Work Text:
0.
Phil first met Technoblade at the turning of midsummer, when the sun sat high and fierce in the sky.
The large city he found himself in as evening started to fall was a bustling one, alive with the anxious atmosphere of money being exchanged while betting on uncertain odds. At its center stood an arena that drew the crowd towards it through the enticing smells of food being cooked over open bonfires and the distant cheering of spectators on the stands. Phil meandered into it out of curiosity more than anything else, acquainted with these kinds of arenas from his own past.
He'd been on the flip side a few times, standing in the blood-stained sand of the ring and staring up at the audience crying his moniker. But today he would only come as a spectator himself, content to watch others flaunt their skills.
Not long after the matches began Phil could already tell the level of expertise on display here was nothing compared to what he had seen in the capitals. There was a roughness in the way the combatants fought, clumsily and yielding, throwing wide attacks with not enough defense. Most rounds ended in a victory through pure chance, a lucky strike that managed to take down their opponent.
As the event progressed however, the crowd slowly became more enlivened, waiting with a collectively held breath, thrumming with shared anticipation. Phil knew that what they had been waiting for had arrived as soon as the arena's gate lifted.
The person that stepped out of the wings then did so with a stilted awkwardness, a direct antithesis to the flair other contestants had displayed all night. Where others had engaged with the crowd by waving at the audience, keeping their shoulders squared and throwing charming smiles around while showing off their weapons in performative confidence, this person kept their head down, studying the terrain. It was hard to see, but Phil could tell their lips were moving as if they were muttering to themselves.
They weren't human was the main thing Phil noticed as he studied them closely, interest piqued at their strange appearance. Seeing piglins in the Overworld was not a regular occurrence, not to mention one that stayed unaffected by the disease of rot that would normally inflict those of their kind when they strayed from the Nether. They took their place in the pit with certainty, concentration unbroken by the crowd and their frantic screaming.
This was a match many seemed to have been looking forward to – and probably had quite a sum of money riding on it as well.
Which was explained when the opposite gate opened and three fighters armed and geared to the teeth stepped out. Phil drew up an eyebrow, amused. He'd known fighters to skew battles to their own disadvantage before, hoping it would make for a more entertaining show and perhaps even better pays. If an influential benefactor was watching the match, impressing them could mean a permanent position. But things rarely turned out in favor of the fools who tried this.
One of the three men hung back, notching an arrow on their crossbow. His two companions had swords and shields each, which hardly seemed fair to the piglin who had nothing to wield except an iron axe. Phil could see no possibility that this would end with them winning.
Yet somehow it did. It was hard for Phil to put into words afterward what exactly had happened, seeing as it moved by so quickly he could have missed it in a blink.
They fought with tactical insight and raw power, yet none of the signs that would betray professional training. Their reflexes were downright terrifying, they parried any blows thrown at them while deflecting arrows with the steel of their axe. But they did it all with a casual air of ease. Phil watched in part admiration and part shock as all three men were on the ground in a matter of minutes, unconscious at best and bleeding profusely at worst.
The crowd lost their minds, roaring in excitement like a clamoring riot. They chanted as one, praise for the entertainment they had been given. A hymn exalting the stranger's name.
Blood for the blood god!
Phil knew too much about the craft to be offended by the deification of a mortal to that high status, it wasn't unusual for popular fighters to receive nicknames of grandeur. But he had to admit this person came close to enthralling him. They had already left the battlefield again when Phil's intrigue got the better of him. It wasn't hard to figure out where the piglin was staying while in town, a cheap inn near the edge of the city popular with travelers and misers. Phil went there under the pretense of getting a drink and found them alone at a table in the corner savoring a late supper.
When Phil sunk down on a chair across from them, he got a small glance. Their eyes narrowed, not in hostility but assessing him. Then they turned back to their food.
"I saw your fight earlier," Phil said. He wasn't the type to beat around the bush. "It was very impressive."
The piglin gave him another look, stopping with their spoon of stew raised halfway to their mouth. "Are you offering me a job?" they asked bluntly.
Phil chuckled. "Would you take one if I was?" He hadn't realized they were the sort to be interested in becoming a sword for hire, but it made sense. Mercenaries would often compete in prizefighting to earn gold between contracts and raise their notoriety.
"Depends on how much you're paying," they answered without missing a beat, shoving the spoon in their mouth, cornered by large tusks. "And on what cause you'd want me to fight for." Their clawed hand flicked over the table to turn the pages on a book Phil hadn't noticed they'd been reading while eating. The book was small but dense, the text printed in tiny lines as it often was for traveler's editions.
"Well, I'm not. Offering you a job, that is. I just wanted to compliment you on your run, it was pretty great. I enjoyed having the chance to watch it."
For the first time since their conversation started, they seemed genuinely caught off guard, the unreactive facade slipping off their face with a twitch of their lips. "Thanks?" It sounded more like a question.
"Yeah! I'm Philza Minecraft by the way." He extended his hand over the table.
After a second of hesitation, the piglin closed their book to return the gesture. "Technoblade."
"Let me buy you a drink?"
Phil discovered quickly that Technoblade was a man of few words and warm humor. He preferred to listen more than to talk, but showed genuine interest when Phil spoke of his journeys. He had seen much of the world – more than most mortals could hope to in their short lifetimes – and every place he visited came with many tales. Techno seemed content to nod along while listening, interjecting sometimes with a small comment or sarcastic quip. Phil doubled over in laughter more than once, hand curling around his glass of ale so he didn't knock it over. Techno asked questions too and Phil posed his own in kind. As the evening progressed he even started receiving more thorough answers.
Techno was indeed Netherborn as Phil had assumed, though he'd been in the Overworld much longer than he'd ever been in that dimension of ash and brine. To Phil's wondering how his body stayed free of sick, Techno answered with a shrug and an evasive grunt. Over time he had made quite a name for himself in tournaments, though he never preferred to stick around in one place long.
"When people get to know you they learn where to find you," Technoblade said ruefully, "and they always want something from you. You agree to a friendly favor once and suddenly you're the 'free labor' guy." He huffed a laugh in dismay.
Phil knew there was a story there he would get to the bottom of later, but for now he merely shook his head. "Man, it must be hard being that popular."
"Philza Minecraft, are you mocking me?"
"Only a little." Phil emptied his glass, staring at it contemplatively for a moment. "When are you leaving this town then?"
A shrug, Techno leaning back in his seat. "Probably tomorrow? Getting kinda bored of the scenery here, honestly."
And just like that an idea sprouted. Phil had been on the road alone for so long. It could be nice to change that and Technoblade didn't appear to be bad company at all. "How would you feel about me coming with you?"
Techno smiled slightly, as if he'd been waiting for that question. "As long as you carry your own stuff."
They ended up traveling together for nearly seven years. Phil enjoyed the closeness more than he thought he ever would, almost as if he hadn't noticed his former loneliness until it had left him. They talked a lot and sat together in comfortable silence more. Phil learned about the contents of Techno's book collection – myths mostly – and how his voice deepened with exhaustion when he read them to Phil out loud while they sat around a dwindling campfire at night. He found out Techno was proficient with a blade, matched only by his natural talent at farming, but that he only cared to employ it for potatoes over anything else. He got to know Techno as the person who would often sneak their horses golden carrots as treats and kept spare supplies in a myriad of small pockets and pouches Phil got dizzy trying to keep track of.
He became acquainted with Technoblade as the one who would always watch Phil's back and share his burdens.
And there was something to be said for shared experiences. The first time they visited the seaside together, Techno had deeply breathed in the salty air, keeping it in his lungs to savor. The sun reflected on the water and in his ruby eyes full of wonder at the sight before them and Phil felt his heart swell with fond affection for the man standing next to him.
Phil didn't see Techno die. It wasn't tragic or monumental or anything really but a stupid accident, one second he was there and then he wasn't and Phil heard the sickening squash of Techno's body hitting the ravine's bottom before the cry of warning had finished forcing its way out of him. He scrambled on his knees and couldn't look away from the pooling blood, the battered flesh. How all Technoblade's bones had shattered on impact.
Grief was a fresh feeling blossoming inside the chest of an immortal being who should not have been as unfamiliar with mourning as Phil was.
His lady visited him after three sleepless nights. Her cold embrace soothed him – ocean waves against a star-dappled sky. An endless presence Phil floated in, wept in, found comfort in.
"You will see him again," she said softly, whispered like a vow. "He'll come back to you. You'll come back to him. It's destined to be so. I will make it so." She touched his soul to spin the threads of light that connected him to her, pulling one off to join with another.
When he woke up his head pounded and he couldn't remember what he had dreamt about.
Two decades passed before Phil would see Technoblade again.
1.
Their second meeting mirrored their first to such an extent it took Phil's breath away.
He had signed up for the tournament last minute, a day before it was to be held. Hypixel as a server had been making a name for itself, advanced technology and competent organizers leading it to quickly draw in competitors looking for a more streamlined experience than could be found in regular arenas. The competitions had several rounds, not all of them relying on battle prowess exclusively, making for a more diverse playing field.
Phil thought he might as well check it out.
The people he was teamed up with were strangers to him, but Phil had made a craft out of getting along with everyone. Since he was such a late addition he didn't have a lot of time to get to know them or anybody on the other teams before the first match took place.
That's when Phil ran into Technoblade in the middle of the arena.
He blinked at the man in front of him, thinking for a moment he must have lost his mind. But seven years was more than enough for Phil to have memorized every wrinkle around Techno's snout, every fleck of sunlight in his irises. He remembered Techno's smile as if not a second had passed.
And there was not an inch of doubt within him that this was the exact same person who he had buried twenty years ago, back in front of him in the flesh.
All that grief Phil thought he had dealt with came flooding back, raw and tearing. His mouth opened in a strangled sound of something and his voice broke horribly on the one word he could produce.
"Techno?"
Technoblade did not hesitate when he sunk his sword into Phil's chest.
Respawning was never a pleasant experience, for Phil it felt like he'd been dunked into a bath of ice water. He was drowning on dry land, lungs constricted with every desperate inhale. He clasped at the front of his shirt but obviously there was no trace of the wound.
That didn't erase the faint horror of having Techno's calculating gaze land on him without a smidge of recognition for who Phil was.
With his heart still hammering away in his ribcage, Phil hunted Techno down as soon as the match was over, strides purposeful and resolve set. He needed some damn answers as to what was going on. Too bad Techno didn't seem like he could provide them. He looked vaguely uncomfortable at being approached and it reminded Phil too much of when they had only just met – the guardedness with which Techno had allowed him near, chipped away by Phil years ago.
But Technoblade looked at him now as if he were a stranger.
"You don't remember me?" Phil muttered, the rhetorical question barely loud enough to be heard. He felt empty, hollow. Not disappointed exactly but close.
"I'm sorry," Techno offered. It was diplomacy, it was careful consideration and flimsy candor. It was Technoblade trying to brush him off and cutting the conversation as short as possible without sounding impolite about it. "Have we met?"
And he shouldn't sound like that, not when talking to Phil.
Who swallowed and forced a brittle smile that didn't reach, shaking his head. "Nah, I don't think so. I mistook you for someone else."
Technoblade only sounded more weary. "Not many piglins wandering around these parts."
"Yeah, it's silly," Phil agreed. "You just looked like somebody I used to know."
He dropped out of the tournament the next day, left Hypixel behind him as fast as his legs could carry. Phil went to some far-off world full of hostility and build until his hands bled from cracked cobblestone, ignoring Twitch gawking in his ears to go back. He stroked the crow softly, the only one from the massive flock he could tell apart from the others due to the purple shine of its wings.
"It's fine, he doesn't want to see me. I'm nobody to him."
(Maybe if he repeated it often enough it wouldn't sting as badly)
It wasn't until five years later that Phil learned Techno had died not long after they met. He didn't know what had happened – didn't care to find out either. It was only reported on because he'd been a former champion of the tournament, staying relevant for a short period before slipping back into the animosity of history, forgotten by all but the man who had known him twice.
2.
The next time Phil came face to face with his old friend he was prepared. Or as prepared as he could be. He didn't crowd Technoblade this time, or confront him with the same vigor that was sure to scare the piglin away.
Instead, he did what he had done a century ago and talked.
It hurt fiercely, whenever Techno flicked an ear in his direction or quirked a grin or asked a question Phil could recall him asking distantly, sitting across from each other in a tavern cast in twilight. But a larger part of him was preoccupied with how pleasant it was to finally have Techno back. Falling into small routines like second nature.
"We're in the same team next week, right?" Phil asked innocently, pretending as if he hadn't memorized the schedules by heart. As if he hadn't sat up in the middle of the night obsessing over them and concocting the most natural way to reintroduce himself to Techno. "How about we train together?"
He was given four years this time around, years Phil spent savoring every small touch as if it'd be torn away from him in a second. Every time he lay his chin on Techno's shoulder or pressed their hands together for warmth he engraved it into his soul. Techno smiled and Phil wished desperately he could reach out and hold it forever.
The surprised gasp he received when Technoblade was searching for a bell and Phil already had one prepared was priceless. "How did you know?" Technoblade handled the gold with more care than was usual. Any gift from Phil was sacred to him.
Phil threw him a knowing smirk. "Just a hunch."
Four years wouldn't be close to enough.
"There's something I really want to say, but I'm afraid it's going to make me sound mental," he told Techno once, the sky gone still around them with clouds drifting across it. The sunset painted everything in hues of autumn. Something told Phil he was going to lose Techno again soon - and he turned out to be right in that regard.
"Try me," Techno said.
"I think I already knew you, long ago. Before..." Every one of his exhales made his entire body shiver.
Technoblade pulled him closer, the heat of his fur managed to warm Phil in more way than one. "Before what?"
Phil closed his eyes. "Before you died."
Techno leaned back to watch him, not baffled by his statement at all. "I kinda thought that might be the case."
A small laugh, disbelief clear. "You did?"
"Maybe I don't keep my memories, Phil, but you literally already knew what my favorite books were when we met. And you're the only immortal guy I know. Doesn't take a genius to connect the dots."
The truth laid bare between them, the most they could do was laugh at their mutual obstinacy at keeping things secret. They stayed up that night, watching the sunrise together as they had the sunset, the solace and intimacy much better than sleep.
When Technoblade died Phil got wrapped up in sorrow until it buried him. "It's not enough," he pleaded, fingers curling into silken fabric woven of decay. She brushed through his hair and relieved him with kisses pressed to his eyes. "It's not enough time, not again. I can't keep losing him that quickly."
"I can not alter the contract he made," his lady whispered, remorse laced in her voice. "He dies when he must die to be reborn again and I can't change that. But I bound you together in soul and perhaps I can give you more time. Make it so you can find him sooner?"
Phil nodded, hands pressed to her cheeks. "Please." She smiled and wiped his tears away.
She would do anything for her angel.
3.
"How many times have you had to do this?"
Phil paused to think about the question, wanting to give the most accurate answer he could. Honestly, he couldn't recall though.
"A lot," he said instead, opening the oven to take out the freshly baked loaf of bread. Technoblade stopped sharpening his sword, hooves clacking against wood when he got up. He's younger – only barely into his teens. Phil was still marveling at the lack of scars. In his previous life, an accident in the Nether had left Techno's body covered in burns.
Phil needed time to get used to seeing him without them.
"I wish I could remember," Technoblade sighed. He stayed quiet for a moment then scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You guys remembering literally doesn't help at all, chat."
"What if we start writing it down?" Phil suggested. The idea had been brewing for a while and he'd been looking for the perfect moment to bring it up.
"Like a diary?" Technoblade asked.
"Like one of your epics." Phil laughed at how Techno perked up at the comparison. "Keep a record of the important things or anything you think would be worth remembering."
"Yeah, we can try that."
They gathered books and quills and set to work.
+1.
The sky was pouring with rain, warm trickles of it flowing against Phil's neck and down the back of his coat. Midsummer storms were rare, but maybe in a twisted sense, the world was being compassionate and mourning along with him. The downpour washed away the blood into muddy ground even as Techno shivered and hunched closer into Phil.
"I'm sorry," Techno said - and Phil wished he could steal those words from him. Make it so Techno never felt the need to apologize for anything ever again. Not to him.
Unable to do so, he stroked away stained and dirtied fur. "I know. It's okay, Tech. It's going to be okay. I'll come find you again."
The wound was too grave to recover from, yet too shallow to provide a quick death. The terms of the Blood God's contract were cruel but necessary, Phil knew. That didn't mean he couldn't resent them all the same.
"Go to sleep, I'll keep first watch," he joked, pulling what little comfort there was from Techno's pained laughter. Their hands intertwined, staying that way until Phil felt that grip slacken in death.
Phil picked up Techno's body and carried it to the portal they had nearby, phasing into a place of heat and ash. Going through the obsequies as he had come to do with practiced familiarity was easy. Piglin rituals strayed not that far from those of the Overworld, a body laid to rest by entrusting it back to the flames instead of the earth. Items of importance passed on to family members or accompanying their owner in death.
The only thing Phil had ever bothered to keep was the books.
He kneeled down on the red stones, with no piglin prayers to give honor he could only do so in his own language. His silent reverie was broken by the sound of hooves against netherrack and Phil shot up with his blade drawn, an instinct to guard himself against attacks from behind ingrained into his bones.
The small piglin who had been approaching him tilted their head.
When their eyes lit up in excitement at recognizing him and they let out a happy snort, Phil dropped his sword. "Tech?"
The child tackled him with surprising force, bumping their forehead against his leg in a show of affection. "Phil!" they said proudly, beaming up at him.
"Oh-" His voice cracked on the one syllable. Phil fell to his knees, scooped them up in his arms. "You know who I am?"
"Phil," they repeated. Techno's claws squeezed his cheeks and they bumped foreheads again, just as they had done a million times before.
He closed his eyes to return the gesture, leaving it there. "Yeah. Welcome back, mate."
Time, Phil thought, had to have become a tenuous thing to most immortals. And thankfully the gods were in their favor.