either side by more houses. It didn't look all too different from the auction house back on Hypixel, only that they were being brought in through the rear entrance instead of the front. Because they were delivered wares, not potential costumers.

The handler who had been ahead slammed their fist on the door three times then waited. A few seconds later it was opened, the gruff-looking fellow who had answered it gave them all a cursory glance before standing aside to let them in.

What they were let into could only be described as a backroom at best, and that was when Techno was being generous. Crates lined the walls almost high enough to touch the ceiling and it was a mess of items the store probably sold on the regular. They were being sent a different direction though, through another door behind which a staircase to the basement was hiding. Techno memorized as much as he could – knowing Ranboo was doing the same by how his eyes flicked around the room – all small details they would need to remember to get out in a hurry later.

Then they got to the basement itself and it was like when they first arrived at the market all over again.

From what Techno could see, they had broken out the walls of the basements on the neighboring houses to enlarge their own, making it almost triple its original size. The walls and floors were decorated with plush carpetings and drapes, chandeliers, flowers, gold framework – anything to make it not feel as cellar-y anymore. And the most eye-catching element of all was the stage set front and center at the other end of the room, a gaudy wooden contraption where the auctioneer would do their thing.

The salesroom already had plenty of people in it – both slaves and interested buyers - the first of which were put on display along the walls with their own little wooden podiums just large enough for one person to stand on. Techno tried not to look at them as they passed them by, tried not to think of how these people were probably even worse of than them. Taken from their homes and brought to this server by slave traders willing to sell them off to who knows where.

He had to focus on his current goals. Get out, get Ranboo home safe. Then come back and destroy this place.

The podiums had a metal ring set in their bottoms to which the shackles around their wrists could attach. The handlers set Techno up on one, Ranboo on the next. They left and just like that they were alone. Or as alone as one could be in a room full of strangers.

"This is cozy," Techno said.

Ranboo wheezed, a half laugh half sound of distress. "Better than the box, much better than the box." His tail flicked. "Anything better than the box." Calling it a box somehow helped him deal with what happened. Techno didn't argue.

Two owners sauntered over to them. They were watching the slaves they passed with disinterest, sneering in disgust at most of them. When they got to Techno the woman tried to move on immediately without giving him a second glance, eyes set on something else. But the man whose arm she was chronically clinging to stopped, looking him up and down. He seemed to consider for a moment before deciding against it and turning his attention to whatever had his companion in such a trance.

Which was Ranboo.

"Oh, look at this one!" She spoke about Ranboo as if he wasn't perfectly capable of hearing and understanding her. "Isn't it just darling? What strange hair-" Leaning up on tiptoes to touch it, she was only held back by the man pulling her away a step.

"Don't touch it. It hasn't been trained yet, who knows what it'll do?"

"I uh, I don't bite." Ranboo looked bashful, almost as if he'd be ashamed to speak out. Or maybe he just didn't know if they'd expect him to.

Either way, the woman giggled. "It's adorable. Can we take it home?"

"Hm..." the man considered Ranboo carefully. "Enderman, huh? Rare. It's gonna be expensive."

Letting go of his arm, the woman crossed her own with a pout. Like a child throwing a tantrum over being denied a toy they had been promised. "You said I could get anything I wanted today."

Technoblade wanted to puke in his mouth.

Her husband watched her with a fond smile, reached out to cup her cheek. "Yes, of course, Dear. We'll see about getting it, yeah? Pick out some other favorites just in case though."

The encounter left Techno feeling bizarre, otherworldly. This was the kind of thing hybrids grew up hearing about in cautionary bedtime stories, tales to scare unruly children into obeying their parents and not running off in crowded places. Sure, part of him had always known there was some truth to the myths – part of him had known slave trading was a real thing. A thing hybrids and humans alike fell victim to if the others 'on sale' in this room were any proof.

But there was such a difference between that and these people who were treating a slave auction no different than they would a trip down to the local market to buy a pet.

Others passed to stare at them too. Ranboo got a lot of attention, his uniqueness drawing in not only possible buyers but anyone wanting to see what an enderman hybrid looked like. He was clearly struggling with having that many eyes on him. None of the owners cared for his comfort – which might perfectly illustrate what his life would be should one of them decide to buy him.

Some people were interested in Techno also, as Mel had predicted they seemed to be mercenaries and similar types looking to buy up skilled but affordable army recruits. Techno didn't pay them much mind, focussing on all the other things going on in the room. Still searching for an opening to escape.

Nothing, absolutely nothing. They were running out of time.

He didn't find anything helpful as the room slowly filled even more and then the auctioneer took their place on the stage. One by one the slaves were brought up to the front and bid on, the screaming loud and distracting Technoblade from what he was trying to do. He kept searching until a handler came to unhook his shackles and lead him forth to be sold, an animal brought to slaughter.

The auctioneer was a young, distinct-looking person with slicked hair, pulled tight into a low ponytail. Their eyes were big, deep-set, and sparkled in the room's dazzling light. They read out loud from a piece of paper.

"Next thing up is a piglin hybrid. Good condition, some wear and tear but nothing that should keep it from doing its job according to the sellers. It has experience in fighting and has been trained at the arena to become one of their most feared warriors."

Wow, Techno was almost impressed by them spouting such bold lies with a straight face. They had hardly finished their sentence before the first bid was made, by one of the guys who had been looking at Techno earlier. It went back and forth between people for a bit while steadily rising until a clear voice rang out over the others to double the prize.

It was the general Technoblade had fought in the arena.

At their offer, everybody else fell silent. Suddenly, nobody seemed interested in bidding anymore. Either this man's reputation was holding them back or they didn't see the worth in spending that much on a disposable recruit. Pleased, the man waited for the auctioneer to finish his spiel and wrap up.

"Going once... going twice..." They left it in the air, but nobody was going to butt in this late. "Sold to the gentleman in the atrocious uniform." Their quip got a small chuckle out of the crowd at least. The general grinned thinly, unamused.

The same handler removed Techno from the stage again. One down, one to go.

And he hadn't come any closer to figuring out their next plan.

They didn't take Ranboo up right away.

Something about keeping the best for last, perhaps. He shifted, fidgeted in place but with nowhere to go. Technoblade had gone and been sold. Sold to the man in the uniform who Ranboo could tell was bad news, he just couldn't tell why. After they brought him back they took some other slaves from the arena. And Ranboo was left standing, standing, standing.

"Listen Ranboo," Techno said once the handlers were gone again and they had a short moment of peace before the next person would be fetched and brought forward for sale. Only a few seconds to talk – only a few seconds to spare. "When you're up there I need you to cause a distraction. I don't really care what you do, just make everybody look at you."

Ranboo nodded, stopped. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to break these shackles." Techno pulled up his arms, the few inches of leeway he had until the chain that attached them to their display stand pulled taut.

"T-they're curse of unbinding, how're you going to-"

"Force."

"That's..." And Ranboo stopped. Because normally this would be where he protests, where he told Techno not to do something that could harm him. Common sense and all that. Except Technoblade's been sold and Ranboo will soon be as well and then they'll never see each other again. What other options did they have? "That's probably gonna hurt," he decided on.

"Probably," Technoblade agreed. "And it's going to be obvious what I'm doing, so I need you to cover for me."

They didn't get the chance to say anything else. The four other slaves from the arena were sold and then the handler came back and grabbed Ranboo's chain and he didn't know what to do, couldn't really do anything before he was being pulled along. And if earlier had been bad, with all the people standing around him and inspecting him like a cut of meat they'd want to feed to their children, then this would be about a million times worse.

People stared at him.

Their eyes burned holes in his skin, set it aflame with horrifying itches and Ranboo wanted to shrink back or run or hide but they'd attached the chain to the auctioneer's podium instead. He could only take a single step any which way.

"Now this one's a treat, folks. I'm sure many of you already got a good look at it on the sale's floor," the man selling him began, gesturing with their gavel in Ranboo's direction. "A real rare specimen. Ideal for any collector looking to take their collection to the next level. Or perhaps a special curiosity for the peculiars wanting to outdo their friends in uncommon finds. You can really pick apart this one!"

Some scattered laughter rose from the crowd. Ranboo didn't get the joke – hopefully, he'd never get it.

"Not that sitting around and looking pretty is all it can do." They referred to their sheets of paper for the next part. "The arena reports lots of potential for future growth in combat skills and notes the possible discovery of other abilities not yet seen due to its heritage. Quite a mouthful if you ask me. Can we get an opening bid?"

The crowd was clamoring, screams ringing out from several different corners. The price rose higher than what any of the other slaves had been sold for in a matter of minutes and Ranboo couldn't do anything but dumbly stand there. Should he take it as a compliment? He didn't and it wasn't really. If anything it left a bad taste in his mouth. It did mean a lot of attention was on him already though, there wasn't much he'd need to do to create Techno's diversion. Just something to get the few remaining heads turning.

"Uh, I can do this?" Nobody was listening to him. Ranboo bend down and exhaled. He hadn't been practicing as much – and it came more easily to him with some blocks as opposed to others. But he knew it would draw attention. With no tools, only his bare hands and a little concentration, he picked up a part of the wooden stage.

Ranboo held it tightly to his chest, almost cradling it. Even under these rather bizarre circumstances, the action brought him satisfaction, it always made a burst of warm comfort break out in his chest. The block felt as if it belonged there, as if he'd done well in picking it up. He looked around for somewhere to put it down again.

Between more bidding, people finally started to notice what he'd done. The auctioneer gasped and muttered a half-smothered 'oh my' but recovered quickly. "I'd say you can expect some surprises with this one," they said, their voice carried across the room.

Ranboo smiled politely. He could put the wood back where he got it, but that'd just feel wrong. He put it behind him, scooting to the side to avoid the gap he'd created in the stage. There. Much better.

"Double!" somebody yelled across the room. "I'll double whatever they're offering!"

More noise, more outcries. Ranboo was getting dizzy trying to follow what he was being sold for. It sounded like a large enough sum to buy half a server. Why did these people want to spend that on him? What could he possibly have to offer them that'd make him worth that much?

What would happen if he couldn't satisfy their needs?

It had worked, however. Even those not interested in bidding on him were watching the spectacle that was devolving. Nobody was paying any mind to the other slaves in the room. Ranboo stared in the opposite direction, not wanting to accidentally give Technoblade away by being too obvious in where he was looking.

Gradually, the rate at which people were bidding slowed down to a trickle, then just two people. The man who was part of the couple that had been staring at Ranboo earlier and a rather gruff older man who didn't raise his hand to bid but instead gestured with an ornate steel cane that had a ruby set into the top. They went back and forth a bit, before the couple finally had to give up – presumably not able to top the newest offer. The woman looked very disappointed by this.

Ranboo thought about how she had begged her husband to get him for her, like begging for a puppy. A small cute animal for her to fawn over until inevitably growing sick of it and discarding it in a corner when it started to bore her. He shuddered.

"Sold!" The auctioneer smacked their gavel down onto the wood in front of them. "Looks like Sir cane has earned himself the privilege to take this one home." They turned their paper over, finding no more underneath. "And with that, we'll conclude the auction. Return customers will know the deal, you'll clear your bill and all particularities at the store's upstairs arrangement first and they'll tell you how to retrieve your items."

Ranboo was led off-stage and back to the spot he had occupied earlier. Clearly, it was the intention that the slaves would remain while the customers who had bought them took care of the financial side of things before being allowed to take them home. How long that would take – if it were a matter of minutes or hours – Ranboo had no idea.

And he'd never find out.

The handler had just crouched down to reattach his shackles to the small podium when Techno jumped on them. The tethers between his hands had been snapped, the iron hanging loosely around his wrists. Ranboo could see the burn marks of the enchantment etched into the skin of Techno's palms and wrists. He had brute-forced them, the expected last ditch resort.

Techno wrapped his arms around the handler's unsuspecting throat and punched them, leaving their body crumpled onto the ground. Then he grabbed Ranboo's hand. "Run!"

People were yelling. Somebody made a grab for Ranboo's shoulder but he ducked beneath it. They dashed towards the door and Techno stopped, pushing Ranboo up in front of him. "Go, go!" He turned around and took the chain off his arms, wrapping it around the door's closed handle and a torch bracket in the wall. There was no telling how long it would hold, but it'd buy them a few extra minutes.

Ranboo was already near the top of the stairs. They could either try the front of the store – risky, unknown to them, might be busy – or flee through the back. Ranboo went ahead, hearing Techno's hooves on the wood behind him. They burst into the backroom almost in tandem, only one more door separating them from the outside, from freedom.

Two men stood guard there.

Mel made eye contact with Ranboo, sea-green widening. His chin tilted upward, fingers tightening around the spear he was leaning on. The other guard shifted when they saw them, expression darkening.

"What the hell d-"

They didn't get to finish their sentence. Mel had used the spear to swipe their feet from under them then used it to knock them out. He stood there, looking surprised by his own actions. As if he'd done it before reason could catch up to conscious thought.

Ranboo knew the gratefulness was plain to see on his own face.

The door downstairs was slammed into by a shoulder. Somebody was throwing their whole weight into bursting it open. It wouldn't take long for them to accomplish their goal.

"Hurry!" Mel opened the outside door for them, shoved them through. At the last moment, he hesitated and retrieved something from his belt. He pushed it into Ranboo's hand. His brother's knife. "Go! Don't look back!"

Ranboo only had time for a hurried nod and then they were running again, fleeing into the fading light.

The thing about enchantments was that they weren't close to being foolproof.

Some spells had more powerful effects and the manner in which you applied them to items could change how effective they were. But curse of binding was not renowned for its potency. A stubborn enough opponent would be able to force their way through it with ease.

Technoblade knew a thing or two about stubbornness.

The magic had left angry red welts on the palms of his hands, digging into the metal as he had. Pulling at where he knew the weaker points of the chain would be, the spots it had been welded together. As soon as they brought Ranboo back from the stage Techno had grabbed him and ran. They were still running.

The forests that grew around this server were dense, thick with undergrowth and bushes that would make it a pain to traverse for long periods of time – let alone at night. It was impossible to find their way and it was small too. Sooner or later they'd run the risk of ending up where they started again. Technoblade ran and didn't stop until the air was cutting into his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Ranboo was wheezing and panting, almost unable to keep up.

So he paused. Ranboo doubled over immediately, hands on his knees.

"We got out?!" he asked then, unbelieving. The adrenaline hadn't worn off yet, Techno was still high from it as well.

"We got out," he said, laughing. Something quiet and pleased that turned into a full-chest joy. "We got out – man, did you see their faces?! We're out!"

"We're out!" Ranboo repeated and threw up his arms before wincing when it hurt his side. "Ouch, okay, enough running. Plenty of running."

"Yeah..." Techno reached into his pocket. The communicator hadn't fallen out. The voices said it would – some of them had tried tricking him into thinking it already had. But it was still there. "Let's see if we can work with this thing?"

Techno fiddled with the button, watching the screen light up. There was barely a sliver of battery left. It didn't have any connection to the server's network either, though it was searching around attempting to make one. "Hm."

"What does 'hm' mean? Is that a bad 'hm' or a good 'hm'?" Ranboo asked anxiously, the jubilation over their escape already dying out. It was only step one, part one. They weren't any closer to getting home if they couldn't get the communicator to work.

"It's gonna need a moment," Techno said, showing Ranboo the screen. "We shouldn't stay out in the open, they're looking for us."

They walked for a little, until they could find a spot more guarded by trees. Techno sat down to wait, balanced the communicator on his leg. Ranboo sank onto his knees next to him. The chains still constricting his hands rattled with the movement.

"C'me here." Techno held out his hands. Ranboo outstretched his own arms. Techno took hold of each cuff in turn and broke them off, hissing when the enchantment burnt him.

When he was done the communicator dinged. Techno picked it up, smirked at the sight of the full bar signifying they could send out a message. "Okay, who do we text?"

Ranboo leaned closer into him to watch as well. "Well, uh, Phil... I was thinking Phil."

"Get the old man to bail us out, cringe." But Techno was already typing away. He send the message, followed by the coordinates of the server.

[You said: Hey Phil if you're free could you come pick us up? I think we're lost. Ranboo says hi btw. ]

The screen flickered, inching closer to losing battery life.

[Phil said: on my way]

"And now we wait." He put the communicator back into his pocket. It would fall without power and turn off within a few minutes. They had done all they could.

Ranboo messed with the knife in his hands. Technoblade had seen Mel hand it to him, but they'd been too much in a hurry to take anything else. At least one weapon was better than no weapon. The danger hadn't passed yet. It could easily take a day or two for Phil to arrive, and in the meantime, they'd be sitting ducks out here.

They needed water and food. They needed shelter to sleep, rest. They needed to stay on the move to make it harder for the handlers to track them. They needed-

A branch broke nearby.

Both of them went motionless, the sudden quiet absorbing even the background noise of life so prevalent in the woodlands. Not a bird moved from within its branch cage and no wind dare stir the smallest leave. Slowly – ever so slowly as to not make the tiniest sound – Techno pressed back against the tree he was sitting near.

The one footstep was followed by others. It was only three people, split off from a larger group to cover more ground. And Techno wanted to curse himself because he knew they hadn't gone far enough. He knew these forests were not frequently traveled ground so their wild dash into freedom must have left a convenient little trail behind anybody could track.

As far as hiding went, they had done an abysmal job.

Voices reached them, too labored to be comprehensible. Those in pursuit had been running. That explained how they'd managed to catch up relatively quickly. Ranboo looked at Techno, and he looked back. Neither of them dared to so much as breathe.

Just as the group was passing them by without a clue, the communicator shut down with a loud ding.

L
L
L
E
why do those things even make a sound when they shut off
L
E
t hat's called comedic timing

Technoblade shot upright before the echo had faded. The man closest to their location was halfway turned, Techno wouldn't allow them to get their bearing enough to attack. He wrestled them to the ground, pried their sword from their hands and turned it on them instead. They pushed back but he braced his knee in their gut and sunk the sword into their throat. Blood gurgled from their lips.

The other two had realized what was going on by then. One was younger, inexperienced. Techno didn't recognize them, they hung back and were obviously scared of him. The other one had long hair and was wearing amor. Techno had seen them around the armory before.

"Well, if it isn't the runaway slaves. How about you surrender to us now and we won't harm either of you," they said it with such malice, Techno knew it was a lie.

But he had a sword now, a weapon. And the numbers were even. This was a whole different playing field from the arena.

They saw his non-compliance and sighed, raising their own blade. Techno caught their attacks, but noticed the second handler move around from the corner of his eye, trying to flank him. Ranboo was on them before they could think about it. He only had the knife so it was less than ideal, the odds were probably still in their favor.

Especially since they were a rookie; flailing and clumsy. They lashed out and cut Ranboo across the cheek, a lucky hit. The man fighting Techno panicked.

"Hey, we actually need that one alive!"

And it was all the information Techno needed.

He'd caused too much trouble, he wasn't worth it anymore. They were going to kill him, and then they were going to take Ranboo back and sell him to the freak willing to spend half a fortune on him. Techno wasn't about to let that happen. With the handler distracted it wasn't hard to overpower them. Ranboo had stabbed the other guy, leaving the two of them alone in the misleading quiet of the forest. It was impossible to tell how many others might be out there looking for them.

All they knew was that they wouldn't be alone for long.

"You're bleeding," Ranboo said.

Techno hadn't even noticed it, but they did manage to deliver a cut to his thigh that was looking rather badly. Not too bad, nothing he couldn't walk off. Easily ignorable, he decided. "We should leave before more show up," he said. Picking up a bandana from one of the fallen handlers, he wrapped it around the wound.

Ranboo looked out at the forest with a frown, calm and deceptive. The one thing hiding them from their enemies, but also hiding the danger from them. Their biggest ally and their greatest foe.

And the one thing that would hopefully keep them alive until backup arrived.