Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phil shuffled forward, chains rattling from where they hung on his wrists. He kept his gaze trained on the alternating tiles of the linoleum floor, golden blonde hair falling in a thin curtain shielding his face. There were 5 guards, 4 exits, 3 princes, 2 locks, and 1 threat.

“I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire,” Phil said, finally locking eyes with one of the princes. They each sat on thrones elevated on a dais a few yards ahead of Phil and the guards situated on either side of him.

Prince Technoblade, Phil believed. His pink hair was tied back into a neat braid that fell behind his shoulders, revealing the icy, blood-red eyes for which he was famous.

To Technoblade’s left was Prince William, gold rimmed glasses framed by his chocolate brown locks. A calculating stare shone out from behind the glared lenses and Phil could easily imagine a self-satisfied smirk resting on his face.

At the far right was Prince Thomas, the youngest of the sons. The only way Phil could think to describe him was as a younger version of himself with his blonde hair, mischievous, blue eyes twinkling.

Technoblade nodded at Phil, easing back into his throne slightly.

“What business do you have with me?” Phil asked, eyes locked with the pinkette’s.

“You’ll speak when spoken to,” the guard on Phil’s right sneered, pulling the chain in his hand taut. Phil ignored the sting against his already raw wrists, eyes narrowing at the prince.

“What business?” He repeated and the guard made as if to strike him. However, Technoblade raised his hand and the man halted.

“We’ve heard,” the prince said, shifting, “that our land is being threatened. Livestock have gone missing, people are turning up dead, and our crops are withering.”

“Do you not serve the Goddess of Death?” Phil replied, eyes tracking the Prince’s movements. Technoblade raised an eyebrow but didn’t falter.

“We do indeed, but a bountiful harvest for our nation has always been one of her blessings. If no one eats, who then will worship her?” Phil laughed humorlessly and watched the three princes flinch in unison at the reverberating sound.

“False prophets, the lot of you. Death is her domain. All of you in this pathetic country will meet her and you will be judged.”

“Someday, yes,” Technoblade replied, but Phil could see his uncertainty behind the calm facade. Phil shook his head, smiling.

“Death has come, Technoblade. Pray for her mercy.”

Phil grabbed the chain, yanking. The guard to his right stumbled to the ground, while the three in the room’s corners rushed forward, weapons drawn.

The guard to Phil’s left grasped at the metal loops trying to subdue him, but the blonde flicked his wrist and it snapped effortlessly, sending her jerking backwards.

With the chain still attached to his wrist, Phil whirled the metal around the fallen man’s neck, creating a choker. The guard cried for mercy, wasting his quickly fading breath. Phil only smiled as he pulled the chain taut sending blood splattering across the room, waves of red streaming down Phil’s neck.

Phil swung the crimson stained metal, smashing the lock on the floor. Cracks formed in the tiles, red seeping into them as the ground soaked up the liquid greedily. The sound echoed through the chamber as bodies thumped on the floor, twisted pieces of shrapnel sticking out of each.

Phil turned to the princes, licking warm blood from his lips.

William and Thomas were pressed against the back wall, huddled around each other. Technoblade stood in front of them, sword drawn. The sun glinted off of the metal blade.

Phil laughed again and rose to his full height, cradling the broken chains.

Red eyes met blue and Phil grinned.

“If there’s no other way, I choose Death!” Technoblade roared his nation’s mantra. Phil only shook his head giddily.

“No, no. Not yet, Technoblade. There’s plenty more I have in store for you.”

Phil closed his eyes as Technoblade surged towards him.

——

There were 5 guards, 4 exits, 3 princes, 2 locks and 1 threat.

Phil stared into Technoblade’s eyes once again and smiled internally as a barely subdued confusion ran through them.

“I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire,” Phil said, grinning. William and Thomas locked eyes behind Technoblade’s back.

Technoblade nodded, still tense.

“What business do you have with me?” Phil asked, eyes firmly locked with the pinkette’s.

“You’ll speak when spoken to.” The guard on Phil’s right said, pulling the chain in his hand taut. Phil ignored him.

“The Goddess of Death is our patron,” Technoblade said after a moment of consideration. “A bountiful harvest for our nation is one of her blessings. Someday we will meet her and be judged.”

“Death has come, Technoblade. Pray for her mercy.”

Two small daggers slid down from Phil’s sleeves as he yanked the chains from the guards, shattering them on the floor. One blade was flung through a guard’s heart as he approached and the corpse hit the floor with a thump.

The other knife carved out a guard’s eye and slit her throat as she tried to grab Phil.

Two more were drawn from Phil’s pockets and sliced through lungs, throats, hearts and heads before every guard was lying lifeless on the floor.

“Death will spread, claiming each and every one of your citizens. Did you really think an entire nation of false prophets would go unpunished? Maybe if this were Prime or even XD. But Death? You’ll never escape.”

“The false prophet is you,” William said, moving forward to stand beside Technoblade. The brunette’s hands were balled at his side. “Killing innocent people in the name of our Lady? Ravaging her chosen nation?”

Hatred and rage laced the boy’s voice as he spoke.

Phil had to admit, it was good acting.

“Take that knife and slit your throat,” William said, the words echoing throughout the room inhumanly. Phil raised his hand slowly, blade gleaming.

“No, no, Little Prince. Not yet. There’s plenty more I have in store for you.”

Phil cackled as he threw the dagger, the trajectory heading straight for William’s heart.

——

“Tommy?” A voice said, panickedly. “Cut it out, okay?”

——

There were 5 guards, 4 exits, 3 princes, 2 locks and 1 threat.

“I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire," Phil smiled as he watched fear flood the pinkette’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Tommy said before Technoblade could open his mouth to reply, and Phil turned his gaze to the blonde. “We’re servants of the Goddess of Death, unlike you, you self-righteous prick!”

“Whatever do you mean, Tommy?” Phil asked, voice dripping with sweetness.

The entire room froze.

“How dare you?” The guard to Phil’s left said, yanking on the chain mercilessly, “How dare you use Prince Thomas’ personal name?”

“I think what you meant to say,” Phil replied evenly, not even bothering to look at her, “was how dare this pompous brat say such things about Death’s most faithful servant?”

Phil raised his hand and the light caught on his talons, gleaming.

“Death has come. Pray for mercy.”

Phil’s talons shredded through flesh and bone like a knife through butter. Screams of agony arose as bodies became no more than bloody carcasses of paper mache strewn across the floor.

There was 1 guard, 3 princes and 4 walls stained with blood when a blade caught Phil’s talons. The guard ran as Technoblade advanced on Phil, diamond edged sword pressed against the palms of Phil’s hands.

“Name yourself, cretin,” Technoblade roared, his voice echoing as shadows rose on the walls, looming over them. The room was instantly shrouded in darkness as Phil ducked and Technoblade lunged forwards, turning immediately to face his opponent.

“Who are you calling a cretin?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Technoblade replied, sword still swinging.

As metal met keratin, sparks flew off, white hot fury building as the two danced over dead bodies. Technoblade advanced and Phil parried, swiping at any visible skin. Each party performed quick steps and delivered otherwise deadly blows, had they been fighting anyone else.

“You can call me the Angel of Death,” Phil said finally. A sign of respect for a worthy sparring partner.

“Haughty much?” The prince said. His pink hair was loose, flying as he fought, blood entertwined with the strands, though none of it was his own nor Phil’s. The red looked at home amongst the flesh-coloured pink.

“You fight well for a blasphemer. Did your mother teach you? Your father?”

“Death was my only master and I her apprentice.” The shadows surged up, red eyes flaring and Technoblade burst forward, roaring. Phil crashed against the wall and he felt a drop of blood fall from a shallow cut in his palm, staining the front of his tunic.

“Alright,” he said, diamond sword at his throat. “I’m done playing this silly game.

“Death has come,” Technoblade growled and the shadows’ mouths moved in silent unison with his.

“No, no. Not yet. There’s plenty more I have in store for you.”

Phil closed his eyes as the blade broke his derm, cutting to the bone.

——

“This isn’t funny, Wilbur,” a voice huffed. “This is the last time, okay?”

——

There were 5 guards, 4 locks, 3 princes, 2 exits and 1 threat.

“I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire; I come bearing information.” Phil’s eyes tracked the princes as they shifted restlessly. Technoblade clearly wanted to approach, but striking while on neutral terms was a death wish, especially when the opposing party had offered a truce.

A shame that he still felt the need to play the role of upstanding Prince, Phil thought.

They would all die in the end.

Phil smiled as Technoblade looked down at him.

“Did you know,” Phil said, flexing his talons, “that a human body can only consume about 70 milligrams of blood before dying?”

“Usually,” Phil continued, silently catching the now open locks behind his back before they could hit the ground, “the body will die due to iron overdose. However, there are ways to consume much more.”

A bubbling scream filled the room as a guard cried out. Within seconds he had collapsed, black clots of blood oozing out of the corpse.

Four guards.

“Hypothetically,” Phil went on, unperturbed, “blood with a lower iron level would be ideal. The dosage would be more spread out. In real life however,” The sentence dragged out as the thump of another body hitting the tiles resounded, blood already pooling around the man, staining the floor burgundy.

Three guards.

“Another option, of course, is to increase the amount of blood syphoned in at once.” Phil watched as sweat dripped down the guard’s brow, “This way, the victim will die from choking before the iron levels come into play at all.”

The perspiration had changed to a dark crimson and was now thoroughly soaking him. He was shaking violently, blood trickling to the floor.

Within seconds he had fallen.

Two guards.

“So in theory, faster blood insertion and lower iron levels should be the best method.”

One guard.

“But my favourite way,” Phil said, finally moving from his position to pounce on the last guard. With a small, flat blade, her bottom lip had been sliced clean off, a viscid trail of sinew following the chunk of flesh on its way to the floor.

“Is drop by drop.”

The guard had been strangled long before the blood had filled her airway.

There were no guards alive when Phil fell to the ground, pinned by a sporadic weight. The blonde’s head banged against the linoleum, hands and head sticky with blood when he pulled up.

Within a breath, Phil had reached back and Tommy was flung across the room, a sickening snap sounding out when he hit the wall, his neck cracked.

“Death has come,” Phil laughed almost maniacally, hunched on the floor over the trickling pool of blood. His robes soaked up the liquid like a sponge to water. “Pray for her mercy.”

——

“Quit it!”

——

There were 5 guards, 4 exits, 3 princes, 2 locks and 1 threat.

“I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire." Technoblade was already up, etiquette be damned. His sword in hand, he rushed down from the dais with a murderous look in his eyes.

Phil stood, unmoving, until the prince was just a few paces away. The blonde raised his arms and the virescent cloak fell from his back.

Jet-black limbs reached to the heavens.

“Too slow,” he said, grabbing the guards by their shirt collars and rising, massive wings beating.

The chains snapped as they plummeted towards the ground, waves of crimson exploding at impact. Screams and lives alike were cut short as their hearts surged up from their chests.

“My Lady doesn’t take kindly to false prophets,” Phil said, flying circles around the perimeter of the room. The remaining guards threw spears, all but one bouncing off of the ceiling. The last found itself in Phil’s hands.

All heads turned as a metal triangle emerged from a guard’s neck, bringing spurts of blood with it. Ten eyes watched as the guard keeled over, dead.

A scream arose as Phil hooked his hands beneath Tommy’s arms, lifting the boy into the air. Wilbur rushed forward, Technoblade by his side, but the blondes were already at the ceiling by the time they’d arrived, Phil’s wings beating.

“I’ll kill you!” Tommy screamed, legs thrashing. “I swear to Prime, Drista, all the gods above and our Lady below, I’ll kill you!”

Phil chuckled, amused, releasing one of the boy’s arms to move his hand to the golden hair. It really was like his own, fluffy and the colour of maize.

Tommy panted as he dropped, clinging onto Phil to stay airborne.

“No, no. Not yet. I have plenty more in store for you.”

An arm reached out to Phil as Tommy fell, scream fading.

——

“Te--Techno?” A voice whispered. “Are you alright?”

——

There were 5 guards, 4 exits, 3 princes, 2 locks and 1 threat.

“I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire.” Before Phil could even finish speaking, Techno had fallen to his knees, huffing and panting. “What’s the matter, Techno?” Phil asked, coyly. “Crow got your tongue?” Techno roared, sweat rolling off of him in waves as his frame shook.

Wilbur and Tommy were frozen, eyes flicking from their brother to each other.

“Your highnesses?” the guard to Phil’s right called trepidly. “Should we call for help?” But there was no answer as Techno screamed, falling back on his knees, face towards the heavens.

Conglomerates of grey shadows leapt from Techno’s mouth, wispy echoes of cackling filling the room. They shifted into lions, wolves, bears, prancing along the walls, thousands of them plunging the room into a pall of darkness.

Techno’s red eyes lit in time with the shadows’ as he collapsed.

Hundreds of shades plunged into the eyes and throats of the guards, their screams dying out as they were quickly suffocated.

The remaining circled Phil, galloping around him reverently.

“Death has come,” Phil said, grinning. “Pray for her mercy.”

Suddenly, an aqua glow cut through the darkness and the cackles quieted. Shadows and Phil alike turned to Wilbur. The seafoam-blue trident raised above his head was glistening with enchantments.

“Dance, motherfucker,” Wilbur sneered, launching the three-pronged spear.

Time seemed to slow as Phil turned, the weapon grazing his cheek.

The trident was embedded in the wall behind Phil, but a teal glow was emitted as it surged out, returning to Wilbur’s awaiting hand as if pulled back by an invisible string.

“You wanna play with the big boys, huh?” Phil said, running a finger over the shallow cut on his cheek. Wilbur growled, throwing the weapon again.

Phil raised his own hand, and the shadows piled atop each other, forming a translucent grey wall. The trident stopped on impact, glowing again. It rattled in the wall as Wilbur thrust out his hand.

Blonde and brunette were caught in a battle of telekinesis, both parties’ arms outstretched.

Phil grinned, clenching his fist and the wall squeezed, trident snapping into pieces as the shadows drifted apart.

Fear filled Wilbur’s eyes as his arm slowly fell to his side.

“Maybe you should wait until you grow up.”

Phil’s hand shot out and the shadows followed, razor-sharp tips flying across the room towards Wilbur’s chest.

——

“One of you two needs to stop.”

——

There were 5 guards, 4 locks, 2 princes, 2 exits, and 1 threat.

“I greet the Lesser Sons of the Antarctic Empire," Phil said, grinning. “What happened to dear old Techie?”

“He’s not feeling well,” Tommy said, eyes narrowing.

“You guessed wrong.”

——

“Cut it out! This isn’t funny!”

——

There were 5 guards, 4 locks, 2 princes, 2 exits and 1 threat.

“I greet the Greater Sons of the Antarctic Empire," Phil said. “Where’s my little doppelganger?”

“Tommy was feeling a little burnt-out,” Wilbur replied.

“Wrong again.”

——

“STOP!”

——

There were 5 guards, 4 locks, 1 prince, and 1 threat.

“I greet the Son of the Antarctic Empire,” Phil said, “Heir to the throne.”

“My brothers were occupied,” Techno said, fingers ghosting over the wooden hilt sheathed by his side.

“Not quite.”

——

“I-I think I figured it out. Th- this isn’t good.”

——

There were 5 guards, 4 locks, 3 princes, 2 exits and 1 threat.

“The sons of the Antarctic Empire greet you, Angel of Death.”

“Correct,” Phil said, cackling, “It took you long enough.

“Death has come. There will be no mercy.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur had seen this room too many times.

Wilbur had had his heart impaled too many times.

Wilbur had watched his brothers die, his guards slain, had his existence mocked too many times.

Some of the floor tiles had cracks in them. Others were scuffed from years of sliding across them. Wilbur remembered running down the hall just to launch himself into his mother’s waiting embrace.

He remembered his twin’s coronation, Techno finally ascending to being crowned the heir of their great Empire. He remembered standing on his toes to see Tommy over the throne’s arm, the baby swaddled in his mother’s loving arms.

Now the cracks were veins. Blood pulsed through them though-- frustratingly --none of it belonged to the quote unquote “Angel”.

Wilbur clenched his fist.

He was the blasphemer. Claiming to have their lady’s blessing?

And his magic. Wilbur’d begun to suspect when the blonde revealed his wings-- vile, stygian things --but the fact that he was responsible for the time loop?

He’d been on thin ice already, what with ravaging their nation. Techno had been planning on giving him a quick death, though it would have been far from painless. They had to set a good example for their people.

Many had tried and failed to condemn the empire; many tried to control its flame. The Princes had always fought back, keeping their land and their people safe. The citizens placed their trust in Wilbur and his brothers.

Trapping the sons of the Empire? A very bad decision.

He would pay for it yet.

——

There were 10 guards, 8 locks, 3 princes, 2 exits, and 1 threat; and his name was Philza Minecraft.

“I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire," Phil said, gaze matching Techno’s even as the locks pulled him down to the floor like magnets to metal.

“What business do you have with us, Angel?” Wilbur said, level-headedly, though Phil could feel the simmering heat kept from his voice.

“I’ve heard,” Phil replied, fidgeting with the locks around his wrists, “that my Lady is being threatened. What I’m not sure of is if you’ve heard of a man called the Angel of Death."

“They say,” Phil continued, smashing a lock over the head of a guard, “that the Angel is Death’s chosen warrior."

A sable sword was drawn as guards rushed towards Phil from the room’s corners. Phil watched in ecstasy as he drove his sword through their hearts, blood raining down. His wings were dripping with the precious liquid.

Heads were sliced off, limbs were removed, lives were taken and Phil continued.

“They say that Death sends him to fight for her on the battlefields be it against an opposing nation, or another gods’ legions."

The sword was dripping blood across the linoleum. Phil wiped the blade on his tunic, slowly approaching the dias, bodies littering the ground. Techno rose in an instant, Wilbur and Tommy mirroring him.

The pinkette surged forward, but Phil raised his hand, smiling.

When Phil snapped his fingers, time stopped, princes mid-lunge. The room stilled, even particles of dust standing in place, as if awaiting an order. The world had caught its breath for a moment to see what would happen.

Phil’s smile widened as panic filled the boys’ eyes.

“What they don’t say is that the Angel has another job in his Lady’s name," Phil continued, resuming his carefree walk towards the thrones.

“Every now and again, his Lady would find a small little city-state, tribe or hey, even a nation who claim she’s their patron goddess. However, they’re actually practising heresy. That’s not good, is it?”

Phil carefully placed his sword against Techno’s neck, smiling as a single drop of sweat rolled down his jugular.

“Now, Death could leave these blasphemers alone, surely? Let them live out their pathetic lives in peace and then have them pay their dues once they die off."

Phil ran a finger down the side of Wilbur’s neck, as if imagining how his head would look mounted on a wall.

“And she did for a while. For a while, cretins, blasphemers and fools got away with it. But then, his Lady appointed her angel. And he didn’t think it was right that Death’s name was tarnished while frivolous gods like Prime were worshipped."

Phil looked at the younger blonde and all he could see was a boy filled to the brim with terror, overflowing with fear. He revelled in it.

Phil leaned into Tommy’s ear, closing his eyes.

“So he found a little town who were performing rituals in the name of my Lady. And he eradicated them.

“Now you may wonder,” Phil said, stepping back, “why they don’t tell this story more often. Surely it would make a good warning?

“Unfortunately, the Angel hasn’t left a single person from one of these heretical towns alive.

“Not one."

Phil positioned himself beside Techno, sticking one of his legs out and clicked his fingers. The world exhaled and time resumed. The pinkette’s momentum pushing him forward, Technoblade tripped over Phil’s leg and he hurtled from the dias. Wilbur and Tommy ran into each other, pitching backwards.

“So. I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire. My name is the Angel of Death.

“Nice to meet you."

——

There were 3 princes, a fiend and a circle of salt.

Tommy watched as the thing paced around the circle. They didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t an angel, no matter what it said.

The thing cocked its head to the right, feathers rustling behind it.

“Nothing to say?” Wilbur asked and Tommy could hear his smirk. “Even a caged bird responds to its master."

The thing cawed and it sounded eerily like laughter.

Tommy’s breath caught when it slowly reached out its arm, pushing its hand out of the salt barrier. It flexed its talons-- unnatural, inhuman --before slowly stepping over the salt, unbothered.

It didn’t falter as it smiled, and before Tommy knew what had happened, his neck was caving in on itself as hardened, black claws closed around it.

Tommy’s eyes flicked from the thing to Wilbur to Techno. His brothers were still, eyes blown wide, both frozen in their run towards him. Tommy waited for the haze to fall over him as well, but unlike before, he could still move. His fingers clawed at the talons as grey spots danced in his vision.

“Who do you serve?” the thing hissed dangerously.

“I could ask you the same," Tommy choked out. Wilbur once said Tommy would be defiant to the last breath. The blonde supposed he was right.

The hold tightened and Tommy gasped for air, trembling as he felt blood drip down the side of his neck.

“Shh," The thing fucking purred when its grip loosened slightly. Tommy rasped as his neck smarted. “What a prize. Made in my own image."

“And who’s your patron?” Tommy spat, even as the talons dug crescents into his skin. “Prime? Drista? XD? What does stopping time have to do with Death anyway?”

“You know so little," it said, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m going to kill you, going to make you watch your brothers die over and over again until you understand what happens when you disrespect my lady."

The hand was constricting, clamping Tommy’s neck against the wall until Tommy couldn’t see past the haze of red consuming his vision. His lungs were straining and he was sure they were deteriorating inside of him.

“Scream," it said and Tommy obliged as his neck split in two.

——

There were 8 guards, 4 locks made of iron, 3 princes, 2 exits, and 1 threat.

“I greet the sons of the Antarctic Empire," Phil said evenly as the last remnants of the glass bottle trickled out behind him. He could imagine the thin trail of violet streaming from his feet to the door.

The guards were already swaying on their feet, the potion’s aroma filling the room. Phil flicked the chains, the movement reminiscent of that of a whip’s. As the guard to his left toppled, a wooden bow materialised in his hands.

The sound of corpses falling accompanied the rasp of wood against metal as Phil nocked the arrow, green, dripping arrowhead pointed at Technoblade’s heart.

Phil narrowed his eyes as the particles floated out of his vision. “When will you learn?” he said and he wasn’t just talking to them. He meant their entire species of heinous sadists.

“When will you learn that your actions have consequences?”

“‘One may know how to conquer without being able to do it.’” The Prince practically spat the quote at him, ignoring the question and the threat of Death looming over him. Phil smiled, teeth gently slicing his black stained lips.

“‘In war, the way is to avoid what is strong, and strike at what is weak.’”

In a second, the words had reached the pinkette’s ears.

In two, he had fought with himself.

In three, he had turned to Tommy.

In four, the boy had fallen to the floor.

In five seconds, his heart had stopped.

——

There were many ways to kill someone. Techno would know; he’d used most of them on the battlefield and felt no remorse.

He never would.

An arrow through the heart. A decapitated head. The flesh melting off of your bones. Dismembered limbs. Suffocation. Falling from the sky. Snapped neck. Punctured lungs. Breathing poison. Choking on your own blood.

There was an ocean of blood roaring over him whenever Techno closed his eyes. He was drowning in it; he could hear the voices over the deafening waves, mocking him.

What good is a Blood God if the only blood spilt is his own?

We made you what you are.

We’ll take it away.

You were nothing without us.

You are nothing without us.

You are nothing.

The Angel of Death was just a rumour. A hushed whisper to keep kids inside and nothing more.

But then why was he standing in front of Techno? Why was he painting the walls red? Why was he waiting behind every corner, ready to strike?

To know your enemy is to know yourself. But Techno had no idea what he was fighting.

He was starting to think he knew nothing about who he was either.

Wilbur didn’t remember. That had been Techno’s one request when they’d been bestowed their power. He was never to know. Wilbur was a writer, not a fighter.

That was Techno’s job.

And Tommy was too young. He hadn’t even manifested yet. So Techno was going to tear the Angel limb from limb.

Even if he was terrified and couldn’t control the voices. Even if he had to die a thousand times. Even if he had to live knowing he couldn’t protect his brothers. Even if he would lose himself on the road to saving them.

Techno stared into the emotionless blue irises and at the green robes he had come to hate. The monster’s wings were spread behind it carelessly, as if taunting him.

The voices were reaching towards it reverently. Techno grit his teeth as he pushed them down, just barely. He’d felt like this only once before. They’d been this rowdy around one other man.

Techno had killed him. He had relished the man’s death, mangling the body until it was nothing more than a bloody stain on the floor.

He’d traded an ivory mask for ebony wings, Techno thought humorlessly.

The voices had cackled when Techno had killed the man, basking in the bloodshed, as though they hadn’t been the ones defying him moments before.

They served no man. They knew no god. Whoever satisfied their cravings the most would be who they’d egg on. Techno was fighting for his place as the Blood God and he knew it. Every day was a battle. The war had to end someday.

Techno just didn’t know if he would be the one to win.

——

There had been 5 guards, 4 locks, 3 princes, 2 exits and a match; now there were 2 princes and a hall burning to the ground.

Tommy had been thrown back through the doors as soon as the room burst into flames, the wood of the entryway caving in on itself as the fire consumed it, moving on with the energy gained.

The flames licked at Phil’s heels as he fought. He welcomed their presence, breathing in the ash. It kept him grounded, focused.

Techno’s hair was tied in a bun, held back from his face. Sweat was beading on his temples but he seemed unperturbed as his sword slashed against Phil’s.

“You run warm," Phil crooned. The Prince was a formidable enemy. Conversation didn’t appear to deter him as he fought, something admirable, though there wasn’t usually much to say on the battlefield.

“You run evil."

“Come on," Phil laughed, stepping to the side as Wilbur’s trident struck the floor inches from him. “‘Evil’ is so subjective. A cat is evil to a mouse. The sun is evil to the ice. Death is evil to Life.

“Close," Phil said, parrying the Prince’s blow. “You’ll want a little more power." Technoblade snarled wordlessly as Phil leapt backward over a wall of fire and the flames flared up in the pinkette’s face.

“You should consider housekeeping," Phil said, walking around the inside of the circle of fire and dodging the trident. “Maybe open a window? It’s a bit warm in here, mate. Ironic, considering what empire we’re in."

As the flames waned, Techno jumped into the ring after him, sword arcing down on Phil. He pushed back, sliding backwards a bit on the soot-engulfed floor.

The smoke was filling the small room quickly. The trident strikes had become less forceful, the Carbon Monoxide starting to get to Wilbur’s lungs.

“You’ll learn soon enough," Phil said, just barely audible over the crackling of the fire. “They all learn."

Two warriors entered the circle of fire.

Only one walked out, black wings illuminated.

——

Wilbur quivered as he strained against the chains nailed into the floor. The prince shook his head to push the hair from his eyes.

The blood dripping from his forehead made the effort futile.

His wrists were rubbing raw from where they were chained against each other, forming the shape of an X that pressed against the cold linoleum.

He didn’t think the colour suited him. Red had always been Techno and Tommy’s thing. He liked browns-- soft blues if he had to --; neutrals to let him fade into the background. He was only the middle child after all.

He couldn’t ignore it now. The red was pooling around him. So little of it was his.

Wilbur could hear Techno huffing to his right as the pinkette fought the metal keeping him in place.

Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to tell his brother that it was all pointless.

Tears rolled down his cheeks mixing with the blood as Wilbur looked up past the floor slick with red and his eyes landed on the throne. The blonde looked more like an angel than ever. His wings glowed as he sat, elevated.

Tommy was unmoving in the Angel’s lap, time frozen around him.

Wilbur knew that he should feel angry at the way his brother was strewn across the Angel, but he just felt-

Empty.

He couldn't feel anything. Everything sounded like he was being held underwater.

Somewhere distant he could hear Techno crying, but Techno never cried so it couldn’t have been him. Somewhere far away he could hear the blood dripping from his face down to the floor as his head hung limply. He knew his fingers weren’t supposed to bend that way, but he couldn’t feel it.

And that was good.

It meant he had stopped kidding himself. Why feel anything if they were just going to be reset? If everything was going to start over, why even try?

The Angel ran a talon along Tommy’s neck and Wilbur knew he must’ve cried out because his frame shook violently, but he couldn’t hear it.

Wilbur blinked as Tommy’s head rose.

Why was he alive?

Why were they still here?

He was waiting for the familiar fall through the cold void, to be placed back in his throne like a doll, for everything to be reset and the Angel to be before them again, wrapped in chains.

But it didn’t come.

The white noise in Wilbur’s ears cut abruptly as the Angel took in a breath.

“Have you learnt your lesson?”

Living isn’t worth it. Wilbur nodded distantly.

“Do you repent?”

I was wrong. I thought and I thought, but I was wrong. He nodded again.

The Angel breathed in and laughed.

Suddenly he was standing, Tommy discarded on the ground. His wings raised and they were growing, expanding far beyond reasonable proportions. The feathers blocked out the light as the Angel raised his arm.

Tommy rose with it, his feet leaving the floor and he hovered as the Angel’s hand stopped nearly perpendicular to his body.

“Mercy is just weakness in disguise." His arm flicked and Tommy shot across the room silently. Distantly, Wilbur thought that that was wrong. The child was always talking.

Tommy’s limp body skidded across the floor, landing in front of where Wilbur was hunched. The brunette leaned forward as blood leaked out of the corpse.

That’s all it was now.

A husk of the excitable, blonde boy that he used to be.

And yet, Wilbur remained. It hadn’t reset yet.

How strange.

Techno was shaking, he could see the pinkette out of his peripheral vision. He was angry. Things were really bad when Techno was angry. It was fine, though! Techno would take care of it! He always protected Wilbur.

The Angel stepped down from the dias and Techno’s body contorted, thrashing.

He slammed against the ground and stilled.

The corpse’s neck was snapped, Wilbur thought decisively.

The tips of the Angel’s wings flicked and a cacophony fell over the room; the sound of birds screeching rang out in Wilbur’s ears.

The hall imploded as the windows shattered, glass raining down on Wilbur.

Thousands of crows flew through the wall, descending on the brunette. Their beaks shredded his skin, marring him, but still the boy felt nothing.

“Goodbye. Tell Death I said hello." It was barely a whisper. Wilbur’s eyelids fluttered.

Wilbur's eyes shot open when a cry sounded out.

A golden hilt was sticking out of the Angel’s chest and he fell back onto the tile, panting as the back of his head smacked against the steps.

A dark, cloaked figure was hunched over the Angel, a trail of blood following its boots. It drove its hand into the Angel’s chest and leaned in almost reverently.

“Death has come." It whispered and yanked.

As Wilbur closed his eyes, he could just make out a flash of pink hair swinging to the ground.

Chapter Text

Phil opened his eyes to an endless black void. It was cold, the sensation of pins and needles pricking just beneath his skin. 

“Hello, dear.” The voice echoed through his head and he involuntarily went limp as it shook him all the way to his bones. “Surely it hasn’t been that long since you’ve been here.” She chuckled and the void rippled around Phil. 

He turned slowly, like swimming through molasses, before coming to a stop, eyes falling on the woman at least ten times his size, her midnight purple dress billowing beneath her fluidly. 

Everything about her was flowing in gentle motion, from her dress to her hair to the translucent veil above the mouth quirked into an amused grin.  

Phil whined trying to get closer to her. She laughed again and raised a hand beneath him, cupping her fingers around the blonde. He curled up in the massive palm, blinking up at the noirette sleepily. 

Phil grumbled as a finger prodded at him. 

“You have done well, my angel.” A wide, tired smile pushed its way onto Phil’s face at the praise, even though he didn’t quite understand what she meant. The woman sighed almost reverently and held Phil tighter as she slipped backwards into a pseudo-lie down. 

“Things get boring here, you know. In the afterlife forever, never able to leave. Even my reapers have more fun than I do.” Phil nodded along cluelessly. 

“I hope the job wasn’t too difficult. You’re smeared with blood, though most of it seems to be your own, you goof. Thought you were supposed to be good at razing nations to the ground.” 

Phil struggled to swing his legs over her palm and came to a sitting position. He reached out, fingers just brushing the soft fabric of her veil. 

She laughed to herself but stayed still as he pulled it up, midnight purple eyes peeking out--

Eons flashing forward all at once, wrapping around each other in a swirl of colours, purple-black sprinkled throughout. 

A path to an unfamiliar home, ending in a warm hug. A hand reaching out to cup a wet cheek and wipe away the tears. 

Dust to fields to rivers to cities and back again in a matter of seconds. Giants-- gods --looming over villages, massive hands protecting them from the intruding world. 

A flower budding to unfold, petals floating to the ground. Born, Live, Die. 

Black, pupil-filled eyes peering farther than any live thing can see. 

Arms wrapped around him, whispering sweet nothings to his ear. Telling saccharine lies in return. 

Cutting bodies down on the battlefield, blood bursting up like a fountain. Heads mounted on walls as trophies to remember past victories. 

A black room, walls creeping in.

A fighting arena. 

A train platform.

Phil released the veil and he saw . 

“My Lady Death,” he said, dropping to his knees. 

“My Angel,” she replied.

“Why must we meet this way? Do you find solace in my loss?” Kristin laughed, raising her empty hand to cover her mouth. 

“C’mon, Phil. I’m not one of your mortal rulers. Speak freely or hold your peace,” his lady commanded and truly he had no choice but to oblige. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“You fought my battle well.”

“Did you not promise me eternal life when I pledged myself to you?” he sneered, raising a hand to gesture to where he knew a hole was in his chest. 

“You’re not dead. At least, you won’t stay this way. It was time for the loop to end.”

“Who were they?” Phil asked quietly. “They call themselves your sons. Why bring this to my attention now?” The veil rustled as Death raised an eyebrow. 

“You question my intentions?”

“Kristin. That’s not a fair ques—“

“Do you find lapses in my judgement?” She asked again, more firmly. 

“You contradict yourself, my Lady,” he said, emotion draining quickly from his voice. “You ask not for moral addresses yet my tongue loosens and I am interrogated.”

The two were quiet for a moment, goddess and angel each in consideration’s stillness before Death breathed out. 

The wind from her exhale blew down to Death’s free hand and roses bloomed in its stead. Thorned vines curled in on themselves, building up to an amassed bed of the flowers.

Kristin brought both of her hands together and Phil walked from one palm to the other. The flowers bloomed around his wrists before shrinking back, almost as if they’d inspected him.

“What is it you wish of me?” 

There was no need for Kristin to respond. The blossoms on the wall of foliage in front of the blonde seized back like they were taking a breath before each head peeled open, pollen raining down on Phil.

The blonde’s eyes fluttered shut as he collapsed onto the rose bed, the pollen making its way into his head. 

Unanimously, the flowers began to rot, black working its way from the outside petals inward. 

When they’d fully turned, the bush seemed to let out a sigh of relief, black particles emanating off of the flowers. Death felt as the flowers’ presence crept out of Phil’s mind.

Kristin smiled as her Angel slept on. 

——

The room was small but warm. The walls were painted a muted yellow, framed oil paintings scattered across them. 2 beds and a crib were pushed to the walls, each of which covered with patterned quilts. Swords, quills and crowns decorated the duvets. 

Kristin pressed herself gently onto the quill-patched bed. The boy beneath her sighed in his sleep, turning over to face the wall. 

The noirette ran a hand through his brown curls, murmuring lowly. 

“ He will slay you with his tongue. Oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord. ” A small smile slid onto Wilbur’s face when Kristin slipped a flower behind his ear. 

Kristin looked down as the bottom of her dress was tugged towards the floor. A winged toddler with baby blue irises and soft blonde hair stared back at her. The boy rubbed at his eyes as the golden feathers curled around him slightly. 

“What are you still doing up, darling?” Kristin asked, leaning over to lift Tommy into her arms. The boy immediately buried his face into the black-purple dress, yawning. 

“‘M tired!” he complained, wings flapping earnestly in agreement. 

Tommy went limp as Kristin hummed, straightening his feathers with her free hand. 

“Sleep,” she whispered into the top of his head, letting her nose flood with the smells of sweet milk and sweat. The toddler curled into her chest as she played with his primaries.

There was a moment when everything seemed to still as the boy in her arms drifted and Wilbur leaned in from under the blanket. Kristin sighed, leaning back gently on the bedpost. 

The noirette reached out her free arm to the room’s adjacent corner. 

“Come here, Techno,” she said. “Must you always be on the outside looking in?” The boy walked over silently and sat on his knees, placing his head in her lap. 

With her free hand, Kristin began unbraiding his hair. The pink strands started coiling in on themselves as the clock rewound, the boy ageing backwards. 

Flowers, yellow roses mostly, sprung from his hair. Kristin pulled them out gently, fingers cupped around the petals, and set them on the bed next to her. 

Soon the hair froze, bouncy curls similar to but longer than Wilbur’s falling over Techno’s shoulders. 

The teenager turned his head to the side so only one eye was exposed. His gaze fell on Tommy’s wings.

“Just like the Angel’s…” the pinkette lingered on the thought. “He was our father then?”

“In spirit only. All three of you have but a drop of my blood. Without my blessing, you wouldn’t be brothers. There is nothing of my angel’s in you.” 

“But his word was true. You sent him to raze our nation. Why?” The whisper sounded wrong coming from the lips of a warrior.

“Do you enjoy ruling?” Kristin asked, slipping around the question with ease. Techno frowned, pressing his head further against Death and she cooed. 

“It was wrong,” she said, pausing after each word, “to impose such a weight upon your shoulders when you were not ready.” Techno almost snorted in amusement but stopped himself; it wasn’t often a god admitted to a mistake, though Death hadn’t taken the blame just yet. 

“I asked for it and you provided. Can’t be faulted for answering a wish.” Kristin sighed as if she’d already considered that.

The two sat for a moment, Tommy and Wilbur occasionally rustling beside them as Techno drank in his mother’s scent. 

There was something else…

Something… unnatural. 

( Sickly sweet fragrances drifted out as flowers bloomed on thick vines. Blackened tendrils wrapped around his brain, slinking in and pulling out a memor --)

A fog settled over Techno’s mind and his fingers toyed with Kristin’s dress. He smiled airily, his head empty.

“Why did you stop braiding flowers into your hair?” The noisette asked quietly, fingers still playing with his soft curls. 

“They weren’t the right look for a king, much less a blood god. Took too much time to cultivate, too. I tried to teach Wilbur but he’s way too impatient.” The boy tried and failed to stifle a yawn as a sweet smell tickled his nose.

“Besides, I’d rather be farmin’ potatoes.” He closed his eyes. “Love you, Mom.” Death laughed softly to herself. 

Techno could just make out Kristin muttering, “ Might’ve gone too far back, ” before sleep claimed him. 

———————

Phil relaxed into the cold metal of the golden throne, palm supporting his chin. His free hand trifled with the black feather idle in his grip. The blonde looked down at the ram-hybrid standing before the diaz. 

“I bring news from the army in Manburg,” she said, holding her hat as she curtseyed. 

“Proceed.” Puffy stood straight, arms clasped behind her. 

“They’ve claimed victory and plan to return in a fortnight.”

Out of the corner of Phil’s eye he saw Technoblade watching him, the pinkette’s expression considering. Phil smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly. The limp strands of hair fell over his eye and the diadem slid across the top of his head.

“Good. Tell them we joyously await their return. You’re dismissed.” The captain nodded silently, curtseying again as she left. 

“What I don’t understand,” Technoblade said evenly once Puffy had left, “is why you choose to attack our ally.” Phil didn’t even deign to look at the Prince. 

“What I don’t understand is why you think you can question me.”

“My apologies, sire,” The boy replied smoothly, eyes still staring forward. “ However , Schlatt will retaliate. We will pay for your recklessness with the lives of our people.” 

“ My people,” Phil said calmly, the shaft of the feather snapping between his two fingers. “You forget, Technoblade, what position you are in.” The blonde could almost hear Wilbur and Tommy draw in a breath from behind him.

“Our alliance with them was capricious at best,” he continued. “The citizens are rioting and soon Schlatt will be overthrown. Manberg was a scapegoat. Would you rather we had attacked Essempi and lost countless soldiers? Now we have more land, more people, and more political security.”

Phil stood and stepped down from the dais, his robes trailing behind him. Peripherally, a flower intertwined in the Prince’s hair pressed against Techno’s cheek and the pinkette breathed in. 

“Apologies, my Liege. Next time I will trust your judgement.” Phil had reached the double doors.

“Don’t forget where you stand next to me,” -- something like recognition flashed in Wilbur’s eyes before his gaze went glassy again -- “You are in my shadow. Act like it.”

“Yes, Emperor,” the Sons said in unison. 

A black feather sank to the ground, twisting as doors swung closed behind it. When it alighted, a macabre rose had taken its place. 

The whisper of a laugh floated through the hall.