Chapter Text
Pounding.
An incessant rhythm that won't stop.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
It won't slow down.
Goddamnit, why won't it slow down??
The loud, booming roars of the crowd echo through the stadium. Stomping and screaming. Voicing the bloodlust. The thirst for gore, for violence. For seeing another man fall at his hands; their organs spilling at his feet, staining his skin, his clothes, the pig-like mask that covers the top half of his face. The innards under his claw-like nails, in his fanged mouth, in his long hair.
He can taste the iron.
He craves it.
He licks his lips.
The blood-stains are never truly wiped from the floor of shining netherrack.
The red never goes away.
It only darkens.
A reminder.
A reminder that never fades.
Only chips.
Chips until it's eventually replaced.
It's always replaced.
It doesn't rain in the Nether, after all.
In the Underground stadium, which is built right in the middle of an abandoned fortress, the air is always thick and hot, tainted with the smell of fire, sweat, and the musk of old blood. The cheering echoes, bouncing through the rickety stands and off the thick, dark stone walls. Concession stands pockmark the top row, selling anything from charred meats to fresh bread to vegetables at exorbitant prices. There's merchandise with him splattered on it all in vibrant hues of pink and red; fans proudly sporting his likeness in every way conceivable. Face tattoos? Sure. Earrings? Of COURSE. Masks? Well, that's just a must-have. Little pictures of a pig in a crown.
How he looks to people when he kills.
Not even remotely human.
The cheering won't stop.
Not until he raises his head and greets his victory as he always does.
To give them what they what.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
The beating grows faster.
Stop, stop.
Slow down.
Calm down.
You've done this hundreds of times...
He puts his hands over his ears, the points jabbing into his gory palms. The body is taken from his feet by people he doesn't bother to look at. Whom he never bothers to look at.
He is above them.
He is above them all.
That's what they tell him.
Blood still gushes from the open gash in the body's throat. A brilliant red fountain neatly carved by his glittering blade of death, painting the ground an even deeper shade of crimson. To him, they didn't have an identity.
A family?
A lover?
A life they actually wanted to live?
Did they need the fight money?
Or was it for glory?
Were they scared when they were called to fight him?
Did they know it was the end of the road?
Did they get to say goodbye?
Did they have anyone to even say goodbye to?
He grits his teeth as the muffled cheering somehow grows even louder. The long, inhuman tusks that stick from his blood-stained lips scraping against his flushed, pale cheeks beneath faux pink fur.
Monsters.
All of them. The ones who cheer.
Like him.
The one who slaughters.
An animal.
A beast.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"
"TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES!!!"
"SUCK IT, NOOB!"
"Took him three hits? Shame."
"I was betting on one!!!"
"TECHNOBLADE!!"
"TECHNOBLADE!!"
"TECHNOBLADE!!"
"TECHNOBLADE!!"
"Guy didn't stand a chance against The Blade..."
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"
The audience chants. They want to see him. His face blank in the midst of another victory. They want to see their Blood God.
He allows himself thirty more seconds of relative quiet before removing his clawed hands from his ears. The eyes of the ringleader bore into his back from his raised platform seat, burning a hole through the stained white satin of his shirt. The message the stare portrays is simple: "Raise your head like a good beast and let your people see you."
Slowly, deliberately, he schools his features into a blank look of indifference as he raises his head. The audience grows quiet, breath held unanimously through the stands as everyone cranes their necks to get a look.
Quick as a bullet, his right hand shoots up into the sky, clutching a glistening diamond blade crusted with already-drying gore. He himself stares forwards with determination. The crowd takes it as silent confirmation of a kill.
But he really just can't stomach looking at any of them.
So he looks up.
Inhale.
Exhale.
A flutter of black flashes in his peripheral vision.
Though he pays it no mind.
Not like he used to.
"If you wish to defeat me, train for another 100 years!!!!" He exclaims in his deep, monotone voice. His lips curl slightly as the crowd explodes again. Some shout challenges, some shout obscenities. But everyone else is cheering for him. The sound is vociferous, reverberating through his very bones.
It is both thrilling and blood-curdling at the same time.
He longs for it.
He dreads it.
Which one is worse??
A magnified voice shatters the moment, drawing everyone's attention as the ringleader himself gets to his feet with a flourish of his arms, the man next to him clapping slowly.
Simon Hypixel.
"The winner of this fight, pig of the hour... our very own undefeated champ... TECHNOBLADE!!"
//||\\
"If you wish to defeat me, train for another 100 years!!!!"
A smile curled the man's lips as the fighter finished off his night with such a grand finale. His hands met in a slow, deliberate rhythm as he got to his feet. The ringleader was not-so-subtly staring at him from the corner of his eye as he announced the winner.
Theatrics were something of a weakness for him, so he let it proceed.
Finally, as the crowd thinned out and the stadium noise had been reduced to murmurs and angry betters arguing over their share of profits, the man turned to the ringleader, who was looking down at the battlefield where the fighter was staring straight ahead unmovingly, letting the workers drape his red cape over his shoulders with a rather surprising small nod of thanks.
"So?" Hypixel asked, the flames lit behind the two cloaking them in shadow. "What do you think, Mr. President?"
Um ...
What did he think?
It was promising, to say the least. He chuckled slightly, absently tapping a tip of a horn that curled around the side of his head.
Why not take a shot in the dark?
Even the most successful businessmen have to take risks sometimes.
Hypixel stared at him, face indiscernible in the flickering darkness. The man appreciated that he knew when to hold his tongue.
It marked intelligence.
He liked intelligence.
He turned his grey gaze back onto the fighter, who was finally being led away from the ring.
The tail poking from between the coattails of the man's suit gave a little wiggle.
"He's your ward, correct?" The man asked, curious about why Hypixel was pushing this fighter to him so hard. There were rumors of course, but it was always good to verify. Hypixel nodded.
"He is. I've raised him perfectly." The ringleader announced, his eyes gleaming. The man tilted his head, giving it some thought.
"I want him." He spoke simply. No long-winded explanations. No asking. No negotiation.
This was not optional.
Hypixel picked it up.
Smart man.
The ringleader dipped his head, offering out a hand.
"So we have a deal, then?"
Stupid man.
He stared at the outstretched hand, his own now firmly clasped behind his own back.
The silence stretched like taffy, so thick you could cut it with a knife.
"Mr. Pres- Schlatt." Hypixel insisted, his hand still outstretched and reaching for a deal that he had thought would be made.
He used his real name.
"I want him." The man repeated, his voice low, silky, and dangerous. His limbs remained motionless. Hypixel's face went through a series of emotions; first, there was the confusion, then the dawn of realization, and now the anger.
He'd been boofed.
And boy, did he know it.
The man smirked as Hypixel tried to hold it together, the outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Finally, the ringleader spluttered, "You promised that you'd-!"
The man's smile chilled.
"утка." He commanded without moving an inch. Hypixel froze as, in an instant and a flurry of beating wings and feathers, an iron blade was being pressed against his windpipe and a heavy weight thumped onto his back, resting on his shoulder blades; effectively cutting off his exclamation. He risked a backward glance, his eyes widening at the sight of not a bodyguard as he had expected, but a goose hefting the blade in its beak. It really had just been standing guard at the doorway like he thought when he saw the thing. It had given him a death glare. Its eyes were borderline evil and soulless, looking to the horned man for instruction, and in any other circumstance, it might've just been funny. Hypixel turned back, an expression of fear in his eyes that the man recognized all too easily. In contrast, the man himself was the epitome of frosty calmness.
Peace was never an option.
Ya love to see it.
He walked over, bending down to meet the ringleader's eyes. Their faces were inches apart.
"I never said I wouldn't, Hypixel. Don't get greedy." The smile plastered on his face warmed up again. "I want him. He'll do the job well, correct?" The man repeated for a third time, the tip of a horn jabbing into Hypixel's earlobe. His own fluffy ears were twitching; the only visible signs of his agitation.
Hypixel gave a tiny nod, his windpipe too hard-pressed by the crazy government-trained, white-feathered avian assassin to form any words at the moment. Hot blood dribbled from the tear in his earlobe, running in a thin, sticky trail down his neck.
"Good! Glad we all came to our senses tonight." He said jovially, straightening up with a small clap. Fishing in his pocket, he took Hypixel's hand and pressed a small gold coin into his palm, curling his fingers over the smooth surface. With a pat to the head, the man turned and made for the door.
He snapped again. "Let's go утка."
The goose gave an irritated honk, but got off the ringleader, who fell to the floor gasping and clutching his throat, and followed the man out of the booth.
"I'll send утка in two days to retrieve him. Let him know to pack what he needs, Hypixel." He growled as he left the room and turned into a hot brick hallway.
What a reasonable guy, that Hypixel.
He lowered a hand and patted his waddling friend's head, who was still gripping the blade and determined not to let go. ...and determined to knock every torch off of the walls.
Ah well.
This place served him a purpose, but that didn't mean he liked it.
//||\\
Clack.
Technoblade set his fighter's mask and the golden champion's crown on the wooden table beside his bed, dried blood crusted on the tines. There's a story for every burgundy drop and splatter that's been long since encrusted onto the gleaming surface. He stares silently at the headpiece.
He never washes his crown. Every blood-stain on the shining metal is another tale of victory.
The blood is iconic.
You know you're something else when the first story everyone tells newcomers about you is a story of death.
The story of how the then-fourteen-year-old half-Piglin beast carved out his enemy's heart with the tines of his crown; scooping out the organ like he was scooping out ice cream.
Not that he's ever had ice cream before.
The Nether isn't very well-suited for frozen Overworld treats.
The room Technoblade calls his own is small, nestled deep within the heart of the abandoned fortress. He is the only fighter who lives down in the Nether full-time. He was born in the Nether and raised in the Nether. The fighter has never set foot in the Overworld before. This is probably what led to Technoblade becoming something of a legend, even to people who have never set foot in the stronghold or the Nether before. Out of all the people in the Overworld, only a few people know about the criminal Underground the Nether hosts. Those who do are either the aristocracy from the capitol that come down to participate in the masked combat, or are just normal people who want nothing to do with anyone who associates with it - though there are the few who actively work to try and stop it.
Though it's obvious the government is, for some reason, turning a blind eye to the brutality of the hellish landscape so far below the ground.
Technoblade likes the Nether.
As a Piglin hybrid born in the Nether, he's always had an affinity for the heat and the fire that burns across the land. He doesn't need water like an average human, so when he does get water, it's a nicety.
Hybrids, despite having no correlation with people actually conceiving with mobs and are actually just the results of genetic mutations, have been monitored and closely watched for as long as they have been on the Earth. Hybrids come in all sorts of different species, some more human and some more animal. (Technoblade was lucky to be the former). After the Great Hybrid-Human War ended around a century ago, started to stop the discrimination and foul treatment of the creatures and ended bloody on both sides, hybrids have slowly been given more and more rights and freedoms over time, and things such as hate crimes and hybrid servitude were recently outlawed entirely.
Unfortunately, while it may be commonplace among more populated, wealthy areas to treat hybrids as equals due probably in part to stricter law enforcement, smaller villages took longer to come to terms with the fact that hybrids have had basic human rights for decades.
Not really soon enough for Technoblade.
Technoblade was left at the then-abandoned fortress by his mother when he was an infant - a woman who was probably ashamed to bring a child like him back to the Overworld and her village.
Despite everyone's notions that his bloodlust is due to being both a hybrid AND an orphan, Technoblade doesn't mind either, though he used to be mocked for both. (Which again, he didn't care about).
People like Technoblade have been able to live in relative peace with humans in their towns and villages for nearly a decade, the bigotry of the past dwindling to a mere memory. Though being a hybrid is still a solid basis for childhood teasing. The evolution of the Overworld government - Technoblade had read - has only helped accelerate the process of equality. Since the election of hybrids President Schlatt and Vice President Alex 'Quackity' when the government made the conversion over to democracy after a brutal revolution.
This was, unfortunately, one thing that Technoblade didn't really know much about; as new textbooks are more difficult for him to get his hands on than older ones.
Now as for Technoblade's status as an orphan, he doesn't remember his mother or his father, so it's never bothered him much.
Simon Hypixel - the ringleader of the Hypixel Tournament Fighting Ring - is more of a father to Technoblade than either of his parents ever were. Back in the early days of the ring, when it was a few people per day in a pit somewhere near the ocean of lava, the ringleader had found a young Technoblade alone in a small cavern. The hybrid child had impaled a baby Hoglin with a stick, eating the sour flesh raw with friends whispering in his ears.
He was feral.
Wild.
Crazy.
He ran around mob settlements and raided markets, killed young creatures, and avoided contact with anything else entirely. He didn't even know how to speak.
Had he ever even had a real name? If he did, he didn't know it.
To this day Technoblade doesn't know exactly how old he is, either. His educated guess is probably somewhere around nineteen. When Hypixel found him, he must have only been six at the most.
What the ringleader saw in him, Technoblade could really only imagine. At first, he had thought it was kindness and pity that had led the man to take the animal child from his cave; teaching him to speak in human tongues and read books, dressed him up, and had given him status and a rank as Hypixel's promising young hybrid ward within a year of his (forceful) adoption. (Technoblade had tried to kill him upon initially meeting the human. And quite a few times after that, as well).
(With his little pointy stick).
He sat with Hypixel for every fight over the years. The ring grew more and more massive, eventually reaching the ears of even the most Underground of criminals. Everyone wanted to take a bit of the glory for themselves. (Not to mention the audience gambling and the victor's prize money involved.) It had soon become the Underground's most profitable trade, and he was right under the head of it.
Technoblade loved it. He idolized Hypixel for everything he ran and believed. That only the strong and smart were rewarded down here; the weak getting nothing. The boy would watch with wide, saucer-like red eyes; his body tensed with excitement as champion took the place of champion; blood spilled for blood. It was invigorating.
It gave his formerly meaningless life purpose.
Where before Technoblade had been surviving, watching the fights let him live.
It didn't take long for Hypixel to start training him to properly fight.
At first, it was simple; the man teaching Technoblade to fight correctly by fencing with little wooden practice swords. The then-child was a natural, but fierce and erratic with his fighting habits, his swings wild and uncoordinated. They were extremely dangerous and unpredictable.
But as Technoblade grew older and more controlled with his hand, he grew more and more calculating to the point where he could target an enemy's weak points as soon as they stepped up to him in combat. Hypixel had stopped fighting with him as Technoblade grew even more skilled and tactical with his combat, but told him to keep practicing with dummies.
When he wasn't training, Technoblade buried himself in imported tales and philosophical works from the Overworld. Tales of old Gods and wings of wax and speeches about war. Epics detailing the human mind and condition.
He sharpened his own mind like a blade, building it up like muscles.
It was his deadliest weapon, his intelligence; for no-one in their right mind would think a Piglin-hybrid would be of the same mental level as an Overworld scholar.
But he also had a... respect of sorts for the tales and the philosophy. He revered them as part of history, even if many of them were fiction.
Odysseus, Achilles, Theseus, Icarus, Socrates, Plato, and so many others.
They were history to him.
Technoblade may not know too much about specific things in the Overworld, and is far from all-knowing, but ask him about a Classic or an old Antarctic epic and he could quote anything off the top of his head without thinking about it.
His first fight in a tournament, even the criminals who came to gamble on the fights were appalled at the notion of a hybrid barely into his teenage years participating, despite most of them knowing he was Hypixel's ward. He brought in no betters and wasn't expected to win a single fight. (no betters is an exaggeration. He had a few pity gambles). Technoblade was underestimated both physically, and mentally. Fighters throughout the tournament seemed to take it easy on him, leaving his calculating brutality to catch them off-guard.
He brought in his first victory that day.
And a LOT of money.
He had... won.
Technoblade, a thirteen-year-old Piglin hybrid who was plucked from the wild and liked to read old epics in the dark had found... triumph. And happiness. It was a rush unlike anything he had ever felt before; the crowd screaming his name, his unconscious opponent being hauled off from in front of him, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he fought not for survival, but for glory. That he was finally one of the fortunate and strong.
His ears felt silence.
The blood tasted like victory.
Where before Hypixel had only really referred to him as "kid", or "little warrior", now the formerly displaced child had a new name.
A new identity forged using both mind and iron.
Technoblade.
Everyone had a fighting name if they participated in the ring, but Technoblade's was his full name.
A crown forged with melted gold was dropped on his head of unruly dark pink hair, twinkling with the light of the Nether's perpetually flickering flames. His mask had been made that same day.
He now only ever takes them off in his room.
Nobody had ever been able to take that crown away from him.
The day after his first victory, Technoblade had been sitting at his and Hypixel's breakfast table in an abandoned hall that they used as a kitchen. He was messing with his crown, Hypixel's gaze glimmering not with pride, but with satisfaction. Technoblade hadn't noticed at the time.
But he knew now.
"You're so much better than the rest of them, Techno." He had muttered in a passable imitation of fondness, his hand ruffling the boy's hair. "Never forget it, okay? I'm counting on you, little warrior." Technoblade had looked at him with stars in his eyes.
"I know."
As the fights went on, his thirst for victory grew stronger and stronger with every tournament. He brought in more and more money for Hypixel, and more and more fighters wanted to test their luck against the child. If they beat him, they knew they would have it made the rest of their lives. That's what people came to fight for, anyway. It was usually people who were struggling and needed the large sums of prize money supplied by the wealthy gamblers.
The farther in you got, the more money you left with.
Beat Technoblade, and you're promised a life of luxury.
Technoblade unwittingly contributed to the massive growth Hypixel Tournament Fighting Ring had witnessed during those years, and had been contributing since then.
He had just been too blinded by success to see it at the time.
Maybe if he had noticed what was going on sooner, he would have left before it happened.
Technoblade was fourteen. (Most likely. again, he doesn't really know for sure).
He had been the consecutive tournament champion for just over a year, and the competition was becoming more and more fierce. People were flocking to the ring to see if they could defeat Technoblade and take the title as the best PVPer of the ring, removing him from his throne and receiving what had been dubbed the 'Bloodpot'.
As the competition became smarter and more serious, so did Technoblade. He was not about to lose everything he was building his life around, losing the praise of Hypixel in the process.
He needed to stay number one.
By any means necesscary.
It was all he knew.
All he wanted.
There was a challenger making his way through this particular tournament. They had the audience restless and whispering; murmurs that the fighter could overtake Technoblade and knock him back down to size.
The fight was the last of the tournament, Technoblade having easily made it through the ranks of fighters like he always does. He heard the rumors, but had shrugged them off, ready to face the opponent like he always did.
It was just another insignificant desperate human from the Overworld seeking glory, like all of the others.
An insignificant human who, to Technoblade's horror, immediately managed to disarm him and send his blade clattering against the far wall. The sword flew so fast it left a chink in the Nether brick. They shot forwards, blocking every desperate swing by his clawed hands with their own blade, snapping one of his wrists and sending his mask flying from his head.
It was a fear he had never felt before.
He was going to lose.
Technoblade couldn't let that happen.
Ever.
He could practically feel the disappointed stare already being trained on him from Hypixel.
What if Hypixel kicked him out??!
In a moment of sheer horror and desperation, he had let out a guttural scream that buried itself perfectly within the tense shouts and taunts from the onlookers, yanked the crown off his head, and swung it outwards. It sank into their flesh, carving a neat dip through the fabric of their shirt and scooping out their heart. Blood sprayed onto his face as major veins and arteries snapped, painting his pale skin red and dying the white shirt crimson.
It was still beating when the fighter fell, and he dropped it onto the ground.
He was numb.
The crowd had gone silent.
His own heart, secure and alive in his chest, had pounded harder than he had ever felt it. The blood was roared in his ears. Adrenaline came flooding through his own intact veins.
Technoblade had stared at his viscera-coated hands, the workers too shocked to even come to clean up the carnage. His shattered left wrist was sending burning, blinding waves of pain up his arm.
But he couldn't feel it.
The adrenaline was thrilling, the feeling of ending something so precisely... satisfying.
His head was silent.
It scared him. It filled him with euphoria.
Hypixel hadn't just clapped for his ward as he always did. No, he had done so standing up, his eyes glowing like a butcher eyeing a prime cut of pork. Technoblade had stared, quivering, at the ringleader, who met his eyes and gave an approving nod.
One of satisfaction.
That was when competitors first began to kill. It was like they had all waited for someone to do it first. To this day, every one of the competitors that have faced Technoblade have perished at his hand.
That was also when Technoblade began to understand. He began to understand at fourteen years old that it wasn't kindness or pity that led Hypixel to take him from that cave. He understood that it was an opportunity for success and a chance for his criminal hustle to grow even faster than it was already. Hypixel, a man who gave opportunities to the desperate for money by gambling or fighting in the tournaments, took in a wild, savage homeless hybrid child and gave him a rank and status and a point to his life: fighting to keep it intact.
Everyone had assumed, unbeknownst to him, that it was only a matter of time before Technoblade killed someone in cold blood.
He raked in profit, and even more after it happened. The realization was both an odd weight off his shoulders and crushing at the same time.
Now, because of Technoblade's set example, whoever got far enough to face him in the tournaments and die would have major compensation sent to anyone in their immediate family, even if they weren't there for the money.
That was... pretty much everyone.
You could drop out and collect your reward, sure - a lot of people did.
But why would you pass up an opportunity of living the high life in the capital?
That's when Technoblade became the Blood God.
He became a legend, slaughtering competitor after competitor without so much as a grimace. And the thing is... he was good at it. He LIKED being good at it. Fighting always had come naturally for Technoblade. It was in his DNA. It was something he could do, to live his life for.
If he didn't fight, then what else was there for him in the world?
Up in the Overworld, people only knew of the "Blood God". They didn't know of Technoblade.
He wasn't anybody without his title. He was just an animal.
That's why initially, he didn't care about what he saw in Hypixel's eyes that day.
But spending years with increasing amounts of people changes your view pretty quickly. Where before, the other humans were something untouchable and foreign that he could slay without a second thought, now there were more and more of them wanting to talk to him. To shake his hand. To ask him questions. Calling him "Mr. Blood God" or "The Blade".
That's when he realized something else, at seventeen. That these humans were people.
No matter how terrible some of them may be, they all have lives and reasons to keep living.
He loves to fight.
He loves to kill.
He craves the taste of blood.
But he doesn't like to fight.
He doesn't like to kill.
Technoblade both loves and hates what he does in that arena of Netherrack and brick.
The blood-stained rock beneath his feet. It's where he belongs.
He couldn't leave if he wanted to. He was a monster now, who contributed to society by killing. Besides the person he first killed, there had only been one other competitor who came close to winning.
A competitor with a mask nearly as memorable as Technoblade's own.
A competitor that made Technoblade's blood boil at the very thought of him.
A competitor who was extremely close with Technoblade and vice versa, but for all the wrong reasons.
A competitor that has been the only one to challenge Technoblade and to escape with his life. Draw, after draw, after draw, until they stopped coming altogether.
But everyone else he meets in battle has died.
His hands are covered with hundreds of people's worth in blood.
You just can't see it all.
And yet only one of them has seen his face.
Finally, Technoblade tore his eyes away from the twinkling golden headpiece, bringing himself back into the present. The curly tail that poked from beneath the hem of his shirt drooped lifelessly as he let the exhaustion from the earlier tournament bog him down. The fights, while exhilarating in the midst of one, take a lot out of a person. The victory weighs on his mind for hours.
Technoblade doesn't sleep very much.
The fighter rubbed his knuckles into his eyes as he flopped onto a small chair beside his desk with a groan. Today had been a particularly long day. Hypixel had had some important guest and refused to talk to Technoblade at all whenever he approached him. It was frustrating, but he did that whenever some criminal lord or whoever came to talk about merging or profits or some other Underground bull. Technoblade had given up on sitting in at those dinners a long time ago.
He was never included anyway.
He glanced over at the small window in the wall, gazing out at a lake of bubbling lava, his legs stretched out in front of him. It was calm and quiet in his room, and right now, that was what he needed. The soft light from the magma outside set his few furniture items and shelf of books alight in flickering orange. Technoblade untied the red sash wrapped around his waist, shifting in the chair until the blood-caked material was in his hands. His clawed nails tore at the fabric as he bunched it up in his hands with a snarl, sitting up and throwing it against the wall with all the energy he could muster. Technoblade slumped back into his chair with a sigh, dragging a bloody hand over his face.
He could clean up later; sleep was more important right now.
That was another good thing about being part Piglin. He didn't care about being messy.
A whine sounded from the corner, and a small fluffy white shape slipped from behind Technoblade's bed. It hopped up onto his lap, startling the fighter into a "heh?!" The little dog cocked his head to the side and planted its front paws on Technoblade's chest, licking the gore from his face. (The dog was somehow always able to avoid his tusks, which pointed up to his lower eyelids at this point). The fighter blinked, chuckling slightly as he pushed the dog's wet muzzle away from his own scarred nose.
"Get down, Floof." He chastised softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. He rubbed a hand over the dog's fuzzy head, scratching behind the floppy ears. "It's good to see ya, buddy." Floof gave another little whine, nuzzling into the fighter's palm.
Everyone knew that Technoblade had a dog, but nobody had actually seen the real thing, as the Nether was a dangerous place for harmless little animals. Technoblade had heard rumors spreading around that it was a big bloodthirsty guard dog - a straight-up tamed wolf. And... come on. He wasn't about to correct them! The tiny little snow-white ball of energy on Technoblade's legs was the furthest thing from what people would expect him to have, and he loved that.
Floof had been a birthday gift (the servants had made up a birthday for Technoblade so they could celebrate) of sorts from Hypixel two years ago, who had expected the little canine to grow bigger and more intimidating.
It was the first time Technoblade had ever had a friend.
It took him a while to figure out why he would have an animal not for food, but for companionship. Months had passed before he cared about it at all, which led to him starting to appreciate the dog for its odd capacity to understand how he was feeling.
Like right now. He smiled even wider as Floof's tongue lolled out of his mouth and he rolled onto his back. Technoblade rubbed his belly, leaning back into the chair again and staring up at the ceiling.
A few minutes passed in peace before Floof gave another small whine. Technoblade looked down at his dog, who was staring right back at him expectantly. The fighter sighed good-naturedly, rubbing Floof's head again.
"You're hungry, huh?" Floof stuck his tongue out in ascension. Technoblade gave a resigned huff and gently pushed the dog off his lap, brushing the fur from his pants and getting to his hooved feet with a stretch. Floof circled his legs, tail wagging and eyes bright. Technoblade walked over to the door, pulling his tangled hair back with a hair-tie and resting his crown on his head and tying his mask over his face. "Alright, alright, I'm goin'. I might as well get somethin' too. I didn't eat dinner."
He clicked open the door, leaving with a little wave to Floof as he walked into the brick halls of the stronghold. As he made his way through the hot, winding corridors and flights of stairs, Technoblade's slouched, lazy demeanor instantly vanished. He walked with a blank face and a straight back. The heels of his boots clipped uniformly against the brick and his arms were crossed over his chest. His clothes were still caked in blood, but he really didn't care. All Technoblade cared about now was getting food without having to talk to anyone, and the blood was a tool to help him achieve that goal.
After a long, uneventful walk, Technoblade emerged into the stands of the fighting ring stadium. People were still bunched around, arguing about money and bets, placing future bets, eating food from the stands, and just generally having a good time. It had been only an hour since the last tournament concluded, so it was natural that so many people were still here. It's not like the stadium workers made it a point to kick everyone out exactly when shit ended. That would just be bad business. Even Technoblade knew that.
He looked around for a second, steeling himself before heading for a food vendor. Already, people noticed him. There were gasps and terrified whispers from throughout the stands. From the corner of his eyes, he could see people pointing at him as he walked. Spoiled little rich kids of the Underground criminals were shouting loudly, trying to run up to Technoblade and touch him.
Maybe pull his tail. Kids really liked to pull his tail, for some reason.
Adults, though, moved fearfully out of his way as he passed them. He could feel their gazes pinned on his back, gawking at him like he was an Overworld zoo attraction. It was everything Technoblade could do to not flush with irritation.
'Damn... I should've brought my cloak. Way to go, Technoblade.' He thought to himself as only a few cursed feet from the food stand, a little kid intercepted him, blocking his path to nutrients and relaxation. Other than a twitch of an eyebrow, Technoblade was all calm as he tilted his head down to look at the child.
"Hullo." He said to the kid, who had widened his eyes significantly at the one word of greeting. It was not exactly a greeting befitting a Blood God, to be fair.
Technoblade cursed himself internally. He greeted people like Hypixel like that all the time, but not random children of criminals. Lovely. With a quick upward glance, Technoblade could see whom he assumed to be the kid's friends peeking their heads from behind the food stand, the vendor looking irritated but tolerant.
When they saw him look at them, one gave a squeak and they vanished from view. The fighter sighed slightly as he glanced back down at the kid in front of him, who was twiddling his thumbs. He listed his head to the side in question. The kid started, still staring at him.
His friends were back, and they were still staring. Great. Children are fantastic. Why did the audience even think bringing children to a competitive bloodbath was a good idea anyway?
"U... um... Mr. uh... Mr. Blade?" The little boy stammered, beginning to tremble. Technoblade decided to go along with the kid for a second if it meant he got out of his way faster. More people were openly staring now. Some were tense as if they expected him to pull a sword and just slaughter a kid. This child had to only be like, seven.
And if he knew anything, it was that he didn't think kids made porkchops for him to eat when they died. He may be cold-blooded and heartless to these people, but we wasn't going to stab a seven-year-old. He did like to think he had at least a little more restraint than that.
"Yeah...?" Technoblade responded, having to physically restrain himself from looking longingly at the food, though. People were still staring. A few had even pulled out blades of their own.
Dramatic, much? It's not like he's never spoken to someone before.
"Uh... w... well, my friends think you're going to hurt me if I do this. You won't h... hurt me, right...?" He stammered again, his eyes wide and innocent - a stark contrast to the man before him.
Technoblade looked around for a moment before dropping down and crouching on one knee to meet the kid's eyes. The kid crossed his arms, clutching his sleeves like he was trying to be brave. The others around them looked even more afraid now that the bloody hybrid fighter had gotten down to the kid's level. Technoblade sighed again, doing what he does best and ignoring the peanut gallery.
"No, I won't hurt you." He stated simply, watching as the child visibly relaxed a little. There was even a bit of a smile now. Technoblade's own face was still purposely kept blank.
"Oh... g.. good. Well, my friends think you're really evil and scary, but I... I think you're really brave..." He mumbled the last part, still not looking entirely comfortable. Technoblade raised his eyebrows in surprise. That was not where he was expecting this conversation to go. He said nothing, waiting for the child to gather enough courage to continue. "S... so I told them they were wrong and that I would give you this to p... prove it..." The kid held out a tiny little wooden pig that had been clutched in a fist, which looked like it was hand-carved by a parent or something. Once again, this caught the fighter by surprise. He outstretched his own hand, letting the kid drop the little animal into his palm. Technoblade peered at it closely. It was just a simple little pig. Like one you might find on an Overworld farm.
He'd never actually seen a real one before, but he'd seen pictures in his books. It was... honestly kinda cute. He poked the side of the figure's head before curling his fingers around it and tucking it into a pocket. He looked back up at the child, who still looked nervous, but also a little eager.
"Thanks." He thanked the kid, silently reveling in the bright grin that spread across the boy's face. Without another word, the boy dipped his head and sprinted off in the other direction. His friends joined his sprint away, squealing. Technoblade watched the kids leave, the adults around relaxing a little, but still eyeing him carefully. The fighter stood back up and walked the remaining few feet to the food stand undisturbed. The worker - who was a kind, curly-haired sheep-hybrid woman who for some reason didn't shy away in fear whenever he said a single word to her, and whom Technoblade knew pretty well since he bought food here often - looked at him with an amused gleam in her eyes.
"Didn't take you as a guy who liked children, Blade." She joked, resting her elbows on the wooden countertop and flicking a floppy white ear. Technoblade rolled his eyes and grabbed some coins from a little sack in his pocket.
"I dunno. Who says I wasn't tryin' to get them to trust me so I could eat them? I'm hungry." He deadpanned right back, sliding the coins to the woman. She laughed as she turned and slapped a chunk of pork onto the portable stove-top behind the stand.
"Don't say that, you're gonna drive away my customers!" She joked, motioning behind her with an arm while looking down at the pork. Technoblade looked around, seeing all the people that usually milled around the food stand after tournaments had backed away considerably. He gave an audible sigh and leaned onto the counter-top as she added with a slight mock-whine, "Plus, that means you wouldn't buy from me anymore...!"
"You think I'm jokin'?" The fighter listed his head to the side, the crown on it sliding through his hair a little. He tapped absently at a tusk as he waited. She chuckled, flipping the pork with an old spatula.
"Oh no, I don't. You're terrifying and vicious, and I know you prey on the innocent, young, and elderly." She imitated his monotone, putting the pork and a couple of fatty bones into a paper bag. It was what he ordered every time. He gave her a good-natured shrug, turning and leaving without another word and silent gold on the counter.
Shaking her head, the kind vendor watched him leave.
She sighed.
Leaving the stadium allowed Technoblade to finally let his shoulders slump a little, and to let a thoughtful expression settle onto his face. Going down there in his spare time was not something he liked to do, but this time had been... almost pleasant. He fished around in his pocket while he walked, taking out the little wooden pig. Even though the kid had looked about ready to piss himself, he had still talked to Technoblade and had given him something. It was a first, to say the least. It, much to Technoblade's surprise, warmed his heart a little.
The expression melted into an easy smile as he opened the door to his room, a cheery dog who knew he was about to eat circling his ankles as he shut it again. He chuckled as he set the greasy paper bag onto his desk and slid the stuff from his head and face. Floof whined and pawed at the leg of the furniture that hosted the item of his desire. Technoblade still clutched the small carving, staring at it for longer than what would be considered normal. He blinked as Floof walked over and pawed at his calf.
"Hold on, Floof. Lemme just...." The fighter trailed off as he set the figure on his little bedside table beside a pair of thin, square wire-frame glasses, his smile warm.
The snowy dog barked; a snippy little bark that was almost like a snap. Technoblade sighed and opened the bag, dropping the bones onto the brick floor. Floof quieted instantly. The fighter bent over and patted the dog's head before sitting back down on his chair, munching on the charred pork.
The room once again settled into a comfortable silence, Technoblade having opened a book and settled the glasses on his nose. One hand gripped the pork, the other had the book. Moments like these, where he felt human and... normal... they were nice.
Though they never seem to last long.
Technoblade jumped in surprise as someone rapped on his door; shattering the comforting silence. Floof, still occupied with the bones, didn't do anything to ward off the visitor like usual, so Technoblade heaved a sigh and got up. The fighter wiped the grease from his meal on his pants, put on his crown, and opened the door. Knowing who was probably going to be there, he didn't bother with the imitation pig face.
And he was right.
It was one of Technoblade's workers. One of the people who cleaned the ring up after him, draped him in his cape, and carried out the bodies. This was one of the ones Technoblade knew the best and the only one that had ever dared to strike up a conversation with him. The servant was just a decade older than Technoblade himself, but he was always there when Technoblade needed him for something. A cat hybrid who worked as Technoblade's personal notifier. Antfrost.
"Hullo." He greeted the other man, who dipped his head in response.
"Hey. Technoblade, Hypixel wants you."
The fighter frowned and looked back at a still-eating Floof. With a grunt of ascension, the fighter took off his glasses and tossed them onto the bed, walking through the doorway to Antfrost. He shut the door behind him and glanced at the worker, who had already started to hurry through the torch-lit hall.
"So... what does he need?" Technoblade asked after catching up, clasping his hands behind his back. The other hybrid waved his brown-tipped tail, giving him a shrug.
"I'm not sure. He just said it was something really important." Antfrost stopped as they reached the big oak double doors that led into Hypixel's personal study. He shot Technoblade another shrug before turning and promptly leaving. Technoblade scowled at his retreating back and pushed open the doors.
"Simon? Did you want somethin'?" He asked a sitting Simon Hypixel; who was reading a book. Or... pretending to read a book. He looked borderline distraught, creases forming between his eyebrows and his skin an unhealthy pallor. Something Technoblade knew about his surrogate father was that he never lost his composure. No matter the rowdiness of a crowd, the disrespect of some other criminal lord, anything. Hypixel always kept his cool.
Seeing him so unnerved was disconcerting. Hypixel waved him over, seeming to try and collect himself somewhat. Technoblade walked over and sat down in an armchair opposite the couch the ringleader himself was resting on.
"Simon?" Technoblade tried again, fidgeting slightly with worry. No matter how terrible Hypixel may be, Technoblade still did care about the man who gave him a home. Hypixel looked up at him, straightening slightly and folding his hands over his lap.
"Techno, I have a very important job for you to do." He paused, letting out a small sigh.
"And you better not mess it up."