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Philza awoke to the sound of angry voices.
He remained still, taking in the situation. His neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle, and something cold and hard was wedged under his chin. Someone had an arm around his chest, pinning him to them. When they shifted, he shifted with them, suddenly becoming aware of the uncomfortable weight clamped around his wrists - handcuffs.
Also, he was fucking freezing. Probably in the arctic, then, and missing his cloak too. And his shoes, given how he couldn’t feel his toes. Wonderful. He suppressed a shiver as he scoured his memories, trying to piece together what had happened.
He remembered leaving the Arctic-- headed for the community house. He’d just stepped through the Nether portal, and then. . . and then something happened. He’d heard shattering glass, seen some sort of smoke-- a splash potion.
They ambushed him and knocked him out with a potion of weakness. Philza made a mental note to work on his potion resistance, then tuned back in to the conversation.
“Give up,” Quackity snarled next to his ear. “Hand Dream over, or Philza gets it.”
Philza tipped his head a bit further, letting his hair obscure his face. His eyes opened, flicking up to assess the situation.
Technoblade stood across from him and his captor, eyes narrowed. “Counteroffer,” he growled. “Let Philza go, or I’ll rip your head off.”
Ah, a hostage situation. Technoblade was standing with his back to his house, Niki by his side. From what little he could see without moving his head, the two were surrounded by a good number of people - all decked out in full netherite, and all looking very hostile.
Now, there were several things he could do. Plan A: take Quackity by surprise and free himself. Which would lead to an all-out fight - one Technoblade wouldn’t win, because no matter how good he was, he couldn’t fight off ten people at once. On top of that, Philza was chained and sorely lacking in weapons and armor - in a fight, he’d be more of a hindrance than a help.
Plan B was negotiation. Given how angry everyone looked, there was a high chance of failure. Quackity had already proved unwilling to compromise, so. . . Plan C it was.
He let his eyes fall shut, turning his attention inward. His Bond glowed with warmth, an ever-present connection to the love of his life.
O Goddess of Death, he prayed. Sorry for the short notice, but I’m in a bit of a hostage situation. Mind giving me a hand?
He felt her attention turn to him, a flurry of surprise-love-amusement flooding their Bond. Of course. It’ll be wonderful to feel the sun again!
Philza’s smile was hidden behind the curtain of his hair. Ready?
As I’ll ever be.
Philza reached. Kristin surged forward to meet him. Their souls collided in a burst of warmth-affection-joy, reunited. And then Philza was receding into the depths of unconsciousness, his energy flooding the Bond and stabilizing it.
The last thing he heard was Kristin’s voice. Sleep, Phil. I’ll take care of everything.
Technoblade needed a plan. Any move he made would result in Philza losing his head-- unless he handed Dream over. Which was a big no, because 1) he’d risked a lot to get the man currently hidden in his basement out of jail, and 2) it’d just give Quackity more leverage.
He tried to stall. “Look, I can’t just hand him over. You’ll kill Phil anyway.”
Quackity rolled his eyes. “Fine. Hand Dream over, and I’ll let Philza go. Happy?”
“You’re lying.”
“Oh for fuck’s--” Quackity took a deep breath, glaring. “This is your last chance, Technoblade. Tell us where Dr--”
Philza twitched. Proceedings ground to a halt as all eyes turned to the man.
“Philza Minecraft,” Quackity purred, a jarring reversal of his anger moments before. He shifted the axe a bit closer to Philza’s neck, ignoring Technoblade’s warning growl. “Nice of you to finally join us.”
Philza twitched again, head jerking to the side. Quackity’s axe broke skin, crimson dripping onto the snow. The voices inhabiting Technoblade’s skull screamed in unison, rising to a fever pitch.
BLOOD HAS BEEN DRAWN! BLOOD! PRECIOUS BLOOD! HE HAS HARMED ONE OF OURS. PHILZA! PHIL! DADZA! PROTECT HIM PROTECT HIM PROTECT--
Technoblade gritted his teeth, fighting back the bloodlust. Going into a frenzy would only make the situation worse.
“Philza,” Quackity repeated, a bit more impatiently. He shifted, hoisting Philza a bit higher. Philza’s head lolled to the side, revealing features pressed into a tight grimace. Without warning, he shuddered. Quackity let out an alarmed noise, adjusting his hold so he wouldn’t drop him.
Technoblade tightened his grip on his sword. “Phil?” he called.
Philza’s eyes snapped open. A wave of violet light exploded through the clearing.
People let out alarmed shouts, stumbling back as a runic array carved itself into the snow. Quackity had been thrown away with the initial burst, and Philza was now hovering several inches off the ground, head turned towards the sky as his hair flowed upwards. Darkness spread through the strands like ink, turning the blond locks ebony.
The light show gradually died down. Philza landed in the center of the array, chains rattling. His eyes were closed.
“. . . Phil?” Technoblade called, his sword drawn. Something was off in the way Phil held himself, something that set every one of Technoblade’s instincts off. “Phil, are you okay?”
Slowly, Philza opened his eyes. Like his hair, they had gone completely black, the pupil indiscernible from the rest. He turned to look around, taking in the fighters who were staggering to their feet.
“Well,” he said, and Technoblade jolted because that wasn’t Phil’s voice. “Hello there.”
“Wh-what the fuck,” Quackity spluttered. “What the fuck was that?”
Not-Phil’s lips curved into a frown. “Hmm.” He-- they turned to Technoblade, who tensed. “Ah, Technoblade, right? Phil said he was in a hostage situation, he called for a bit of help. What’s happening?”
“Who are you?” Technoblade demanded.
Not-Phil smiled. “Oh, he didn’t tell you? I’m Kristin!”
Technoblade’s Chat exploded. MUMZA! MUMZA POG! MUMZA! TRIXTIN! ALL HAIL OUR QUEEN!
Technoblade’s sword dipped with shock. “Wait, hold on-- you’re Phil’s wife?”
“What?!” someone screeched from within the crowd.
Kristin tried to put her hands on her hips, only to pause when the chains rattled. She eyed them with distaste, then clapped a hand on one manacle. It crumbled into dust.
Niki let out a quiet squeak. Technoblade didn’t blame her.
“Where was I? Right, yeah, I’m Philza’s wife!” She beamed, like she hadn’t just dissolved iron with a single touch. “Kristin, Goddess of Death, Void Dweller, The End Of All Things - she/her pronouns. I’d say it was nice to meet you, but. . . the situation is less than ideal.”
“What the fuck,” Quackity breathed, taking a step back. “What the fuck.”
Kristin glanced at him, then down at the bloodstained axe clenched in his hands. She raised her fingers to her neck, frowning as they came away smeared with crimson.
“Really,” she said. “Did you have to draw blood?”
Quackity’s only response was to raise his shield. Sam clamped a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back before he could lunge. “We can’t fight her,” he hissed.
Quackity scowled. “Do you want to get Dream back? It’s three versus twelve, Sam, we can win this.”
“You heard her, she’s the Goddess of Death--”
“She’s bluffing,” Quackity insisted. “There’s no. . . way. . .”
He trailed off, looking up as the world darkened. Technoblade followed his gaze, breath hitching with surprise.
The sky was filled with crows, circling overhead. Their wings blocked out the sun. Their feathers were darker than night, indiscernible, melting into each other until the whole murder seemed like one unified creature, a predator circling its prey.
A single crow separated from the mass, alighting on Kristin’s shoulder. The goddess hummed, eyes crinkling. “Hello, little one.”
The crow ruffled its wings, opened its beak, and screamed.
The murder above responded in kind, cauterwaling as they dived downwards, sharpened claws curved with cruel intent. Quackity’s army broke apart, people fleeing in every direction as the crows descended. At the center of the mayhem, Kristin watched, amusement shining in her gaze.
“You have a penchant for chaos, little one.”
The crow bumped its head against her cheek before taking flight, off to terrorize Quackity. “RETREAT!” the duck hybrid shouted. He ducked behind his shield to avoid a peck that nearly took out his bad eye. “FUCK-- RETREAT!”
The few who were still holding out obeyed, fleeing into the forest. The crows gave chase, loud caws fading into the distance.
“All in a day’s work,” Kristin quipped. She surveyed the trampled, feather-littered snow, then raised her face to the sky. “It’s been so long. . . I forgot how nice the sun was! Hello, sun!”
Technoblade cleared his throat. The goddess startled, turning around. “Oh! Right, hi.”
“. . . Hello,” Technoblade answered. “I’m, uh you already knew this, but I’m Technoblade. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Kristin grinned. “I know all about you. ‘Technoblade never dies’, right? The Blood God loves talking about you. Phil, too.”
“All good things, I hope,” Technoblade muttered.
“Good things?” Kristin snorted. “They do nothing but brag about you.” Her gaze turned to Niki, who froze like a deer in the path of a minecart. “And you must be Niki.”
“Y-yes,” Niki stuttered, shifting on her feet like she was debating whether or not to bow. “It’s nice to meet you, um. . . your highness.”
Kristin laughed. “Just call me Kristin. Any friend of Phil’s is a friend of mine.”
“Kristin,” Niki repeated. “It’s nice to meet you, Kristin.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,”
“We don’t see a lot of gods on this server,” Technoblade said dryly. “Unless you count Dream, but he’s just a guy with a god complex. And XD-- he’s pretty old-fashioned, so we tend to stick to formalities with any gods we meet.”
“I see, I see.”
Niki shifted. “I. . . sorry if this is insensitive, but I had no idea Phil was married. . .?”
Kristin’s smile was fond. “We don’t exactly shout it from the rooftops. He worries that it would put us in danger.”
“Right, right. Just-- one thing-- Wilbur told me his mother was a Samsung smart fridge--?”
The goddess burst into laughter, doubling over and whacking a hand on her knee. “Oh,” she gasped when she regained control of herself. “He-- it’s a long story, but-- he saw me as a picture on their fridge, when he was a child-- and Phil never corrected him.”
Niki blinked. “So. . . he believed his mother was really--”
“Heavens, no. He probably figured it out by the time he hit double digits, but he kept telling people his mum was a fridge because he found it funny.” She grinned. “He got our mischievous streak.”
A caw interrupted their conversation. The three of them turned to the forest, just in time to see a mob of crows barreling straight towards them. Technoblade pulled a shield from his inventory, which proved unnecessary when the crows wheeled about and began circling Kristin. She laughed, opening her arms in invitation. The crows needed no further prompting, alighting on whatever surface they could find. The stragglers settled for prancing about her feet, leaving circles of tiny claw-prints.
“Hello, hello,” Kristin cooed. “Yes, it’s me, it’s Mumza-- how’s Phil been treating you?”
The cawing increased in volume. Kristin nodded, careful not to dislodge the crow perched on her head. “I see. Of course! I don’t have any gapples right now, but I’ll be sure to let Phil know, okay? Hmm. . . really? Now this I have to see.”
Technoblade and Niki exchanged glances as the Goddess of Death spun to face them. “Technoblade, Niki, it was wonderful to meet you. I only have two hours in this body, and it’s been a while since I’ve been on the mortal plane, so I’m going to go explore.”
“. . . Sure,” Technoblade said. “Just, uh, is Phil okay?”
Kristin smiled. “Phil’s okay-- he’s just sleeping at the back of his mind. He’ll be back tonight.”
“Okay. Cool. Uh, before you go, do you want some shoes?”
The goddess glanced down at her bare feet, wincing when she realized her toes were turning blue. “Oh, I didn’t realize I was cold. Maybe a. . . coat, too?”
Three crows cawed in unison. Kristin looked at them, then at the two mortals. “Do you think Phil will mind if I raid his closet?”
“I-I don’t think so?” Niki offered. “If he’s willing to, er, let you use his body. . .”
“Good point!” The goddess beamed, turning towards the house. Her grin gained a mischievous edge. “Ooo, he might have gapples. Chat, let’s mess up his chests.”
The crows cheered, taking flight and wheeling in excited circles above her head. The two Syndicate members watched as a cackling Goddess of Death disappeared into her husband’s house.
“. . . I feel like I just made a mistake,” Niki whispered.