Chapter Text
Technoblade was born royalty, king in fact. He had never met his parents, not that he’d remember anyway. He had only ever known his citizens and those who were his guardians, his caretakers, his people who had taken him to protect as a child so that he could one day lead their land as his own.
As he was told all his ancestors did as well, he heard voices. He was a god. A blood god. And his people treated him as such.
It had been scary at first when the voices first started asking for blood, and he had been compelled to fight, but was still too weak to manage getting out of it alive. He’d grow up with the burden and the duty to become better and stronger so that he could feed the voices and not die like the rest of his family. They died because they became comfortable and lowered their guard. After a life of bloodshed, they always felt invincible. Their victims failed to satisfy their bloodlust until they’d take on a challenge that was bigger than them, and die in combat.
Not Technoblade. He was the last war god. The heir to their kingdom. He would get strong beyond anyone’s wildest dreams and he would become bigger than the gods of swords, or of archery, the likes of his parents. Bigger than life itself, he willed for something he could take from anyone, and take anyone with of his own, just by pure strength and willpower. He didn’t want their minds or their money - he craved blood.
blood for the blood god.
The combined power of all his family ran through him, their voices echoed in his mind. They weren't really the voices of his parents, but ones they too had heard when they fought. But as the last one of the gods alive, he was unstoppable. And if that alone wasn’t enough, he trained. He fought and won, again and again, and never came as much as close to dying.
technoblade never dies! They chanted in his head. He chanted in his head.
And though it was scary - to carry this many sins on his back, ever since he was a child - it was also fun. His childhood memories were glittered with fondness from friendly spares, and blood, and laughs on the ring, and the soothing rhythm of crushing bones. He remembered feeling alone, never having had a parenting figure or a friend other than his sword. His people were good with providing to him, but they never seemed to care about his emotional needs. Instead he just stabbed them out of his system.
He was fine living the life he lived. The only thing he ever cared about, the only thing that ever loved him, comforted him when he got hurt, taught him what was right and didn’t punch him when he cried were the voices. They were everything for him. And he would do anything for them.
So he killed.
They asked him, so he killed for them. He couldn’t keep only sparring and mildly injuring his citizens forever. So he ventured out and killed mobs, villagers, pillagers and ravagers (even though he felt a bit endeared by the latter). Every time he would return to his own people with a nether star after a few days, or even just nether skulls, they would cheer for him. And would give their blood to them, to the voices.
Then, Techno had thought he was happy. He didn’t understand why it hurt to see the families all around him, mothers and sons in warm embraces, the teens he sparred as a kid having their wounds tended to by their fathers, who ruffled their hair proud they’d lost to the king. Techno just stood afar with gritted teeth, tending if not ignoring his own bruises and cuts. He longed for the warm touches of a family he never knew.
A few times he tried losing on purpose, desperate for the care and attention he thought he’d receive, just like the others did. But from those times he only had feverish memories. His first few attempts as a child only rendered him the scrutiny of the voices and the violence of his citizens, that held him in place in his vulnerable state while they beat him up, just like it’d happen if he lost a real fight, they said. They went easy on him, only leaving him with sprained ankles, bruises on his stomach or mild concussions. But as he grew older and tested his luck, either by faltering in his training or by losing to opponents much older than him, maybe on days he didn’t feel so great, the consequences turned more severe. By the time he was 10 he had learned to not lose, never, ever, lose. The voices made sure of it, as well of his scars from blades that cut deep into him every night, the haunting consequences of his lost duels engraved deep on his sides and grazed on his arms, legs and chest.
Still, he stayed. And always came back from his journeys. It wasn’t as though as this life was all he ever knew, he had seen the joyous faces of other kids all around the land; and it wasn’t like his guardians kept a close eye on him either, or even pretended like they themselves mattered to him. He could’ve never gone back, or could have killed them all. Although Techno understood from running out of supplies on his journeys just how important it was to have food and the warmth of his palace, to be hugged, loved - it wasn’t for him to take, and the thought made his own sacred blood boil.
kill kill kill them all blood for the blood god blood for the blood god!
Maybe he should’ve listened to these voices earlier, but he had always been told not to kill his citizens. He couldn’t help but not care about them, but they at least seemed to care about him, or about his power. If he couldn’t be loved then at least he thrived on their cheers and prayers to their blood god, their roars all around him when he was left victorious on the ring. They celebrated his achievements, and even as the years went by and the voices claiming their blood got louder, he was the subject of their adoration. It would take a lot more than this for him to listen to this plead from the voices.
Maybe it would take him a friend, maybe it would take him a father. It would take him finding love, or a better life. He willed, deep down, that one day he would be held and be safe, lower his guard and not be punished for it.
All it took him to listen to this chorus was finding a family. But he kept going on, kept training and fighting, venturing out and killing hostile creatures, ignoring the vicious gospel on his ears.
That is, until he did find a family to love him.