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Tommy's premonitions weren't doing him any favors right now. Who cared if he could see completely random flashes of futures at random points in time if he was being hunted down in the woods like a fucking deer or some shit? He was being hunted down, and his fuckin' dreams weren't being helpful when he was being chased down by a dozen unknown assailants.
Genuinely, truly, he wished that he was born with some other fucking power. He'd even take necromancy! It may be extremely taboo and whatever, but fuck being hated by the entire magical community, at least he'd be able to raise some squirrel's bones from the dead and sic them on the enemy. He didn't know what they were associated with, but Tommy had a pretty good idea from the fact that an arrowhead nearly nicked his arm was enough to say that yes, this was the enemy.
They weren't aiming to kill him which was simultaneously reassuring and terrifying. Sure, their current goal may not be to murder the fuck outta him… but their goals were unknown, and the unknown was sorta known to be extremely fucking terrifying.
Lady Luck was truly not on his side today, apparently, since he ran headfirst onto a cliffside area, with no way out but to jump at least forty fucking feet down. It wasn't even into water! It was just a literal ravine simply dipping into the ground! Tommy may not have the best marks in geography (and he may or may not have, er, never gone to school to get those marks — but that fact was completely irrelevant here! I mean, he was about to die!), but he was pretty sure that this gorge didn't exist before.
Tommy found himself almost at the edge of the cliff and summoned his smooth talking voice since that worked every single time. Yep.
Everytime.
"Heyyy, fellas!" Tommy greeted, raising up his hands in mock surrender. "You think we can talk this out?" They creeped closer to him with raised bows and daggers pointed in Tommy's general direction, which wasn't that appreciated. He took their silence as a yes. "I didn't know that I, uh, intruded on your territory?" Tommy hated how his voice sounded like he wasn't sure, but to be completely fair, he wasn't sure if that was what happened or not.
Tommy took a small step backwards, only to feel an updraft lift up the back of his shirt. He snuck a glance behind him, and he realized he was nearly completely off the side of the cliff.
Before he had the chance to look back at the fuckin' pricks following him around, he saw the handle of a dagger hit his head — before everything went black.
(He didn't even have time to figure out he was being knocked out! Rude.)
Tommy immediately felt the chafe of ropes tied around his body. It wasn't just around his ankles and wrists, no, these fuckers needed to be extra. They had him wrapped in rope like he was about to be roasted over a fire or something — which was something Tommy was starting to suspect was the case from the fact he was tied up in a damp, dim cell of some sort with a handful of other captives. From the looks on their faces, which were gagged (and made him realize he was also gagged), they'd been here for a long time. They seemed more resigned, less… energetic as Tommy suspected was normal.
Then again, Tommy only ever had experience with himself and… er, himself.
Really, being an oracle-based magician didn't do him any fucking favors. He was essentially useless, especially since he wasn't fucking good at it. There was also something about people not believing that he was a fuckin' oracle… seer… master of future telling… predictor of random fucking shit that just so happened to be in the future, which made people think that he wasn't a magician and that he was a liar, but look.
He actually could see the future, okay? It wasn't just fuckin' deja vu.
But Tommy kinda understood their hesitance. Magicians had some sort of use, even if it was miniscule — and none of it, there wasn't a single fucking case, involved a magician only ever being able to see the future. And it was times like these where he was kidnapped and stuffed in a fuckin' basement cellar that he wasn't an oracle and rather… an elemental magician perhaps? Elemental magicians were pretty good at combat and shit.
Tommy was really definitely not having an internal monologue when he was stuck in a disgusting prison cell when he didn't deserve to be in prison. He never did anything wrong!
Except evading the law, child protection services, more law shit since oracles apparently "don't exist" and it's "heretical" to the magician community, and perhaps stealing some shit… a lot of shit.
All of this was far from relevant. All you need to know is that Tommy didn't deserve to be here.
Tommy winced a little as he felt rope burn on his arms, just as the cell door slammed open and one of the assailants (or so he assumed; they were dressed a bit, er, uniformed) looked around the cell. Tommy's roomies shrinked away immediately, but their captor-warden-person didn't even bother to glance at them. Instead, he focused on Tommy. He roughly and extremely rudely pulled Tommy up to his feet which were tied by rope still. In the fuck's hand was a knotted rope that connected to Tommy's burrito rope. Y'know, the rope that was wrapped around his torso and not his feet or hands.
Rudely, the dude just tugged Tommy forward — essentially forcing Tommy to just straight up fall face-first onto concrete without hands to keep him from injuring himself. The rude ass motherfucker didn't even care! He just proceeded to drag Tommy like he was a misbehaving dog or some shit, except in this case, the collar was around Tommy's body and not his neck.
Tommy tried to say, "That was fucking rude, man," but the gag in his mouth made that kinda impossible.
Tommy eventually found that the concrete floor turned into, guess… more concrete, but a different color! How exciting! Gray concrete to darker gray concrete, with… blood spatter scattered about.
He gulped. That wasn't foreboding at all whatsoever. Whatever do you mean?
Just like before, the rude fucker just picked Tommy up and placed him on this stone table sort of thing, and an entire gaggle of fuckin' lookalikes with their same red-and-black hooded and masked get-up appeared to essentially hold him down as they started to untie him — which was wonderful, until Tommy realized that they were untying him to tie him to the stone table.
The most unnerving part of this all was the eerie silence that came from all of them. There wasn't even so much as a yawn or a sneeze. It was just, utterly silent.
Tommy's gag was removed after they ensured he was securely bounded to the table, which was a bit overkill, honestly. Did they think that Tommy, with his stick for arms— I mean, very muscley muscles made of muscles, would be able to take them all on?
"Thank the motherfucking gods," Tommy immediately started to talk the second the gag was removed, "I was beginning to think that I wasn't going to talk ever again. That would be horrendous, you know? The world would suffer without hearing me talk ever again. You guys have been missing out, y'kno—"
One of the rude motherfuckers just took a moment to stare at him creepily for an extended period of time before muttering just loud enough for Tommy to hear, "If we didn't need you for this ritual, I'd tear off your jaw and tear out your vocal chords." Tommy just froze. Why? Probably because of how gruesome that threat was on top of the implication — no, simple admittance that they were using him for a ritual.
What?
Why?
When?
Where?
Tommy was frozen in place to the point he didn't realize when another one of the… cultist fuckers came up with what seemed to be a pitcher of something. The threatening cultist fucker used his sheer amount of finger strength (which, goddamn, that was strong ass finger muscles) to keep Tommy's mouth open no matter how much he tried to close it. The other guy, pitcher dude, straight up just poured the liquid in the pitcher into Tommy's mouth.
Nah, you'd think it'd be like wine, or some holy water, maybe some leaf juice — but nah.
None of the above.
It was fucking blood in that cup.
Tommy wasn't stupid. The metallic taste made him want to gag, but with his mouth forced open and blood being forced down his throat, he couldn't exactly take the moment to fucking throw up, now, could he? This was extremely rude, honestly. He's actually pretty sure that if you consume enough blood that isn't your own, you can die from like, some brain thing.
Or maybe that's the side effects of eating people, not drinking people. Tommy got it confused sometimes. And pardon him if he wasn't getting all the facts right when he was being, probably, sacrificed in the name of some wacky, insane cult obsessed with shoving blood down people's throats.
Once the motherfucking pricks stopped shoving the stupid fucking blood down his throat, Tommy took the moment to relish in the fucking agony of experiencing all of this before he supposedly died. Look, Tommy had visions and shit. He didn't think he was gonna die today since he hadn't lived to see this one vision, of him being on some sort of farm and shit, but then again, half of his so-called premonitions could be thwarted from the mere fact that Tommy was aware of its existence.
It was yet another reason why people didn't believe he was a fortune teller.
The blood-obsessed cultists started chanting what sounded like a mix of latin and arabic if those two languages simply merged together. Safe to say, it sounded like demonspawn was being summoned from hell. That was all Tommy needed to know.
Tommy could only watch in muted horror as some sort of black portal thing formed next to where Tommy was laying (which seemed to be an altar, now that Tommy really thought about it), and out came this very stone-faced looking bitch. Okay, that was a bit rude. But the fact was that this demon that crawled up from hell didn't even look demonic! Pink hair, red eyes? Sure, it could be freaky — but it was also a sign of being a witch, so it wasn't like it was abnormal for someone to be walking around with weird color combinations.
(Yet another fucking reason no one believed he was an oracle. He was too "plain" or some shit.)
"Bruh, you guys better have something worth my time. I was in the middle of something."
Tommy just watched in a mix of confusion and awe as the cultists that were treating Tommy so terribly earlier simply bowed down in reverence when faced with the guy who just waltzed out of the black portal like it was a casual Tuesday, and not even questioning the fact that Tommy was tied down on an altar.
"God of Blood, we ask for your blessing in return of the life of this human," the leader of the fuckers said— or at least Tommy assumed the dude was the leader. He couldn't exactly tell what the hierarchy was when they all wore the same fucking thing and didn't show any personal shit, like faces or scars.
The God of Blood turned his head slowly to where Tommy was laying, and it felt like a predator had just descended upon this earthly plane. It was actually very terrifying. He barely felt like he would be able to breath, let alone fucking talk. Jokes on him, Tommy was a big man with no fear — whether or not that was a good thing was up for question considering how much dumb shit he got into.
Look, he was a dumbass, but he was a self-aware dumbass.
"Ayup," Tommy greeted as if the presence of this 100% evil being, since no one who was actually a good existence would accept blood sacrifices, didn't affect him in the slightest. It definitely did, to be fair, but Tommy also didn't have a self-preservation instinct.
The evil being just stared at Tommy, and back to the cultists. Tommy was almost delighted to see most of them were trembling.
"Hey, is there any way I can convince you not to kill me?"
The deity-demon-thing seemed to quirk a smile at that. He challenged, "What do you have to offer me other than your life, kid?" The cultists started to protest, only for their protests to be cut off by the sheer force of the presence that the summoned being had. If that was directed at Tommy, he'd probably be a mess. Instead, he took comfort in the fact that it wasn't being directed at him.
Tommy hoped that this was at least somewhat believable. He bartered as bravely as he could manage in front of the god(?), "I'm a witch. I could do your bidding, or something?" Tommy paused for a split second before adding, "I'm sure I'd be more useful than these fuckers." The dude seemed to cough up something, but Tommy eyed him carefully since that cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
The God of Blood surveyed Tommy's appearance and made a frown. Raising an eyebrow in question, the creature asked almost kindly, which would've been believable if not for the aura surrounding him, "What type of witch are you? Light?" Tommy almost forgot that blonde-haired people could have some sort of magic. It wasn't common since witches were associated with white hair instead of blonde, but it wasn't impossible.
Even if this could get him killed for telling the truth, he told the truth, "I'm a fuckin' oracle? Seer of the future? Fortune teller? Visionary? I mean, not in the same way as inventors and shit. I mean the fact that I have visions and all of that—" Tommy rambled, not meeting the god's eye since, well, Tommy was pretty sure that he wouldn't believe Tommy — just as the magical community didn't believe him.
He didn't mean to start rambling nonsense, honestly, but the nervousness from not being believed and just getting his head lopped off was too big of a reality that he couldn't help but be fuckin' nervous. It didn't help that the pressure was growing from the summoned fucker. It was getting to the point that Tommy heard a couple of the cultists deadass choke.
"Y'know, random gut feelings and seeing futures… which could be useful for you, big man. Lemme tell ya, I've gotten out of some sticky situations just from seeing possibilities and shit."
Tommy took a second to glance back at the god who seemed more pleased than angry. It was a bit unnerving to see the grin stretch across the deity's face in what could only be described as something straight out of a scary tale you'd tell kids to get them to behave. It was absolutely terrifying, but Tommy didn't feel the pressure suffocate him nearly as much as it was the rest of the cult.
He didn't dare to even twitch despite being tied up on the fuckin' altar, even when the god approached him. The steps were slow, deliberate, and menacing. With every step closer to Tommy, more cultists seemed to forfeit their lives. Despite the guy slowly taking the lives of everyone around them, Tommy had a feeling that he had gained the god's favor…?
If Tommy wasn't scared shitless, he probably would've said that it was totally deserved since the fuckers forced blood down his throat — but Tommy couldn't make a sound. The deity stared at Tommy blankly and took a second to caress Tommy's face almost creepily.
Tommy was a bit too scared to ask why the being started to be all weird and shit. "Would you like me to eradicate this cult for you, kid?" The hand touching him moved to untie his restraints, slowly and deliberately. If not for the pleased smile on the otherwise blank face of his, Tommy wouldn't have known that this was a good sign from the dude who just casually sucked the life out of everyone in the room… all but Tommy's.
"...uh, there's other kidnapped guys somewhere. If you could let those guys go, that'd be… great?" Tommy suggested carefully, which was very unlike him. But he had no idea what he was supposed to do or say. He was running on an incomplete manual. The dude even helped Tommy stand back up, like a gentleman. Which was weird since Tommy just witnessed him casually murder an entire room full of people by existing.
"Kay," the fucker casually accepted as if it was just another Tuesday. I mean, it could be another Tuesday for him — but how was Tommy supposed to know. "I'm Technoblade, by the way. Your name?"
Tommy dumbly blinked at him for just a couple seconds before answering, "I'm Tommy." Tommy hadn't expected for everything to suddenly hurt. His heart was beating a million a mile and his lungs felt like the air had been stolen from him. He gasped for air despite coughs wracking his body. He lurched forward, caught by Technoblade's arms. Tommy could only stare at his hand in horror as blood came from his mouth. "What the fuck," Tommy panicked calmly. You know, when you're so freaked out that you can't even comprehend the existence of the world.
Tommy dared to glance at Technoblade to gauge his reaction, only to realize that it was exactly what Technoblade wanted. He wasn't just pleased now. He was content. Tommy didn't know how the fuck he knew that considering that Technoblade's face hadn't even twitched in a different way since Tommy had last seen him, which was literally moments before.
"Congratulations, kid" Technoblade said, his smile turning slowly into a feral grin, "we're contracted as witch and familiar, as equals."
Tommy had heard of this bond before. Not only was it rare since familiars couldn't be a random cat on the street or something. It had to either be an animal that you had a deep connection with (which was hard to achieve), or a supernatural creature — like a fairy, or a god … but nobody had contracted a god in a very fucking long time. Tommy may have not gone to witch school, or just school, but it was common knowledge that deities didn't make contracts with witches anymore. The last time had been at least a thousand fucking years ago.
Considering how the cult was summoning someone they called a god, it was safe to say… that Technoblade was a fucking god.
And Tommy contracted with him.
Without knowing.
Since Tommy never went to witch school and didn't know how contracts fucking worked .
"What— what the fuck," Tommy said again, staring at the blood in his hand. He looked back up at Technoblade, then back at his hand, then back at Technoblade, then back at his hand. You get the picture.
As if not seeing Tommy's absolute bewilderment and confusion, Technoblade commented nonchalantly, "Wilbur's gonna be so jealous." He didn't look happy, but Tommy could feel the fact that Technoblade was happy and smug. He didn't even look smug! His face hadn't moved other than to speak! Like— what the fuck?
Technoblade carried Tommy like he was a twig, and strode through the cult while slowly murdering anyone who had the cultist outfit on them. Tommy didn't even have the fucking sense to comment, or even laugh in the cultists' face because ha— they tried to kill Tommy, and now they were being picked off like flies. It would be ironically hilarious if not for the fact that Tommy was having a crisis.
Once Tommy and his — his familiar — made their way to the cell that Tommy had been in with the scared shitless prisoners, Technoblade waved a hand and all of their restraints and gags and shit just disappeared from existence. The prisoners, thankfully, were just as bewildered as Tommy was. They also glanced at Tommy in slight recognition.
"Scram," Technoblade commanded with that aura that made Tommy scared not so long ago, but now it only felt warm. Which was actually terrifying.
What the fuck.
Tommy's former roomies scampered off like spooked rabbits. Technoblade repeated the same process with the other cells, and they all fled the second that Technoblade commanded him to do so.
What the fuck.
Once they exited the cultists' facility-thing, Technoblade just flicked his hand and the entire building turned into rubble. He didn't even bother looking in its direction. Instead, he seated Tommy on a rock. Tommy, again, had no idea why he knew that Technoblade was giddy, but he did.
Rather than doing some other mind-boggling shit, Technoblade kneeled to Tommy's eye level.
"Tommy, why are you still scared? I demonstrated I can protect you. You should be feeling safe."
Tommy let out a strangled noise that didn't sound coherent at all. Technoblade just stared at Tommy like he was the weird one, as if Tommy was the one who sauntered out of a black portal, murdered an entire cult, freed a bunch of prisoners (just because Tommy asked him to!), and was acting like an actual lunatic. Who sees a massacre and thinks, "ah, the guy who carried out the massacre isn't scary at all!" — NO ONE. Especially considering that Tommy was starting to get the vibe that Technoblade only did all of that because Tommy told him to, that was— so fucking terrifying. Tommy never had that much power just… at his disposal.
He was the useless guy with prophetic dreams that no one believed existed.
"...do you need, uh, a hug?" Technoblade awkwardly suggested.
Tommy blinked at the guy like he had just told him that the sun was actually green. "No… thanks?"
Technoblade observed Tommy carefully, and Tommy felt something prodding in his mind like a gentle current. Tommy didn't even know how to stop that current if he wanted to. He didn't do anything since he figured that it was the blood killing him or some shit. He thought he'd at least have another day before some disease murdered him, but alas, it was futile.
"No, Tommy," Technoblade said, half-exasperated and half-fond — which again, was disturbing that Tommy knew. "You aren't dying. I'm looking into your memories."
Tommy screeched, "You can do that? Since fucking when?"
Amusement flickered from Technoblade before he helpfully informed, "Equal bonds allow free rein over the other half's mind."
How the fuck did they even get into one of those bonds?
"Your time is very misinformed," Technoblade murmured as the current turned into nothing but the sea, calm yet still there. It was like a quiet presence in his mind. "But you're luckily a natural. You've already got the base of the equal bond set up on my end, without trying." Tommy would've flushed at the compliment under normal circumstances, but this was— this was a lot, okay? He got kidnapped, almost died, somehow contracted with a fucking god, eradicated a cult, and— and whatever he was doing now!
Technoblade continued unperturbed, "I'll teach you the ins and outs of a familiar bond since you've had no training, don't worry." Tommy couldn't help but feel indignant when his head was ruffled like he was a kid. Which he wasn't. Tommy was a full-fledged adult now. He may be on the run, but he was no longer on the run because of child protection services. "What's more upsetting is how your witch council isn't aware of how powerful you are. Psychics are rare, and historical records— they shouldn't have no information on your specialty. Psychics are strongest paired with familiars. Familiars are empowered by the magic of witches, but psychics are on an entirely different level. Don't look at me like that," Technoblade told him, and Tommy realized that he was teary-eyed.
Tommy took one of his hands to wipe the tear. He felt choked up. It wasn't that he was upset. It was more like he was feeling— incredibly grateful. He could feel the sincerity in every drop of Technoblade's words, which— Tommy hadn't been validated as a witch… ever. This was, by far, the best experience of his life.
"We'll have to work on your education, for a start," Technoblade contemplated aloud. "I'm sure Phil'd be willing to help. Oh— Phil's my dad. I also have a brother, Wilbur." Tommy felt absolutely stupid. He had no idea who either of those people were. Technoblade seemed amused by this fact. "You should know that gods don't reveal their names to avoid forced contracts," Technoblade oh-so-kindly informed, as if he could read Tommy's mind. Well, Technoblade all but admitted he could do that earlier. "You'd know me as the Blood God, or the God of War. Wil's the God of Insanity, but much better known as the patron god for musicians." Tommy felt gobsmacked. Wait— the musician god was actually one for insane fuckers? What— "And Phil's the Angel of Death, husband to the Goddess of Death. Her name's Kristen by the way."
Tommy knew he had been shocked frozen one too many times today, but excuse him if he never thought he'd ever meet a fucking god. Or know the son of the god that most heretics believed in. The Goddess of Death? Seriously? What the fuck was happening? Is this all just a vivid dream?
Is he high on shrooms or some shit?
"Oh, Phil and Kristen adopted us. I used to be a mercenary a long time ago. Wil used to be a traveling bard who blew up a country," Technoblade casually added, as if it wasn't adding more to Tommy's overload of fucking information. For real? Tommy could barely comprehend the fact that the guy in front of him was actually a deity. It was easier when the pressure felt threatening to Tommy, but now it was very, very fucking warm and shit so it didn't feel scary at all anymore. "A few centuries ago, Wil contracted with this magical musician and told me about the fact they called him King Wimble the Fool who accidentally joined a terrorist organization. He was very offended by the inaccuracy." Tommy thought that story was a myth! I mean, it was very inaccurate according to Technoblade who was very sincere from the feel of it, but it was supposed to just be a story! Not some fucked up reality!
Tommy wished that Technoblade didn't continue talking, but Technoblade seemed oblivious to Tommy's cries of please, my entire life is in shambles already hold on a second.
"I'm from a time where there wasn't record-keeping or paper, so you wouldn't have heard of me."
Maybe Tommy should just, fade away from existence. That sounded very nice right about now.
"Er," Technoblade added as a second thought since apparently everything Tommy was thinking and shit wasn't getting across to him. "I have… well, it's been a while since I've contracted a witch." Technoblade's body language exuded awkwardness and it didn't help that Tommy could feel it too. "A couple millennia, maybe?"
THAT DID NOT , IN FACT, MAKE TOMMY FEEL ANY FUCKING BETTER.
"To be fair, I also haven't been summoned in a while. I did make the ritual a bit difficult. The sacrifice has to consume the blood of someone who's been dead for three hundred years, and the blood has to be pretty fermented," he muttered. "I didn't think anyone would be insane enough to actually do it."
Someone was laughing at him right now for his suffering. He just knew it.
"I don't even know where they found those directions. I only made one copy and tried to hide it the best I could. Apparently , you have to leave a way for mortals to summon you back to the mortal realm, but I didn't exactly want to come back unless I wanted to myself, but— eh…"
Tommy felt like with every moment, he was starting to think that he was the sane one of the two, and Tommy had once climbed up a fifty foot tower just to ring the bell. Instead of taking the stairs. Because he was dared to. By who? Himself, obviously. Tommy had no friends.
"Well, I, uh, I'll just go back and talk to Phil about setting up a meeting. He knows more about the… equal familiar contract than I do. Gods typically do it one-sided, where we have the advantage, but— there was something about you.
He also knew that this was a stroke of luck, meeting Technoblade. He was pretty cool, even if he was a bit awkward. But who wasn't awkward? Well, Tommy was never awkward. He was the biggest, bravest man in all of existence.
It was almost like a miracle.
Not even eight months later, Tommy would wonder who hated him so much to make Technoblade and his entire family hell-bent on making Tommy a god and join their little family. Considering the entire family's specialties were specialties that only lunatics would ever want, there was no way in the nine hells would he ever fucking say yes to that offer.
I mean, death, blood, and fucking insanity?
Yeah, Tommy might have not known how familiar contracts worked when he met Technoblade. Yeah, Tommy might have to stop Technoblade from slaughtering entire countries for looking at Tommy the wrong way. And the rest of the family weren't any better.
But the point was, it wasn't a fucking miracle. It was a fucking pain in the ass.