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Published:
2022-03-26
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2022-04-05
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2/2
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Demon's Spawns

Summary:

When Bad found a tiny blond boy wandering a dying world alone, he did not decide to be a serial adopter. Especially not for the would-be children of one Angel of Death. Too bad the other man made it so easy. Or…maybe it was not a bad thing at all. Maybe it was just a Bad thing.

Notes:

This is loosely based on Ayonne's Katakiuchi, so the interpretation of Phil is from that story. If you haven't read it, you should. Especially if you like Bad Dad!Phil. Or well-written instances of comeuppance. Anywho, this story is basically what I think would happen if my characterization of Bad met Phil's kids from Katakuichi and stole them with a few worldbuilding liberties taken. Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Spawn One and Spawn Two - The Lost Boy and the Found Boy

Chapter Text

Everyone knows that a butterfly’s wings can cause tornadoes, and in this case it was less a butterfly flapping its wings as a diamond golem sending a creeper to blow up the side of a well-crafted house. If that golem hadn’t, the demon who lived there would have continued with his plans to collect potion materials in the Nether. But instead the demon let out a wordless cry of frustration, made a mental note to Respawn a certain pranking golem, and decided to go world hopping and get away from the aforementioned golem.

 

And so a very young Blaze hybrid stumbled alone in the Nether for a while longer before being found by a glittering golem who had gone off to search for his demon friend and not by the mentioned demon friend himself. The glittering golem decided to take the Blaze hybrid in without knowing that elsewhere his demon friend was picking up a child who would have wandered worlds alone otherwise…

 

 

Bad grinned at the lovely birch house he had finally finished meticulously setting up. It had three stories and a lovely porch. A tabby cat stretched on the stripped planks of the porch and then leapt for the porch swing nearly falling over as it shook a little. Steadying itself, the cat curled up on the soft yellow wool covering the seat and started to purr.

 

“It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” Bad said pleased. The grin stretching his face fell a little. “I might have made it a bit too big though.”

 

The small white curved arch on Bad’s face flattened to a line. He pulled out his communicator and fiddled with the buttons, but a quick head shake lead to him putting it back into his inventory.

 

“Guess I could find some more wool to make a bed for the third guest room. It might be fun to make double-decker bed. Might be time to invite guests soon.”

 

The cat’s ear flickered, but it remained in a swirl of fur.

 

“All righty then. I’m off. See you soon, Pidge.”

 

The cat lifted its head to yawn. It blinked grey eyes at Bad and then put its head back into the swirl of its body. Letting out one small, amused chuff, Bad started into the forest. He waltzed fairly calmly into the scattered trees taking the peaceful atmosphere in. A soft lowing sound caught his attention, and he hurried past a last set of trees to see white fluff. He reached for his sheers when everything suddenly twitched. The sensation of void, of nothing beneath or above him, overwhelmed him momentarily, and his lungs spasmed at the lack of air. But then the twitch stopped, and forest floor stumbled under his feet and air sucked into his lungs. He shivered.

 

Making a quick u-turn, he headed back to the house minutes ago he had been so proud of. He would have to leave it. Maybe with his Moderator skills he could save Pidge but not anything else. And definitely not the house.

 

Why? Why did this always happen to him?

 

He entered the clearing of his home when he spotted a small figure stroking Pidge’s soft fur. The green-clad figure spotted him and quickly sprang up. The child (the skittish tiny figure couldn’t be anything else) leapt onto the porch’s balcony railing, but using a bit of his magic, Bad sped up to intercept the child and grabbed a tiny arm.

 

“I am very sorry for this, but we have to get out of here. I don’t have time to explain before—”

 

The world twitched again, and the void compressed heavily around Bad. Tiny fingers clung to his rough, black arm. He pulled the child closer to him and wrapped his other arm around the child’s back. His wings spread and encircled them, and the tiny body sunk into his likely in an effort to anchor to something solid. Honestly the weight of the child helped Bad feel less overwhelmed too.

 

The twitch flipped back to ground beneath their feet and a sky above their heads. But the sky was less blue and the ground less firm. Bad kept his grip around the child, but he kept his wings ready for the void.

 

“I’m going to get us out of here,” Bad said, struggling to get a hand to his communicator while not letting go of the child. The vice-grip on his one arm had only grown worse, so he managed with the arm around the child to reach his inventory. “Do you know of anyone else, another Player, here?”

 

The child stiffened oddly at the question but then shook a blond head. Bad noted the reaction for later and tapped the side of his communicator. A shaky, rectangular doorway appeared out of nowhere, and Bad hurried through it. The portal between worlds shivered and blipped shut behind him. He looked back to see the Seed he and the child had been on blink out of existence once more from the safety of his Moderator Monitoring Cube.

 

“Phew. We got out just in time,” Bad said. He peered at the Seed as it blinked back into existence. It didn’t appear to have anyone else on it. No place marking indicating Player positions. Not that he was given full Moderator status on this random world. The Admin had been gone long enough for him to get periphery Mod Access, but the Seed’s Admin should have looked after it more closely. Should have at least left a Caretaker in charge. Especially given that there was apparently a child on it. The child could have been—No. No dwelling on the worst outcomes. “It wouldn’t have been any fun to get stuck in Limbo for a while until someone found us.”

 

The child had let go of Bad’s arm and squirmed out of his hold. Green eyes over freckles grew twice their size as they gazed around the expanse of worlds sparkling in every direction around them backdropped by the pitch black void. Bad chuckled at the adorable reaction.

 

“This is the Network of Seeds. Do you like it?”

 

The blonde head nodded, spinning around to take in every world possible. The spinning gaze landed on the blinking Seed. Turning towards Bad, the child’s wide eyes had diminished back to their normal size.

 

“Who are you?” a young boyish asked.

 

“Oh, I guess it’s about time we introduced ourselves. My name’s BadBoyHalo, but most people call me Bad for short. What’s yours?”

 

“Clay,” the boy said softly. “What’s happening to my home?”

 

“It’s dying,” Bad said soft but blunt. No point trying to hide the truth. “It’ll collapse in a few more minutes. Probably because it’s Caretaker or Admin hasn’t been taking care of it and some Bedrock virus got in. I’m sorry, but it’s too far gone to save.”

 

“Oh,” the boy said in a gasp that sounded a lot like a restrained sob. “Do you—do you know if anyone else is on it?”

 

“I’m what some people call a Moderator which means I can help a Caretaker or Admin take care of a world,” Bad explained. “One of the abilities that comes with that is that I can tell how many Players are in a Seed. And there was no one else on this one but you and me.”

 

“Dead people don’t count,” the boy whispered.

 

“No. They don’t,” Bad confirmed. So that’s how this little one ended up by himself on a dying world. “Would you like to come with me to a more stable Seed? It’s one that my best friend Skeppy is a Caretaker for.”

 

The blond boy looked up at Bad with glistening green eyes and nodded.

 

 

Funny how a chance encounter can change a tiny life. In another time, the boy would have discovered Admin powers by falling out of that dying world and into the Network of Seeds. But in this universe he didn’t. He discovered his Admin powers when they glitched in several logs of acacia wood after a certain pranking golem’s adopted son set fire and burned a good portion of Bad’s newest house. And so Bad immediately finds a tutor to teach Dream (for that is the name he chose to use over the one given by his blood father) how to use his powers.

 

And in doing so, Bad allows his adopted son out to explore on his Admin friend’s world. Funny what or rather whom an Admin, even a young one, can find in the Nether of a well-maintained Seed…

 

 

“Thank you so much, Scott. I really appreciate this. I can’t believe my tiny muffin is a blood-born Admin!”

 

“Alright. Alright. I get it. Your kid’s the most amazing thing since golden carrots. I already agreed to teach him, so you can quit talking him up,” Scott said rolling his eyes.

 

“I’m not ‘talking him up,’” Bad defended, “He’s just amazing. Did I tell you how he managed to sneak up on Skeppy and get the stupid muffin to drop the TNT he was holding? Dream even managed to light it under the muffinhead’s nose, and it blew up in Skeppy’s face. Left black streaks on the dumb muffin for weeks. Served the muffinhead right for trying to destroy my house for the fifteenth time! Seriously! Why does he keep doing that? Why does he consider it fun to keep undoing all my work?!”

 

“Pretty sure he sees how much more fun you have building than living in a fully-made house. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you live a week in a house before deciding the house needs major remodeling,” Scott grumbled as they headed to the center village of his world. “Skeppy usually waits three days before trying to destroy the house you’re likely going to destroy the next day in the name of ‘remodeling.’”

 

“I’m not—I’m not that bad. Am I?”

 

“Well, you are Bad,” Scott said with a large self-satisfied smirk. Bad gave him a flat look. The smirk dropped. “So where is this kid of yours?”

 

“I left him at the blacksmith,” Bad answered. “He likes watching Villagers work. I think it settles him when he’s nervous. The Villagers of his home world took care of him after a Pillager raid killed his mother.”

 

“And his father?” Scott asked. Bad shrugged.

 

“I think he’s a Seed-Spawned Player. Might have appeared in his mother's garden one day.”

 

“Has he shown any mob traits?”

 

“No. But wouldn’t the blood-born Admin status count instead of mob traits?” asked Bad.

 

“Not necessarily. The Angel of Death is a Seed-Spawned Admin, but he has Elytra wings.”

 

“Isn’t he an Avian? As in a non-mob species?”

 

“There isn’t such a thing as a truly non-mob species. There are simply mobs we haven’t discovered yet,” Scott said in an overly sage voice. Bad rolled his eyes.

 

“If you say so,” Bad answered. He suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. Scott paused next to him.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Please tell me you don’t see what I see,” Bad pleaded in expectant distress.

 

“What? The Nether portal—Since when is there a Nether portal in the middle of the village?”

 

“Probably since Dream got it in his head that he wants to be a Speedrunner,” Bad said. He grabbed his comm, scrolled up the various messages, and let out a frustrated grown. He instantly sprinted towards the portal. Confused, Scott quickly followed. “I told him not to go into the Nether without me.”

 

“Your kid knows how to make a Nether portal without an entire pool of lava?”

 

“Unfortunately all he needs is a bucket, water, and a bit of lava. He’s been working on the technique since Skeppy showed him.”

 

“But why?”

 

“He says he likes the challenge. He also loves to explore everywhere.”

 

“You have thrill-seeker of a kid,” Scott commented as they both stood in the purple-swirls of the portal.

 

“And he’s still not as bad as Skeppy’s.”

 

“Skeppy has a kid too?” asked Scott.

 

“Yeah, he does. Why does this little muffinhead do this? It's a miracle he hasn't Respawned yet. And I don’t want his first Respawn away from his origin Seed to be on a strange world without anyone familiar around. We need to find him before he falls into a lava lake. This way! Hurry!”

 

Scott considered reminding the panicking demon that he was of higher rank, especially on his own world, and so should not be bossed around. But then he remembered that he was talking to a panicking demon and decided silence was the better part of valor. Bad quickly honed in on a strange pattern of netherrack over a lava lake.

 

“He went this way,” Bad said and leapt over the lake. As it looked like he would fall in, he landed on a block jutting out from the opposite nether wall. Giving a firm nod only to himself, Bad continued to leap from one jutting out block to another. Scott decided to go Creative and follow the parkoring panicking demon.

 

A piglin brute caught sight of Bad and squealed a roar of attack. Bad flashed a sword out of his inventory, equipped a set of diamond armor he’d stored on Scott’s world, and slashed at the piglin brute. With force and ferocity Scott hadn’t even seen in Bad’s championship game, Bad had run the piglin brute through. He neglected to wipe the blade and ran on. More piglin brutes took turns attacking the focused demon, and all of them fell under his sword. Scott watched in awe and took mental notes to be written down later in his records of championship contestants.

 

As they were passing a Nether forest, Bad came to a halt. Scott stopped right above the tense demon. The scowling demon crossed his arms and stared some random spot on the netherrack floor. “Come out now or you’ll by muffin-less for a month instead of a week.”

 

The floor broke and crumbled away revealing green eyes peeking through inch long blond bangs.

 

“Hi, Bad,” the blond boy attempted with a wave, but a fierce glare from the irate demon had his hand falling from its upright position and gripping tightly to the edge of broken netherrack. “I found a bastion.”

 

“A bastion!” Bad burst. Long claws kneaded at the demon’s temples. “Please tell me you didn’t try to loot it.”

 

“Of course I didn’t,” the boy said offended, “I don’t even have iron armor.”

 

“Then why are you hiding under netherrack while various piglin brutes attacked us in a way that seemed as if they were searching for someone?” Bad demanded. At the word “us,” the boy looked above Bad, and green eyes met dark brown. The boy scowled at Scott and then turned his gaze back to Bad. Seeing as both would be ignoring him, Scott pulled up a semi-transparent yellow screen and started some regularly scheduled maintenance.

 

“I don’t know why brutes do what they do,” the boy obviously bluffed. Bad’s eyes turned down, and the kind-hearted demon glowered. Scott blinked at the improbable sight.

 

“You have two minutes to be honest, or we’re going home right now,” the demon warned. Green eyes widened, and the boy’s head fully popped out of the hole. The shape and build of the face looked familiar for a reason that Scott couldn’t quite put his finger on.

 

“I didn’t loot!” the boy defended. He stood beside the hole and fidgeted, green eyes on the Netherrack instead of Bad. “But I might have…maybe…attacked one?”

 

“You attacked a piglin brute!? Without even a full set of iron armor!?” Bad cried, the glower gone and in its place was pure panic. The horned black head flipped from side to side. Scott caught the frantic white eyes and nodded his head at the screen in front of him. The demon’s movements settled and then focused on the boy beside the hole. “Why would you do that!?”

 

“They were—” the boy started before stopping abruptly. He peered back into the hole and then squared his shoulders. “I wanted to see how strong they were.”

 

“You wanted to see how strong they were?!” Bad shouted. The demon paused, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opening his eyes spoke in a lower tone. “If you aren’t going to listen to my warnings, then I’m going to have to ban you from speedrunning until further notice. You could have gotten yourself Respawned in a foreign world. Do you know how terrible that would be? For me and you.”

 

The boy mumbled something as green eyes dropped back to the reddish netherrack. A soft sadness crossed Bad’s face. Long, leathery arms opened, and then suddenly a blur of ferocious pink slammed into them. Bad was knocked back a couple of steps, and a young human-looking piglin stood between Bad and Bad’s kid.

 

“He was trying to help me,” the young piglin near growled. “You won't hurt him.”

 

Bad stared stunned at the new kid, but Scott instantly ran a command through his screen that confirmed his immediate suspicion.

 

“He’s a Player! A hybrid!” Scott gushed excitedly at no one in particular. “And he Spawned here! In the Nether! My Seed is finally Spawning Players!”

 

“What?” the piglin hybrid said flatly.

 

“That means you’re not a regular mob, kid,” Scott said, double checking his findings and making a recording of his discovery. His mind raced. “Which is likely why you were being attacked by what your own kind! They weren’t really your kind!”

 

“Okay, okay. Calm down,” Bad said, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder and focusing him on the present. “We got it. A Server-Spawn very exciting. But now there’s a kid here without a proper home. So let’s deal with that first.”

 

“He could come home with us,” Bad’s kid piped up.

 

“That’s—This a person. Not some random mob you found. We can’t just ‘take him home with us’!” Bad said in a frustrated huff. “This server Spawned him. That means he’s likely not going to want to leave it. Not unless he forms a strong connection to something or someone else first—”

 

“I want to go with Dream,” the piglin hybrid said plainly. Scott felt his excitement fade when he heard those words. His server’s first Spawn wanted to leave so quickly?

 

“Why? You met him like two minutes ago? This is your home. You should give it a chance. It isn’t going to be good for you to just leave your Spawn Server,” Scott tried to reason.

 

“My team has been trying to kill me since I could walk,” the piglin hybrid admitted without inflection. “I have no fond memories of this place.”

 

“Your server should be trying to keep its people safe,” Bad’s kid unhelpfully added. He moved to stand next to the piglin hybrid. “Mine did. Bad’s better at it though. You should let Bad take care of you too, Wart.”

 

“Wart?” Scott asked more to himself.

 

“That’s his name,” Bad’s kid said. The kid wrinkled his nose. “He doesn’t like it.”

 

Scott turned his attention to the piglin hybrid, who shrugged a nod.

 

“Can he pick a new name too?” Bad’s kid asked, and Scott realized the kid hadn’t been talking to him. Bad had his own brow furrowed as the expressive white eyes continued to examine the piglin hybrid. He huffed a sigh.

 

“Scott, is it okay if I build our new house here?” the demon asked, eyes focused on the kids. Scott was starting to feel left out. “That way Dream’s new friend can stay on the server and with us? It’ll be easier for Dream to go to Admin lessons with you too.”

 

“That’s the Admin you want to teach me?” Bad’s kid whined. “But I don’t like this server!”

 

“You have a problem with my server?” Scott scowled, offended.

 

“It’s a fighting Seed,” Bad’s kid said with that same wrinkle from earlier folding the freckles on his nose. “Everything here likes to fight.”

 

Images of the various fighting arenas set up around his world crossed Scott’s mind, and Scott’s scowl fell.

 

“You can tell that?”

 

“Yeah,” Bad’s kid said crossing his arms. What had Bad called the kid? Dream? “That’s why War’s team attacked him.”

 

“Seeds have personality,” Scott said watching the boy, Dream, carefully. “As an Admin, you have to guide that personality. Help it grow and give it what it needs. And one day, the server your Seed has become will start Spawning Players like Wart here.”

 

“War suits him better,” Dream scowled.

 

“I don’t like that one either,” the piglin hybrid said. Dream’s scowl pursed into a pout.

 

“Then you pick one,” Dream said turning back to the piglin hybrid.

 

“I will. And it will be a thousand times better than ‘Dream.’”

 

“You wish,” Dream scowled again. This kid scowled a lot. He'd be fun to teach though.

 

“Dream, be nice,” Bad scolded. He smiled brightly towards Scott, and Scott shivered. “So we’re staying here then?”

 

Now Scott felt like scowling, but he didn’t. He was interested, and the overly friendly demon knew it.

 

“Fine,” Scott conceded. Bad’s wide white grin somehow felt properly ominous for a demon. Scott sometimes forgot that that's what Bad was: a demon. Suddenly Scott wasn’t sure this arrangement would end well.

 

 

And so the family of two became three. As happened in various other universes, the piglin hybrid chose the name Technoblade, and he made a name for himself in the fighting arenas throughout ScottMajor’s world and others. And wherever he went, his brother and father followed. Dream took the chance to learn from various Admins in all the worlds his brother competed on. Their main home remained in Scott’s world where a certain diamond golem dragged Bad into various challenges and championships, making a moderate name for the demon. But nowhere near the status of fame his newest son was earning.

 

On that world, a lonely winged Admin came to distract himself from the mindless loss of his latest world; its loss, like the loss of every one of his worlds, echoing the one loss of a world he did not know lost until it was gone. Scott welcomed him and noted the similarity to his young student. He even commented on it to Dream when his student returned from the latest tournament his brother dominated.

 

And so Dream began to wear a smiley mask and take part in tournaments alongside his brother, who began wearing a boar skull at around the same time to match. But Dream could not run from his heritage forever.

 

 

Dream stumbled and fell on his face. An iron sword tapped against his throat.

 

“That’s 2-5,” a dull voice loomed over him. A hand replaced the sword. “It’s boring when you don’t put up a fight.”

 

“I’m not feeling well, that's all,” Dream said, taking the hand. His balance failed him again as his feet failed to fully get under him. He fell into his brother’s shoulder. Hot fingers settled onto his forehead.

 

“You’re cold,” Techno said, worry audible. He slipped his arms under Dream’s. Dream let his weight fall into his brother’s hold. “We’re going to Bad.”

 

“Nooo,” Dream whined. “He’s going to get all worried.”

 

“It’s better to get him worried now than for him to get worried and angry later,” said Techno making too much sense. Dream gave a wordless whine, but he tried to make it easier for Techno to move him. After a few steps of awkward shuffling, Techno gave an annoyed grunt and simply picked up his brother in a cradle carry. Dream tried to protest but ended up with his head lolling comfortably into the crook of his brother’s neck.

 

“Techno? Dream! What happened?” came their dad’s voice. He was worried. Dream didn’t want Bad to worry. He always got sad when he got worried, like if it was his fault either of them were hurt instead of theirs. Because he couldn’t stop them from being hurt. Because maybe someone else would do a better job being their parent. (No one could ever be better. No one.)

 

“We were sparring, but he kept getting slower. And now he’s ice cold,” Techno said, trying to sound factual but sounding scared. Great. Now Dream had scared Techno too. Techno was too tough and cool to be scared. He was invincible. He was so close to winning a thousand battles in that guy-Simon’s world. His brother was the coolest. Though not as cool as the skin touching the skin on his cheek. Wait, was it closer to warm than cool? That was weird.

 

“He’s freezing. Put him on the bed.”

 

“No, not bed,” Dream muttered, grabbing tightly to his brother’s broad shoulders. “Nest.”

 

“What did he say?” Techno murmured. “Nets?”

 

“I think it was ‘nest,’” Bad answered. Dream’s whine became more high-pitched, like a chirp. Oh. He’d forgotten. “Why would he say nest though?”

 

“Mom had wings,” Dream grumbled. He could feel his family’s full attention on him. He rarely talked about her (and he never said anything about him).

 

“Your mom was an Avian?” Bad said in sharp cry. “Then that means—Techno, get all the blankets you can and bring them here.”

 

“Where do I leave him?” Techno said with a motion that rocked Dream. Dream let out an offended whistling squeak.

 

“Give him here,” Bad said, and Dream felt himself get passed to the cool (no, warm—how were they warm? It felt nice though) arms. He instantly snuggled into the cool warmth and let out a happy chirp. “It would have been good to know that your mother was an Avian before this.”

 

Dream gave an apologetic cheep and managed a whistling “forgot.”

 

A sigh ruffled the hair on Dream’s head.

 

“You always forget about things until it’s too late,” Bad groaned. He sat somewhere, and Dream curled into his lap. His back was starting to hurt. Clawed fingers combed through his hair. “I don’t know how this is going to go, my dreamling. We didn’t have time to prepare.”

 

“Okay,” Dream peeped, nuzzling into Bad’s shoulder. “With you.”

 

“As soon as I can, I’m going to call and try to get someone with expertise in this area. I think Scott has Philza Minecraft’s numb—"

 

“NO!” Dream shrieked. He grabbed hold of Bad and clamped down. No one would take him away from Bad. No one. But he would try. Because Clay was his, and he would take Clay back until he got tired of him again. No. Not Clay. Not anymore. He was Dream. Bad’s dreamling. “Secret. Has. Be. Secret.”

 

Pain ran up and down his shoulders and back as the room grew hotter and colder all at once.

 

“TECHNO!” Bad yelled, but it didn’t sound very loud. It sounded far away.

 

“Got them all,” Techno huffed, sounding out of breath a little. He sounded both far and close. Like Bad.

 

“Make a large circle, as nest-like as possible! Then go to the closest of those ridiculously over-prepared chests you and Dream like to make and grab as many healing and regen potions as you can. I’m going to message Scott and ask for all the info on Avian Winging he can send me. Help me put him down on the blankets.”

 

“Is it good enough?”

 

“I don’t know, but he’s getting colder and it's better than nothing. Help me get this shirt off.”

 

A rip and hot air was the only thing rubbing at his aching back.

 

“Is it supposed to look like that?”

 

“I don’t know! Get him on the blankets and get the potions. Whatever happens, don’t pour any on him until I say so! We could do more harm than good that way.”

 

Dream was forced out of his cool/warm space and into soft but cool material. He burrowed into it, arching his back up to ease the pressure and pain building there. His hand flopped around until he felt rough, cool/warm skin. He clutched the offered limb as tightly as he could, hoping to distract himself from the growing searing agony on his back. Burning tears smelted paths down his cheeks as hissing shrieks and gurgled chirps popped out his lips.

 

Hushing answered his pained chirps and hisses, and that felt wrong and yet his body relaxed marginally at the sound. A humming song started, and for a moment his whole body sagged and his consciousness eased. He was safe. Protected. Loved.

 

The pain refused to be ignored, and it shot warnings into and around his spine. He couldn’t make out too much after that point, too concentrated on listening to the familiar humming and then the sounds of trusted voices. Not alone. Flock here. Flock would make it better. He had to—

 

A ragged shriek scraped out of Dream’s throat, deafening him to anything but p a i n.

 

And then it was gone. The sear on his back. The burning warmth of everything. The scraping ache in his throat. Nothing but cool fingers on his cheeks and shoulders and neck. An equally cool hand in his. A warm palm on lower back pressing down. He was laying full on his stomach.

 

The cool hand left his, and he immediately hissed in protest. But then coolness touched something far more sensitive and took away pain he had failed to notice was still there. He chirped pleased, and the coolness kept going. Brushing at something and removing more pain and discomfort. The motion soothed something deep within Dream, and he moved an unknown muscle to lean into the touch. It continued, and Dream felt himself sag further into the softness beneath him.

 

The warm palm left, and then warmth joined the coolness in easing the remaining discomfort from whatever now added weight on his back. He let out a few more pleased chirps, especially at the feeling of something inwardly clicking into place. Wings. He had wings now. And his flock was tending to them. His dad and brother were making sure they were okay. That he was okay.

 

His eyelids fully closed, and he let the soothing sensation of his flock’s, his family’s, fingers lull him to sleep. They wouldn’t leave. They would be there when he got up. He knew they would be. He could rest. He was safe. Protected. Loved.

 

Nothing would change that.

 

 

Funny how in multiple universes thoughts and feelings can be the same, but in some they are true and in others they are false. In this one, they were true. Dream soon recovered and rejoined his brother in the tournaments, where he did not bother to hide his wings. His dad would not hear of him hiding such a fundamental part of who he was, though his Admin status wasn’t widely known.

 

His wings, wide and white, opalescent and larger than most Avians, caught everyone’s attention. His flight was nothing like the grace and beauty of other Avians, but rather it was powerful and fierce and steady like that of demons. He soon earned the nickname “The Fallen Archangel” while his brother earned the moniker of “The Blood Demon.” These names equally pleased and angered their dad, which is why Dream had fun rigging the fanbase to settle on those over others.

 

But if the demon thought that his two hellions were trouble enough, he had no idea, because he would soon pick up two more. Unfortunately that is a tale for another time. As well as what folly a certain Avian Admin gets into once he sees the famed Archangel’s wings.

 

Until next time.

Chapter 2: Spawn Three and Spawn Four-The Unknown Boy and the Forgotten Boy

Summary:

Another two boys find their ways to Bad, and Phil finds what he lost after it was too late.

Notes:

This chapter was beta-ed by the amazing Ayonne! Thanks to Ayonne, this is a lot more polished than it would have been.

Also Wilbur might appear less in these stories if he keeps being a pain to write.

CW: Child abuse and abandonment is described in moderate detail. It's not a huge scene, but read carefully.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

In this set of universes, a certain avian Admin always drowns his sorrows and tries to forget his wife in the arms of another. In this one, he did the same, but he had a little restraint. He only fled to the poor woman’s arms after the loss of the world that killed his wife and likely collapsed on his son.

 

Returning to his designated section of ScottMajor’s world three days later, a different son crashed into his arms. This boy had brown hair and brown eyes that reminded the Angel of Death of no one, but this son had a light in his eyes and charms that distracted the Angel of Death from his sorrow. It hadn’t been enough that day when he discovered the loss of his world, but it was enough for him to determine never to return to the village where he momentarily tried to replace his wife with another.

 

The Angel of Death and his son began to world hop, away from ScottMajor’s world. Away from the hopeful and naïve woman. She lived for several years awaiting his return, much like a blond boy on a forgotten world. But her own blond boy went from a hopeful sign to a bitter reminder. Too brash and loud for her (too much like her). He was too curious and wild child, getting into every problem imaginable. And then he drew a witch into the village, one that cursed the sour, furious woman with a blindness. Despite her best efforts, the local healer could only return a fraction of the woman’s sight. So she packed the bitter reminder up and set out to find the avian Admin and dump the problem he’d given her back onto him.

 

She found an avian Admin all right.

 

 

“Give it back!”

 

“Come and get it,” Techno called over his shoulder, eager to have his brother chase him for once. White wings flared, and Techno paused to yell, “Full netherite armor!”

 

A grumble and the wings folded back into the lanky teen’s back. An amused huff, and Techno dropped down from the cliff to the paved path below. An unintelligible cry came from above him, and Techno reveled in his brother’s frustrated anger. Let’s see how much he liked making impossible leaps without wings. By the loud thump and whispered curse behind him, his brother liked it about as much as he did at first.

 

Techno dared to turn and wave the porcelain mask in the air.

 

“Having fun flying without wings?”

 

“I’m going to use my netherite armor to trounce you in the next competition!” Dream hissed and dashed forward. His normally ridiculous speed was tempered by the lack of wings but not by much. Techno quickly spun around and ran at his own top speed, long pink hair whipping behind him. There was nothing like beating his brother at his own game.

 

“You!” a hateful voice screeched as he rushed past two figures on the road. A chirping cry followed, and Techno slowed and looked back. A woman had somehow managed to grab his brother’s arm (seriously how?) and was squeezing the life out of it. A small blond boy looked between Dream and the woman with poorly hidden fear. “I don’t f**** care who you think you are! Angel of Death or whatever you f*****, what you did to me—you deserve to rot in limbo!”

 

The voices in Techno’s head, that had until this point been fairly silent, roared at the moniker of the man his brother feared most in all the worlds. Techno winced.

 

“What? I didn’t—” Dream started, but the woman cut him off.

 

“I don’t care for your f**** excuses!” the woman spit in Dream’s face, and Techno instantly hurried over to his brother’s side.

 

“Lady, I don’t know who you are but let go of my brother,” Techno growled. The woman barely glanced at him before scowling.

 

“Listen, s****, you don’t get to tell me what to f***** do,” the woman growled back. “Your brother is a b***** and so are you since you go around letting him f***** do what he wants.”

 

“Trust me, he doesn’t get to do whatever he wants. Our da—”

 

“Enough! I’ve come to f**** say my piece and be done with you and your f**** kind, including this b*****,” the woman screamed, grabbing the blond kid and shoving him at Dream. “Take him! I never want to f**** hear from him or you again!”

 

“Mom—” the kid pleaded.

 

“Don’t f**** call me that!” the woman cut the kid off. “You’ve been nothing but s**** since you were born. A burden, placed on a naïve b**** of a girl who thought this f**** was her f**** prince charming! And now look at me! F**** look at me.”

 

The woman’s fingers pointed straight into blurry blue eyes, and the kid cringed.

 

“I didn’t mean—” the kid tried again.

 

“F****! Do you think I want to hear another of your f**** excuses!? You’re his f**** problem now. If you ever think of trying to find me again, either of you b****, I will f**** kill you on sight.”

 

With her stampede of words done, she turned and stalked back down the path. The kid sagged, and a panic-inducing salt scent wafted from the direction of the small blond. But as if a switch had flipped, the kid straightened and yelled at the woman’s back.

 

“Fine! Who f**** needs you!? I’m f**** big man Tommyinnit! I don’t f**** need anyone!” The kid tore himself out of Dream’s arms. “You hear that, b****?! I don’t need anyone! Including you!”

 

“Language,” Dream stuttered out in pure shock. The kid stared at Dream with complete incredulity.

 

“Are you f**** kidding me?! Did you f**** ‘language’ me?!”

 

“In his defense, you are damaging my monetization,” Techno huffed amused. He’d rub the slip into his brother’s face later. Green eyes glared angrily at him.

 

“What the f**** are you talking about? And who the f**** are you?”

 

“She did say ‘Angel of Death,’ right?” Dream asked quietly. Techno’s amusement dropped as he nodded, the voices roaring in angry assent.

 

“She said a lot of things, but yeeeah, that was one of them,” he confirmed, ignoring the increasingly loud voices.

 

“He isn’t even on world,” Dream groaned, his head dropping into his hand. Techno didn’t need to confirm that statement. The mask would never be in the piglin hybrid’s hands otherwise. Gorgeous white wings unfolded and wrapped around their owner. Techno graciously allowed the exception to their bet, especially since he was involved.

 

“Woah,” came the sound of utter admiration. Techno turned back towards the kid who now was staring in open wonder at Dream’s wings. The blue eyes narrowed suddenly. “Those look like the Fallen Archangel’s wings.”

 

“They are,” Dream huffed from inside his wings. They split open a sliver so Dream could face the kid. Barely. “You’re talking to him.”

 

“You’re the Fallen Archangel?! No f**** way!” the kid said, starting to bounce. That was a mood swing. “Mom said…” The words faded, and the mood swung back. “You’re not my b**** deadbeat of a dad are you?”

 

“Nope,” Dream said with a pop. “But I might be—biologically only—his progeny.”

 

“Bio-what-ily? Pro-what?” the kid sounded out with pure confusion wrinkling his whole face.

 

“It means I’ve got half his DNA,” Dream explained. “Unfortunately.”

 

“What’s DNA?”

 

Techno and Dream both stared at the kid before Dream let out a huge sigh and opened his wings wider.

 

“It means we’re likely half-brothers,” Dream said. The voices began a chorus of “another birb” and “half-birb” and the like. Techno tried not to flinch. Dream caught the movement anyway. “Let’s find Bad.”

 

“Who the f**** is Bad?” the kid asked. Blue eyes widened and looked again at Techno. “Wait. Are you the f**** Blood Demon?!”

 

“Yes. And I’ll eat you if you say another word,” Techno said flatly. The kid’s voice was starting to grate as the voices grew louder to be heard over the kid’s overwhelming volume. The kid stared at him and opened his mouth, but then he snapped it shut. Apparently the kid wasn’t brave enough to call his bluff.

 

“Don’t mind him. He only eats orphans,” Dream said. He held out a hand to the kid. “And you’re not one. You’re most likely family. Pretty sure you’ll be family either way once Bad sees you.”

 

“Uncle Skeppy’s never going to let him live it down if he keeps this one,” Techno said.

 

“So you think he’s going to let this kid go without help? Especially if he’s of… his bloodline?”

 

“Your bloodline,” Techno corrected. The kid had remained quiet and turned oddly pink upon taking Dream’s hand. Techno wondered how long the hero worship would keep the kid quiet. He’d guess not long given the kid’s earlier loudness. “One way to find out.”

 

“You can’t ‘find out’ what you already know,” Dream sing-songed smugly.

 

“You know your wings are still out,” Techno said, cutting Dream’s smugness short.

 

“That was—come on, I had a kid pushed at me and he was mentioned—”

 

“I won’t count it if they go in by three,” Techno drawled. “One. Two. Thre—”

 

“They’re in! They’re in!” Dream cried, the wings indeed returned into his back. “Seriously. It wasn’t my fault.”

 

“Uh huh,” Techno grunted. He glanced over at the kid, who now appeared to be stumbling to keep up. He huffed a snort. With a roll of green eyes, Dream turned fully to the kid.

 

“You okay, kid?”

 

“I’m not a f**** kid,” the kid grumbled. He puffed out his chest. “I’m a big man! And the name’s Tommyinnit so use it.”

 

“Okay, Tommyinnit. You need help?”

 

“I’m fine,” the kid said, blinking quickly. He stumbled again and nearly fell over. He straightened himself and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. With a snorting chuckle, Dream swooped onto the kid and picked him up. “Hey—what the f**** are you doing?! Put me the f**** down!”

 

“I’m about to lose a full set of netherite armor for you, so shut it,” Dream said. White wings unfurled to their full span and took a familiar position. “We’re going the fast way. Race you there, Tech!”

 

The wings flapped sending powerful gusts in various directions, pointedly Techno’s. Soon Dream was in the air and quickly leaving the piglin hybrid behind. Techno snorted and quickly trotted off after the airborne avian. Wings or not, this was a race Techno didn’t plan to lose.

 

Though if he did, he would get a set of netherite armor regardless. Still no point letting Dream win without a fight. The idiot would get too cocky.

 

 

As both teens predicted, the demon did not hesitate to take the newest child under his wing. Many, many cries of “Language!” filled the Halo household, but the young abandoned avian soon learned that nothing he did would get him kicked out of the home he found himself in. Though he also learned that none of his family would back up or encourage his more outrageous behavior. He only tried to use his brothers’ status to get away with griefing once . After rebuilding an entire village under disappointed white eyes, he never tried that again.

 

But no one messed with him after that time when some bitter losers tried to use him as a stress relieving punching bag. The Blood Demon and Fallen Archangel gained a more fearsome reputation after that incident. No one spoke of the curses that followed the losers afterwards, a bit worried over what might have caused them. Surely the Blood Demon and Fallen Archangel didn’t have that kind of power.

 

(They didn’t. But their dad did.)

 

A certain diamond golem did indeed mercilessly tease the demon over his increasing number of children. However the diamond golem’s son struck a semi-destructive friendship with the demon’s youngest, and the diamond golem often had to partner with the demon to reign their collective children in. And in one of the pair’s more chaotic ventures, they discovered a brunet boy in a box (one that in another place and time was found by others). The blaze hybrid, eager for a sibling of his own, brought him back. And so the diamond golem became a father of two, and the demon smugly teased him in return.

 

Around the time the brunet boy had begun joining the blaze hybrid and the demon’s youngest on their ventures, the Angel of Death joined a tournament on a world called Hypixel. On a whim, the Fallen Archangel joined an adjacent team tournament with his brother. And for the first time, the Angel of Death laid eyes on the Archangel’s wings. Wings that were perfect replicas of his long-gone wife's. Wings on a young man that would be the age of his son were he still alive. A young man with blond hair like his and with features that might resemble his under a porcelain mask.

 

Instantly the Angel of Death determined to contact this Archangel and demand answers. Where was he from? Was he his son? Did he remember him? Why would he hide his face?

 

And so the Angel of Death became consumed in learning about the Fallen Archangel. So much so that he began neglecting his adoptive son. The young man may have been of a more independent age, but he didn’t like how his father went from giving him most of his attention to none. Feeling scorned, he went to find out about this Archangel. He was much better at his research than his father, for better or for worse. Mostly for better, oddly. For the adoptive son in any case.

 

 

Wilbur stood in front of the cobblestone structure. He’d never seen anyone make a home out of cobblestone, and it was as ugly as anyone could imagine. He frowned. There was no chance the famed Fallen Archangel and his partner in crime the Blood Demon could live here. Not in this monstrosity. 

 

But given what that lovely lady at the blacksmith said, this was the place or at least close to it. Apparently they had lived in the area for years, though the locals said their house never stayed the same for more than a week. For the last year, all the constructions had been cobblestone, but the house still changed in style. Apparently someone had thought a tall cobblestone tower would make a good house. Perhaps the resident would know better where to find the tournament terrors?

 

With an hesitant hand, Wilbur knocked on the door. Several loud thumps later, the oak door opened to reveal a kid around the height of Wilbur’s waist. The kid scowled at Wilbur.

 

“Who are you?”

 

Wilbur prepared his lie, but he was struck by the kid’s appearance. The blond hair and shape of his face was too familiar. The blue of his eyes too—The kid had no wings, but other than that he looked like—

 

“DAD! THERE’S A WEIRDO AT THE DOOR!” the kid yelled loud enough to make Wilbur jump. He immediately squared his shoulders to defend himself, but the kid didn’t give him the chance as he ran back into the house(?). The door remained open, so Wilbur walked in. A tall demon entered the entry hall from a nearby door and wiped flour from his clawed hands onto a kitchen towel. His fa—Phil’s research hadn’t mentioned an actual demon or a kid, so apparently he had been right. This was not the Fallen Archangel’s place. But that kid’s resemblance to the Angel of Death—

 

“Hello,” the demon said with a gaping white void of a smile. Wilbur easily smiled back. No sense offending a possible source of information. “Did you need something?”

 

“I’m looking for Archangel. I’m a friend of his,” Wilbur said, sticking to the lie he had used in the town. The Fallen Archangel was fairly friendly, especially in contrast to the Blood Demon. He was known for hanging around a lot of people, especially two people who were teamed with him whenever he was expressly forbidden to be on the same team with the Blood Demon (which according to Phil's research, was happening more and more often).

 

“Sorry. You’re in the wrong place,” the demon said cheerily. “Don’t know who told you he’d be here, but it’s only me and my kids.”

 

“Oh, I apologize for bothering you. Would you be able to point me in the right direction?”

 

“Mmm,” the demon hummed, flopping the towel between his hands. “Not sure I can. Sorry. Like I said, the Archangel doesn’t live here. Seriously, who told you he lives here ? No offense to anyone, but I don’t think the Archangel would live in a house like this.”

 

“It’s a well-constructed structure,” Wilbur defended. A little flattery never hurt, and this guy definitely knew more than he was saying. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”

 

“Because cobblestone is one of the worst blocks ever mined,” came a new voice. A pink-haired hulk of a man stood in the door the demon had entered through. “Unfortunately for all of us, Bad is terrible at saying no and keeps catering to the little gremlin who answered the door.”

 

“Cobblestone is a fine block,” the demon, Bad, defended. “And it’s fun finding uses for it I never have before.”

 

“You never used it before Tommy barged into our lives.”

 

“So? I likely would have gotten to it eventually.”

 

The red eyes stared flatly into voidless white. The void white caved.

 

“All right, so it’s mostly to keep Tommy happy. But he won’t build with me if I try any other block,” this Bad almost whined. Wilbur didn’t know demons could do that. From all the literature Phil had dug up on demons (because of course the Archangel flew like one), they were too proud for such tones. The demon’s attention fell back onto Wilbur. “Anyway, we can’t help you. Whoever told you the Archangel lives here is obviously pulling a prank on you. I can give you directions to the nearest town or even MCC central if you prefer.”

 

“What if I said I have vital information to share with the Archangel about the Angel of Death,” Wilbur said almost casually. The whole atmosphere froze, and a shark grin bared on Wilbur’s lips. So the great and illustrious Archangel did live here.

 

A sharp edge pushed against his throat. Feathers fell at the edges of his vision, and now Wilbur froze.

 

“You have five seconds to spit your information out,” an ominous voice hissed without breath into his ear. “Five. Four. Three. T—”

 

“If you Respawn me, I’ll just come back. And I’ll bring him with me.”

 

The counting instantly stopped. The red and white glares bore into his head, and Wilbur raised his hands and tempered his grin.

 

“Now I did come in peace,” Wilbur said in an obnoxiously obvious “calming” voice. Irritation flashed in the red gaze, though the white one merely grew thoughtful. “I only want to exchange information.”

 

“What information?” hissed the voice in his ear.

 

“Mine for yours of course,” Wilbur said, nudging the ax away from his throat. As he’d hoped, it fell away easily. “We can make it an even trade. A question for a question.”

 

“F**** die, b****!”

 

The sudden cry startled Wilbur, and he barely registered the wooden blade headed for his face before it was yanked back from midair.

 

“Let me go!” cried the blond boy from earlier. He hung struggling from the demon’s grasp. “I’m going to f**** kill him! He can’t f**** with my brother!”

 

“Language!” the demon scolded loudly. “And no one’s killing anyone. We’re going to have a nice, peaceful conversation.” Void white eyes turned to Wilbur over a sharp void-filled grin. “Right?”

 

“That’s all I wanted,” Wilbur said with a shrug, trying to regain his composure after the steamroll of an interruption the blond boy had been. What was wrong with the brat? (He looked like Phil—that should be wrong enough.)

 

“Then let’s move this to the kitchen. I have to put my muffins in the oven,” the demon said. He dragged the struggling and grumbling boy behind him. The hulk of a man moved to let the demon enter the doorway. A familiar flutter rustled behind him, and the Archangel himself shoved past him. Wilbur allowed himself a quick scowl. The wings were even more glorious up-close.

 

Shaking the bitterness out of his expression and shoving his hands in his coat’s pockets, he placidly followed the rigid figure past a menacing sentinel that had to be the Blood Demon. He refused to show either of them any weakness, especially how much his fingers trembled.

 

He would get his answers and then find a way to shove them in his father’s ignorant face.

 

 

In other universes, the charismatic man hid his bitterness by world-hopping with his brother until it grew too large to ignore. Eventually the bitterness grew to a madness that spurred destruction. But bitterness is a pill best acknowledged and then thrown in the nearest compost pile, and a certain demon would allow nothing less. No matter how frustrated he got when the charismatic man started calling him “dad” for no other reason than to anger the Angel of Death should the man ever learn of it.

 

(The demon knew the young, neglected man wanted the Angel of Death to notice—The self-absorbed man didn’t.)

 

Months passed. The charismatic man grew closer and closer to the family of cast-offs and soon revealed more about himself than he meant. His love for music. His passion for words and for the independence that was lacking in so many worlds. His talent in potion-making. He even began showing up to events to cheer on the “twins” as he dubbed them more than to see if his father noticed him in the periphery of the matches.

 

The passionate musician realized that he’d fallen under the small family’s complete thrall when he met a mermaid named Sally and immediately wanted to bring her to meet the demon and his brothers. The demon baked the best batch of muffins he ever had to impress his newest son’s girlfriend. She loved them.

 

The musician nearly proposed the day after the visit, but the Fallen Archangel stopped him and suggested finding a ring. The Blood Demon offered to help him acquire gold and emeralds, while the demon insisted on teaching him how to mold the ring himself. Their youngest demanded to be the ring bearer.

 

The two married on a young Seed’s first sunrise, courtesy of the Fallen Archangel’s advancing Admin studies. The musician soon gained a child of his own, who he introduced to his demon grandfather. The demon grew flustered upon earning the honor to hold the tiny baby in his arms. He was terrified of dropping the fox hybrid (born that way from the blessing of the Seed on which he was conceived), but he never came close.

 

Unfortunately the demon had to quickly adjust to the baby’s needs when Sally the Salmon disappeared back into the ocean from whence she came. The heartbroken musician shut down, torn apart by fears of always getting left behind and abandoned. The Fallen Archangel sat with the musician quietly for hours with his white wing over the musician’s shoulder and made sure the heartbroken man ate and slept. After being benched for a horrific massacre on multiple solo tournaments, the Blood Demon threw himself into farming potatoes to keep his family afloat while their father focused on the baby in the household. The shorter blond would yell and prod and demand his oldest brother get off his a**** while doing his best to help their father. None of them left the musician or the musician’s child alone.

 

With the help of the diamond golem and his sons, the family got through the musician’s tragedy together. And just like that, the musician realized that in pursuing after the Angel of Death’s obsession he’d found something indescribably precious that was now his forever. He called the demon “dad” more frequently simply to see the demon fluster but smile widely. He teased his winged brother over everything to get the famous Fallen Archangel to either bluster or wheeze. He prodded his part-piglin brother to take on growingly impossible challenges to see the Blood Demon take them on head on and destroy them. He passed on his knowledge in various areas to his youngest brother to see what the chaotic blond would do with the information. He sang to his child before bed every night and promised that he would be more like a demon than an angel.

 

Speaking of angels, the Angel of Death had been stuck in his studies and information on the Fallen Archangel. So stuck was he in his research that he lost track of time and his last son. When he finally emerged from his study, he had nothing but a plan. One that would lead to his finally waking up to reality where he had lost his present by holding onto to his past.

 

 

Phil took a breath and shook his wings out. The Archangel had his attention fully on his opponent, his supposed brother. (Impossible. The Blood Demon was a piglin hybrid while the Archangel was obviously an avian.) The duel had been as ferocious and intense as all the hype surrounding it had promised. The Blood Demon fought exactly as his moniker would imply, though his movements were quicker and more strategic than Phil had expected. But the Archangel gave as good as he got, and his movements were as free and well-thought-out as would make the best of warriors jealous (or in Phil’s case, proud).

 

The final blow fell onto the white porcelain mask that cracked but did not break. The crowd below Phil thundered and whooped as the piglin hybrid helped the avian up. A frown crossed Phil’s face, but he cleared his head of disappointment. The Beast would soon announce the surprise challenger. Phil had paid the man in favors and money, and most importantly promises of clout, to set it up like this, where the Archangel could not run from him. (Phil wasn’t 100% sure that the Archangel was indeed avoiding him, but Phil wasn’t taking chances however unlikely they seemed.)

 

The fact that the Archangel had lost was inconvenient. A surprise opponent for the loser instead of the winner would be odd, but hopefully people would be intrigued enough to push for the match. The Beast’s retainer had already handed the Archangel a regen potion, so everything was still in order.

 

“People, people, calm down! I have another treat!” the Beast roared through the microphone, and the rumbling crowd calmed into shocked expectation. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but there is a surprise challenger. Not for the winner. Oh no, that would be too expected. Our challenger is for our gracious loser, the Fallen Archangel Dream!”

 

The crowd echoed its earlier thunder, but Phil ignored them to watch his—(no, he wasn’t sure, even with the Admin status, not yet) the young avian. The Archangel exchanged an obvious (smug?) glance with the Blood Demon. Then he turned and preened under the audience’s attention. Phil kept his eyes on the prismic rainbows flickering off the flaring white wings. A soft smile replaced the disappointed frown on his lips. It then sharpened into an eager grin.

 

“Please clear the stage of anyone but the Fallen Archangel so that the challenger can make his grand entrance,” The Beast commanded. Everyone that had flooded the arena’s stage quickly scurried away except for two. The Archangel and Blood Demon scoured the stadium on opposite ends, likely trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious challenger. Phil was grateful for his invis potion when a white mask tilted up in his direction. Of course his—the young avian would look up. “All right then. Let’s get this show on the road. As soon as Techno gets off the stage, our challenger will make himself known.”

 

The Blood Demon passed the Archangel and patted his shoulder. Finally the piglin hybrid left the stage, and Phil’s wings stretched to their full span. He narrowed in on the Archangel and upon hearing what might be an introduction from the Beast, he leapt down. He recognized the instant his—the young avian registered who his opponent was. His muscles and stance grew rigid and the healthy light tan on his neck and arms paled. A reasonable response to the Angel of Death descending upon you.

 

The Archangel took several steps backwards, but Phil wasn’t going to let him turn tail and run. The young avian had enough courage to at least take him head on, so Phil wouldn’t accept any less. He swung a netherite blade straight at the young avian’s face. The sword swerved around the fragile white wings as they came up in defense (who taught him to use his wings like that?—avian wings were not meant for blocking blows) and ducked under them to hack at the cracked mask. The cracks spread, and Phil suddenly grew grateful for the young avian’s loss. The work was partially done for him.

 

The young avian flapped his wings and leapt back, but Phil pressed his attack. Again the wings fluttered in the sword’s trajectory, and Phil allowed the edge to nick one of the wing’s arms. A hiss slipped through the cracked mask. Phil followed the sound more than his sight to land another blow. His body followed his swing, and he ducked into the circle of the white wings. He grabbed the front of the baggy green sweatshirt and brought the sword back down, accidentally slashing the same wing arm with the outside edge. He slammed the pommel of the sword into the biggest of cracks on the seemingly porcelain mask, and it snapped in two.

 

Green eyes blinked at the surge of light. The sword dangled in Phil’s slackening grip. He chirped and whistled in exaltation. He knew that face, those eyes, that smattering of boyish freckles. He called to his lost Chick.

 

The Chick warbled an obvious yet meaningless plea, and Phil felt himself yanked backwards. An amazing amount of brute force threw him across the stage, and he flapped his wings quickly to keep from slamming into the wall. White wings surrounded the young avian from what little Phil could still see of him with the large piglin hybrid standing straight in front of Phil’s hidden son. Phil let out a deep, furious hiss.

 

“Get out of my way,” Phil warned, taking a fully-offensive stance with his sword held out in a prepared thrust motion. He whistled and called, letting his son, his Chick, know that his father was here. That he had to remember the father who had never forgotten him. That whatever happened didn’t matter because he had finally found him.

 

No chirps or warbles answered him, but Phil tried not to be discouraged. This was sudden. Unexpected. The Chick likely had been trapped in the limbo of that fallen world long enough to lose sense of who he was. Of who he had once lived with. But Phil didn’t come this far to give up on his son now.

 

With no more warning, he flapped his wings for added power and lunged at the piglin hybrid. Surprisingly the piglin hybrid didn’t move to swerve from the attack and moved to catch the swords’s thrust on his own larger one. Too bad a true thrust wasn’t Phil’s aim. He bent down the swoop of his wings and then immediately upward to gain a quick boost in altitude flying above the piglin hybrid and splashed two weakening and one harming potion in the obstacle’s face. Given what he had studied on piglins in general and this piglin hybrid in specific, overkill would be necessary. The piglin hybrid instantly stumbled to a knee, and Phil flew unobstructed to the pillar of feathers his son had become.

 

And then his lift disappeared as he was wrenched to the ground. An unseen force held him down and worse bound his wings. He could do nothing but squirm as a dark shadow fell over him and then blocked his view of his son.

 

“Doturog agh mabaj naj-ri, shadows. Jeg naj-ri ve ul realm ro kigija nalkrulji ku agh mis lost. Keep naj-ri atigat until ekko has lost gith meaning agh lessons ayh ti learned. Let naj-ri linger agh feel every zutag ro kilgjas najor kormanaj have kept tanoz agh loved. Give naj-ri ul briefest respite nug striking truth agh loss ishi naj-ri'uk sulj soul. Agh never allow naj-ri naj kilgjas nalkriuk mabaj my zemar parhor again.”

 

And Phil fell.

 

His consciousness blurred through a variety of experiences.

 

A grumble came from his middle as he stood small and engulfed by a house he had once built for him and his wife and son. He stared at the sky with a longing that bordered on despair before grabbing a bag and fearfully going onto a boat and away from the island that held his house, terror and hunger vying to tear apart his stomach first. And then sobs burst from his hungry center and rocked the boat as it floated further and further away from his once-home.

 

He held his head as he ran fast and hard (too fast and too hard) from the grunting, bulky brutes behind him. He chomped into his stolen golden apple, hoping to quell the voices in his head and banish the weakness in his limbs before he fell and became victim of unending blows. With a final crunch, he used the apple’s core as a projectile and a distraction and escaped with his life intact. For what little that life was worth.

 

A vase smashed and shattered against the wall next to his skull, and he could barely breathe. Loud, searing words rained on his head, and something on his cheek hurt. His mother grew blurry in her jerky, slicing movements, and he scrambled against the wall as she grew closer. His shirt’s collar was fisted into her hold and pushed against his neck as spit flew out her mouth and onto his face as his ears joined his cheek in hurting. He was flung into the air and slammed against the floor as he landed. He tucked himself into a ball and opened his mouth to breathe, but his breaths came out all wobbly and wet. The screaming demanded he stop the weird breathing, but he didn’t know how.

 

Black wings stretched across a solid back, and he reached for the shoulder under them. The hand was shrugged off, and a quiet, distracted dismissal automatically sounded from beneath. His blood boiled, and he clashed his teeth together. He spat out a question that was barely heard, and before he could do anything else, he was escorted out with a blank, meaningless smile and an empty promise of “later.” Later. Like the parents who told him to wait until later and they would return. Who left him on the side of the road and erased his existence in favor of his combat-skilled younger brother. A fist slammed into the diorite wall. He ignored the impulse to fall to his knees and break into sobs. Blood dripping down his knuckles, he spun around and swished his brown coat with a tight grin. He would erase this replacement before it erased him.

 

Phil found himself standing proudly under his wife’s son as he leapt from the tree and flew to his arms, effortlessly catching the young avian despite the boy’s preteen height. White wings fluttered behind his son, and the boy whooped in obvious celebration of his success. The wide smile under glittering green eyes and a multitude of freckles lit up the whole forest clearing.

 

Cheers squeezed out of Phil’s throat as an equally spindly and bulky piglin hybrid lunged at his opponent in a picture perfect strike. His cheering almost hurt his own ears as the piglin hybrid turned towards him and flashed a smug grin at his own victory, even daring to send him and the son next to him a thumbs up. His wife’s son scrambled onto the top of the observation railing and threw up his arms in growingly ecstatic celebration. He had to grab the boy before he fell down into the arena stage himself, but he managed to flash a thumb-up back, quickly catching a rare proud flush from the stoic young hybrid. Phil was not still fully sure about letting the young boy fight in these tournaments, but some hybrids did grow faster than others. And he really seemed to enjoy it. Those were good enough reasons to continue to let him participate, and he would always be there to cheer his newest son on.

 

Blue eyes peered over the side of Phil’s bed, and Phil rolled over fully to face them. The owner of the blue eyes muttered something about being scared that Phil would be lonely and coming to check on him. With a smile that almost hurt his face, he agreed he was lonely and would love some company. He lifted the covers, and the little boy scrambled into his arms. When Phil had begun to doze, the boy sniffled, and he instantly became fully awake. One of the boy’s hands had pushed against his mouth to muffle the sound. When his youngest son noticed he was awake, the boy made excuses. Said he was a big enough man to stop, followed by a small plea not to send him away. Phil laid a hand behind the boy’s head and patted it, whispering that the biggest of men knew when to cry and reminding the boy that he had been lonely. His youngest son’s sniffles became sobs too loud to hide behind a hand, and so Phil curled around his little lovable menace and let him muffle the cries into his own chest.

 

Holding a tiny, hybrid fox toddler in one arm, Phil bent down to look into glassy, soulless eyes. He gently untangled tiny fingers from his dark clothes and settled the toddler in his broken father’s arms. The arms automatically tightened around the little one, and an inward hope rose further up his chest. He lifted a hand to his eldest’s cheek and rubbed a thumb across it. He whispered little anecdotes about what the toddler had done today, about the mischief his youngest brother had caused, about how his oldest brother had succeeded at becoming ranked number one at potatoes, and about how maybe his second youngest brother might not burn down the kitchen this time since he had finally finished reading their final cookbook while he had kept the eldest quiet company earlier. A small vibration burst under Phil’s fingers, and he felt the hope soared. His eldest said that for all that his winged brother made some pretty terrible dishes, he had never technically burned down the kitchen. A quick quip, one about how close Phil’s wife’s son had come that time he had tried to bake cookies with their youngest, flew out of his mouth, and he was rewarded with a chuckle and the smallest of smiles. The toddler strained his neck in order to see the wonder of his father smiling.

 

Phil smiled at Wilbur’s recovery, but then he blinked. He was no longer kneeling in front of his heartbroken son. No, he was standing off to the side as a tall, black figure continued to quip and joke and draw laughter out of Wilbur. His head whipped around trying to recover his bearings, but all the cheerful scenes, all the memories of him and his sons were suddenly altered.

 

It was the tall, black figure that instructed his Clay on how to better move his wings when he attempted to fly down from the tree again.

 

It was that same man who cheered so loudly he gained a sore throat as the piglin hybrid gained the moniker of Blood Demon.

 

It was that same vaguely menacing character who snuggled a child Phil didn’t even know he had closer in the dark of the night and encouraged the little boy to cry.

 

It was that same shadowy demon who had stood before him and proclaimed the curse that had left him in this dark limbo reliving memories that should have been his and the ones that belonged to his sons. No. To the sons that would have been his if he hadn’t wrapped himself in grief. In despair. In obsessive hope. In himse–

 

Phil fell forward and into another scene of his wife’s son begging for food or tools in a village on Phil’s lost world. The Angel of Death tried to wrap the image of his starving son in his own arms, but his hands and wings passed through. And suddenly it was his stomach that ached, his pride that was cast aside as he stretched out tiny hands for any semblance of help and found some in the village blacksmith—

 

 

Mr. Beast stood on the platform high above the arena stage and looked down at the tall demon surrounded by two of the best warriors on various worlds, a man known to be a dangerously charismatic leader, and a blond child that looked like he would bite him if he got close enough.

 

“If you want my advice,” said a voice from his left. “I would let him go.”

 

“Scott, I’m surprised you made your way up here,” Mr. Beast said cheerily. His mind whirled with possibilities on how to make this situation work in his favor. “This isn’t normally your scene.”

 

“It isn’t,” Scott agreed almost carelessly. “But I felt the need to warn you. It won’t be Badboyhalo who is on trial if you go through with this. It will be you.”

 

“Oh. And who will be the judge then?”

 

“Them,” said Scott, spreading a hand in the direction of four varied but obvious glares. “And at least three of them hold a lot of sway in the court of public opinion. Trust me, you do not want to attempt to bring any form of punishment on Badboyhalo for what happened to the Angel of Death.”

 

“What happened to the Angel of Death doesn’t really matter to me,” Mr. Beast admitted. “He asked for a fight, and I arranged it. I do feel a bit bad for the guy since he seemed to think the Fallen Archangel was his son or something, but he went too far. But I can’t let people go around banishing people into the limbo of one of my worlds without some consequence.”

 

“I warned you,” Scott said with a shrug. He backed off the platform and down the stairs. He called over his shoulder, “Don’t blame me later!”

 

Giving his own shrug, he turned back to the scene of five people staring at him, four of which were still glaring at him.

 

“Badboyhalo, for the crime of casting Philza Minecraft into the limbo of this world, what do you plead?”

 

“Guilty, I guess,” the towering demon said without any of the timidity Mr. Beast had normally associated with him. “He threatened my kids, and I let my instincts take over. I am sorry for sending him to your limbo though. It was the closest. If I had been thinking straight, he would have been in the general Network’s limbo. I would offer to take him out and throw him into that one instead, but I may have overdone it on the magic I used to send him there. I don’t think I can undo it without accidentally tearing into the coding fabric of this seed.”

 

A shiver rattled through Mr. Beast’s spine.

 

“Jimmy,” Techno said casually, as if just anyone dared to speak Mr. Beast’s name. Jimmy took half a step away from the platform’s railing. “I think it’s important to acknowledge that this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t thrown the Angel of Death at my brother after the duel you demanded we have.”

 

“Also the fact that the Angel brought potions to a weapon duel means that the man never planned to play fair. And since he is suffering for his actions already, the only one left to hold the blame for his lack of fair play would be you,” Wilbur Soot (though Karl had said he was going by Halo as of late) said with a placidness that didn’t match the flint in his eyes.

 

“Look, let’s keep this simple. You let Philza Microsoft stay in your limbo, and Dad won’t have you join him,” Dream said in a hiss. He arched his still bloodstained wings in a protective halo over his family.

 

“Yeah, and my big brothers will never fight in your stupid events again,” the blond kid spat. “Take that, b*****.”

 

“Language!” Badboyhalo cried, cowing the blond kid into snapping his mouth shut and scowling. Then the demon turned in a half-circle to face all his children and huffed, “All of you, calm down. I’m sure Mr. Beast is reasonable.” The tall demon focused back on Jimmy. “How about this: I will not come back to this world, and I will never bind anyone to a limbo not my own or the general Network one. Would that work?”

 

The glares from earlier grew darker, and Scott’s words loomed heavily in the back of Jimmy’s mind. Clearing his suddenly dry throat, Mr. Beast nodded as firmly as he could.

 

“That would be acceptable?”

 

“But it’s not Dad’s fault,” the blond kid whined. “Why does he have to be punished?”

 

“Tommy has a point,” Wibur agreed. “I say that if those restrictions are imposed on Dad, then Mr. Beast ought to increase the money owed Techno and Dream to compensate them for the danger he put them in.”

 

“That does sound fair,” Badboyhalo said. White eyes narrowed over a wide grin. “You did put them in danger.”

 

“O-of course,” Jimmy quickly agreed. He wished Chris or Karl had come up to stand with him. “Any amount is fine.”

 

“So ten times the amount will be fine,” Wilbur said, grin showing his teeth.

 

“Ten times! Are you—” Jimmy exclaimed, but shadows swirled at the demon’s feet in a way too similar to how they had when the Angel of Death had been pulled down into empty darkness. “Ten times is fine! A thousand stacks of netherite blocks coming up!”

 

Badboyhalo nodded, and the shadows vanished.

 

“Well, since we’ve come to an agreement, it’s time to go home,” Badboyhalo said with a small clap. “I was happy to be a guest here Mr. Beast.”

 

“Happy to have you,” Jimmy automatically replied. He did not wipe the sweat off his brow. “It would be a pleasure to have you again.”

 

“On another world, I will accept that offer,” Badboyhalo said politely. Turning his back on Mr. Beast, he exited the stage. “Let’s go home, boys.”

 

The blond kid sent Jimmy a smug smirk and trotted to the demon’s side. He grabbed the dark clawed hand. Dream sent Jimmy a two-fingered salute in tandem with Techno’s nod and hurried after the other two. Wilbur shot Jimmy a warning look and strode calmly behind his brothers and father. Jimmy breathed in relief and decided to avoid Scott for the time being. He didn’t want to hear the man’s amused “I told you so.”

 

 

And that is how everyone lives happily ever after. Except for the Angel of Death. He did get out of the curse, but he is now a broken man weighed down by all that he’s lost. He did stumble on stories about his wife’s son’s world, but he has never been allowed onto it. He lives the rest of his endless life on the outside staring in.

 

Those he abandoned never spare him a thought and now live their lives as some of the most blessed in various universes.

 

This universe, among the many, is unique. No wars ever broke out on our blond Admin’s first world, and so our musician never goes down a terrible spiral of madness. Which means that our blond Admin never takes inexcusable, self-destructive actions to regain peace. Our piglin hybrid is never betrayed even once. Our youngest blond isn’t exiled and hurt by others and himself. And our demon isn’t possessed by an oval virus.

 

A family, found and bound by their love for each other, stands strong against all troubles together even now. And so the next time a diamond golem sends a creeper to blow up the side of a well-crafted house, no universe-changing paradigm is achieved. Only four very angry demon spawns enacting retribution for the loss of their dad’s newest house.

 

Notes:

Translation of Bad's curse:

Doturog agh mabaj naj-ri, shadows. Jeg naj-ri ve ul realm ro kigija nalkrulji ku agh mis lost. Keep naj-ri atigat until ekko has lost gith meaning agh lessons ayh ti learned. Let naj-ri linger agh feel every zutag ro kilgjas najor kormanaj have kept tanoz agh loved. Give naj-ri ul briefest respite nug striking truth agh loss ishi naj-ri'uk sulj soul. Agh never allow naj-ri naj kilgjas nalkriuk mabaj my zemar parhor again.

Bind and hold him, Shadows. Take him to the realm of that which is and was lost. Keep him there until time has lost all meaning and lessons are beyond learned. Let him linger and feel every pain of those he should have kept safe and loved. Give him the briefest respite before striking truth and loss into his very soul. And never allow him near those who hold my Heart ever again.

(If you care to know, the words are in some version of orcish because that's the next best demon-like speech I could find.)

Notes:

In my defense, I did warn Philza Microsoft.