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Mcc rolled around, the monthly championship bringing in tons of different servers together to compete against one another .Ren’s team fought hard and placed highly, but the star of the event was the after-party where competitors could mingle with both each other and guests. It was always a blast since Ren was a social butterfly and talking to people was what he was good at, but this time around things were off. Not party altering, ‘we’re all gonna die’ kind of off, but a more personal off.
Third life had ended weeks before, the members of the month-long event piling into their respected home servers to return to their normal lives. Ren had adjusted fairly well, but something had been nagging him. And that seemed to have followed him to MCC, amplified by the stress of high-stakes games and intense PVP. He needed a moment to breathe.
Ren weaved through the crowd of familiar faces and guests, occasionally saying hi to past teammates on his way out the door. It was sweaty and cramped and suffocatingly loud and he really needed the cool outside air on his face. He soon got what he needed, escaping through the door as a rowdy group of teenagers were coming in, probably ready to scam the bartender out of a few drinks.
But Ren’s mind was a bit too clogged to find humour in the teens, even when he smiled warmly knowing it was something he would've done at that age too.
He found a spot not far from the building the party was being hosted at, far away enough so he couldn’t hear the distinct thump of the bass but close enough to return without getting lost.
He leaned against a short brick wall separating two segments of the map, sighing softly.
Ren thought over the event, over the impeccable teamwork and the fact that they had scored in the top five due to absolutely demolishing the PVP events.
That brought Ren back to the thought that’s been nagging him ever since he’d returned to Hermitcraft. It seemed like Third Life instilled some sort of bloodlust deep in his brain, like he wasn’t able to fully break from the Red King persona he’d created. He shrugged it off at first, but was unable to ignore it when it started affecting how he interacted with the hermits.
Ren's vision would go red around the edges and his grip on his axe would tighten, all the while Doc was asking for Ren to grab him a repeater and he wanted nothing more than to rip that damn creeper to shreds. And then he’d catch himself and grab Doc his repeater, tucking his axe deep into his enderchest just in case. It never got worse than a thought, Ren made sure of that (at the expense of his mob farms). But the thoughts got gruesome, occasionally telling him that Gem’s bloody antlers would make a lovely decoration or that Grian would look much better with his guts spilling onto the grass around him. Ren was sure this was torture, the work of some God who had it out for him and wanted to make him suffer. He’d never hurt his friends.
The approaching click of hooves against the cobblestone road shook Ren from his daze, eyes following whoever was approaching him. Apparently, Ren had slid down the wall during his internal conflict, now sitting in the cool grass instead of standing.
In front of him stood Technoblade, the hulking mass of a piglin hybrid that could turn him into a pile of blood and guts without lifting a finger. Intimidating was a weak word to describe him, both due to his looks and his reputation as The Blade. He looked sort of worried, staring down at Ren with his mouth slightly open. The few seconds of silent, awkward eye contact dissipated as Ren cleared his throat and spoke.
“Hello?”
Techno jumped slightly, not expecting Ren to speak.
“Are you okay? I was about to call Grian because I thought you passed out.”
Ren quickly remembered that he was wearing sunglasses in the dead of night, meaning Techno couldn’t see his eyes and his slumped position probably looked very unconscious.
“Nah. I’m fine, my dude.”
Techno seemed a bit relieved, his shoulders loosening slightly. He didn’t move though. He looked nervous, as Technoblade was everything but his reputation and seemed to suffer from a bit of social anxiety. It took a moment for him to speak, adjusting his crown nervously although it had never fallen out of place.
“I see the Blood God chose you.”
Techno’s statement hit Ren with a firm slap of confusion.
“What?”
Ren raised an eyebrow, taking his sunglasses off and tucking it into his shirt.
“Aren’t you the Blood God?”
He asked after a moment, thousands of questions springing to life in his mind.
“The Blood God is like– well he’s a God, obviously– but no God does it’s own sacrifices. So no– I'm not the Blood God.”
Techno’s hands merged from his cape, gesturing oddly. There was a nervous lilt to his voice as he fumbled over his words.
“So you… serve? The Blood God? Like you kill for it?”
“Yeah, 14 year old me thought it’d be edgy and fun to sell my soul. Y’know how the teenage satanist phase goes.”
The half-piglin laughed nervously, hoping that the joke would ease the one-sided tension. Ren did not know how the ‘teenage satanist phase’ goes, but nodded and ‘uh huh’-ed along like he did.
“So what does that have to do with me?”
Ren asked, standing up so that he didn’t have to crane his neck back to look Techno in the face. He jabbed a thumb at his own chest.
“Okay. So it's either– a god can choose who serves it, or you can choose to serve a god. I wasn’t– well I couldn’t, considerin’ the circumstances– follow whatever you were doing last month, but the Blood God seemed to have taken a likin’ to you.”
Everything came together at that moment, the shockwave of realization leaving his eyes wide and his jaw on the floor. The Red King was a manifestation of bloodlust, of revenge, and those feelings should’ve faded after leaving Third Life because he got his revenge. But the horrid thoughts of murdering his friends never faded, the satisfaction of blood on his hands remained, the metaphorical weight of the Red King’s crown never truly left his head– it was all the Blood God’s doing.
“....oh.”
Techno chuckled softly at Ren’s delayed reaction.
“It’s a lot to deal with at first, I get it, Ren.”
Techoblade seemed genuinely empathetic, through the layer of awkwardness that seemed to coat his every word. A hand appeared from under the bulky crimson cloak, gently patting Ren on the shoulder as he processed this new information. He also realized that he had worn a similar cape to his piglin friend.
“I-wh- uh.. How do you… know who the blood god choses?”
That definitely wasn't the most important question to be asking here– like ‘am I supposed to sacrifice my friends now?’ Or “how do I politely tell a god I'm not interested?” But Ren felt like his brain was going to overheat and maybe listening to Techno talk about something slightly less serious would cool it down.
“The Blood God and I are on pretty close terms, he’s actually pretty chill. But it’s really just like… seein’ someone wearing a really niche brand you like or somethin’. It’s hard to explain.”
Technoblade shrugged.
“Like…… familiarity?”
Ren pitched in.
“Yeah! I saw you lookin’ kinda dead sittin’ there and it kinda felt like… ‘hey, I know this guy’ even though we’ve never actually talked.”
Ren was silent, taking another long moment because things weren’t processing and listening to Techno talk wasn’t heping his brain cool down.
He was chosen. By the Blood God himself. Because of his funky little persona during third life.
Wild.
Maybe that explains why he never felt like himself as the Red King. like something had made a home in his brain. He brushed it off at the time, but the voice that ordered bloodshed never sounded like him, either.
Ren had dominated the PVP-based games during this MCC, shocking both his team and the audience because it was no secret that Ren was ass at PVP. He had been functioning off of pure adrenaline and bloodlust, red tinting the corners of his vision as he slashed through player after player. He even ended up killing a teammate, but in his defense they got a little too close and the voice that tinged his vision red started screaming–
“.... Is there a way that I could possibly.. Speak to the blood god? Because I'm really not suited for this.”
Techno hesitated, sighing softly.
“There's really no.. gettin’ out of this– especially because the Blood God chose you willingly.”
“Oh. goody.”
Ren laughed sarcastically. The piglin chuckled softly, and he looked past Ren, probably avoiding eye contact. Ren ran his hands down his face, groaning in dismay.
“So. Do I have to like… sacrifice my friends now or something? Because I'm not doing that, my dude.”
Ren’s arms crossed, hugging himself because the night’s air was cold and he was not equipped for this weather.
“No no, absolutely not.” Techno laughed, “Unless you want to, that is. I just play bedwars.”
He shrugged.
“Bed…wars?”
Ren asked, raising an eyebrow. Technoblade deadpanned.
“You. You’re tellin’ me you don’t know what bedwars is?”
Ren blinked. “No idea, dude.”
Techno’s mouth stayed open for a few seconds.
“I’m teachin’ you the ways of bedwars. When are you free next?”