Chapter Text
Death’s Angel had seen many battles in his time. He’d participated in his own for centuries, and using a blade and bow came as naturally to him as using his own wings. Techno had seen his own fair share, come out of many with blood stains on his hands, on his fingers. Ones that never really went away. Somewhere in the past 100 years or so, the two had found each other. They shared a bond that went far beyond what others could see. They fought with and against each other, with a rage and bloodthirstiness known only to their adversaries.
They fought the same way now, with that bold recklessness that only came with years upon years of experience, and years upon years of confidence. Back to back, parrying, stabbing at others, muttering under their breaths as they easily deflected the enemy hunters’ various weapons.
Philza didn’t know how it happened.
Philza didn’t see the flash of a dagger as it beelined towards his side.
Philza didn’t feel the pain of it lodging itself into his abdomen, his adrenaline rush from the battle too high, his head tipped back in a cackle as enemies fell at his feet.
Philza didn’t feel the warm trail of his own blood trickling down his body.
Philza didn’t realize until it was too late.
Technoblade fought with a red haze in his eyes. He could see nothing but the forms flitting into his vision, his sword crashing into their shields, their armor. It was laughable, honestly, how easily they collapsed in front of him. He could feel the warmth of Phil at his back, could hear his frantic laughter as he cut down his own opponents. This was a battle like any other, for the two of them, Techno mused.
The two hybrids had been searching for someplace to set up camp, as they’d agreed upon a well-deserved break from their travels, when a group of about a dozen hunters had happened upon them. Looking for a form of entertainment, the pair had given each other a wickedly excited look, each picking up their respective weapons. Techno’s sword was a familiar, comfortable weight in his hand as he fought, slicing through skin and bone.
Then, the familiar pressure at his back disappeared. Techno shot a quick glance behind him, seeing Phil’s face locked in a pained grimace, a hand pressed to his side as he went on the defense, movements sluggish. Techno realizes that something has gone wrong. Horribly, frighteningly wrong. He goes on the offensive, pushing back against the enemy until those facing him are gone. He turns to the one Phil is facing, managing to catch a hard blow as Phil stumbles, sword drooping. Sliding between them, he finishes it quickly.
Turning, he surveys the damage, making sure they’re all dead. The red haze began to fade, and with a mutter, he massaged his forehead to temporarily deal with the headache always left behind. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breathes.
guys we won literally shut up
bruhhhhhh
technoheadache
technosick??
chat he’s fine just let him take a breather
eeeeeee
blood for the blood goooooooood
Chat was interrupted by a groan, and a muffled thump from behind him.
PHILZA?
PHILLLLLL
HELP CROWFATHER HE’S BLEEDING
GuYS THOSE ArE SPOILERS STOP
Shit. They were right. Phil needed help, and Techno still didn’t know what was wrong. He turned, only to see a crumpled figure. He dropped to his knees, not caring for the dirt and mud underfoot.
“Phil?” The man responded with a gasp as Techno navigated him closer, clutching him close against his chest.
“Nghhh-“
“Hey, hey- Can you look at me?” He frantically cupped Phil’s cheek, his eyes flitting over the other mans body, desperately checking for injury. That’s when the smell hit him. Blood. The strong coppery smell wouldn’t have been concerning except for the fact that it was coming from next to him, from Phil, and that shouldn’t be happening.
Phil’s glassy eyes fluttered, blearily looking up at him. Techno chanced a small smile at him, brushing the mans hair back as he stared at the wound on his side. It was what looked to be a dagger wound, if the offending weapon clutched tightly in Phil’s hand was any indication.
Shit. The nearest village was nearly thirty minutes away, walking. They’d made sure of that, so they could try to get away from the hunters. But Techno didn’t have what he needed to treat this, not with all the blood Phil had lost. So with tear-filled eyes, he scooped Phil into his arms, wincing at the gasp of pain the smaller man let out when his injury was jostled. Murmuring apologies, he set off at a run.
He kept running, even as Phil slumped against him. Even as Phil’s eyes closed and didn’t reopen. Even when he reached down and could no longer feel a fluttering pulse.
He had to get a totem.
It was his only chance.