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It was pure chaos.
Sure, a battlefield tended to always be chaotic, but it didn’t happen everyday that someone dared to ambush the Angel of Death and the Blood God. And it was a really good ambush, Technoblade had to admit.
Him and Philza were only just on their way home to the Empire, both exhausted from their long journey.
They had visited the second global convention, representing the Antarctic Empire before all the other nations of the SMP. It was a time for negotiations and trade deals, for peace contracts and subtle displays of power.
After almost a week filled with tiring talks and lengthy speeches, finally the whole thing was over, and the leaders of the multiple nations moved back home again. Techno had longed so much for the calming silence and the endless planes of snow that made up their freezing home, and Phil couldn’t wait to stretch his wings again, sailing the glistening vastness of the Arctic.
Their journey back was accompanied by pleasant conversation and companionate silence, them both enjoying each other’s company and the prospect of being home soon. They had ridden on their horses, Techno occasionally leading Phil’s horse when the avian flew some distance, circling over his piglin friend.
They were only a few miles out from the Arctic, snow already covering the ground, when Techno stopped them, ears twitching. He had thought he heard something, the voices whispering louder. Philza beside him had immediately unsheathed his sword and unfolded his wings in preparation.
Then, without warning, a bolt came flying out of nowhere and hit Techno’s horse.
She neighed in pain and buckled, and Techno barely managed to not land on his head when she threw him off. The piglin stumbled to the forest floor, cursing as he hurried to get back up.
Around him, all hell broke loose.
At least a dozen figures burst out of the treeline, armed to the teeth with swords, axes and crossbolts. Mercenaries.
Techno unsheathed his sword hastily, looking back to Phil who had propelled himself into the air already, his bow in his hand, a grim look on his face.
Techno turned back towards the attackers again, a wide grin splitting his face as the voices rose to a frantic chorus in his head. They wanted blood?
These imbeciles sure had enough to spare. With a hungry snarl, he dove into battle, not giving the mercenaries the chance to aim their crossbolts.
The first one went down before he even could react, a deep slash over his chest giving the voices their long-desired blood, and their cries rose in pitch, sending pure adrenaline through Techno’s blood.
He didn’t even feel it when another mercenary nicked his upper arm, burying his own sword deep in her stomach. He sidestepped the slash of another enemy, ripping his blade out of her stomach to cut it through another chest, the mercenary dead before she hit the ground.
The blood he spilled sang through Technoblade, and the voices were an unintelligible chorus, crying out their pure ecstasy. Techno felt weightless, almost floating through the enemies, his blade a deadly half-circle. Blood spattered onto his armour and skin, painting him in the warm lifeblood of those who dare cross him.
Suddenly, the voices’ chants changed in tone, a few seeming to grow more hectic. The other voices caught on, and their cries turned shrill and high-pitched.
Techno had learned to listen to them, even if they were very unreliable at times and it was almost impossible to extract any details from their chaotic screams.
With a wide swing, he carved himself some moments of time, whipping around where he had last seen Phil.
His blood froze as he saw his friend try to fight off three enemies at once, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his shoulder, one wing hanging limply from his back, desperation painting his features. Techno could only watch in horror as Phil blocked an axe swung from the left, only for another mercenary to bury her sword in Phil’s stomach.
He looked down almost as if in surprise, before dropping to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, the sword being pulled out by the movement.
An absolutely animalistic roar forced its way out of Technoblade’s throat, accompanied by the shrill scream of tens of thousands of voices in his head.
His whole world narrowed down on the motionless heap on the ground that was his best friend.
Every other sensation, the northern wind whipping fast his face, the snow crunching underneath his boots, the blood rushing in his ears was drowned out by the screams of the voices, by the feeling of the sword gripped tightly in his hand, by the pure and unfiltered rage that seized his heart.
A red haze clouded his vision as his body moved on his own, fueled by utter fury.
He mowed the mercenaries down, slashing through muscles and tendons, smashing bones and joints, leaving his enemies screaming in the snow soiled by blood. Their cries echoed in his head, amplified by the voices who rejoiced at all the blood spilled. He hacked and slashed, not hearing the cries for mercy nor the screams of agony.
From one moment to the next, he was alone on the battlefield.
There were no more mercenaries in his path, all of them either dead or fatally injured. He stood tall among them, blood dripping from his sword, not even sparing them a glance as he searched for the only figure that mattered.
There, feathers strewn around him, lay Philza.
The red haze in front of Techno’s eyes lifted as he limped towards his friend, consciousness slowly returning to his body, to his abused muscles, to the various cuts and slashes he hadn’t even noticed, his own blood soaking his shirt and pants a dark red.
He ignored the pain that made him stumble with each step, his knee twisting in a weird way.
The only thing that mattered now was Phil.
Techno crashed to his knees next to his friend’s limp body where he lay face-down in the snow, biting down a hiss of pain when his injured knee protested. Dread pooled in his stomach as he gingerly turned Phil around, the fabric of his Haori sticky and stiff with cold blood.
His friend’s eyelids fluttered, and tears of relief started to gather in Techno’s eyes. He carefully pulled Phil into his lap, frowning when the movement caused the avian to groan in pain. He might not be dead, but there was now guarantee he wouldn’t be soon, if Techno didn’t act.
Raising one scarred hand to Phil’s head, he gently pushed some blonde strands out of his face, resting his palm on his friend’s cheek. He paid no mind to the blood from his own cracked knuckles smearing where he touched the avian, softly stroking his friend’s skin, fighting to keep panic from rising in his chest.
Philza leaned into the touch, slurring a breathy: “Techno?”
The Piglin hummed softly, trying to swallow down his fear. “Yeah, I’m here, you’ll be fine.”
Phil groaned again, eyes cracking open slightly to look at him. “It- fuck, Techno, it hurts.”
“I know, I know, let me jus’ look at you real quick.”
He carefully pushed away the folds of Phil's clothes, heart clenching at his friend’s hiss of pain at the fabric that had stuck to the wound being pulled away. It revealed a concerning amount of blood oozing out of the deep wound, making it almost impossible to see the slash itself, or know if any vital organs were damaged.
He would have to act fast.
Careful, as to not disturb Phil, who only breathed raggedly in his lap, eyes scrunched close again, Techno pulled an instant health and a regeneration potion out of his inventory. He set the regen potion down, and popped open the cork of the instant health one.
His fingers trembled when he lifted the potion up towards Phil’s lips, the reason being mainly his nervousness, but also, he hazily noted, the arrowhead stuck in his own forearm. There were more pressing matters, though.
“Phil, I’ll give ya a potion of health, and I’ll need ya to open up for me. Come on, just a little bit…”, he instructed.
Philza obliged, lips trembling as he opened his mouth slightly, allowing Techno to set the bottle to his lips and carefully tilt it. The avian spluttered a bit at first, but Techno coaxed the liquid down with soft reassurances and gentle touches.
When about a third of the potion had gone down Phil’s throat, Techno moved the bottle away. Phil scrunched his eyes shut once more as the potion did its work in his body.
The rest of the bottle was poured over the open wound on Phil’s side, the potion instantly starting to mend the torn skin together, healing bones and organs beneath.
Techno held his friend tight as the potion worked its way through his stomach and body, making Phil hiss and tense at the sensation.
Soon, though, he relaxed, and Techno helped him drink the whole regen potion as well, speeding up and easing the healing process.
Drained by the whole ordeal, Phil’s eyes fluttered shut again, and his breathing eased in Techno’s lap. The piglin held him as he slipped into a healing sleep.
He paid no mind to his cramping legs, nor the pain in his ribs and forearm, there was only one thing that mattered.
Phil was alive and safe.