Work Text:
“And then he turned into a giant slime, and we all had to try and stop him from destroying the bank - “
Philza snorted, wings rustling behind him as he shook his head, ambling along the abandoned path.
“Good riddance,” he snorted, and Techno laid a dramatic hand over his forehead, covering his eyes for just a moment before he returned to keeping an eye on his footing.
“The bank had my money, Philza, I had to protect it!” Philza chuckled, and Techno thickened the worry in his voice. “My possessions! My stuff! You know how much I love my stuff, Phil,” he sighed, and Philza broke into proper laughter. Techno smiled to himself.
“Yeah, for fuckin’ sure,” Philza said, wiping his eyes. “That’s crazy though, did you get help at least?”
Techno was about to start regaling Philza with the epic tale of revolution when they took a turn in the road and something caught his eye.
“Philza,” he said, “I think I know what we’re doing today.”
The massive colosseum was old and decrepit, parts of the upper seating and roof areas broken away entirely. It was nowhere near any city, old or new: perched on a cliff’s edge, bare rock showing no tracks of a path. There was a strange and menacing air to the whole place that made Techno shiver.
Philza frowned up at it.
“Well that’s new.”
Oh yes, the most damning detail: It hadn’t been here when they walked this path last week.
Philza and Technoblade stared up at it for a long moment.
“So that’s definitely cursed,” Techno ventured. Philza nodded emphatically next to him.
“Supernatural for sure. A trap, maybe?” He wondered, wings unfolding from his elytra and allowing him to take flight. Techno waited as he scouted, walking forward to get a closer look without stepping inside any kind of gate. A minute later, Philza was back, claws clutching at Techno’s padded shoulders. Techno settled himself, taking the weight of his companion with a small huff.
“No roof, no people, but there’s an empty throne with a cool sword in the middle of the arena,” Philza reported. Techno hummed in affirmation.
“Got some old graffiti here, too. Watch.” He stepped closer, gesturing at the words scrawled in ancient, fading paint. Philza squinted at it from his shoulder.
“Is that - sorry, mate, can’t read it.”
Techno huffed, faux-mocking. “You can’t read Latin?”
“I never needed to know Latin! Besides, I’m sure you can translate, you absolute nerd,” he defended himself fondly, and Techno grinned.
“You know, people kept telling me oh don’t study Latin, Technoblade, it’s a dead language, why don’t you do something useful like farm potatoes for a year or go play hide and seek. But I knew this day would come. Oh, and it says “Stay away” if you were curious.”
Philza snapped his finger and pointed at the text.
“Told you. Trap.”
They stared at the entrance silently for another second.
“Philza?”
“Yeah?”
“I still really wanna check it out,” Techno admitted, and Philza laughed ruefully.
“Yeah, of fuckin’ course you do,” he said fondly. “Alright, but if it closes behind us and starts doing ghost shit, I get to say I told you so.”
“See I’m not taking that deal, Philza, because we both know that’s what’s gonna happen,” Techno replied as he ventured inside the cavernous gate. A series of smaller gates followed, until Philza had to jump down from his perch and Techno had to duck to get through. Finally, they emerged into the arena floor. The place was just as old and destroyed on the inside, the sandy floor of the arena pitted with broken weapons, chunks of stone and the occasional bone. In the center, just as Philza had said, a throne stood like a grave marker - the sword laid across it too large even for Techno.
And then, as expected, it started glowing.
A sickly yellow tint emerged from the weapon, lines of text and symbols dripping with ichor as a humanoid being faded into existence, grasping the sword with bony hands. Its skin had the texture of old leather, criss-crossed with scars and missing half an arm. Its eyes were glowing that same sickly yellow, and a voice like metal grating against metal echoed out of its desiccated maw.
It took Techno a moment to realize it was Latin.
“What the fuck is it saying,” Philza asked quietly, and Techno strained to hear - the voice was difficult in its own right, and he’d never quite gotten the hang of word tenses, so -
You’ve entered the arena of blood. Fight for your freedom against my ghostly gladiators.
“Bruh, for real?” Techno complained under his breath.
“What’s he saying?” Philza demanded, and Techno sighed.
“Yeah, he wants us to battle our way through his ghostly warriors and earn our freedom.”
“Called it,” Philza muttered. “Let’s get outta here.”
The ghostly king laughed like a box of cutlery falling on a stone floor, and the exit sealed behind them. Techno looked over at Philza with the look of a man who knew what was about to come.
“I fucking told you so,” Philza enunciated primly as haunting apparitions began to form out of the sand around them, see-through but carrying weapons that looked very, very real.
“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” Techno grumbled, pulling his axe out of its holster at the same time as Philza’s feet left the ground, bow and arrows already in hand. “I’ll remind you of this next time you wanna go explore an obviously haunted catacomb.”
“The relief-work is inspirational!” Philza yelled over the clang of metal as Techno set his axe against the advancing warriors. There were two of them, both wielding swords and shields, but they were clearly not bothering with tactics - in fact, it seemed like they barely noticed each other, each setting upon Techno with no care for the timing of the other’s hit. It made them laughably easy to dispatch, especially with fire support from above as Techno rolled out of the way of one hit and sliced through one ghost, catching his axe on the shield of the other as Philza pelted them with arrows. Techno heard a long, slow disculpe echoing through the arena as the second one dissolved into mist, and he shook off a shiver of fear. They were just ghosts. Him and Philza could handle it.
Philza laughed above him, coming down to perch on his shoulder when no new ghosts appeared.
“Too easy,” he said, bow still out and ready. “Let’s get outta here.” Techno nodded, turning away from the king of the arena and setting out for the wall of the arena. If he could fling Philza up, they could definitely make it over -
Fools. You have not yet proved your worth. You will not escape until you’ve called my name for another bout.
The sickly yellow glow filled the arena again, a stench of sulfur making Techno sneeze. When the mist abated, they were elsewhere - a room tucked into the side of the arena, barred windows overlooking the grey sand. More bones filled the corners, rusted swords and ancient rations telling their own story.
“What the hell did he say this time?” Philza muttered, hopping down from his shoulder to start rummaging through the detritus on the floor. “He’s trapping us or some shit?”
“Bruh, no, he’s got more ghosts to fight us,” Techno corrected, looking out through the window. “Guess we’ve gotta run the whole gamut.”
Philza snorted.
“He’s definitely got some shit planned. How about we just find a way outta here, yeah?” He’d come out of the ruins of some old warrior with a necklace clutched in one hand, quickly squirreled away into a pocket. Technoblade hummed, thinking.
“I dunno, Philza, kinda cringe to just run and hide. ‘Sides, he was pretty insistent, dunno how much power he has over this place, but he’ll probably stop us leaving any other way.”
They thought for a moment, then Philza shrugged.
“Split up?”
Techno grimaced, and Philza snorted.
“Yeah I know you hate it, mate, but I’ll go explorin’ and you kick some ghost ass.”
“He’ll pull us both back in,” Techno reminded him, and Philza hummed before snapping his fingers.
“I got an idea.”
—
Philza stood back, nodding in satisfaction at the sack of cloth, old straw, and one of his old hats that was currently tied to Techno’s shoulders. Techno spun slowly, feeling out the weight and heft of the decoy, chuckling all the while.
“Bruh this is so stupid,” he sighed, but the grin on his face was unmistakable. If there was something Techno liked, it was scamming royalty. “Alright, alright. You get outta here, I’ll fight the king.” Philza gave him a lazy salute and made his way over to the wall opposite the arena. It didn’t have a door, but it did have what had either been a ventilation pathway or food trough way up by the ceiling. Techno would have had no way to get through it, but whoever had designed the place clearly hadn’t accounted for someone with wings or wriggly joints. Philza unfolded his wings and took to the air, squeezing his upper body through the opening, and kicked the rest of the way through. He rolled into a cool, dark hallway, bleak sunlight barely filtering through busted old windows. Philza shook himself off and stuck his hand back through the opening, giving Techno a thumbs-up.
“See you later,” Techno said, switching to Latin to speak - whatever the ghost had told him to. Philza watched the room fill with dim yellow fog, another flash of light, and Technoblade (and the decoy) was gone.
Well. That was the first part done. Time for Philza’s favorite: Looting.
The corridors hidden among the colosseum’s wall were narrow and functional, rooms and paths crammed in on half-levels, stairs and broken lifts turned into dangerous pits of rusted metal and sharp wood. Here and there windows appeared, all overlooking the arena floor. Philza paused at each to check in on Technoblade, less out of worry and more out of a wish to see him in action.
Technoblade was as glorious as always, even with the decoy Philza perched precariously on his shoulders. He’d switched his axe for twin blades, probably for a more even weight distribution, and was chopping the ghosts apart like they were made of - well, nothing. Philza took a potshot at a ghost or two, mostly because he could, and kept on searching.
He’d found several paths that looked like they might lead outside, all covered in what definitely looked to be magical seals. They hadn’t budged under pressure, or blunt force, or a crowbar, but Philza was confident he just needed to figure out an explosive. He worked his way back to the upper levels, peeking out another window. Oh, Techno was back to the axe,the decoy barely hanging out. His hair had come out of its braid, damp with sweat and tossing around him as Techno went through dodges and ripostes against a horde of ghosts. Philza paused to take it in. Techno was looking - intense.
As he watched, Techno took out the last ghost by straight-up ripping it apart, turning towards the ghost on the throne and falling to one knee. The ghost spoke some more incomprehensible words, and a cup filled with dark red liquid materialized out of the blood-sodden sand. Techno grasped it, raised it to his lips, and drank it to the dregs.
Hmmm. Philza was sure that was fine.
Techno tossed the cup aside and roared to the heavens, pulling the decoy off his back and tearing it into pieces.
Okay. Perhaps he should check on Technoblade real quick.
Philza squeezed through the window, unfolding his wings to catch him as he glided down to perch on one of the boulders littering the arena.
“Technoblade?” he called out, watching intently as Technoblade swung towards him. He was grasping his axe with an almost cramping grip, eyes wild, calling out to him in -
“Mate, I still don’t understand Latin,” Philza replied. The ghost king yelled out something, imperious and smug, and Techno’s lips peeled back in a snarl that usually only his enemies saw - and not for very long. He shook his head, snorted, and began running at Philza.
“Hey, Techno, what - woah!” Philza exclaimed, leaping into the air as Techno heaved his axe up to cleave into the boulder where Philza had been perched. “Mate, what the fuck?”
Techno said something else in Latin, jumping onto the boulder and tossing himself towards Philza. Philza squawked and tried to fly out of the way, letting out a very undignified noise when Techno nabbed him around the ankle and slammed him into the sand. He just barely managed to roll out of the way of the following blow, spitting sand as he got to his feet.
“Oh, you motherfucker,” Philza snarled, pulling his own shortsword. He didn’t know what the hell was up with Technoblade, but that had been a step too far.
They duelled in the sand, Philza zipping around Techno’s heavy attacks, keeping himself out of range and sneaking in for hits that Techno blocked at the last second. Techno kept shouting incomprehensible words, answered by the king on his throne.
Philza knew he couldn’t win over Techno in a straight battle - especially one like this, with Techno guided by some strange and vicious magics. Maybe without the axe… Philza ducked and bent, found an opportunity, and slammed the pommel of his blade into Techno’s elbow. Techno cried out, nerveless hands loose around the handle of his axe for a moment, and Philza took his chance to kick the thing out of his hands, sending it skittering across the sand.
He expected Techno to dive for it, or to grab at any of the weapons around. Instead, Techno raised his hands to the king above them, crying out in a foreign tongue - and the king raised his sword and flung it into Techno’s hands. It was huge, large enough to double Techno’s range, and covered in glowing sigils that made Philza’s hair raise just at the look of them.
He raised his sword, preparing to fight his friend to the end. For a single second, he met Techno’s eye, filled with bloodlust and rage and -
Hang on.
Did the motherfucker just wink at him?
In the next moment, Technoblade brought the giant sword down, smashing it into a million pieces against the sandy rocks.
The air stood still for a single moment, and then space inverted. Philza felt like he was being turned inside out and stuffed into a casing too small for him, struggling to keep to his feet as the king howled above them. He stumbled forward, grabbing Techno who’d gone to one knee in the sand, blinking rage out of his eyes as he looked up at Philza with a tired grin.
“Got you for a moment, huh?” he said, voice trembling with exhaustion. Philza laughed, short and tight, and pulled him to his feet.
“Not a chance, mate,” he lied, and started pulling them towards the exits. The one they’d come in through was crumbling apart, the pathway filling up with rocks for every step they took. Swearing, Philza diverted them, rushing them through shuddering pathways and up rickety stairs until he found one of the exits he’d stumbled upon while he was exploring. It was open, now, and he shoved Techno through before diving after himself. The arena groaned behind them, a thin, ghostly wail cutting through the air as the place disintegrated into fine yellow mist.
Silence filled the air, only broken by Philza’s low cursing and Techno’s heavy breaths.
“What the fuck, mate?” Philza said, finally, turning to Technoblade. Techno sat up slowly, giving him a sheepish grin.
“Told you I’d get us out,” he said, voice hoarse. He’d been screaming a lot, there at the end. Philza found his water container and handed it over, letting Techno drink his fill.
“So that was all fake? The fuckin’ bloodlust, trying to kill me?” he demanded. Techno wiped his mouth and shrugged, handing the container back.
“Sorta? He, uh, wanted us to try and kill each other. I thought the decoy would be enough, but apparently he wasn’t that stupid. So, uh, yeah, figured this was the best way out.”
“Well, you got me for a moment there,” Philza laughed. “I was about to fuckin’ cut your knee up and carry you outta there, so good call.”
“What can I say, classical education wins the day again,” Techno boasted, laying back in the dusky sunshine. Philza was about to call him out on exactly how rarely that happened when the air shimmered around them. He went for his sword, watching warily as the ghosts they’d been fighting swirled into existence around them.
“It’s fine,” Techno said from beside him, startling Philza. “They were trapped same as us. They’re free now.”
Philza didn’t put his sword down, but the ghosts didn’t seem to be interested in attacking them. Instead, they muttered among each other, slowly wandering off into the sunshine, fading quickly into nothing.
“They were all warriors?” Philza wondered, watching two ghostly women embrace before the sunshine broke up their outlines into dust.
“Lovers, siblings, friends,” Techno said, tone mild. “He’s got it out for us, Philza.”
Philza snorted, elbowing Techno.
“Shut. Just because you heard their sad backstories -”
“Oh, and what were you doing while I was battling lost souls from eons past?” Techno shot back, and Philza grinned.
“I,” he said pompously, “Got us loot.” He pulled a bag off his belt, upending it between them as Techno whistled.
“Damn that’s impressive,” he said, poking at the coins and rings Philza had ferreted out. Philza held up a hand.
“Wait, I got something better-” with a flourish, he pulled out a crown, handing it over to Techno with a half-assed seated bow. “For the champion of the arena.”
“Oh, that reminds me!” Techno grabbed for a side-pocket, pulling out a dusty and wrinkled bucket hat. Philza’s eyes went round.
“Mate, I thought you lost it!”
“Nah, grabbed it while we were running,” Techno grinned, holding it out. “Trade?”
Philza nodded, trading the golden crown for his prized bucket hat and immediately putting it back where it belonged. Techno was fiddling with the crown, perching it just so over his braid. Philza smiled up at him. They were both bloody and dusty, exhaustion weighing down their bones - but they’d come out alright.
“Let’s go find a village to trade in all this shit,” he said, getting to his feet and offering Techno a hand up.
“And a bath,” Techno shuddered, but took Philza’s hand and heaved himself up.
“That too,” Philza grinned. “Also, you owe me a round.”
Techno muttered, but didn’t argue. Together, they walked towards the setting sun, leaving the cliffs and their forgotten arena behind, towards new adventures.