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Part 2 of The Master of Death (Tommy Innit)
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2021-11-16
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2024-03-17
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The Era of Death

Summary:

The SMP burns, and Death has had enough. No longer can she sit on the sidelines and allow such pain to continue. Thus, when a child is sent to her domain all too soon, she transforms him into her champion, her knight. The Master of Death... Tommy Innit

Notes:

Salutations!

This is The Master of Death (Tommy Innit) that has been edited and beta read by Author_Of_Insanity101! This work will be the combined efforts of both of us while the original is just me. Hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Chapter Text

Master

Tommy didn't know what he was expecting to happen when he died. Maybe he would see Wilbur standing in a grassy field, or maybe he would just float away in a black void of nothing. Death was neither of those things. In fact, Death wasn’t a thing, but an entity, a being with thoughts and emotions. She was beautiful in so many ways it wasn't even describable. With wings darker than the blackest black, and yet somehow still visible to the boy’s unworthy eye, if sight was even a concept in the afterlife.

She wasn't easily described, but that was easily excusable. Tommy was never really in a specific place, position, or mindset throughout his time in Death’s care. He knew that he was dead, but that didn't help much. In the end, though, it didn’t matter. She had plans for him, and they required him to become more than he was.

She led his mind through the things that people weren't supposed to know. He forgot most of it mere moments after learning it, but the experience still left him irrevocably changed. Each time his demeanor became more controlled, calmer, and more mature to put it best. By the time he was pulled from Death’s embrace, lured by the sound of Dream’s voice, he was nothing like the boy who had been murdered. 

He was still Tommy Innit, but he had been changed by the void of Death, molded by her hands into the perfect vessel to fix this broken, bloodied world. The voices would sing and shout as he brought this world to its knees, and then help it grow into something magnificent. He would be the Master this world needed, in service of Death herself. His new title would be The Master of Death.


Clay

Dream giggled madly as he grabbed Tommy's corpse by the hair, pulling the teen’s lifeless body up from the floor. With his free hand, he harnessed the power of the Revive Book, reaching beyond the veil of the afterlife to pull Tommy’s soul back into his body. With a ragged gasp, Tommy’s eyes flew open, his lungs wheezing as life returned to his stiff corpse of a body.

"♪Wakey wakey Tommy♪!" the mad prisoner called out in a singsong voice.

Tommy slowly opened his eyes, his breathing steadying as he turned to look up at Dream. The masked man shook the boy by his hair a bit before finally letting him go. He expected Tommy to fall to the floor, cursing in pain as he shook off his rigor mortis. However, while the child did stumble a bit at first, he caught himself quite easily. His joints cracked slightly as he stood up straight, seemingly shaking off the last bit of stiffness with alarming speed. Dream elected to ignore this, just waiting as Tommy finally met his gaze.

"Well Tommy?” he pressed, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.  Dream wanted to know all the things the child had witnessed! All the horrors he had seen! Why did he hate Tommy again? “Your back! Back from the dead! What was it like!"

Tommy didn't react to the question, and Dream felt his grin falter. The teen hadn’t moved since straightening up. He hadn’t so much as twitched and wasn't running his mouth like he was supposed to be. All he was doing was staring, barely even blinking as he did. Something was wrong…

"What’s the matter?” Dream questioned, laughing maniacally as he tried to get a rise from his revived victim. “Death got your tongue‽" Once again, he was met with nothing but silence and blank staring. "Tommy?"

Waving his hand in front of the teen’s face didn’t do anything, which made Dream begin to worry. Had something gone wrong with the ritual? Had he been mistaken about the power the Revived Book held? He needed to be sure. He grabbed the Book to see if something had gone wrong, and that’s when it happened. 

A single, bony hand sank into his ever-growing hair, pulling him back sharply and forcing him to drop the Book. It fell to the ground with a heavy thud as Dream was forced to turn back and meet Tommy’s gaze once more. What he saw sent a chill down the masked man’s spine, leaving his mouth dry. 

Those eyes… they were nothing like those of the boy he thought he knew. They were the same pale blue, but there was a power behind them that felt older than time. The longer he stared, the more terrified Dream became. Those weren’t Tommy’s eyes! Those were the eyes of something old, something dangerous, something that was not the terrified teenager Dream had murdered not two nights ago.

"The war and corruption have nearly broken you,” Tommy said in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Dream’s neck stand on end. “You still cling to your sanity, but the Pandorica will break what is left of you. When you are done with this life, I will come to cleanse you of the corruption, then lead you to a new life under my guidance.”

Dream was panicking, trying to back away from the creature wearing Tommy’s skin. The grip on his hair tightened, preventing his escape, and sending fresh bolts of terror down the masked man’s spine. Never before had he felt such cold terror, left shaking under the cold gaze of those shimmering, inhuman eyes.

Then, just as suddenly as this turn of events began, the creature that was once Tommy released Dream’s hair, letting the man crumble to the ground. He scrambled backward as quickly as he could, wedging himself between the wall of his cell and his chest. Tommy didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. Instead, the revived boy took a deep, controlled breath.

"SAM!!" he shouted, his voice reverberating off the obsidian walls.

Dream cringed at how the loud sound vibrated throughout his body, covering his ears as he cowered in the corner. Despite his fear, his desire for control flared. He needed to move, to demand answers, to grab Tommy by the collar of his shirt and beat him once again. But… he couldn’t. He couldn't find the strength to break out of his shock and terror. 

More than that, as much as he desired control, he instinctively knew it was a battle he would lose. Tommy was stronger than he was when he died. Before the teen was barely able to push him back, much less hold him still by his hair. And then there were his words and voice, both conveying a power that Dream had yet to witness, a power that could no doubt tear him to shreds if Tommy so chose. 

In the end, all Dream could do was watch, the boy’s words playing over and over in his head as he tried to decipher their meaning.


Daedalus

Sam knew that Tommy’s death was his fault. Not a single person argued against that, not even himself. After months of listening to Dream go on and on about how much fun he had with Tommy, the Warden never expected the prisoner to kill the teen. He hated himself for allowing such a crime to be committed, but he hated the prisoner even more for committing the crime.

These thoughts were running on an endless loop in his head as Sam approached the lava wall with Dream’s daily ration of potatoes. He began going through the motions of lowering the lava wall when he heard it, a voice he never thought he’d hear again outside of his nightmares.

"SAM!!"

Sam dropped the potatoes, turning to the wall of lava in an instant. Was that really Tommy? Was this another trick from Dream? Had his guilt consumed him to the point that he was hallucinating?! He had to know. He had to know if this was real.

"T-Tommy?!" he yelled back.

The response was almost immediate and at a volume that only the loudness of Tommy Innit was capable of. "SAM! LET ME OUT!

"Tommy!” Immediately, Sam began scrambling towards a different set of controls, ones that allowed visitors in and out of the cells. “Get in the corner!"

He held his breath as he flicked the lever, a million questions running through his head. How was this possible? How could Tommy be alive? It didn't make sense! Tommy was dead! Right‽ His eyes fell on the opening where visitors would be dropped, waiting with bated breath.

When the prison’s systems finally deposited the boy in front of the lava, Sam felt his breath leave him. There he was, Tommy Innit, untouched and very much alive. With shaky legs, Sam approached the boy he considered a son, reaching out as if afraid the teen would cease to exist.

"Tommy?" he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

Just before Sam’s hand touched the boy’s skin, Tommy raised his head to look him in the eyes. The sight of them caused Sam to gasp in shock, stumbling backward. Those eyes… they were wrong! Tommy's eyes didn't look like that! They were… they were…

"Sam." Tommy’s voice cut through the static in the Warden’s mind, interrupting his thought process. "Let me out. Sam."

Sam choked on his breath, seeing the nigh emotionless visage before him. How could Tommy say that with such a straight face‽ Those were some of the last words Tommy had said to him before… before… 

"Right, yes, let's…" Sam stammered slightly, straightening up before turning towards the exit. “Let’s go…” 

~\~/~

The two moved quickly throughout the prison, Sam occasionally glancing over his shoulder at Tommy. The boy had been unnaturally silent since his retrieval from the cell, and Sam silently wondered if he was even real. Part of him wanted to turn around and address the boy, ask questions, or just pull him into a hug. However, every time he turned around, he couldn't bring himself to open his mouth. 

All of the millions of hairs on his body stood up on end whenever their gazes met. Tommy's presence was off as if replaced with some unknown beast who merely wore his form. The uncomfortable silence and tenseness of the journey lasted to the locker room, where Tommy collected his few meager belongings from the chest. 

Finally, as they approached the gates of the prison, Sam managed to work up the courage to open his mouth to say something. He wasn’t sure what he would have said, but he was derailed by the feeling of a hand in his hair. He stilled, stiffening as the hand tilted his head up, exposing his throat in an almost threatening manner. 

Sam looked into the strange eyes of the boy he had once considered his son. Sam knew he didn't deserve the title of Father after what he allowed to happen, but he hadn't expected to lose it in such a manner. He never imagined that the boy he loved would die, and then return, only to no longer be a boy anymore. That boy was now a man, a man broken and reforged by Death herself. 

"You are not broken yet, but you are breaking,” Tommy told him, slowly relinquishing the grip he held on Sam’s hair. “Come to me when the empty Pandorica has shattered you. I will help you rebuild from the ground up." 

Tommy's ominous words rattled around in Sam's head as he watched Tommy walk off into the rising sun.


Thanatos

Philza shuddered violently, grasping his chest as he fell forward, tumbling out of the chair he was in. He fell to his knees with a soft thud, gasping for air as everything seemed to spin. His free hand grasped the rug beneath him, trying to anchor him back into reality as his body adjusted to what had just happened.

Someone had to have been interfering with death, causing a disruption far greater than Phil was used to. By now, he knew the feeling of Death’s work almost intimately. He could tell when a totem was used, or a respawn failed for one reason or another, but this… This was something new. Something unexpected. Something dangerous… 

Phil whistled to one of his chat, a single crow swooping down from the rafters of his home to land on the man’s bucket hat. There it remained as Phil opened the window, waiting for a finger to be offered as a perch. Once it landed, Phil began to whisper quickly into the bird’s feathers. 

"Go see if you can find what that was."

Chat cawed quietly and took off into the snow. Phil watched it fly off, then looked out at the endless landscape of ice before him. He could see clouds in the distance, signs of a storm rolling through in the near future. Silently, Phil sent up a prayer that Techno would be safe, both in the physical and the metaphysical one that he could feel coming upon the winds. 

Phil took a deep breath to steady himself, then turned around to return to what he was doing. Looking across the room, he found himself staring into the startled eyes of Edward the enderman. He froze, afraid of angering the silent housemate, but Edward did not get aggressive. Instead, he just seemed to meet Phil’s gaze, purple eyes unblinking until the man finally looked away. Endermen don’t just casually look into another's eyes, not like that. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Chapter 2: Eldritch Cottage Core

Chapter Text

Master

The world was not ready for the Master and was ill-prepared for the change his coming heralded. It mattered little though. He, like Death, was patient, and he was more than willing to wait. He would bide his time, preparing himself a base. He would need more than his former dirt hut if he was to bring about a new era. He would need to start anew, to craft himself a new base, and a new enclave for what was to come.

Walking deep into the woods in search of the right spot, the Master found himself watching all the small things that sprouted up around him more closely than he had before. He savored the feeling of the wind on his face, as well as the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. He never realized how much he had missed such sensations until he was robbed of them.

Amidst his walk, the Master quickly came to realize that he was not alone. While none of his former friends or allies were anywhere near his location, the various animals were all watching him from afar, as if sensing that he was different.  Some were skittish, recognizing that he was no longer like the others, and fearing this change. Others were a bit bolder and approached the Master cautiously. Among these brave few were a fox, a pig, and a familiar crow.

Upon glimpsing that blur of black feathers amidst the leaves of the dark, shadowy oaks, the Master trilled softly and held out his hand. Gently, the crow that had been following him landed on the offered hand, cawing in greeting as its feathers were gently stroked.

“I know the Angel sent you, little one,” the Master said softly, receiving a soft trill in reply. "Don't tell him what I'm doing just yet, alright? Death has a mission for me, and I would hate to spoil it for him."

The crow cawed and bobbed its head in a nod, happily flying off to tell its friends of the new eldritch inhabiting the world. In the back of his mind, the Master wondered what name they would give him. In the end, it didn’t matter though. In time, all would come to know him as the Master of Death. 

As he resumed his path through the forest, the animals began to come out of hiding. Having seen the crow interact with him and leave unharmed had emboldened them, and many wished to get a closer look. The Master welcomed them all, happily making many friends among the creatures of the woods. He knew that they would return any kindness he showed them with their own, a small piece of goodness still left in the cruel world. 

His journey was not all about making friends though. The Master had a mission to complete, and a plan to fulfill. As he walked, he collected materials for his new home, knowing he would need a lot to accommodate his needs. Thankfully, once the creatures saw him working, they all started bringing him things, wanting to be helpful and welcoming.

"Thank you," the Master said politely, addressing every creature who gave him a welcoming gift while adding these small treasures to his collection.

This litany of resource collecting and interacting with the animals continued until the Master entered a clearing in the woods. There was a large, red and white mushroom shading a good portion of the area, and there was even a river running along the edges. At the sight of the large mushroom, the Master thought back to when he was still just Tommy, back when a little mushroom house had gotten him exiled. His smile broadened across his face, showing off far too many teeth. Mushroom house it is! 

Immediately, the Master got to work, taking a chipped axe that a cow had dropped at his feet before chopping down some of the umbrageous oak trees. He did the same with the various mushrooms in the area, knowing he would need the materials, as well as the space. He worked tirelessly, constructing the beginnings of his new home from materials, all the while, the animals that had followed him this far either wandered off or chose to stay.

~\~/~

Time had no real meaning for the Master of Death, days and nights passing by without him so much as looking up. He would eat when needed and rest when required, but his spare time was always dedicated to cultivating his enclave, and ensuring he would have all that he needed.

Over time, his home grew from a small, mushroom house to a sizable estate, decorated tastefully and with enough rooms to house his future guests. Large gardens surrounded the building, growing flowers of all different types. Well-tended fields sprawled out across the land, growing all the crops he and his could ever need, and warm stables were already beginning to fill up with the many animals that had come to bear witness to the rise of the Master of Death.

When his enclave was finally finished, at least for the time being, many months had passed since his revival. He almost missed it at first, distracted while absentmindedly petting the fox he had come to see as his companion. His ear twitched and his head lifted, sensing the subtle shift in the wind. He smiled that too-wide smile as he rose to his feet, the fox glancing up at him with a curious tilt of his head.

“It’s time…” the Master declared almost ominously. “Time to empty the Pandorica.”


Watcher

The bit of slime that had been sticking out of the ground just on the outskirts of the enclave sunk back into the earth, unseen and unheard, as was meant to be. The Watcher of Death saw many things, but he tells few of what he witnessed. No one will know about the Master of Death until they are ready to be revealed. The slime won't tell anyone. He knows that the Master of Death will rule them all one day, and he will gladly watch him take his proper place. It is Death's will.

Chapter 3: Prison Break

Chapter Text

Clay

Dream lay unmoving on the rough obsidian of his suffocating box of a cell. His eyes, or at least the one he could still see out of, blinked slowly as he stared dully at the ever-falling lava. No sound escaped his cracked, bleeding lips, save for the occasional, thready whimper whenever the lava popped too loudly. It had finally happened… he was broken. 

How could he not break? He had nothing waiting for him besides more pain and suffering. Nobody visited him anymore, outside of the Warden and… him. The Warden hated him, and he just wanted Dream to hurt. Thoughts of him reminded Dream of his latest “session”, where the shattered remnants of his beloved mask had been used to mark his body. 

Shuddering silently, Dream could feel all of the festering wounds across his body, knowing more would be joining them once he came. The prisoner closed his eyes, tears running down his dirty cheeks as he wondered what would be done this time. He was long past the point of fighting back, his guilt having been beaten into him months back. He made sure Dream knew he deserved it all, and after a while, Dream stopped denying it. He was the worst of the worst and deserved nothing good.

Just as Dream was contemplating throwing himself into the lava to put an end to it all, something happened. A shining, enchanted axe blade pierced through the curtain of lava, parting it like the Red Sea. Seeing this, Dream’s breath stuttered, his eyes widening as the axe was followed by an arm, and then a familiar body.

It was Tommy. He was here, untouched by the lava, and completely changed since Dream revived him. Power seemed to radiate off of him as he looked down at the prisoner, clutching that burning axe as he stepped fully into the cell. Dream curled up minutely, his breath catching on terrified sobs as the creature that had been Tommy approached.

There was no denying why Tommy was here. Like him, he wanted to hear Dream scream. He wanted to make Dream suffer, and thanks to whatever transformation was brought about by the revival, the teen now had all the power, and all the reason, to make it happen. The pain was all but inevitable, so Dream braced himself, flinching at the footsteps that seemed to draw closer.

Finally, a hand closed around Dream’s hair, but rather than the rough grab he had been expecting, the hand was deceptively gentle. The grip was unyielding, but not cruel, even as the hand pulled up slowly, allowing Tommy to look upon Dream’s face. Immediately, the prisoner lowered his gaze, keeping his eyes firmly planted on Tommy’s boots as he waited.

"Are you ready?" Tommy asked quietly.

Dream blinked, confusion making its way through the numbness and terror. Ready for what? Torture? He looked up slightly, tentatively meeting the boy’s gaze in an attempt to discern his plans. All he got was a patient smile, one that portrayed nothing more than a desire for his question to be answered.

"W-what?" Dream stuttered out as his words turned into a coughing fit.

Tommy’s hand released the prisoner’s hair, sliding down to cradle the back of his neck in what was almost a supportive gesture.

"Are you ready to give yourself up to me? Are you ready to be cleansed?" 

Tommy's words didn't make much sense to Dream's fragile mind. He shuddered, trying to force more words out of his mouth.

“I… what… does that mean?” 

"You will be free of the prison, but not free of me."

Tommy's voice was soothing, despite the ominous wording at the end. Dream expected him to be harsh, cold, and cruel like him, but instead, he was gentle but firm in his words and actions.

"I'm sure you're familiar with the practice of slavery." 

Dream jerked out of the fuzzy pleasant space in his head, Tommy’s words causing a lump to form in his throat. Tommy extended his free hand, something resting on it that seemed to glow in the light of the lava. Looking down at it, Dream immediately took note of a golden collar presented to him, shimmering with enchantments and buzzing with untold power. 

Dream gulped, understanding now what Tommy's words meant. He could be free of the prison, but he would have to enslave himself to Tommy to get there. He didn’t know which was the better option, or if there was a better option. He tried to think, Tommy patiently holding him while waiting for his decision.

"If… If I g-give myself to y-you… Can… Can I see… the s-sun again?" Dream stuttered out, daring to hope for this small mercy amidst his well-deserved torment. 

Tommy nodded in response, and Dream felt his heart clench. After so long in his molten pot of a prison, he could no longer remember the brightness of the sun or the feeling of grass on his fingers. They all seemed like unreachable fantasies, something forever beyond his reach. But now… now he had a chance to taste cool air again, even if it cost him what little he had left.  In the end, though, his choice was clear. He was either a prisoner here in the molten hot darkness, or a slave to Tommy out in the sun, and he wanted to touch the light so badly

"I-... I’m yours…” he finally decided, tilting his head back and exposing his neck. “Do…  Do what you will… w-with me."

Tommy smiled at him, the sight making Dream shiver. He didn’t know what had become of the boy who once was Tommy, but he now knew for certain that he wasn’t coming back. Dream closed his eyes as the collar slid around his neck, gasping when the cool metal touched his skin. After nothing but heat and pain, the gentle pressure and coolness of the collar sent an ethereal wave of calmness over his battered form.

Dream couldn’t suppress the sigh of contentment that slipped out, relaxing for the first time in literal months. The aches and pains of his body seemed to melt away, fading into the background to be addressed later. He felt boneless and pliable, going as limp as a ragdoll as his new Master picked him up off the ground. Almost on instinct, he curled up in the teen’s grip, giving in to the calmness of the moment before drifting off into a dreamless slumber.


Daedalus

Everything was going wrong. The prison was in lockdown, trapping Sam in his office. The redstone wasn’t working, and nothing was working. Immediately the warden knew that his worst nightmare had come to pass. The prisoner was escaping, and someone was helping him. Sam was panicking, and understandably so. Even in a lockdown, his office wasn’t supposed to seal shut. Even worse, all of his surveillance and preventative measures were disabled, right down to the siren! How could this happen?! 

This was all Tommy's fault! Why was this Tommy's fault? He should have just stayed dead! Whatever change had come about with his fourth life was unnatural, and dangerous beyond measure. He would need to get to the bottom of this, but first, he needed to escape. 

Sam clawed at the door, but it wouldn't budge. He smacked his desk, but nothing changed. His breath started to get faster, the only sounds he could make out being his own blood rushing through his veins and his pounding heartbeat. It was getting hard to breathe, especially as the full ramifications of what was going on hit him.

The prison was disabled, and it was highly unlikely anyone would notice the breach. The siren was off, meaning no one knew about the escape. Dream was out, he’d escaped, and there wasn’t a thing Sam could do about it! Oh no, oh Prime! He had to get out, he had to stop him, he had to… to… 

Sam’s thoughts slowly flickered out as he fell unconscious from his panic. His body took deep breaths for the first time in several minutes as the warden panicked in the crevices of his shattered mind.


Palaemon

Foolish wasn't as attuned to the world as he used to be, but he could still feel the change in the air. He was retired, his days as the Totem of Death long behind him, but he was still privy to some of the ‘interdimensional news’, as he liked to call it. He could feel the touch of death upon someone new, someone different. He knew things were getting bad around here, but for Death to interfere? It must be really out of hand. 

Foolish didn’t bother keeping up with the news or politics of the area, so he wasn’t sure if something had happened that had angered Death. He knew that the Angel was camping out somewhere around here, so maybe it had something to do with him. Oh well, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t here because of her anyway. He was here because this was where Alastair had gone. 

He knew his elusive quarry was somewhere in this conflict-riddled land, but he couldn’t seem to find them. He hadn't seen them since they got separated last and he missed his best friend. Still, he wasn’t one to give up. He had sacrificed his job for Alistair, dropping his entire life for his friend, so he was not going to let this go. He would find his friend, and then they would leave this hellhole behind.

Chapter 4: Settling In

Chapter Text

Clay

When Dream awoke from his dreamless slumber, the first thing he felt was a pleasant warmth and the softness of a mattress. After months of nothing but stifling heat and rough, unforgiving obsidian, the sensations were beyond alien. For a brief moment, he wondered if he had finally died, but immediately dismissed the notion. Even if he had died, it was highly unlikely he was anywhere resembling heaven. 

He slowly peeled his eyes open, surprised when both cooperated despite his wounds. As he sat up to take a look at himself, he realized that all of his wounds had been bandaged. Beneath the strange, purple crop top and simple black shorts that had replaced his prison attire, he was practically mummified, the familiar feeling of health potions coursing through him. Someone had healed him? Who would heal him? Everyone hates him! Where was he? Why was he out of the--? 

Oh.

Tommy. 

The memory of Tommy’s visit came rushing back, along with the deal Dream had made with him. Slowly, he reached up to his neck, the tips of his fingers brushing against the cool metal of a collar. The collar Tommy had locked around his neck. The collar that marked him as Tommy’s slave. Dream shuddered, his breathing getting faster as the reality of his situation set in.

On one hand, he was finally free from prison. Qu-... He would never touch him again, and the Warden couldn’t hurt him. But, on the other hand, Tommy could do anything he wanted to Dream, and there was nothing the prisoner-turned-slave could do. Dream couldn’t fight back, even if he was all healed up. He was at the mercy of the one person who had every right and reason to take his revenge. Oh, Prime! What would he do-?! 

Dream's thoughts were interrupted by a soothing voice talking softly to him, even though he hadn’t registered another person in the room.

“Take deep breaths for me.” 

Dream tried to obey, finally noticing how short and fast his breath was coming. He knew he was close to hyperventilating, but he just couldn’t calm down. His attempts at deep breaths became ragged coughs, and it only upped his panic. He was disobeying, he would be punished, he would be--

“It’s alright,” the same voice insisted. “You're safe, just breathe with me.”

Dream heard someone take a deep breath and tried to copy them, but his lungs refused to cooperate. He wheezed desperately, trying to steady himself before he ended up passing out. It didn’t seem to be working, and he was spiraling badly. Then, just as his vision was beginning to go fuzzy, a hand was pressed against his chest, sliding beneath the simple shirt. 

Dream gasped, oxygen flooding his body as a wave of calm washed over him.  It seemed to originate with that hand, the soft touch sending a pulse of cleansing coolness throughout his entire body. He focused on that sensation, reveling in the cold until the hand moved away. He groaned at the loss, but just continued to breathe, waiting for his body to get rid of the last of his anxieties. 

When he felt stable enough, he peeled his eyes open to see where the hand had gone, only to find himself face-to-face with TommyInnit. Almost immediately, Dream jumped, shocked to have been completely unaware of his new Master’s presence.

“Is that better?” Tommy asked, maintaining that calm, cool voice from the cell.

Dream just nodded, not wanting to aggravate Tomm- his Master, by speaking. No one liked it when he spoke, so he just stopped after a while. His plan must have worked because the teen just smiled benignly down at him before beckoning him to follow.

“Come along then, we should get started right away.” 

At those words, all the panic Dream had been suppressing came back in full force. That comforting feeling disappeared, replaced with nothing but dread as the full scope of his situation hit him. Tom- Master may have been acting alluringly kind now, but there was no guarantee that he would continue to be. After all, Dream had hurt To-Master a lot, and now it was his turn to be hurt.

Despite this fear, Dream still forced himself to stand, moving to follow his Master out of the room. Old instincts kicked in as he scanned the area, attempting to figure out where his Master was keeping him. He didn’t know what he would do with that information, but it felt good to know a bit more.

He was in a house made of dark oak wood and the dank smell of mushrooms filled the air. He racked his brain, trying to think of where he could be. Sadly, it quickly dawned on him that, for all he knew, the place had been constructed while he was in prison. And even if it wasn’t, far too much time had passed for the SMP to have gone unchanged. He could be pretty much anywhere, and he didn't even know whether or not he could survive if he tried to run. 

After a bit of traversing, Dream was led into a moderately sized room completely covered in carpet. It was lit up with a few lanterns, which provided the room with its only source of light, given the lack of a window. Upon entering the roof, Dream couldn’t help the feeling of utter terror that took him over. The room reminded him too much of his cell, even with the comfort of the carpet. Deep down, he knew that this would be when the proverbial other shoe dropped.

Master turned to Dream, and the slave just narrowly avoided a flinch as the teen reached out, pointing at the very center of the room.

“Kneel,” he commanded, still maintaining that deceptive gentleness.

Shakily, Dream went over to the center of the room, sinking to his knees. His breath was becoming erratic again and his hands clenched the hem of his shorts in fear. He closed his eyes, just waiting for the pain to start. While he hadn’t seen any tools or torture implements like the ones he carried, Dream instinctively knew Master didn’t need them. With his newfound power, he could punish his whimpering slave with the snap of his- 

Dream’s thoughts stuttered to a halt as a hand gently carded into his hair in a very soothing manner.

“Good boy,” his Master purred at him as he rewarded him for his obedience. 

The slave let out an embarrassing moan as that incredible cooling sensation swept through his skull, soothing the cracks in his mind as fingers massaged his scalp. His Master continued to murmur praise in his ear, causing Dream’s heart to practically sing. His skin felt like it was buzzing from his first gentle touch in far too long, and a small bit of his terror began to flow out of him.

He wasn’t in pain, he wasn’t being punished or tortured. That means he must have been doing something good. It certainly seemed that way with everything his Master was telling him. Maybe he could do this after all. If he was good, if he obeyed without question, then he wouldn’t be hurt. Maybe his Master would even praise him again or continue with the non-painful touches.

Oddly enough, Dream’s mind felt somewhat clearer as his Master’s hand released his hair. He wanted to whine at the loss, but held his tongue, not wanting to do anything to shatter this fragile peace. Deep down, he knew that he was being conditioned, trained to desire nothing save for the whims of his Master, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

So what if he was being conditioned? He’d done far worse to others, including his new Master. He deserved much, much worse than what he was receiving. He wasn’t being hurt yet, and he would take being conditioned and trained like this over his methods any day.

“Stand,” Master commanded, and Dream scrambled to his feet unsteadily. Master smiled at him and returned to petting his hair and cooing praises. Dream breathed deeply, trying to absorb as much of the sensation as possible before barely biting back a sigh when Master withdrew his hand.

“Kneel.” 

Dream hesitated, but went back down to his knees, even though the action made him wince. Hadn’t he just been kneeling? Or perhaps this was a test of his reaction time. Yes, that made sense. Slaves obeyed immediately and without question, no matter the order. That had to be what his Master was attempting to instill in him.

Master's hands returned to his hair, once more inducing that calming coolness that seemed to seep deep into Dream’s very core. Despite the strange sensations flowing right into his mind, he didn’t feel as if he was being forced to relax. He could probably panic if he tried, it was just that he simply did not want to. What point was there in worrying about this situation? He had no control over what happened to him so why should he exhaust himself with a panic attack?

Master removed his hand from Dream’s hair, the slave blinking his eyes open in surprise. He hadn't realized that he had closed them, but that fell to the wayside as his earlier fears began to push against his positive mindset. The tendrils of dread started threading their way back into his mind as soon as the icy fog protecting him left.

“Stand.”

Dream struggled to his feet. It was getting harder to stand up now, and despite having just woken up half an hour ago, he was already exhausted. His treatment in prison had ruined his body, leaving him as weak as a newborn kitten. Master didn’t seem to mind though, simply smiling at his slave while threading his hand back into Dream’s hair with a few soothing words.

“You're getting tired aren't you?” Master asked, Dream nodding shyly while flushing with embarrassment. Master chuckled lightly, rubbing the pad of his thumb on Dream’s forehead. “Come then, let us get you something better than raw potatoes to eat.”

Master started to walk away and Dream quickly followed after him. Already, his mouth was watering at the idea of non-potato-based foods. He was more than a little concerned about what such a luxury would cost him, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to negotiate. 

He snapped back into his surroundings as his Master stopped in front of him. Dream stumbled, struggling to stay upright at the sudden change of motion. He looked around and found that they had arrived in a cozy, and surprisingly well stocked, kitchen. 

“Kneel,” Master directed gently, pointing to a cushion sitting on the ground.

Dream went down hard, simply letting his legs give out instead of lowering himself gracefully. There he remained as his Master walked over to a cabinet, grabbing something out of it before sitting down in the chair next to the cushion. He then revealed the contents of his hand, a container full of berries, before plucking one and holding it to Dream’s lips.

“Eat.” 

Dream opened his mouth obediently, nearly overwhelmed by the small explosion of juice in his mouth. After months of nothing but starch and bottles of poison, he felt like he was eating a piece of heaven. He hummed contentedly, savoring the berry as his Master observed him.

“You have been broken, but you are not beyond repair.” His Master’s words had a bit of a haunting ring to them as he spoke. “I will rebuild you, reshaping you into something better. Your old life, your old identity, is no longer yours. Your new life begins now, with your renaming.” 

The now-nameless slave tilted his head in confusion but didn’t say a word in protest. Instead, he ate another berry and waited. He knew it was common for slaves to have their identities erased, so being renamed made sense. Dream was long gone, killed by him in that awful cell, and it was up to his Master to decide who he would become.

“From this day forth, you shall be known as Clay.”

Clay. It made sense. He was a blank slate now, a lump of clay in his Master’s hands, to be molded and formed into something new. And, as far as names went, it was a nice one. He had half expected an insult, or perhaps a derogatory name to remind him of his place. Instead, his name was one he was proud to have, and he let out a soft hum of agreement to try and show his pleasure.

Master grinned an eerie smile that had way too many teeth in it. Way too many teeth. Clay recoiled and eyes fluttered in fear. He swayed slightly, nearly falling prostrate onto his face. 

“It’s alright,” Master crooned, catching his slave in his arms.

He pulled Clay up into his lap, the slave whining slightly before all concepts of pride went completely out the window. He was so tired both physically and mentally that he snuggled right into Master's shirt. He wasn’t admonished, Instead, Master hummed quietly to him while gently playing with his slave’s hair. Clay melted into his Master's body, soaking in the coolness of his touch on his skin. 

“Sleep now. Rest your mind and your body so that you may be healed.” 

Clay obeyed, falling into the gentle clutches of blissful sleep.


Master

The Master of Death cradled his sleeping slave against his chest, gracefully standing as Clay clung to his shirt. The Master didn’t disturb him, knowing Clay needed time to truly recover. He walked out of the kitchen and down towards a long hallway, passed the infirmary where he had been keeping Clay until he healed. 

At the end of the hallway, the Master opened the door to a very simple room, one that possessed two beds, two side tables, a lamp on each side, and a single window. It was minimalistic but perfect for a slave. Choosing one of the beds, the Master gently set Clay down, pulling the blankets over him and making him comfortable.

The Master brushed Clay’s hair out of his eyes and dropped a kiss on his forehead. He had hoped that the touch would ward off the invisible vines trying to slither their way back into the cracks they’d made in Clay’s mind, but it was a slow process. The crawling vines were trying to break him apart, sinking in slowly so that no one, not even Clay himself, would notice their presence. Unfortunately for them, the Master wasn't going to let them have free reign of this world and its people. 

Turning away from the vines for a moment, the Master took a moment to observe his slumbering slave. He had to admit, he was impressed with Clay's ability to adapt. The man was already adjusting to this new, frightening situation despite everything that had happened. Still, there was much work to be done. 

While yes, Clay had surrendered to him immediately, it had been out of fear and desperation. Clay had the obedience that would make training him into better habits that much easier, and the Master had full confidence that Clay would recover with time. It wouldn’t be an easy road, not by a long shot, but it was possible. 

They would need to talk about a few things once Clay got more settled in, discuss their past together, and how they would move forward with this new, strange relationship. There was still no trust between them, but that would come with time and communication.

 Master had Clay's obedience, now he needed to earn Clay's trust.

Chapter 5: Loose Strings

Chapter Text

Dolus

Quackity whistled a tune to himself, twirling a pair of shears on his finger. He was geared up for another day of torturing Dream, determined to finally get the Revive Book out of the masked man. Already, he could tell that Dream was breaking, if he wasn’t broken already. With a little more work, the power of life and death would belong to him and him alone.

Approaching the prison, Quackity found his steps faltering, spotting a small hole at the very center of the prison. The portal to the entrance was out, but it didn’t matter, as the duck hybrid could see into the lobby. More than a little put off by this, Quackity skipped the portal entirely, slipping through the hole in the prison wall.

His dread only grew as he walked through the open prison, all doors and security measures either disabled or destroyed. The Warden was nowhere to be found, and everything was unnaturally quiet, including the Elder Guardians. The more Quackity walked around, the more he realized that he wasn’t feeling the mining fatigue the guardians induced, nor was he hearing their echoing call. 

Something was very wrong here.

Trying not to freak out, Quackity jogged to Sam's office, praying that he would be able to find the Warden and get an explanation for this. Maybe something had gone wrong with the redstone and Sam was fixing it. Or maybe he was upgrading security and moved the Elder Guardians so he could work faster. Or maybe… Maybe this wasn’t Sam’s doing.

“Sam!” Quackity shouted, thoroughly freaked out. “Sam where the fuck are you?!”

“Quackity?”

The duck hybrid came skidding to a halt, almost completely missing the thready voice calling out to him. He looked right at the Warden’s office, where he could hear a weak knocking from just inside.

“Sam! Sam, I'm here!”

“Please… let me out…”

Immediately, Quackity grabbed the door, ripping it open with much more force than was necessary. Almost immediately, Sam collapsed on top of him, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Quackity practically fell to the ground under the weight of his friend Muse, struggling to hold him while removing the smoking gas mask.

“Sam, I’m here. It’s alright.” He just barely resisted the urge to try and run his fingers through the Creeper’s fur. “Just breathe with me, alright? I need you to breathe.”

He began to breathe, urging Sam to do the same. He didn’t care about the smoke pouring from the Creeper’s mouth, having had more than his fair share of secondhand smoke during his time with Schlatt. Besides, it was worth it since it meant Sam was doing as he was told.

“Sam, what happened here?” Quackity gestured to the open prison with a single hand. “Why were you locked in your office? Why’s the prison open?”

“The…” Sam’s voice was raspy, no doubt from screaming for who knows how long. Smoke continued to pour out of his mouth with every breath. “The prisoner… he’s escaped… Someone-... Someone broke in… shut everything down… Dream… he’s gone…”

Quackity froze, his breathing stuttering as he tried to comprehend what Sam was telling him. Dream had escaped. Dream had escaped! That insane bastard who had done so much damage to everything everyone cared about was free! And to make it worse, someone had helped him escape! Someone had stolen Dream, and with him, Quackity’s chances at getting the Revive Book!

His anger must have been visible because he felt Sam shuddering in his grip. The duck hybrid looked down to see the Creeper breaking down, sobbing from regret. Forcing himself to breathe, Quackity shoved his anger aside so he could better tend to the distraught Warden.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sam,” he whispered as he cradled the broken, sobbing man to his chest. He rubbed his arm up and down the hybrid's flank, trying to soothe him as best he could. “We’re gonna be okay, and we're gonna get Dream back where he belongs. I promise.”


Theseus

Techno had known Phil for pretty much as long as he could remember, and he’d never seen the man this jumpy in all that time. It had been subtle at first, the feathers on his wings puffing out seemingly without cause. Then, Techno would see him glancing over his shoulder anxiously before shaking himself off. It came to a head when the winged man began to treat every corner like an ambush point, clearly not feeling safe in his own house.

Having had enough of his oldest friend’s clear anxieties, Techno decided to confront the man. He put his hand on Phil’s shoulder, barely able to let out a soft “hey” before the man whirled around in a panic. His feathers were puffed out in a show of defense, and his eyes were wild with primal fight-or-flight responses.

“Whoa, easy there.” Techno put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Shouldn’t have come up from behind. That’s on me.”

Phil’s wings visibly relaxed at that, his shoulders slumping as he bowed his head in defeat. “Sorry Mate… Gods, what is wrong with me?”

“Phil, we’ve got more issues than 2b2t,” Techno quipped as he lowered his hands, taking on a more serious demeanor. “But even for us, this is a bit much. Something got you on edge?”

Phil looked away, fidgeting slightly. Techno’s eyes narrowed, recognizing that suspicious body language. Something was clearly wrong, and Phil was keeping it bottled up. It was a bad habit the Elytrian had his entire life, one even Techno couldn’t get him to break.

“Phil, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” He reached out, grabbing Phil’s shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Phil sighed, reaching up to grasp Techno’s wrists before carefully removing his old friend’s hands. “I’m alright, Mate. I’m just being a paranoid old man.”

Techno’s face scrunched, disbelief etched into his features. He could see the lie a mile away, but it was clear that it was something Phil wasn’t ready to discuss just yet. Maybe it had something to do with Death, or maybe Ghostbur was tampering with the veil. Either way, he wasn’t gonna be getting any more answers just yet.

“Alright, Phil.” Techno sighed, backing off. “I trust you.”


Lethe

Ranboo was curled up on the floor in his panic room, frantically scribbling in his notebook. He had to write down everything he could remember before it was too late, but his hands were shaking so badly that his handwriting was all but illegible. His vision was swimming and his mind was so scrambled that just trying to get a hold of a single train of thought was difficult. 

Dream had escaped, and that was bad. He had to run, even if it meant scaring Tubbo and Michael. Dream would come for him, and when he did, people would get hurt. He couldn’t let his family get hurt, not because of him.

He had to hide. He had to keep the smiles and the vines out of his mind. He had to hide. He couldn’t let Dream find him. He couldn’t let Dream hurt anyone else. He doesn't remember, he can't remember, he shouldn't remember, he wants to remember, he doesn't want to remember, he... he... he… 

An Enderian warble spilled from the teen as his heterochromatic red and green eyes began to fade into a deep purple. His body relaxed against the obsidian walls, silently awaiting instructions from the monsters in his head. They always took advantage of his panic or his memories. That’s how they made him obey, made him helpless to stop them. 

He wondered how much they would make him do before the red and green kicked back in. He didn’t mind the colors as much as he’d used to. Honestly, if he had to choose between his memories and his free will, he would take the free will any day, even if he lost himself in the process. He closed his eyes as the familiar whispering filled his mind. 

~ γɘdo bnɒ ɘm ɿɒɘH .ɟɘqquq ɘlɟɟil γm ,ɘm ɿɒɘH~

Chapter 6: Pulling the Weeds

Chapter Text

Clay

Clay slowly woke up, a soft groan escaping his lips as he sat up in his bed. Even after several days of healing and training at the hands of his Master, it was still so strange to have a bed to call his own. Technically, he couldn’t call it his own though, given that slaves owned nothing, not even themselves. He had no autonomy, unable to decide even what clothes he could wear. Since his escape enslavement, he’d been wearing the same, showy garments he’d awoken in, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

It wasn’t all bad though. Master kept the house warm so that his stupid, pitiful slave wouldn’t be uncomfortable, and Clay had yet to be starved. He was still fed by hand though, made to eat from Master’s palm like an animal. It would be humiliating if Clay still had it in him to be humiliated.

Sitting in his bed, Clay found himself drifting off in thought of his situation. He knew he should be getting ready for his Master’s arrival, making his bed before kneeling at the door, but something kept him rooted in place. He’d learned as much as he could about his Master’s home, so shouldn’t he be trying to escape now? For that matter, was there even a need to escape?

Of course, there was! Was there? Master may have been acting nice now, but it was all just so he could take it away. Why else would his Master give him nice things if not to make it hurt more when they were taken? Why heal his body if not to ensure he would be able to suffer longer?

Now in a panic, Clay’s mind began to fill with horrifying what-if scenarios of what Master would do. Maybe his Master would hurt him like he used to, making him scream until he died. Or maybe Clay would be sent back to the Prison, back to his obsidian pot, back to the Warden. Clay violently shook his head, knowing the Warden would kill him immediately. He had to escape. It was his only option.

Thinking hard, Clay tried to come up with a plan to escape. He hadn’t been allowed to leave the house yet, so he wasn’t sure exactly where he was. He assumed he was far from the center of the SMP, meaning he would need supplies to make it, lest he die somewhere in the wilderness. But how was he supposed to get what he needed without his Master noticing?

He… he would have to kill him.

He had to, or his Master would kill him. No, he wouldn't! That doesn't make any sense! With a half-baked terrible Why am I doing this plan, Clay scrambled to his feet and approached the door, slowly and carefully opening it so he could look around. After he was certain that his Master wasn’t lurking nearby, he snuck down the hall as quietly as he could, trying to find something he could use as a weapon. 

He had to kill him. He had to kill Master. It's the only way he’ll be safe. No, it's not! He’s safe now! Why is he thinking like this?

At the end of the hall, hanging just above the firewood pile, a simple, iron axe was hanging from an item frame. The blade was chipped, but it was better than nothing. Clay grabbed it, trying to remember how it felt to wield one like a weapon. He hadn't fought in a long time, but he had yet to see his Master wearing any armor, so it would probably, probably, be fine.

Axe in hand, Clay made his way towards the large bedroom his Master occupied. Slowly pushing the door open, the slave could see Master relaxing in a soft chair, seemingly asleep by the fireplace.

This was his chance. Master seemed completely unaware of his presence, and it was unlikely a chance like this would come up again. Approaching from behind, Clay raised the axe in the air, prepared to bring it down. At the last moment, Master’s head whipped around, cold, inhuman eyes immediately locking on his own with a steady glare.

“NO!” 

Master’s eldritch yell reverberated through the air, sinking right down into Clay’s bones. The slave froze where he stood, the axe slipping from limp fingers before falling harmlessly to the floor. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, and Master was staring deep into his soul. It was over. He was gonna die. Master was going to-

A choked scream escaped Clay’s lips as lightning tore through his body, boiling his blood and causing unimaginable pain to seep into every facet of his being. He crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap, clawing at the carpet as he writhed in agony. It only lasted for a brief moment, but it was enough.

What was he thinking, trying to best his Master? He should have known better than to try and kill such a powerful entity. He sagged into the carpet, the pain leaving him feeling completely and totally drained. His energy, his willpower, it all just seeped out of him as he lay there, darkness slowly overtaking his vision.

As the last bits of consciousness faded, Clay felt a strange emptiness in his mind. All of his earlier fears and trepidation were gone, and a fog he hadn’t realized was there had faded to nothing. Had the lightning done something? It must have. It felt nice.

Clay closed his eyes, letting the world fade away into nothing.


Master

The Master sighed heavily, shaking his head as he looked down at his passed-out slave. He had hoped that he would never have to use the negative side of the collar, but the vines had forced his hand. Removing them slowly and gently like he had been trying to do just didn’t cut it, and even though he didn’t want to cause Clay any more pain, he couldn’t allow his slave to fall back into his violent ways.

If anything, perhaps it was a blessing that it came to this. The moment of pain eradicated the vines in one fell swoop, leaving Clay’s mind finally free of their influence. No longer would he struggle against their malicious intentions, and now, he could finally heal his fragile psyche.

Knowing nothing more could be done until Clay awoke, the Master bent down and carefully scooped up the collapsed slave, cradling him in his arms. He made his way back to Clay’s room, preparing to let him rest until he was ready to try again. Once he was awake, it was time the two had an overdue conversation about how to move forward. With his mind clear, Clay might actually be able to listen and hear him. 

He laid the slave out on his bed, pulling the covers back over him. Once he woke up, Master could work to soothe Clay’s nerves. Once he woke up, his training could truly begin.


Clay

For the second time that morning, Clay slowly woke up in his bed. With a feeling of deja vu setting in, he rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. As his vision cleared, his eyes landed on his Master, who was sitting by the bed with a patient look, and everything came rushing back to him.

He’s tried to kill Master. Oh Prime, he’d tried to kill Master!

Panic erasing the last traces of sleep from his body, Clay bolted out of bed, immediately dropping to his knees and all but throwing himself to the floor. The hardwood floors would no doubt leave bruises, but it hardly mattered. There was no chance Clay would be escaping this unscathed, and bruised knees would be the least of his worries. He just hoped that his punishment wouldn’t leave him crippled for life.

“It’s alright,” Master said in that gentle, calming voice that he always used when addressing his slave. “You’re not in trouble.”

Clay’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Not in trouble? He just tried to kill his Master. How could he be forgiven that quickly? Why wasn’t he in pain, or locked up, or being dragged back to the Prison so he could- 

A cold hand on his chin brought Clay’s thoughts to a stuttering halt. He expected a grab or a slap, but instead, his head was gently tilted back until the trembling slave was forced to sit back on his calves, face to face with his Master. 

“Look at me,” Master commanded.

Reluctantly, Clay’s eyes flicked up to his Master’s, the slave shrinking beneath the piercing gaze of those otherworldly orbs. They were the only sign that Master was something other than human, their icy, horrific beauty too much to ignore. Looking into Master’s eyes was like staring into a piece of the sky, swirling grey like an oncoming storm telling the tales of his untold power.

“Do you intend to do what you did again?” 

Immediately, Clay shook his head, horrified at the very idea. Even if he thought a second attempt would be any different from the first, there wasn’t a chance he would ever raise a hand against Master. He hadn’t been thinking clearly if he was thinking at all. Master was good to Clay, and the slave had nothing waiting for him beyond the enclave but pain, loneliness, and death. No, he wasn’t going to try again.

“Then I won’t punish you more than I already have.” The grip on Clay’s chin was removed. “There is no need.”

Clay blinked owlishly, stunned by this declaration. Was Master really being that lenient, letting his slave get away with only a single shock? It didn’t make sense!

His expression must have given away his confusion because Master began to speak once more.

“Close your eyes, Clay.”

Clay’s eyes immediately slammed shut.

“Imagine something for me. Imagine a sheep, a wild sheep all on its own. It’s injured and trapped somewhere, unable to save itself. That is until it is found by a shepherd. The shepherd takes the wild sheep back to his home, treating its wounds and teaching it how to live as a domesticated sheep.”

Clay nodded along with the story, already seeing parallels to his own story. He imagined himself as the wild sheep, cradled in the arms of his Master.

“Of course, the wild sheep is not used to being a domesticated sheep. It’s used to predators and pain, and not being safe around others. The shepherd knows this, so they do everything they can to help the sheep adjust. Even then, the wild sheep may act out, doing something it shouldn’t. Now, the shepherd is left with a choice. They could harm the sheep, punishing it for acting out, but in doing so, they ruin any trust they have built with the sheep, making it harder to domesticate. They could try to force the sheep to do what they want, but that would make the sheep afraid of them, which makes it harder for the shepherd to help them.”

Clay thought about these options and then thought about his own situation. He was the wild sheep, and he had acted out. Master, his shepherd, could hurt him, punish him as he deserved, but wouldn’t because he didn’t want Clay to be afraid of him. It was for the same reason he wasn’t cruel to his slave during training because if Clay was constantly afraid of punishment, he would constantly make mistakes and make things harder for both of them.

“In the end,” Master spoke up once more, “the shepherd decides to let the sheep deal with the natural consequences of its actions. Whatever happens from the sheep’s choices, the shepherd will be there to tend to its needs. They will not harm the sheep more than it has harmed itself. After all, the sheep will have learned that its actions have consequences, and the shepherd would not help anything by adding more pain to that lesson.”

Clay let that sink in, his hand drifting to his collar. He remembered the shock he received, the one that cleared his mind of that oppressing fog. That pain, that all-encompassing lightning, that had been the natural consequence of his actions and thus his punishment. Master didn’t need to hurt him more because Clay knew what would happen if he tried again. Almost as if sensing the epiphany in his slave, Master reached out, gently running his blessedly cool fingers through Clay’s hair.

“I will not hurt you needlessly, Clay. The only consequences you need to fear from me are the ones you bring upon yourself. Do you understand?”

Unafraid for the first time in a long time, Clay nodded.

“Yes Master, I understand.”

“Good,” Master said with a smile. “I want you to obey me because you trust what I am telling you to do is right, not because you fear the consequences of failure.”


Guardian 

The Guardian of Death was not, as one would expect, floating through the void of the End, serenely watching over the dimension. No, instead one could find them sitting in a field of flowers, listening to the excited ramblings of a mortal that was trying to teach them how to make a flower crown. They had offered to just materialize some crowns, ones far grander than simple plants woven together, but George had insisted on teaching them how to make them from actual flowers. The Guardian didn’t understand why it was important to spend their time making one, or teaching them how, but it made the mortal happy so they wouldn't complain.

Chapter 7: The Little Things

Chapter Text

Master

Back when he was just Tommyinnit, the Master of Death was far from a patient being. His immature mind required instant gratification, or else he wouldn’t be satisfied. Now, however, the Master was happy to take things slow, to work to achieve a goal. Nothing proved this more than the slave currently curled up in his lap in the padded training room.

“Snuggle,” he commanded, his voice soft, yet powerful nonetheless.

Immediately, Clay pressed his head against the Master’s chest so his ear was placed right over his owner’s heart. His arms were pulled close to his chest, nearly tucked under his chin, and his legs were tucked as well, making him a cozy little ball pressed up against the Master. Clay then began to moan softly, melting slightly as the Master ran his fingers through the slave’s hair, whispering gentle encouragement at his unwavering obedience.

Clay was doing quite well with his training, the slave proving to be incredibly smart and eager to please. As such, he learned at a quick rate, beaming under the freely offered praise that he had been starved of in the past. This lack of affection was most likely why Snuggle seemed to be one of his favorite commands so far. Without the constant fear of punishment for even the slightest misstep, Clay was truly flourishing. 

“Release.”

Clay rolled off the Master’s lap as registered the command for the “scene” to end. He rose to his feet, leaning slightly on one leg while his fingers twitched with nervous energy. It was an improvement from before, where Clay would stand nervously at attention when ending commands, but he was still not completely relaxed. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, having been without autonomy or the freedom of choice for far too long.

“Clay,” Master called out, the slave’s head jolting up at the sound of his name, “I am proud that you now understand that you have time to do as you wish, but you seem at a loss at what to do with this freedom.”

Clay blushed shyly, nodding his head in agreement. He didn’t talk very much, if at all. Master knew this was a remnant of his time in the Pandorica, but he also knew it would take time for Clay to feel safe enough to express himself properly. Perhaps this new lesson would help with that.

“Answer honestly, and know there is no wrong answer. Would you prefer to tend to the animals, or would you rather work in the gardens?”

Clay blinked at him in confusion, his head tilting in a way that made him look like a curious cat.

“Master?”

Master chuckled lightly, petting Clay as he clarified his query.

“You have spent so long trying to survive that you have forgotten how to live. Finding you something to occupy your time will help you to find joy in this world once again. Besides, do you think I haven't noticed how anxious you are without anything to do?”

Clay took a moment to think that over, Master waiting patiently as he did.

"I... have been concerned about... earning my keep, Master."

The Master smiled at that, reaching out and petting his slave's hair.

"Then let us find something for you to do, some chore to help you pass the time when not in training. Of course, even as my slave, I want you to be able to enjoy the work you do, thus my earlier question. So, would you prefer to tend to the animals, or would you prefer to work in the gardens?"

After a moment, in an almost timid manner, Clay looked up.

“Can I tend to the animals, please?”

Master smiled softly at the timid man, making sure to give him a gentle head scratch as a reward for his answer. Clay was still learning how to speak his mind, after all, and the Master wanted to encourage him as much as possible. Clay almost purred at the touch, then made to follow his owner out of the training room.

Master kept an eye on Clay as they made their way out of the house, this being the first time the slave had been allowed outside. As expected, Clay seemed to revel in the feeling of the wind and the sun, his demeanor brightening visibly. As such, Master took his time approaching the various pens and fenced areas containing the different animals. There was a small paddock of sheep, a pen with a couple of cows, and there was even a coop full of chickens, the birds wandering around while pecking at the grass.

Master grabbed a handful of seeds out of a chest and gave them to Clay.

“Here. Take these and go make some friends.”

Clay blinked as he took the seeds, and then he was ushered towards the coop. A bit confused at what to do, he eventually hopped over the small fence, sitting down in the grass before offering out his hand towards the birds. He remained as still as possible, not wanting to startle the birds, especially when a few brave fowl began to approach.

Clay flinched slightly when the first one pecked his hand, more out of shock than pain or fear, but quickly relaxed by the time the second peck happened. Master watched the sight with a gentle smile, seeing some of the tension slowly easing from Clay’s shoulders. Secretly, the Master was thrilled that Clay had chosen the animals. The slave needed companionship after being alone for so long, and the animals would not judge him for his past. 

While continuing to watch Clay interact with the chickens, the Master felt something brush against his ankles. He glanced down, smiling when he noticed the fox nipping at his toes.

“Clay,” he called out. “Come meet another friend!”

Clay startled slightly, jumping to his feet and scattering the chickens. Immediately, he regained his bearings and hopped back over the fence. He joined the Master over by the fox, the teen eldritch bending down to scoop up the playful animal in his arms.

“Clay, meet Vixen.” For a brief moment, the Master sounded more like his old self, like the loud, excitable boy he used to be, than he had in a very long time. “They’re quite friendly, and they love to play.”

Clay looked at the fox, a single arm extending away from his body in an almost longing manner. He stopped before he got too far, shuffling his feet before sheepishly looking up, his head remaining low.

“Master… C-can I…?”

“Yes Clay, you can pet them.”

The Master held out the wriggling fox, which was making noises akin to laughing. The slave’s head shot up, his eyes sparkling slightly as he was granted permission. Slowly, he extended his free hand, remaining cautious as he took Vixen in his arms. The little fox continued its giggling, even going so far as to lick Clay’s cheek like an excited dog. That got a small laugh out of Clay, which made the Master all the more happy.

“Here,” the Master insisted, gaining Clay’s attention once more. He then lay down in the grass surrounding the area, patting a patch right next to him. “Come lay down with me.”

Now lacking any of the hesitations he’d had before, Clay went over to the grass, laying down next to the Master. The eldritch smiled, then closed his eyes, just letting himself be immersed in the sensations of the world. He could feel the wind gently rolling over him, the grass tickling his skin, and the warmth of the sun washing over him. Distantly, he could make out Clay’s steady breathing, as well as the playful jumps of Vixen, who had darted off to play upon being released by Clay.

“You don’t realize how wonderful grass is until you no longer have it,” Master remarked, idly running his fingers through the soft, green blades. “Once you touch the grass again after so long of having forgotten what it feels like, you see the beauty of the world in a way you never had before.”

“Yes,” Clay agreed, sounding more at peace than ever before. “No one else realizes how important those little things are.”

Master chuckled quietly, opening his eyes before turning his head and seeing Clay smiling softly as he melted into the grass.

“I'm glad you understand. To truly enjoy life, you don’t need to seek out large victories or grand displays. All you need to do is look for the little joys in life. After all, the little things aren't so little, once you look at them from the right perspective.”


Daedalus

Sam returned to his darkened office after another fruitless search for Dream. He dropped his weapons haphazardly to the side, stumbling over to a large map that dominated a wall. It was covered in large Xs, signifying that Sam had searched there and found nothing. He added another X to the map, then walked over to another wall, this one covered in red string, and pictures.

Sam knew Dream had help, the destruction of the prison making that all too clear. Since his recovery from his imprisonment, Sam had been trying to find out who it could be. He had already eliminated a few suspects, those who he knew would never want anything to do with Dream, while tirelessly trying to whittle down the remaining numbers.

With a sigh, Sam sank into a chair, rubbing his face. Who could have done this? Who could have come in and so utterly destroyed the prison like this? Who would benefit from Pandora’s vault being… empty…

Empty… The Empty Pandora’s Vault… No, the Empty Pandorica!

Sam’s head shot up, his eyes locking on an image of Tommy on his wall of suspects. He’d eliminated Tommy as a suspect, given that the boy had all but vanished after his revival. But… What if Dream was behind this? What if he was manipulating Tommy again?

What if the thing he released from the cell wasn’t even Tommy?

His blood boiling, Sam grabbed his weapons once more, stalking out of the office. He grabbed his communicator, putting in the code for the dead boy he was about to send back into oblivion. If Tommy was nothing more than Dream’s puppet now, then Sam needed to destroy him. Did he? Could he save him? Tommy was beyond saving now. As much as Sam didn’t want to do it, the rules of the prison were clear. Tommy needed to die.

Chapter 8: Battle for Ownership

Chapter Text

Clay

Clay hummed a tune to himself as he walked from the barn over to the chicken coop, a bag of seeds in hand. He was working up a sweat under the unrelenting rays of the summer sun, but he found himself unwilling to complain. The sun was nowhere near as oppressive as the lava wall had been, and he enjoyed feeling that warmth on his skin. Thus, he just wiped his brow and resumed his chores. 

His life with Master was so peaceful compared to his old life, with no wars to fight or schemes to see through. That didn’t mean his days were dull though. He had so many animals to take care of, their needs and desires always keeping him busy. Clay didn’t mind though. If anything, he enjoyed being able to care for all these creatures who trusted him so implicitly. It felt good every time the animals brushed against him or ate from his palm as if showing him he was worthy of love and affection.

A soft buzz from his collar made Clay jolt upright. This was not the warnings of punishment, as he had once believed. Instead, this buzzing was a newer signal Clay had been trained to react to, serving as both a way to call him from the grounds, as well as an indicator to respond immediately and await commands. As his Master had explained it, his owner detested shouting and loud noises, which was why he didn't want to have to shout across the enclave to summon his slave. This soft buzzing would serve as the call, even directing Clay on where he needed to go.

In this case, the gentle buzzing was calling him back to the house, no doubt due to an order Master wanted Clay to fulfill. Not wanting to keep his owner waiting, Clay hastily put the bag of feed where it belonged, walking briskly back towards the house. He walked inside, immediately catching sight of his master sitting in an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace. Immediately, Clay went over and stood at attention next to the chair, arms crossed behind his back, legs a foot apart, and chin down. The buzzing on his collar halted once he was in place.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clay saw Master look over at him, then reach up to run his fingers through his slave’s hair. That ever-so-comforting coolness washed over him as those gentle fingers tickled the shell of his ears.

“Kneel.”

Gracefully, Clay sank to his knees, placing his hands on his thighs while making sure his back was straight. Once more, he was rewarded with a gentle head scratch by his Master.

“The Warden called me.”

Clay’s hands clenched into terrified fists, his breath hitching as his eyes went wide. The Warden… Why did he call Master? Did-... Did he want Clay back? Did he want to send him back into that cell, back into his clutches?! Terror gripped Clay’s body, making him shake where he knelt.

“I wondered how long it would take for him to finally deduce that I was responsible for your exodus from the Pandorica.” A small smile graced his Master’s face. “However, it would seem he is not above giving me a ‘fair chance’, despite my 'crime'.”

Clay was still shaking from the reveal of the Warden’s call, but his head perked slightly at the words “fair chance”. Tentatively, he looked up at Master, his timid green eyes momentarily locking on the sharp, threatening gaze of his owner.

“We will be meeting in a clearing not far from here for a duel. Should he win, I will surrender myself and you.” The tone he used when saying this suggested that this was an impossibility. “However, if I win, the Warden will surrender to me.”

Swallowing hard, Clay found his voice.

“The-... the Warden will be coming… here, Master?”

Master rose from his seat, his back to Clay as he approached the fireplace. He tossed a log onto the small blaze before turning around, his mouth spreading into a grin with far too many teeth. Clay couldn’t suppress the flinch he gave off when he saw that grin, recognizing the powerful glint in his Master’s eye almost intimately. His eyes were then drawn to Master’s hand, where a long, bone whip materialized from the aether.

The whip was an intimidating sight, long and made almost entirely of spinal vertebrae. The handle itself was wrapped in red leather, and when Master held it, Clay couldn’t help but cower. In the light of the fireplace, he truly looked like a powerful being one did not want to cross.

“Indeed, little one,” Master finally spoke after a moment. “Soon, the Warden will be reborn as a member of our enclave.”


Daedalus

Sam was fuming silently as he stalked through the woods, following the coordinates to the upcoming duel. Granted, he wouldn’t exactly call what was about to happen a duel. Sam was the Warden of the prison, a trained fighter and warrior. Tommy was a weak, untrained, undisciplined child who had lost every single battle he’d gone into. This could only end one way, with Tommy’s blood on his trident.

Thoughts of his inevitable victory spurred Sam onward, his abnormal anger rising with every step. The fight couldn’t come soon enough. He needed to destroy Tommy, and finally bring an end to everything. This was the only thought running through his head, the only words piercing through the roar of blood in his ears, and his need to kill the traitor. Wait, Tommy wasn’t a traitor. He’s being controlled! Right? It didn’t matter why he’d done what he’d done. He broke the rules, and he needed to be punished.

Arriving at the coordinates, Sam found himself in a large clearing. The ground is relatively flat, and there didn’t seem to be anything around for at least a couple hundred blocks in each direction. The only thing Sam could see was a huge oak tree, much larger than an average one. Its branches twisted out in an almost menacing fashion, making it stand out among the younger dark oaks that surrounded it.

As Sam observed this menacing tree, his ear twitched at the sound of footsteps approaching. Immediately, Sam turned around, instinctively summoning his trident into his hand. He half expected a night mob, but the area was uncharacteristically barren. Given there were no torches around, they weren’t scared by the light. However, as two figures stepped into the clearing, Sam quickly realized what they were scared of.

Tommy entered the clearing, looking nothing like the boy he’d released from the cell. His hair, once a brilliant golden blonde, was now as white as snow, his skin the color of polished ivory. Gone was the red and white t-shirt and khakis, replaced by clothing fit for a medieval overlord. He was wearing a soft grey undershirt that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. Over it was a robe that was as black as pitch, accented along the edges with gold. Designs were also woven into the fabric, depicting images of skulls amidst flowers. He had trousers that were just a shade lighter than the robe, and dark boots accented with gold.

That should have been the most shocking thing Sam witnessed, but that’s when he noticed the chain clutched in Tommy’s offhand. His eyes trailed down the chain, following it to the person it was attached to. He drew in a sharp breath when he saw Dream trailing behind Tommy, looking nothing like the tyrant he used to be.

Physically, he looked better, no longer as gaunt or sickly as he had been before. His face was fuller, his skin was tanner, and the menagerie of wounds he’d been sporting had long since healed over. However, it was clear that he had been brought low. His head was down, eyes locked firmly on the ground. His clothing left far more of his body exposed than Sam had ever seen. He was also trembling minutely, and that alone filled the Warden with fear.

Dream was not one to show fear. Sam had only ever seen him truly afraid twice. The first was when he was cornered in his vault, right before he was brought to the Prison. The second was when Quackity’s visits started. Quackity had months to work Dream over, while Tommy had only had him for a handful of weeks. What had happened during that time to turn Dream from a headstrong warrior into a terrified slave?

“Clay, kneel,” Tommy ordered, not even bothering to look back at the man he was leading around like a dog.

Dream dropped to his knees without a moment’s hesitation and Sam felt his heart skip a beat. This was a blatant show of power, and it was working all too well. Dream was a man who had won every war he’d fought in, who had brought entire nations to their knees, and yet here he was, kneeling at the feet of the boy he had sought to break.

Swallowing down the lump of fear in his throat, Sam stepped forward. He wanted to say something, but it was as if all his words had been stolen from him. Instead, he adjusted his grip on his trident, summoning his sword into his other hand. He let out a breath, smoke rising from the filters in his mask. 

In response, Tommy casually held out his free hand, summoning a whip made of bone. Sam couldn’t keep himself from flinching when the ivory whip snapped through the air, but he didn’t let it deter him. He was afraid, sure, but his anger far outweighed the fear. He stepped forward, brandishing his weapons in a practiced, offensive position. Tommy merely tilted his head slightly, his body exuding confidence and power.

“Are you ready, Warden?” There was a chilling echo in Tommy’s voice as he spoke.

Sam didn’t bother answering, almost positive that his words would have failed him in the end. It didn’t matter though. He had to see this through. Why? Why was he doing this? This wasn’t what he wanted! He lunged forward, trident thrust forward in an attempt to spear Tommy through the stomach. The teen just sidestepped, avoiding the attack before bringing the whip down.

The crack ripped through the air, and pain exploded across Sam’s side, right where his armor gapped and left him vulnerable. Instinctively, he curled around the wound to try and alleviate the pain. In that brief moment of weakness, Tommy struck again, the whip coiling around Sam’s trident. With a yank, one with far more strength than the boy should have possessed, the trident was wrenched from his hands. Sam could only watch as Tommy deftly caught it, twisting it in his hand before throwing it across the forest.

Sam quickly switched his sword into his free hand, twisting around in an attempted swipe. It was a blind jab, one done while amidst a fog of anger. The only thing that seemed to pierce this fog was the sharp lash of agony of a second strike, this one across his shoulder blades. The spines of the bone whip severed the leather straps on his chest plate, causing the armor to fall away and leaving him more exposed.

The battle went on like this, with Sam never landing a single hit on Tommy while his skin was decorated in whip marks and gashes. Without his trident, he couldn’t get a ranged attack, meaning he could never escape the range of that blasted whip. Every stroke robbed him of his armor, and sapped his strength, leaving him feeling utterly weak. He needed to get the upper hand, or it would be his body left to the wolves, not Tommy’s.

The whip caught one of his legs, the sharp spines digging into the exposed skin of his fawn-like hindquarters. His boxy leg was ripped out from underneath him, sending him sprawling into the dirt. He tried to stand, but a heavy boot was planted on his back, keeping him pinned. A quick snap of the whip caused a large gash to open on Sam’s hand, forcing him to drop his sword and leave him unarmed.

“Now,” Tommy let out, bending down so he could thread his fingers through Sam’s hair. The cold fingers sent a chill through Sam’s boy, but he was unable to do a thing to stop it. He felt breath against his ear, icy cold in place of natural warmth. “Submit.”

Sam just growled through his mask, pure terror and fiery rage boiling inside of him. Smoke was beginning to filter through his mask again, and that seemed to draw Tommy’s attention.  The icy hand not gripping his hair began to fiddle with the clasp on his mask, making moves to remove it. The second he realized what was happening, Sam jerked in fear, trying to dislodge Tommy’s hands.

Sam’s mask served many purposes, as both a security blanket and protection. It allowed other people to safely breathe the same air as him and helped to keep his more volatile nature in check. He’d worn it most of his life, only removing it long enough to eat. As such, that first gasp of unfiltered air as his mask was removed nearly drove him to choke. He watched as his mask was flung aside, and a pale hand cupped his chin.

The feeling of Tommy’s arctic-cold skin on his sensitive face made everything feel wrong. His thoughts, already muddled by the fog of anger, became even more clouded, making it harder to think. His vision began to tunnel, despite breathing easier without his mask. His eyes began to droop, his body began to go slack, and that coolness seemed to be trying to usher him to sleep. When was the last time he slept?

Sam gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain awake. He couldn’t fall asleep. He had to get up, take control, win this duel, and kill Tommy! If he didn’t then Tommy would kill him! Would he? Those gentle, icy fingers still holding his chin began to stroke his cheek, the ones entangled in his hair petting him like he was some sort of pet.

“If you don’t submit, then I will make you…”

The boy’s words were spoken in a calm voice, lacking any malice despite the hold he had on Sam. However, the threat was clear, and Sam was panicking. He couldn’t give in to him! He wouldn’t give up his hold so easily! Hold on what? He struggled more, redoubling his efforts to escape while praying he would find a weakness in Tommy’s unyielding grip.

A forlorn sigh seemed to escape from his captor’s lips, icy hands receding from Sam’s face and hair. They returned almost immediately, positioning themselves around his neck while gently cupping the bottoms of his ears. Just then, something cool wrapped around his neck, something solid, and buzzing almost pleasantly. As it closed around his throat, the cold that seemed to radiate from Tommy’s hands began to channel through this strange thing on his neck. The chill calmed his nerves as it spread across his body.

Suddenly, Sam’s vision went white with pain, piercing agony ripping through him and drawing an anguished scream from him. He felt like he was being burned alive from the inside out, not a single cell of his body spared this all-encompassing torture.

What had he been thinking?! He never stood a chance against Tommy, or whatever creature now wore his skin. He should have realized that when he saw Dream! Why didn’t he just run?! He’d been so utterly consumed by his rage that rational thought was a pipe dream.

When the pain finally ended, Sam was completely boneless on the ground. His mind felt strange like someone had cleared the fog that had plagued his thoughts for… longer than he could remember. His thoughts came easier to him, no longer held back by that oppressive rage that had kept him trapped.

The icy fingers returned to his hair, soothing whispers filling his ears. Sam just sank into it all, finally giving in to his exhaustion. He’d lost, there was no denying that. Whatever happened when he woke up, he wouldn’t fight it. Even if Tommy decided to kill him, he would accept his fate. After everything Sam had done to the teen, Tommy had long ago earned that right.

Chapter 9: The Second Addition

Chapter Text

Daedalus

A quiet groan escaped Sam as consciousness returned to him. His eyes slowly opened, and he found himself in a room he did not recognize. It was a small room, just big enough for two beds, a pair of nightstands, and nothing more. He was occupying one of these beds, soft blankets covering his stiff, aching body.

Sam slowly pushed himself up, leaning against the headboard as he pulled back the covers to take stock of his condition. The first thing he noticed was that he was completely naked, his body devoid of any form of clothing. Granted, his fawn-like physique ensured his modesty even in such a state of undress, but it was still disconcerting. 

The second thing he noticed was that someone had carefully cleaned and tended to every single wound he’d been given. This was a surprise for the disgraced Warden, who expected to be left for dead in the wake of his defeat, or maybe left to rot in a cage somewhere, his wounds open and festering to prolong his suffering. Instead, here he was on a soft bed, his wounds taken care of, and seemingly left to his own devices.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes drew Sam’s attention to the second bed, where someone else was beginning to wake up. After a moment, the figure sat up, revealing themselves to be Dream. Seeing the man caused Sam to freeze and cold dread to seep into his soul. He wasn’t going to die, but whatever Tommy had done to Dream… he was going to be made to endure as well.

Sam watched as Dream turned to him, the broken man’s breath catching as he caught sight of his former warden. They stared at one another, frozen in that moment and unsure of what to do. After a few more awkward seconds of staring, Dream cleared his throat, straightening up as if gathering his courage.

“H-hey…” Even his voice sounded broken, his tone meek and submissive. “How are you feeling?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a cough and a small plume of smoke. Seeing that, Dream hopped out of bed, grabbing a small glass that was sitting on Sam’s nightstand. He held it out to Sam, revealing the contents to be water. While Sam was wary of the offering, he got the feeling that Dream wouldn’t try to hurt him. The former tyrant was gone, and this humble shell probably couldn’t hurt a fly.

Sam took the glass of water, downing the contents in an attempt to soothe his very dry throat. After taking a moment to savor the cool liquid, he handed the glass back to Dream before taking a breath.

“Where… where am I?” he asked, keeping his voice down as he spoke.

Dream set the glass down before beginning to make his bed.

“We’re in Master’s enclave. He brought you here after the fight.”

“M-Master?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed a bit. “You mean T-”

Sam couldn’t even utter the first syllable before Dream turned around, a look of sheer panic on his face. It was enough to cause Sam’s thoughts to stutter and his voice to die in his throat.

“We’re not allowed to use Master’s name,” Dream said in a harsh whisper, his eyes darting around as if he expected something to jump out of the shadows.

“We… we’re not?” Sam’s mind was struggling to process everything. “Dream, what’s going-”

“Clay.”

Sam paused, looking up at Dream in confusion. “What?”

“Clay,” Dream repeated, sitting down on his now perfectly made bed. “My name’s Clay, not Dream. Master… he gave me a new name.”

Sam blinked, then he thought back to when Tommy had stepped into the clearing for the duel. He remembered how he brought Dream with him, calling him Clay before ordering him to kneel. A cold lump of dread welled up in his throat as he realized just how badly Tommy had broken the man before him. Dream was indeed gone, and Clay had taken his place.

“D- Clay…” Sam took a breath, steeling himself for what he was about to ask. “What’s going on? Why am I here?”

He hesitated a moment longer. “What happened to you?”

Clay seemed hesitant to answer, or maybe he just didn’t have one. He just sat on his bed, rubbing the golden collar around his neck. Seeing the golden restraint locked on Clay’s throat pulled another memory out of the aether, of something solid and cold wrapping around his neck. Sam’s eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath, slowly reaching up with a trembling hand to feel his throat. His fingers made contact with the cool metal enclosed around his neck, and Sam felt his heart skip a beat. Everything clicked into place, and everything finally made sense.

“Clay…” Sam’s voice was shaking from the onslaught of emotions ripping through him. “We’re slaves… aren’t we?”

A silent nod from Clay confirmed everything, and Sam let out a shaking breath. Slave… he was a slave. This was his punishment, their punishment, for everything they’d done to Tommy. The boy had spent his three previous lives being tormented and tortured by Dream, losing each of those precious lives to the masked madman. Now, in this unnatural fourth life, wielding his immeasurable power in his icy cold hand, Tommy was finally getting his revenge.

Dream had been his first target, and no doubt the enslavement of the now broken man was poetic justice. After all, Sam could vividly remember Dream’s accounts of everything he’d done to Tommy in Exile, his plans for what he would do when he got out. Dream had nearly broken Tommy, making the boy his slave. Now, Tommy had turned the tables on his former abuser and ensured that Dream, now Clay, could never regain his long-lost power.

Leaning back against the headboard of his bed, Sam let out a trembling breath. He held no illusions of his fate now that he was collared. While he may not have done half the things Clay had done in his previous life, the creeper was no less guilty of hurting Tommy. He chose prison protocols over the life of a boy he’d once seen as a son. He left the boy locked in a cell with the man who had tortured him, allowing him to be killed.

He deserved this. He deserved whatever Tommy… no. He deserved whatever Master decided to do with him.

“Sam?” Clay’s soft-spoken voice called out.

Sam blinked, turning to Clay with nearly lifeless eyes.

“What happens now?”

Clay stood up, holding out a hand.

“Now, I take you to Master. He told me to bring you to him once you had a chance to come to your senses.”

Wordlessly, Sam got up from the bed, stumbling slightly on shaky legs. He took Clay’s hand to steady himself, then followed his fellow slave out of the bedroom. 

Slave… That word seemed to sink deep into his soul. He was a slave now, nothing more than property. He was a thing, a tool… and he found himself okay with that. He deserved whatever Master decided he deserved, and if he wanted Sam as an obedient thrall, then Sam would do everything in his power to be that. He could do this. He could do this…

Sam was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice when Clay stopped walking. He nearly ran into the man, thankfully stopping just in time and catching himself before he fell. Nervously, he glanced around, trying to figure out where he was.

The room itself had a tall ceiling that arched in an almost grand manner. A simple, wooden chandelier with candles illuminated the room, shining down on everything. The room itself was almost empty, save for a long, red carpet that led to a raised platform. On this platform were two burning braziers, one on either side of a tall, deepslate throne. Bones protruded from the sides of the throne, framing it menacingly.

Master was sitting upon this throne, one leg casually thrown over the other as he propped one elbow on the arm of the chair. The casual power that Master was giving off as he looked down upon his slaves sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. He swallowed hard, his already weak legs shaking in fear.

His collar buzzed softly, eliciting a flinch from Sam as Clay straightened up visibly. Sam was terrified they were about to be shocked, but instead, Master gestured to a small cushion set up next to his throne.

“Clay, come,” he ordered, pointing to the cushion. “Kneel.”

Despite what he had witnessed in the clearing, the sight of Clay instantly obeying Master still caught Sam off guard. He watched Clay sink to his knees at his Master’s side, marveling at just how small he looked. It was hard to believe that this had once been Dream and that Master had once been Tommy. The complete shift in their dynamic, and the obvious show of power from Master, left Sam reeling.

Sam felt the full ramifications of his situation hit him at that moment. He was standing before the boy not as the father figure he had tried to be, but as a slave. A slave who had left his Master to die in the most brutal and cruel way possible. He suppressed a whimper, holding no delusions about what would happen. Master was going to break him, train him like he trained Clay. Would there even be anything left of him when Master was done?

Putting conscious effort into keeping himself from shaking, Sam lifted his head to meet his Master’s gaze. He almost immediately looked away when his eyes met those frosty, inhuman orbs. His breathing hitched, and his throat seized.

“Come,” Master commanded, pointing at a second cushion set up on the other side of the throne. “Kneel.”

Startling slightly, Sam quickly made to obey, sinking onto the cushion. He did his best to copy Clay’s stance, desperate to not mess up and give Master any reason to hurt him unnecessarily. Luckily, Master seemed pleased with his obedience, a soft, cool hand coming to rest on the crown of his head. Sam stiffened, his breath coming out in short, wheezing gasps, but everything began to slow down as a gentle, cooling sensation spread from Master’s palm.

As a creeper hybrid, Sam was used to running hot. He had gunpowder in his veins and breathed smoke half the time. Coolness and cold were almost foreign sensations, and yet he couldn’t help but feel soothed by the gentleness of everything. His lungs began to relax, his breathing steady as he sank into the touch.

Unlike before, when Master had manhandled him in the clearing, Sam’s mind was completely clear. He was being coaxed into a relaxed mind frame, but he could still think for himself. He could probably pull away if he so desired, but he just… didn’t want to. If this was how Master wanted to indoctrinate him, with soft, icy touches, then who was he to complain?

After a moment or two, Master moved his hand from Sam’s hair, trailing down his cheek before cupping his chin and tilting it upwards. Sam choked down a pleased hiss at the sting of Master’s cool touch against his still-sensitive skin.

”You have been freed from your madness, now you simply need to recover from it,” Master said in a haunting tone. “You are no longer the same man who constructed the Pandorica. You are no longer the same man who saw himself as my father. You are now my slave and because of this, you shall be renamed.” 

Sam, though he supposed he couldn’t call himself that anymore, couldn’t help but flinch at the reminder of his failure. He closed his eyes, letting go of his old name. It didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t Sam anymore. He was whomever his Master decided he would be.

“From now on, you will be known as Daedalus.”

Daedalus. The name was familiar, like a story he’d heard while growing up. He quickly remembered after a brief moment, recalling the tale of Daedalus and his son Icarus. Daedalus had built an inescapable prison, much like he had. But then the minotaur escaped, and the builder and his son were thrown in. In time, Daedalus was able to escape from the prison of his own making, but only at the cost… of… his son…

Daedalus slowly glanced up at Master, the white-haired, deathly pale creature that had once been a vibrant teenage boy. Unbidden, tears came to his eyes as all the emotions inside him boiled over. He choked and sobbed, biting his lip to keep quiet as he cried. He had failed Tommy, just like his namesake had failed Icarus. He had failed, and this was his punishment.

The cool hand retracted from his hair, and Daedalus quickly realized he had been staring at Master’s face for far longer than he was probably allowed. Immediately, his gaze shot to the ground in front of him, whimpering at his almost immediate failure. Master’s hand returned to his head, soothingly petting him.

“Do not cry, Daedalus. Here, you are safe. Here, you are home.”


Watcher

The Watcher of Death was lurking in the shadows of a penthouse office in Las Nevadas. There, he could see his best friend, Quackity from Las Nevadas, pacing around the room like a caged animal. His best friend had been growing more and more agitated as of late, and the Watcher couldn’t help but be concerned. So, putting on his usual grin on his goopy face, he stepped out of the shadows, waving excitedly.

“Quackity from Las Nevadas!” The Watcher shouted.

Quackity jumped, letting out a shriek that was a bit high-pitched as he turned around. When his eyes landed on the Watcher, the scarred man let out a breath, putting a hand to his chest.

“Damnit, Slime! What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?!”

The Watcher cocked his head, confused as to why Quackity sounded upset. In the end, he brushed it off, continuing to smile his big, chipper smile. “What are you doing, Quackity from Las Nevadas?”

Quackity stared at the Watcher for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not sharing his woes was worth it. No doubt this was due to the naive facade that he portrayed, along with his endless optimism. In truth, the Watcher was none of these things but sought to bring back even a small piece of the happiness and light that had once flourished on this server. If that meant playing the part of the fool, then he would for as long as need be.

“Do you remember when I told you about Dream escaping from prison?” The Watcher nodded, and Quackity seemed mildly relieved that he didn’t need to re-explain something. Maybe the Watcher was playing his fool role a bit too well. “Well, not only can we still not find him, but Sam has gone missing.”

“Sam from the Pandorica?”

Quackity just nodded, beginning to pace rapidly.

“We were supposed to meet up yesterday because he said he might have a lead on who took Dream. I told him not to go alone, but clearly,  he didn’t listen. And- and do you want to hear the worst part?”

“What’s the worst part, Quackity from Las Nevadas?” the Watcher chirped obediently.

“The worst part is that he didn’t even tell me what his lead was!” Quackity threw his hands in the air at that before turning and kicking his trash can. “Fuck! There are only so many people who are stronger than Sam, and I don’t even know where to begin!!

The Watcher knew. He had witnessed the Master of Death’s victory over Sam from the Pandorica, and he knew that the man Quackity knew as the Warden was no more. He knew, but he wouldn’t tell. Not yet at least. The Master wasn’t ready for Quackity to join, so the Watcher would keep what he saw to himself.

“Sounds like you need help, Quackity from Las Nevadas.” He made sure to keep his voice light and airy, taking advantage of his friend’s perceived notion of his intelligence. “Hmm… who is the most powerful person…” Who would ditzy, innocent Slime see as the most powerful? “Oh! Eret from Pride Palace! They’re powerful, right? They’re the King!”

Quackity turned around, opening his mouth to argue, but stopped before he said a single word. The Watcher could see the gears in his head turning, as he processed this information.

“Yeah… Yeah, Eret.” Quackity began nodding, smoothing out his shirt before straightening his tie. “I mean, they’re the King, meaning they know just about everything that’s going on across the Dream SMP. It’s a long shot, but it’s better than nothing.” He chewed his lip, his scarred eye twitching. “I just hope I don’t end up making another powerful enemy.”

Quackity turned to go find the SMP’s monarch, putting his back to the Watcher. The sentient slime tilted the mass of goo that served as his head, watching the back of Quackity’s button-down shirt flutter in an unfelt breeze. Behind his glasses, the Watcher’s eyes followed that minute movement, reaching out to touch the fabric.

He just had time to feel something odd beneath Quackity’s shirt before the man shrieked, turning around and backhanding the Watcher. It didn’t hurt, or do much of anything, save for leaving a dent in his face, but the Watcher got what he wanted. Anyone who knew anything could tell what Quackity was hiding beneath his shirt.

“Don’t touch me!” Quackity snapped, the back of his shirt straining slightly to contain its hidden treasures. “Never, ever fucking touch my back again, got it?!”

“Your back feels weird!” the Watcher insisted, playing once more on his perceived innocence. He knew what Quackity was hiding, but it was clear that the man, or more appropriately, the avian, would prefer that secret to remain one for now.

“I don’t care!” Quackity shook out his hand, which was now covered in slime. “Don’t you dare touch my back again!”

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply before stomping out of the office, slamming the door behind him. The Watcher watched him go, letting go of his bubbly persona and sighing in concern. He was worried about his friend, knowing he was slowly getting worse. However, he was not without hope. The Master would soon come for Quackity, come to take him like he would take everyone else. In time, his friend would be safe. The Watcher knew this. All he had to do was wait.

Chapter 10: Integration and Conversation

Chapter Text

Clay

Clay was in the kneeling position in the padded training room, dutifully watching Master and waiting for his next command. Next to him was Daedalus, who was the focus of today’s training session, also in the kneel position. A few days had gone by since Master’s duel with the former Warden, and Clay was still trying to get used to the man’s presence. Some lingering fear from his time as Dream kept him wary of his fellow slave, but he knew that here, at Master’s feet, they were equals.

The more Clay thought about it, Daedalus was his junior here. Clay knew what to expect from Master, knew the commands, and the basic rules. Daedalus was still learning, which was why he was currently receiving some personal attention from the Master about rules and commands. Clay wasn’t quite sure why he was present for this, but he was not about to question the man who owned him.

“Clay, Submit.”

Upon hearing his name, Clay immediately got into position. He rolled onto his back, turning his head to the side so his neck was offered up. His legs were spread, ankles perpendicular to his shoulders, and his arms were above his head, wrists crossed. 

From this position, he could make out Daedalus watching him, and he felt a twinge of anxiety roll down his spine. Still, he didn’t dare disobey Master, knowing what his owner expected when a command was given. Internally, Clay swelled with pride that he could respond as quickly as he did, especially when Master didn’t have to come and correct him. He was getting better by the day, and he was pleasing his Master with his obedience.

“Daedalus, Submit.”

Clay blinked, genuinely surprised that Master was giving out such a complex order this early in Daedalus’ training. Still, he kept silent and watched, grateful he had chosen to tilt his head in the direction of his fellow slave. To his surprise, Daedalus copied his pose almost to perfection, only requiring a few small adjustments. That was impressive, to say the least, the command taking Clay a week to get right. How has Daedalus managed to learn it so-?

Realization dawned and Clay felt like an idiot. His presence now made sense. Clay performed the command first, and Daedalus had copied him! That swell of pride he’d felt at his achievements grew and he couldn’t keep a smile off his face. Master thought he was doing well enough that he was being used as an example of how a good slave should act. Relaxing ever so slightly, Clay basked in the comfort of his submission, watching Master work with Daedalus.

At the moment, Master was trailing his hands across his fellow slave’s body, no doubt as a reward for his completion of the Submit command. Clay supposed he should have felt jealous of Daedalus, maybe felt as if the creeper hybrid was hogging Master’s affections. In truth, he was grateful Master was showing such affection to the newest member of the enclave. 

He knew from personal experience that performing the commands for the first time was daunting, to say the least. He was used to them, and he still found them a bit off-putting, especially now that he was performing them in front of someone. Seeing the command from the outside, it was finally dawning on Clay just how terrifying it must look to others, how terrifying it must have looked for Daedalus. And yet, the man was already making swift progress, showing no outward signs of uneasiness or discomfort.

A sharp whistle snapped Clay out of his thoughts, pulling him back into the here and now. “Up,” Master commanded, clearly addressing both of his slaves.

With practiced precision, Clay lifted himself off the ground, gracefully rising until he was standing at attention. Once more Daedalus copied him, though his movements were a bit more jerky and uncoordinated. Clay wrote it off as a lack of practice, as well as lingering pain from his remaining injuries. All the same, Master seemed pleased, running his deliciously cool hands across both of their backs.

The touch brought a shudder of relief to Clay as he closed his eyes, feeling like he was going to melt into those cool fingers. He felt the hand drift across his back before dancing gently across his ribs, filling his lungs with blissfully cold air. He doubted he would ever get used to the feeling of Master’s touch, but it was a wonderful part of his new life that he would never try and fight.

“Clay, Down.”

Clay dropped to the ground immediately, stretching his legs out behind him. His forehead came to rest on the floor, his arms on either side of his body. His legs were closed, and he was essentially in a half-lotus position. The first time he assumed this position, Clay had expected a whipping, or perhaps to be stepped on like a doormat. But now, he knew that the only thing he would feel on his back was his Master’s cool fingers.

Master crouched down, gently running his hand along Clay’s spine and causing the slave to release a long breath. Clay almost wished he was the type of hybrid that could purr, wanting to show his Master how much he enjoyed the affection. He suppressed a groan when the hand was removed, watching as Master approached Daedalus, who was still in the Up position.

“Daedalus, Down.”

Like before, the creeper hybrid copied Clay almost to perfection, lowering himself to the floor and assuming the proper position. Watching him, Clay could make out a slight trembling in Daedalus’ hands, as well as how stiff his body was. Even when the Master began to rub his back as a reward, the slave didn’t fully relax. Clay felt sympathy for his fellow slave, knowing that feeling of fear all too well. He could only hope Daedalus would adjust soon, and learn that he didn’t have to be afraid.


Daedalus

Master released his slaves, and Daedalus found himself at a loss. He knew what Release meant, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself during this free time. He hadn’t been assigned any chores yet, but Clay had his assignment with the animals. Daedalus' skills revolved around redstone and smithing, something he was pretty sure that if he asked for would be denied. Thus, the creeper slave elected to follow his fellow slave.

As the two ventured outside, Daedalus marveled, not for the first time, that he was even allowed outside. Sure they were confined to the enclave, but it was more freedom than he expected. Honestly, he had expected to be kept locked up unless he was put to use, made to spend his “free time” in a cage or chains. Instead, none of the doors even had locks on them.

Nothing about Daedalus’ Master made any sense. The creeper hybrid should have been whipped into submission, his back riddled with scars from that horrible bone whip. Instead, Master only ever trailed his cold fingers through Daedalus’ fur, gently correcting mistakes while rewarding every success. The actions were strange but effective, and that scared Daedalus.

As a hybrid, Daedalus was no stranger to the tales of the hybrid markets. He had grown up on horror stories of what happened to the hybrids who ended up taken and sold off like little more than animals. Most of the time, they were used as beasts of burden or exotic pets. However, some ended up the worst of all, pleasure slaves for their Masters. 

Upon discovering that he was not to be granted anything resembling clothing, Daedalus was certain this was to be his fate. His Master’s touch-heavy training certainly didn’t help with these fears, the creeper hybrid having had most of his upper body caressed or petted since he was collared. It was only a matter of time before he would be taken to bed, or perhaps Master would simply order him to Submit, taking him on the floor for all to see.

Shaking his head, Daedalus pulled himself out of his anxious spiral to observe Clay, his fellow slave. Even after all this time, it was hard to believe that this timid, obedient thrall had once been the tyrannical ruler of the SMP. The serenity that seemed to surround the man was utterly astonishing as if he was completely unbothered by his complete lack of control. How could he be so calm when Master could do whatever he wanted to the man? For that matter, what had Master done to Clay already?

Daedalus needed answers. He needed to know what to expect. He needed to know, or else the uncertainty of everything would cause him to literally explode. Steeling his resolve, Daedalus approached Clay, who was bent over the chicken coop to scatter some bird seed. He tapped the man on the shoulder, and Clay all but screamed, dropping the bag of seed before turning around in alarm. Seeing the deep-seated terror on his face, Daedalus quickly stepped back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“I- I’m sorry,” he hastily stammered out. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Slowly, Clay began to relax, clearly discerning that Daedalus was no threat to him. Some of the tenseness remained though, and Daedalus couldn’t help but cringe. Just what had Master done to this man to make him this fearful?

“I- It's fine,” Clay let out, trying to give his fellow slave a relaxed smile. “I just wasn't expecting you to be there. It's been just me and Master for the entire time I've been here so…” 

Clay tried to keep his voice even, but Daedalus could still hear the way it shook slightly. He struggled not to cringe at the meaning most likely hidden behind those words.

“Clay… Can- Can I ask you something?”

Clay blinked, a bit confused, but he gave a tentative nod. “Uh… yeah, sure.”

“T-” Daedalus bit his lip, stopping himself before he uttered Master’s name. He was a slave, and slaves weren’t allowed to use their Master’s real name. “Master, what did he do to you?”

Clay cocked his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

In answer, Daedalus gestured to his fellow slave's body with one hand. “I mean… look at yourself. You- You’re not supposed to be like this. You’re supposed to be Dream, the tyrant of the SMP.”

Clay flinched at the mention of his old name, stepping away from Daedalus and curling in on himself.

“I’m not Dream anymore. I’m Clay…”

“But how?” Daedalus could barely keep his voice at a reasonable level. “Quackity tortured you for months and you never broke. You kept insisting on and on that you were a God, that you were the most powerful man on the server. You- you were proud of everything you did. You were proud that you traumatized a child, the same child you now obey without hesitation!”

A thready whimper made its way out of Clay’s throat, the man sinking onto his knees. He looked so small like that, so utterly powerless and weak. He looked so much like the slave he had become.

“I…” Clay hiccupped slightly, and Daedalus realized the man was crying. “I didn’t… I never wanted to be a monster… I thought-... I thought I was restoring the server to how it used to be… I just-...”

“You just wanted power.” Daedalus meant it as a jab, but it didn’t come out that way. More like he was trying to offer up an answer. “You wanted absolute control over everything and everyone.”

“I did…” Clay picked up the fallen bag of seeds in his shaking hands. “And please believe me when I say I am ashamed of what I did. I- I wish I could tell you my reasoning, say that- that the ends would justify the means… but the more I think about how I used to be… the more I realize how far I’d fallen.”

Hearing the genuine remorse in Clay’s voice caused Daedalus’ heart to soften somewhat. He recalled how he’d felt after Master had collared him, like a fog lifting from his mind that he hadn’t even realized was there. Had Clay been suffering from a similar affliction? Had he been cured like Daedalus had?

“I believe you,” Daedalus admitted, Clay’s head snapping up in surprise. “I felt the same way before Master collared me. I was so angry… so full of nothing but rage that I couldn’t think straight. I don’t know how long I was lost in that fog…” Daedalus screwed his eyes shut, fists clenching as he remembered all the cruel things he did as the Warden, “but I know it coerced me to do… terrible things.”

When Daedalus opened his eyes again, Clay was looking at him as if for the first time. Some of that earlier tenseness was gone, replaced with… empathy.

“Do you regret it?” Clay asked, his voice soft. “Do you regret what you did while under that fog?”

Daedalus nodded, reaching up with one hand to trace the edge of his collar.

“I do. And that’s why I know I deserve this.”

Silence fell over the pair for a moment, and Clay got back on his feet. He idly tossed some seeds at some of the chickens, then made for the barn to go and start milking the cows. He passed some buckets to Daedalus, who took them and went to help with the chore. As they worked, the creeper hybrid let out a breath.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Master encourages honesty, Daedalus.”

“Well… I don’t…” Daedalus hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I don’t… understand Master sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Clay questioned, leaning back so he could meet his fellow slave’s eye.

“I mean, with everything we’ve done, I was expecting to be beaten for every mistake. I was expecting to be starved, to be left to rot in some smelly, gloomy dungeon.”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt the same,” Clay admitted. “When Master first brought me here, I thought he was going to pick up where-” his breath hitched and his fists tightened slightly on the cow’s udder, “-where he left off.”

Daedalus knew who Clay was referring to. He grimaced in shame, looking away.

“But Master isn’t like that,” Clay went on, slowly relaxing before resuming his chores. “We get actual beds in an actual bedroom, he feeds us healthy meals three times a day, and since being here, I’ve only been punished once.”

“Only once?” Curiosity scratched at Daedalus’ mind. “What for?”

Clay cringed. “I’d… rather not talk about it. I… I did something stupid. Stupid enough that…” he let out a shuddering breath, “that I thought he was going to kill me, or worse.”

“But he didn’t…” Daedalus let out.

Clay shook his head. “But he didn’t.”

The silence returned, and Daedalus leaned back slightly, looking out the window of the barn. What was Master’s endgame here? Why was he being so kind to them? After everything they had done, Master should have hated them… so why didn’t he?


Alistair

Eret sat on their throne in the Pride Palace, massaging their temple to try and stave off a headache. The headache had plagued Eret for as long as they could remember, which was admittedly not far. Their life outside of the Dream SMP was a complete blank, and any attempt to remember this forgotten past would lead to this ever-present headache growing worse. Some days, it was manageable, but on days like today, the SMP Monarch felt completely overwhelmed by the pain.

It was moments like these that helped to hammer home just how alone Eret was. After L’Manberg, after the ultimate betrayal of their allies, Eret had been left completely alone. No one trusted them and they couldn’t fault anyone for that. If Eret was in their position, they wouldn’t trust them either. Thus, they suffered in their rainbow prison of a palace, longing for friendship that was forever beyond their reach.

A loud crash rang through the palace, jolting Eret from their thoughts. They looked up just in time to see the doors of the throne room being thrown open, allowing Quackity to come stalking in. 

“Eret! We need to talk! Now!” Quackity’s shout was unexpected, the sound echoing against the high ceiling.

Eret blinked in shock, quickly recovering while discretely summoning their sword. The monarch did not have the best of relationships with the Las Nevadas founder, and Eret wanted to make sure they had protection should this abrupt meeting turn violent.

“What’s this about, Quackity?” Eret questioned, keeping their voice calm and collected despite their nerves.

They observed the man for a brief moment, trying to figure out what he could want, only to take note of how pale the man seemed to be. His fingers were twitching as he paced in front of the throne, his eyes were darting around nervously, and he looked just about ready to explode.

“Are you alright?”

Quackity stopped in his tracks, speaking quietly at first.

“Am I alright? Am I-...” He let out a mad cackle, then resumed yelling. “Of course, I'm not alright!! He's out, Eret! Dream's out, he's escaped!”

Eret's heart dropped into their stomach, gut clenching at the mention of the mad tyrant. Dream was out? How was that even possible? Pandora’s Vault was meant to be impenetrable, which was the entire reason Dream had been put in there. How could he have escaped?!

“What happened?” Eret pressed, banishing their sword before stepping down from their throne. “Tell me everything you know. How did Dream escape?”

“I don't know!” Quackity shrieked, running his fingers through the hair sticking out from under his beanie. “All I know is some motherfucker broke in, took Dream, and now he's gone! And- and that’s not even the worst part! Whomever this fucker is, they took Sam too!”

“Sam too?” Eret felt like someone had ripped the rug out from underneath them. Someone had freed Dream and had done something to Sam. A cold lump of dread formed in Eret’s throat. “Who-... Who could have done this?”

“If I knew, do you think I’d be wasting my time here?!” Quackity snapped, clearly irritated. “I don’t know who did this or why, but I am going to find out! Even if I have to tear this entire server apart block by block!”

“Quackity!” Eret grabbed the irate man by the arms, forcing him to stop pacing. “You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?!” Quackity was practically foaming at the mouth, clearly getting more and more worked up by the second. “Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down!! The most dangerous man on this server is gone, and Sam's gone with him!”

“And you won't be able to find either of them if you’re stressing yourself into a panic attack.” Eret kept their voice even and calm, taking visible, deep breaths. “Breathe with me, okay? In the nose, out the mouth.”

Eret repeated this mantra a few more times, watching as Quackity reluctantly obeyed. After a moment or two, he seemed to be visibly calming down, even if his mind was still racing.

“Who could have done this?” Quackity muttered to himself. “Who could have broken into the prison like that? Who... would even want to? Nobody likes Dream…” The man seemed to find the idea of anyone liking Dream revolting.

“Well…” Eret chewed on their bottom lip, genuinely trying to figure out who fit the criteria. “Maybe it’s not about who likes Dream, maybe it’s about who would benefit. Who would benefit from Dream being free, and who among those people has the power and the resources to break into Pandora’s vault? And finally, who would have the battle prowess to take on Sam?”

Silence fell over the pair, both of them mulling over the clues before them. After a moment, Quackity’s head perked up, his eyes wide as an epiphany struck. He slapped his hand against his forehead, leaning back slightly.

“Of course…” he let out. “How could I have not seen it? Who else could it be?”

“Quackity?” Eret raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think--?”

“Technoblade…” Quackity interjected, slowly beginning to laugh again. It was an ugly, cold laughter without any amusement whatsoever. “It's fucking Technoblade!”

“Technoblade?”

It made sense the more Eret thought about it. Techno and Dream had worked together in the past and seemed to have some sort of partnership between them. And, most damning of all...

“Didn’t he owe Dream a favor?”

Quackity began nodding, a murderous grin spreading across his face.

“The favor… and Dream called it in so he could escape because if there’s anyone on this fucking server who could decimate the Prison like that, it’s fucking Technoblade.”

The man turned on his heels, stalking out of the palace.

“Where are you going?” Eret called out.

“To do what I should have done months ago!” Quackity shouted back as he reached the palace doors. “I am going to gut that anarchist pig!!”

He slammed the palace doors shut behind him with a loud crash, leaving Eret alone once more. The monarch returned to their throne, sending up a silent prayer to Prime that Quackity would be safe. Deep down, they knew he would need it.

Chapter 11: Mischievous Pets

Chapter Text

Daedalus

Fran was in the Enclave. Daedalus wasn’t sure when his faithful dog had been brought in, but he would know that fluffy Samoyed anywhere. The yellow collar with her name engraved on the tag was also a dead giveaway. At the sight of his beloved pet waiting for him in the barn, Daedalus dropped the buckets he’d been holding, gasping in shock as Fran came barreling toward him. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, ears ringing from happy barks and face covered in slobber.

“Fran?” he let out, laughing slightly as he happily scratched behind her ears. “Fran, what are you doing here?”

Fran just barked, continuing her playful assault on his upper body. He managed to push her off long enough to sit up, then resumed petting her and loving on her.

“Did you come looking for me?” Fran barked again. “You were missing me, weren’t you girl? Wanted to make sure nothing happened to your Ma-”

He broke off abruptly, nearly biting his tongue when he realized what he had nearly called himself. His collar suddenly felt tight around his neck, and he reached up to touch it tentatively. As he did this, his eyes drifted down to Fran’s collar, wondering if the dog had ever been afraid of him like he was afraid of his own Master. His stomach clenched at the idea, figuring that there had probably been moments, especially during his tenure as the Warden, where she had been afraid. The idea made him feel sick and he hugged Fran close, struggling to keep his breathing even.

“Daedalus.”

Panic lanced through the man, instincts kicking in as he jumped to his feet. He turned around, coming face to face with Master. His white-haired owner was standing in the doorway of the barn, leaning against the open door with an unreadable expression. Daedalus swallowed hard and Fran barked out a greeting. Before Daedalus could stop her, she was bounding over to Master, jumping up on him. Daedalus cringed, praying Master would not punish the dog for getting fur on his black cloak.

“Hello Fran,” Master greeted, completely unphased by the hair now covering him as he scratched behind the dog’s ear. “Is Daedalus keeping you company?”

Daedalus’ pulse sped up, his heart hammering in his chest. He was supposed to be milking the cows, but Master had caught him slacking off and playing with his dog. Even worse, if Master had been there long enough, he might have heard Daedalus nearly refer to himself as Master. Such crimes would surely earn him a punishment, either for himself… or maybe Fran.

Of course, how could he have been so blind? Master had brought Fran to the Enclave! Smart as Fran was, there was no way she could have gotten here on her own, especially from where he usually hid her. If Master could demolish Pandora’s Vault, it made sense that he could easily break into his old base. He must have brought her here as some sort of test, one he’d apparently failed.

“Sadly, I’m afraid playtime is over,” Master declared, gently pushing Fran back to the ground. “I require Daedalus for a moment.”

His heart skipped a beat, a feeling of dread washing over him. Master was going to punish him for sure. He could only hope that Fran would not be the subject of the punishment, even if deep down, he knew he had no choice in the matter. He watched as Master made a shooing motion with his hand, immediately trying to think if he knew the command affiliated with the signal.

“Daedalus, Come.”

Daedalus blinked, and it dawned on him that the signal hadn’t been meant for him, but for Fran. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, watching as Fran trotted back into the safety of the barn. She wasn’t going to be the subject of his punishment, thank Prime. Sparing her one last glance, Daedalus quickly trotted after Master, not wanting to keep him waiting.

Leaving the barn, Master led Daedalus over to a small covered area that seemed to be freshly constructed. The ground was lined with cobblestone, and there were furnaces and anvils set out. Barrels labeled with different supplies lined an entire wall, and Daedalus couldn’t help the thrill of excitement that ran through him.

It was a forge. A rudimentary one, but a forge nonetheless. Was this where Master was going to have him work? No, it couldn’t be that. There was no way Master was giving him a forge to work in. There had to be another reason he was here, something relating to his punishment perha-

Oh.

Oh…

It hit Daedalus like a full-speed minecart. His eyes fell on the open flame furnaces that were already crackling with life, and he had to swallow down a cold lump of fear. Of course, how could he have forgotten? He was a slave, and slaves were no better than livestock. And what did one do to livestock?

Brand it.

“Daedalus, kneel,” Master commanded, pointing at the very center of the forge.

Barely able to keep his body from shaking, Daedalus knelt where he was directed. This was actually happening. He was going to be branded. He wondered how big it would be, or where Master would put it. Would Master allow him time to rest after the branding, or would he be made to return to work immediately? In the end, it didn’t matter. He was a slave, and he would do as his Master commanded.

As Master’s footsteps drew closer, Daedalus braced himself, waiting for the inevitable pain to start. That’s when a cool hand cupped his chin, lifting his head so he was looking up at his Master.

“This will be your new workstation when you are released to complete your chores. You will be given a list of tasks to complete, from repair work to redstone. Once you have completed your assigned tasks, you are free to use this space however you wish.”

Daedalus felt like he’d been thrown for a loop. Was… was Master having him work in the forge? Was this not to be the place of his punishment?

“If you require the area to be expanded for any reason, come to me with your request. Also, any weapons or tools you create are to be immediately surrendered to me. Understood?.”

No! He didn’t understand! Why was he being given a forge? Why was he being gifted with the one job he actually enjoyed? Why was he not suffering as he rightfully should be?

“Y-yes, Master…” was all he could bring himself to say.

Master pulled away at that moment, then approached a work table situated against the wall. It was covered in a white tarp, one Master quickly pulled away. Daedalus felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw what lay atop the table: the rusted remains of Sam Nook.

The little tanuki robot was in horrible shape, his joints covered in rust and the remnants of weeds poking out of him. His eyes were hollow, devoid of any life whatsoever, and his work clothes looked like they’d been torn apart by the elements. Seeing the state of the robot, Daedalus couldn’t help but shudder. How long had Sam Nook stood outside of the Big Innit hotel, waiting for Tommy to return? How long had it taken for Sam Nook to finally shut down, succumbing to the damage to his systems?

“This will be your first task,” Master declared, running his hand along Sam Nook’s head in an almost tender manner. “You will repair Nook to the best of your abilities. Some tweaks may be needed to accommodate for the changes to the server since his deactivation, but aside from that, I want his internal processor untouched.”

In that brief moment, Daedalus saw a glimpse of the boy he’d once seen as his son. It was the tiniest of glimpses, but it was enough to break through the dam holding back his anguish. He’d done this. He’d allowed Tommy to die, and become this… thing. To become a creature that didn’t even seem human anymore. He deserved to suffer, so why… why…

“Master…” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “Please…”

Master’s head perked slightly, turning back towards his slave.

“Please what, Daedalus?”

“Please, I-... I can’t take it anymore…” Daedalus curled in on himself, his eyes stinging as smoke began to trickle out of his mouth. “Just-... Just do it already.”

“Daedalus…” Master almost sounded concerned as he spoke, turning away from the fallen robot to give the creeper his full attention. “Whatever do you mean?”

Daedalus lifted his head, feeling his tears streaming down his face.

“I know why you brought me here… I know I deserve to be punished. So why… Why haven’t you done it yet? What are you waiting for?”

Master came over to Daedalus, crouching down before pulling the creeper into a gentle embrace. The coolness of Master’s skin washed over him as he continued to sob, unconsciously leaning into his owner’s chest.

“Why do you think you need to be punished?” He could feel Master’s voice reverberating throughout his body.

“Because I let you die… Because I wasn't there to protect you like I promised. Because I hurt you…”

His mind helpfully reminded him of how he allowed Quackity to torture Dream, ignoring his morals in the process. Deep in the background of his mind, he could also see a hazy memory of a room full of lava, bloody key cards, and a severed arm. He cringed, curling up in Master's lap.

“I deserve to suffer, Master… I know you brought us… brought me here to be punished, so, please… Whip me until my back is raw, brand me like the slave I am, throw me down and ravage me like you have every right to… Just…” his tears redoubled and he hiccupped, “Just get it over with…”

A gentle hand ran through Daedalus’ fur. “If I truly wanted to punish you for the things you have done, don’t you think I would have done so already?”

That actually gave Daedalus pause. If Master truly wanted to punish him, he would have already. Why would he have dragged it out for this long? It didn’t make sense, but neither did allowing his crimes to go unpunished. Daedalus felt his head starting to hurt as he tried to figure out what was going on.

“Then… if you don’t want to punish me… then why-... why am I here?”

Master continued his soft petting, rocking Daedalus gently. “You are here to be cleansed. You are here to be guided. You are here to recover. You are here to grieve, and you are here to move forward into a better life.”

“Then why did you enslave me? Why did you enslave Clay? Why do you keep us so vulnerable and exposed?”

Never had that statement felt more true than in that moment, his naked form shaking in the grip of his owner. However, Master did nothing but continue to rock him, the soft, gentle touches lulling him to sleep.

“This world lacks order and structure, its pillars of power long corrupted and broken. Left to your own devices, this world would devolve into a wasteland of pain and misery. How many more lives would soon be lost to the chaos of this world if I don't attempt to reign it in?”

Daedalus wanted to argue, but he couldn't find anything to refute. Everything the Master had said was the truth. He knew firsthand how chaotic the world was, to the point that even the building meant to keep the server safe had become corrupted and cruel. He knew he had a role to play in that corruption, and it made his already fragile heart break.

“Master... I... I'm sorry…” His tears returned and he buried his face in Master's chest. He repeated those words over and over. “I'm sorry... I'm sorry…”

Master rubbed his back, letting the coolness of his touch soothe the distraught slave. Without any clothes on, the creeper hybrid could feel his owner’s cold touch all over his body, increasing the potency of the calmness. At that moment, he realized why he was left so exposed. It was not so he could be taken whenever Master wished... it was so Master could better help his slaves in moments like this.

“I seek not your apologies, nor your pain and suffering,” Master told Daedalus, his voice low and calm, like a balm on heated skin. “I seek to rebuild you into something better than what you were. I forgive you for what you've done, you need not worry about punishment for your past actions, only your future ones.” 

Master pulled Daedalus back so they were meeting each others’ eyes.

“The only one whose forgiveness you should seek... is yourself.”


Thanatos

Phil counted the crows perched along the commune fence line for what felt like the hundredth time. He checked each personalized crow for the unique tag he put on them, trying to find one in particular: Joey. Joey was one of Phil’s more loyal crows, always helping to corral the murder, or bringing him more shiny trinkets than he knew what to do with. It was why he’d sent Joey out to find out the source of his ever-growing anxieties, and it was why his absence was sending the man into a massive spiral.

“Alright, where’s Joey?” he questioned, addressing all the birds at once. His crows were an incredibly social bunch that knew each other very well. They almost always knew where each other was, so they had to know where Joey was… right?

“Had he been back all?”

The crows looked among themselves, cawing and tweeting. To anyone else, it was just meaningless bird noises, but Phil could understand them perfectly.

"Who's Joey?"
"Do you know a Joey?" 
"I don't know a Joey"
"Oldza"

Phil felt his blood run cold. Joey was one of their leaders, one of the murder that everyone knew. There was no way they’d forgotten him! This had to be a troll. This was serious.

“Guys, don’t do this to me. You know Joey! He’s one of your leaders! How could you not remember Joey?!”

Once again, the crows began to caw loudly amongst themselves.

"Oldza"
"Who's Joey?"
"No Joey here"
"Cringe"

No. No, no, no… What happened to his crows? What could have made them forget one of their own?

“Phil?”

Something was seriously wrong here. Had something gotten to his crows? Was the mysterious source of his anxieties screwing with his chat? Had Joey been somehow… erased?

Phil…

Maybe this was a ban? No, this wasn’t like a ban. The crows would remember those they banned. This was something entirely new. It was a troll. This was something that Phil had never-

“Phil!”

A hand came down on Phil’s shoulder and the man let out a bird-like shriek, his feathers fluffing out defensively as he turned around. He came face to face with Techno, who easily sidestepped the wing swipe aimed at him. Was that from training, or from how jumpy he’d been lately? How many times had he almost attacked Techno since this whole thing started?

“Phil, I’ve been calling your name for the past five minutes. It’s getting late and there’s a storm coming in.”

Phil let out an angry sigh, shaking his head before turning back to his crows. Techno’s care was welcoming smothering and he needed to focus on the murder’s antics and sudden amnesia. Wait… was it even sudden? Could they have been like this for weeks? How had he not noticed?! The idea was utterly terrifying, shaking him to his core. Part of it was probably the cold.

A warm, heavy cloak was wrapped around him like a blanket, smothering him in warmth and the heavy scent of Technoblade. A side glance from the corner of his eye showed the piglin responsible for this sudden warmth.

“Phil, did you even hear me? I said there’s a storm coming. Get inside before your old man bones freeze.” There might have been a teasing tone in Techno’s voice, but Phil could hardly tell. His mind was swirling with panic as he tried once more to find his missing crow among the hundreds scattered across the fence.

“I’m trying to find Joey,” he insisted, struggling to keep his voice even. “The other crows are saying that they don’t even know who he is… Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what…”

His breathing was getting harsher, panic making his lungs uncooperative. He looked at Techno’s face, hoping that he held the answers he so desperately needed. Instead, all he was met with was Techno’s signature deadpan stare.

“Phil, they're trolling you. This-...” the piglin pinched the bridge of his snout, seemingly concerned annoyed with his avian companion. “This is the oldest trick in the book, Phil.”

“Techno, you don’t understand.” Phil turned to face his friend. “I sent Joey out weeks ago to try and find out what was going on. He should have been back by now, but he’s not. And now, the crows don’t even know who he is!”

“Maybe he hasn't come back because he hasn't found anything,” Techno tried to rationalize. “Or he's stealing birdseed from Antfrost's animal sanctuary again. He's a crow, Phil. And, again, they’re just trolling you about the forgetting him bit.”

“But something is wrong, Techno!” He could feel it in his bones. Whatever it was, it was growing stronger every day. It was only a matter of time before it came for him, for them.

“Phil,” Techno let out a long breath, placing both of his hands on Phil's shoulders. “I love you. You're the one person in the world I would kill and/or die for. You have got to calm down. You're not thinking clearly, and you're acting irrational.”

Phil covered his ears, screwing his eyes shut as he shook his head. He couldn’t handle Techno’s caring condescending tone right now. He just couldn’t!

“But something is wrong!" He shouted, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay.

Techno didn’t seem to appreciate being shouted at. It had probably aggravated the Voices.

“Nothing is wrong, Phil!” Techno jammed two fingers against the side of his skull. “It’s all in your head!”

“I’m not crazy, Techno!”

“I never said you were!” Techno sucked in a breath, rubbing his temples from a headache that was most likely the Voices going haywire aggravated by his shouting. “Phil, you gotta relax. Nothing is wrong. Joey is fine, everything is fine.”

Phil was on the verge of breaking down sobbing. Why couldn’t Techno see it?! Why did he refuse to believe him?! 

"It’s not fine, Techno…" He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking.

Techno sighed, his fists tight as he tried to calm his Voices tried to keep his anger from showing.

“Look, how about this. You go inside, warm up, and I'll take Steve and scout the perimeter. Would that make you feel better?”

“I…” Phil cut himself off and turned away. He couldn’t stand the worried disappointed tone in Techno’s voice. “Yeah… Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Tech."

Warm hands turned his body towards the cabin, giving him a gentle nudge forward. As he trudged through the thick snow back to the warmth of the cabin, he could hear Techno addressing his crows in a cold, accusatory manner.

“You little trolls need to cut this out, alright? You’re spooking Phil even more than he already is, and frankly, I’d like to see him actually get some sleep tonight. So, when I get back, you better remember where Joey is, or I’m turning the whole lot of you into stew. Got it?”

Techno’s threats didn’t seem to phase them. If anything, the crows almost seemed amused by the piglin. And the whispers that filled Phil’s ears sent his heart plummeting into his churning stomach.

"He's next isn't he?"
"Oh yeah"
"Yes"
"Yep"
"Technonext"
"He's next"
"He's next"
"He's next!"
"He's next!"

Phil covered his ears as he slammed the door to the cabin shut.


Theseus

As Techno led Steve out on his promised patrol, he felt like a weight had been placed on his shoulders. He kept glancing back in the distance where the cabins were, worried about Phil. For months now, he’d been forced to watch the man grow steadily worse, and he still didn’t know what was wrong. Techno was understandably worried, and it showed in every fiber of his being.

In truth, Techno didn’t need to go on patrol. He just needed an excuse to get Phil inside without the man stress-plucking his freshly healed wings. That, and his Voices had not taken that argument very well and were now in the middle of their own argument. Some were under the impression that Phil was right and that there was imminent danger on the horizon. Others were insisting that Phil might be going senile. After all, how else do you explain the man who survived five years on a solitary hardcore server acting like the sky was falling?

Techno rubbed his head as he walked, attempting to ignore the voices as he tried to think of a solution. Phil was probably just stressed and needed to relax, that was all. Maybe he could convince the man to let him preen his wings? That never failed to turn the avian into a chirping, boneless puddle. And if he made some of Phil’s favorite foods for dinner on top of that, the man would sing like a bloody-

Pain exploded across Techno’s right shoulder, causing him to grunt loudly in pain. He dropped to his knees as he turned, seeing that he now had an arrow sticking out of the back of his shoulder. He went to reach for it, but his entire arm felt like it was made of lead, and his vision was going blurry. Had… had the arrow been tipped? The wave of nausea seemed to suggest as much.

Struggling to retain consciousness, Techno was made aware of Steve roaring somewhere in the background. Had his loyal polar bear spotted his attacker? Or perhaps the bear was on his way back to the cabin to get Phil. Mustering his strength, he tried to locate his oversized friend, only to see him running off… into the woods…

Great.

Footsteps in the snow drew Techno’s attention, blurry eyes turning towards a figure emerging from the brush. With his one good arm, Techno pulled himself up as best he could, but his legs were refusing to cooperate. He grunted as his legs gave out beneath him, sending him falling face-first into the snow. When he tried to get up, a boot pressed right between his shoulder blades, shoving him back down and keeping him pinned. Through his limited vision, all Techno could make out were a pair of polished oxfords, and the legs of impeccably pressed business slacks. Then, a familiar voice called down to him in a taunting voice.

“Miss me, swine?”

Chapter 12: Fall of the Blood God

Chapter Text

Dolus

Quackity felt a wave of hatred wash over his mind as he stared down at the anarchist pig beneath his foot. The scar running across his right eye felt like it was burning, and his jaw ached where a golden tooth took the place of one that had been shattered on that cold, December day. He’d failed to execute the swine back then, but now, seeing him felled by a single poisoned arrow, Quackity felt vindicated.

“You don’t look too good, Technoblade,” the man taunted cruelly, summoning a splash potion of weakness into his offhand. “Getting weak in your second retirement?”

Cackling at his joke, he smashed the bottle over Techno’s head, watching as what little strength Techno retained vanished as the potion took effect. Seeing the piglin completely collapse beneath him made something run down his spine. It felt like disgust power.

“I’m not the one-” Techno bit back a grunt from pain, “-having to rely on cheap tricks to take down my foe, Quackity.”

Bending down, Quackity grabbed the piglin’s ear, yanking his head up. It earned him another grunt, this one slightly higher pitched, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to make the little piglet squeal. He wanted to watch the man cower and squeal like a proper stuck pig ripe for the slaughter, and he was determined to get what he wanted. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his shears, the blades still caked in Dream’s blood.

“I’m the one in control here, Technoblade,” he snarled, jamming the shears beneath the pig’s chin and pressing them to his throat. “You’d do well to cooperate, or you’re gonna get a lot worse than an arrow to the shoulder.”

Techno swallowed slightly, his Adam's apple bobbing against the blades and breaking the skin slightly. Seeing that, Quackity couldn’t help but grin. His desperate plan to intimidate the pig was working.

“Luckily for you, I just want some answers, so just tell me what I want to know, and maybe I’ll let you go.” He leaned in, hissing directly into the ear in his grip. “What... Did you do... To Sam?”

The piglin blinked, and then his eyes seemed to narrow.

“Nothin’. Ain’t even seen the guy in a while.”

Quackity pressed the sharp blades into the leathery skin, small drops of blood pooling at the tips.

“I am not a patient man, Technoblade, so I suggest you tell the truth before I get really pissed off.”

“I am telling the truth,” Techno snarled. “I haven’t even seen Sam in months, so-”

With a growl, Quackity slammed Techno’s face into the snow, cutting the pig off mid-sentence.

“Don't-!” Quackity pulled back, lowering his volume as he chuckled maliciously. “Don't lie to me, Techno. I know you're the one who broke Dream out of prison, and I know you're the one who took Sam.”

“Dream’s out of prison?” Techno lifted his face out of the snow, leveling Quackity with a smirk. “Pog.”

Quackity grabbed the arrow still lodged in Techno's shoulder, twisting it hard. He knew that would cause the poison to spread further, as well as aggravate the wound even more. When he heard the pig let out a strained grunt, one that almost turned into the squeal he was hoping for, he couldn’t help but grin. He's getting closer…

“I have all the time in the world, swine, and I will make every second of it utter agony for you. So just tell me where they are, and save yourself some recovery time.”

“Dunno what to tell you, man,” Techno groaned through the pain. “Wasn't me.”

Quackity was seething with rage, his hands shaking around his weapons. This pig was lying to his face! Who else could have gotten Dream out of prison?! Who else could have bested Sam?! Clearly, Techno still thought that he had the upper hand. He needed to fix that. 

Determined to hammer home how powerless Techno was, Quackity straightened up, eyes falling on the pig’s hooves. His ankles were thin thanks to his animalistic form, meaning that he could pull this off pretty easily. Before the swine knew what was coming before he could talk himself out of it he brought his foot down hard on Techno’s left ankle. There was a sickening crunch, and Techno finally let out that pain squeal that the man had been wanting. He cackled as he saw the piglin clench his teeth, clearly cursing himself for showing that much of a reaction.

“Now that's what I want to hear! However, I'd like it better if you told me what I want to know!” Quackity hovered his foot over Techno’s unbroken ankle. “Or do I need to break your other leg too?”

Techno shook his head frantically, clearly continuing his denial of knowledge of Dream and Sam. He seemed more scared of the pain than anything. Quackity rolled his eyes and prepared to stomp, Techno gritting his teeth to brace for the pain. With a manic grin, Quackity brought his foot down hard on Techno’s right ankle. Once again, there's a crunch and an animalistic squeal. He busted out into an evil cackle, utterly losing it at the sight of his worst enemy truly defeated beneath him. Why was this funny?  

“H-Happy now?” Techno gasped, struggling to keep his voice even despite the pain.

“I’ll be happy once you stop lying to me,” Quackity snapped, kicking Techno in the stomach.

The swine choked as the air was forced out of his lungs. He curled in on himself instinctively, and Quackity could see he was beginning to shake. No doubt from shock and the cold.

“Not-... Not lying…” the piglin forced himself to take several deep breaths. “I didn’t… do…”

Quackity growled, grabbing Techno by one of his tusks. He brought him closer so they were staring right into one another’s eyes.

“You owed Dream a favor, you hate government, you hate Sam!” Quackity began listing off reasons with his free hand, practically spitting in the pig’s face with each declaration. “You have the power, the resources, and the motive, and you're telling me you're not the one who did it!?”

Quackity jerked Techno’s tusk hard.

“Bullshit!!”

“I-... I can see wh-where you’re c-coming from…” Techno paused for a moment, attempting to stabilize his voice again, “but I-... I didn’t even know Dream… I didn’t know he was out… Not until… Not until you showed up…”

Techno had no intention of coming clean. Was he really not responsible? There was no one else who could have pulled something like this off, and the infamous “Blood God” was mocking him. He probably thought he was invincible, with his whole “Technoblade Never Dies” bluff. Well, Quackity was about to show him that even if he couldn’t die, he could still bleed.

“Alright Techno,” he declared, unceremoniously dropping the piglin back into the snow. “If that’s how you want to play it, fine.”

Techno eyed him suspiciously, not buying this moment of mercy for a second. Good. Because Quackity had no mercy for the anarchist swine who destroyed his country. Planting his boot on Techno’s head, he summoned his sword, examining the edge for a moment.

“Y’know, there’s a saying that I find rather apt for a moment like this.” He traced his finger along the scar on his face, his lips splitting into a horrific grin that showed off his golden canine. “An eye for an eye…” he lifted the sword, “and a tooth for a tooth.”

He didn’t even give Techno a chance to react before bringing the sword down, severing the pig’s right tusk clean off.

This time, Techno couldn’t suppress the noise and a pained squeal rang through the forest. He shook beneath Quackity, gripping his now broken tusk as the triumphant avian clutched his bloody prize.

“Now that… was long overdue,” he declared, stuffing the tusk into his pocket before glancing down at his prey. He sneered when he saw the pig attempting to crawl away, immediately grabbing one of the shattered ankles. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

Techno shrieked as he was pulled harshly by his injured ankle, attempting to claw at the snow to prevent being dragged. It was fruitless in the end, and Quackity took great pleasure in quickly rendering those hands useless. All it took was a single enchanted dagger, one he plunged through both of his wrists and into the frozen ground. Quackity relished the resulting scream, knowing that even if he did manage to pull free, he would most likely never hold a weapon properly again.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this moment, Technoblade.” Quackity planted his boot on the pig's side, causing him to roll over slightly. This pulled at his wrists, forcing them to dig into the blade, blood pouring out of both limbs and staining the snow an angry red. “Ever since the day you gave me this.” He tapped his scar again. “Do you remember what you told me down in that tunnel?”

Techno’s eyes were going blurry, no doubt from blood loss, but Quackity didn’t care. Instead, he traded his sword for a pickaxe, giggling like a madman.

“I have a pickaxe! And I’ll put it! Through your fucking teeth, Techno!”

He raised the weapon to do just that, then a roar filled the air. Quackity bristled, feeling his wings puff up under his shirt. He could already hear lumbering footsteps approaching. As such, his swing ended up missing, the blade of the pick striking Techno’s gut instead of his face. Cursing his luck, Quackity ripped the pickaxe back out, turning and bolting away from his bleeding enemy.

His revenge had been ruined, but at the very least, Quackity knew that Techno would be dead by morning. Even if his last attack had missed, a gut wound like that, not to mention at least a few major arteries in his wrists being severed, would ensure a slow, agonizing death for the immortal “Blood God”. Quackity’s only real regret was that he still didn’t know where Sam was.


Master

Daedalus seemed to have finally settled down since his breakdown in the forge some time ago. Since that day, the creeper hybrid finally understood he was not to be punished at every turn, much to the Master’s delight. His slave was much calmer, not jumping every time he was addressed or flinching at every touch. Plus, he was thriving in the forge, happily working in his element. He had reported earlier that morning that he was nearly done with his first project, one the Master was eager to check on.

Moving with a silent grace only he was capable of, the Master approached the forge, already spotting Daedalus hard at work. He had a leather apron covering his naked form, tools bursting from the pockets, and he was bent over a cleaned and newly refurbished Nook. The Master couldn’t help but smile at the concentrated look on his slave’s face, eyes squinted and tongue sticking out slightly. It was an expression far too often hidden by the creeper’s gas mask, and it made the Master appreciate that Daedalus no longer wore it.

His slave was so caught up in his work that he didn’t seem to notice that the Master was there. He probably wasn’t aware of anything that wasn’t the little robot in front of him. Knowing it was inevitable that he would startle the man, the Master gently buried his hand in Daedalus’ hair, scratching right below his pointed ears while soothingly rubbing his thumb over his neck. As expected, the creeper hybrid let out a hissing click as he jumped, startled by the touch.

“Master!” he yelped, quickly regaining control of himself. “I- I’m sorry. I… didn’t hear you come in.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” the Master assured his slave, gently removing his hand. “I merely came to see the fruits of your labor. You’ve been working quite hard and have finished much faster than I had anticipated.”

Daedalus lit up at the encouragement, much to the Master’s delight. He seemed to finally be accepting his self-worth, and that he was deserving of praise. Master fought to keep his lips closed as he smiled, knowing his excessive number of teeth would cause that delighted smile to fade in an instant. Instead, he ushered for Daedalus to show off his project, which the creeper hybrid was more than eager to do.

Nook was looking much better than before, his plating was cleaned up and rust-free. His tattered clothes had been replaced with clean work pants and a tool belt. The Master had even given him a pair of work boots, and his old hard hat, fondly remembering the little robot’s particular penchant for its use. With the last of his fur now covering his metallic torso, the Master’s precious robot was finally ready.

“Very good, Daedalus,” Master praised, reaching out and petting the creeper once more. “I am very proud of you. You’ve done well.”

“Thank you, Master.” Daedalus was leaning into the touch, purring slightly. “Nook just needs to be booted up.”

Master gestured for him to do so, and Daedalus reluctantly pulled himself out from under his owner’s hand. The Master watched him carefully check all of the moving parts before leaning Nook back, popping a panel on his back. A switch was flipped, redstone was activated, and the little robot’s body began to power on. As the Master watched light return to the little robot’s eyes, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of life within him, like a soul struggling to free itself.

Curious, the Master reached out a hand, placing it on Nook’s forehead. He closed his eyes, calling out to the little robot’s soul. He could feel it, like water in a small bucket, resting in the empty expanse where an ocean should be. The water wanted to be free, to flow beyond the confines of its too-small bucket. Curious, the Master reached out, gently grasping at the bucket. With a smile, he tipped it over, watching with glee as the water immediately rushed out, eager to explore its new space. It would take time to properly fill the space, but that was perfectly alright.

Satisfied with the work he did, the Master stepped away from the awakening Nook, sparing a glance at Daedalus. The Creeper hybrid was watching the robot with a confused look, then opened his mouth to say something. However, that’s when Nook finally sat up, fully online and looking around. The Master’s heart swelled at the sight, especially when he heard those familiar chirps that always accompanied their speech.

“GREETINGS AWESAMDUDE…” The little robot looked around, taking stock of his location. “WHERE ARE WE? WHY AM I NOT AT MY STATION AT THE BIG INNIT HOTEL?”

Daedalus flinched at the robot’s use of his dead name, no doubt expecting to be punished for Nook not knowing that his name had changed. Master sighed, wondering if the man was more scared for himself or his creation. Perhaps there were still some trust issues and anxieties to work through after all.

“My name isn’t Sam anymore,” Daedalus hastily explained, placing a hand on his chest as if gesturing to himself. “It’s Daedalus now. Your name has been changed as well, shortened to just Nook.”

Nook’s eye screens betrayed his confusion, as well as his uneasiness. Already, the little robot was beginning to show more emotion than he had previously been capable of. His ocean was filling quite nicely.

“I DO NOT UNDERSTAND... WHY HAVE YOU BEEN RENAMED? WHY AM I NOT AT THE HOTEL? TOMMYINNIT HAS NOT RETURNED YET.”

The use of the Master’s old name truly had Daedalus fumbling. The creeper’s eyes darted to his owner, anxiety radiating off of him, along with the smell of gunpowder. Yes, definitely some anxieties to work through.

“Uh- T… Tom…” He was struggling to force the name out as if it physically pained him. He spared a glance at the Master, who gave him a small nod, granting permission. “Tommy… is dead, Nook. He’s… not coming back.”

A noise almost akin to a choke emanated from Nook, his tail drooping low. He put a hand to his snout, his eye screens making it look like he was tearing up. The Master was touched by what he could see was genuine care from the robot. Nook had been built specifically to protect and care for him when he was still Tommy and the knowledge that he was gone had to be devastating.

“DAEDALUS…” the bot turned to his creator, his usual chirps taking on a more somber tone. “IF TOMMYINNIT IS GONE, THEN WHY HAVE I BEEN REACTIVATED? I WAS BUILT SPECIFICALLY TO PROTECT AND AID TOMMYINNIT. WITHOUT HIM… I HAVE NO REASON TO CONTINUE FUNCTIONING…”

Daedalus blinked, seemingly surprised by the little bot’s loyalty toward Tommy. The Master couldn’t help but smile, knowing he made the right decision in having Nook repaired.

“You have a new assignment, Nook,” Daedalus attempted to explain. “My Master, the one who renamed me, wants you to serve him. He’s the one who requested your repairs.”

“I AM SORRY, DAEDALUS, BUT I DO NOT WISH TO SERVE ANOTHER… I WAS MADE FOR TOMMYINNIT, AND HE IS THE ONLY ONE I WILL EVER SERVE…”

The Master couldn’t hold back his chuckle at the stubbornness of Nook, more than pleased by the steadfast loyalty. It had been a welcomed asset during his days as Tommy, providing him comfort in his darkest days. Although, right now, all that loyalty seemed to be doing was raising Daedalus’ blood pressure to levels that would lead to an explosion. No doubt the poor creeper was thinking the Master would be angry with him for his creation’s refusal. Luckily, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Such a loyal automaton,” he purred in a gentle voice.

At the sound of his voice, Nook’s head shot up, turning towards the Master. The virtual tears vanished as his eye screens went wide. He rose off the table and slowly approached the Master, who knelt down so he was at eye level with the diminutive robot. Recognition software kicked in and Nook reached out, gently touching his cheek. The Master leaned into the touch the way he used to as Tommy, and the little robot let out a sound akin to a gasp.

“T-... TOMMYINNIT?”

“Not quite, little Nook. I am the Master Daedalus was referring to.”

“I... DO NOT UNDERSTAND...” Nook lowered his hand, the literal gears in his head turning as he tried to process what he was seeing. “DAEDALUS SAID YOU WERE DEAD AND THAT YOU WERE NOT COMING BACK, AND YET HERE YOU ARE. PLEASE EXPLAIN, TOMMYINNIT…”

“To put it simply, I am not the same boy I once was. I died and was reborn into something new. However, while I have changed, I still hold great affection for you, little Nook. I wish for you to join me in my Enclave, and aid me in my mission. That is, if that is what you want.”

Hearing this, Nook straightened, seemingly taking it all in stride. His face brightened, his tail perked up straight, and his eye screens shined with desire and love.

“YOU ARE STILL TOMMYINNIT, AND THAT IS ENOUGH FOR ME. I WILL HAPPILY RESUME MY DUTIES.”

The Master smiled at that, reaching out and rubbing the little bot’s ears. Nook shivered slightly from the touch, no doubt still needing time to adjust to how cold he was now.

“I look forward to it, Nook. However, I am no longer Tommyinnit. That name is dead, so please do not call me that anymore.”

Nook tilted his head in confusion. “THEN WHAT SHOULD I CALL YOU?”

“You can call me-”

“Master!!” Clay shouted, running right up to the forge.

Master turned quickly to his first slave, startled by how out of breath and fearful he was. He could see the man clutching something to his chest, a bundle of white fur that seemed to be heaving and hissing.

“What is it, Clay?” the Master questioned, concern laced in his tone.

Clay reached the forge, holding out the bundle in his arms. This revealed the bundle to be a very exhausted Arctic fox. Master immediately took it, letting his cold touch wash over the poor animal to try and cool it down.

“It just collapsed in front of the gate,” Clay explained, watching the animal with nervous eyes. “I- I’ve never seen an arctic fox this far from a snowy biome before. Why did it come here?”

“I do not know…” The Master adjusted his grip on the fox, then pressed two fingers to the center of its forehead. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

With a small pulse of energy, he asked permission to look into the fox’s memories. He felt it open up almost immediately, showing him what he needed to know. Upon seeing the fox’s message, the Master’s brow furrowed. He removed his fingers, gently passing the fox back to Clay.

“Clay, tend to our arctic friend. See that they get some fresh food and water, then set about preparing a new room.” Master then summoned a book into his hand, quickly scribbling down some instructions. “Daedalus, I have some new commissions for you to begin work on.”

He passed the book to Daedalus, who quickly took it. Clay had already rushed off with the fox, but the creeper lingered a moment longer.

“Master, what’s going on?”

“We are about to have company, a new edition to our Enclave.” Master then turned to Nook. “Daedalus should have given you a layout of the house. Find the Infirmary and prepare some medical supplies and magma cream.”

“RIGHT AWAY, ICARUS…”

Master paused and Daedalus dropped the book in shock. Both of them looked at Nook, the Master mulling over the name for a moment.

“Icarus… Why did you call me by that name, Nook?”

“DAEDALUS SAW YOU AS HIS SON, AND ICARUS IS THE SON OF DAEDALUS,” Nook explained, tilting his head as his eye screens showed a downcast expression. “DOES THE NAME DISPLEASE YOU?”

Master chuckled again, reaching out and ruffling Nook’s ears once again.

“No, it does not displease me, little Nook. In fact… I think I like it. Icarus. From now on, I am Icarus to you.”


Theseus

"Technoblade Never Dies." Everyone always assumed it was a taunt or the words of an overconfident warrior. Nobody knew how true it was. Technoblade never dies because he couldn't die, no matter what happened to him. It was how he survived his execution, and why he was still alive now, despite Quackity's torture. 

Of course, just because he couldn’t die didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pain, and boy was he feeling it. Everything hurt, from his broken tusk to his shattered ankles, and everything in between. The dagger buried in his wrists ensured he couldn’t move from where Quackity had left him, the slightest movement only aggravating his wounds. The gushing wound in his abdomen had not stopped bleeding yet, and his head was going fuzzy from the blood loss. His limbs were going numb, and Techno couldn’t tell if it was from the lack of blood, or if frostbite was setting in. Either way, he was royally screwed.

It was rare for Technoblade to feel terror, but it flooded his soul as his mind filled with the screams of the Voices. They demanded blood, even as the snow beneath him grew redder with his own. Staring at the ever-growing pool beneath him, he couldn’t help but question what fate had in store for him. How long would he be left to bleed? How much of his mangled, broken body would be left when it happened? Would he be able to fully recover, or would he be left lame and disfigured?

As time passed, it was becoming painfully clear that he would not be walking away from this unchanged. His wounds were far too severe, and it would be hours before Phil thought to come looking for him. What’s worse, with the heavy snowfall around him, he would most likely be buried soon, making it even harder to find his body.

A shadow fell over him, pulling him from his despair. He heard a loud chuffing, looking up to see Steve standing over him. The polar bear was looking down at him with big eyes, roaring slightly before shoving his snout right in Techno’s face.

“And j-just… wh-where were… you, h-huh?”

Of course, the polar bear didn’t answer, no matter how much Techno wanted him to. Steve was supposed to be loyal to him, having been raised since he was a cub, so having him run off the way he did had been jarring, to say the least. Still, he had returned, and that meant that when Phil did come looking, hopefully, they would be easier to-

Techno let out a surprised grunt as Steve flopped down on top of him, practically burying him in thick, white fur. The pressure of a full-grown bear badly aggravated his wounds, though thankfully his arms were left uncrushed. They were, however, carefully covered by large, furry paws, meaning he was completely and totally covered. On one hand, Steve was warm, bringing an end to the chill that had been permeating his bleeding form. On the other, Steve was heavy, and it was not helping his wounds.

Unfortunately, there was nothing Techno could do except wait. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of his furry companion and the shouting of the Voices. With luck, it would help him to numb the pain, and the fear, until help arrived.

~\~/~

He didn’t know how long he lay there beneath Steve before the bear finally moved. Pulling himself from his mind, Techno tried to lift his head, blinking his frosty eyes. Pain, exhaustion, cold, and blood loss made everything blurry, but he could just make out a black-and-white figure standing over him. He didn’t know who it was, nor could he properly make out anything the figure said, but one thing was for sure: This was not Phil…

The figure bent down, grabbing the dagger still buried in his arms before ripping it out. Immediately, Techno could feel the blood flowing from the wounds as he was scooped up like a child. He didn’t have high hopes of being rescued by an ally, given that his only three friends didn’t match the vague description he had. Maybe it was Ranboo? It couldn’t be Ranboo. The figure was too strong to be the slender, lanky enderman hybrid. That meant whoever this was, they were no doubt one of Techno’s many, many enemies.

The figure draped him across Steve’s back, and the piglin hybrid could just barely make out a thin, leather lead now clipped to the polar bear’s collar. Not only was his “rescuer” taking him, but he somehow got his polar bear to comply with his kidnapping. He couldn’t keep the terrified whine from slipping through his teeth as he felt the bear begin to walk. He was weak, battered, and unable to defend himself. Whatever fate awaited him, be it torture, imprisonment, or another execution, he would be powerless to stop it. 

Swallowing hard, Techno tried to think positive. He may be weak now, but he had to believe he could recover from this. He had to believe he would survive, and rise to fight once more. After all, Technoblade never dies… right?

Chapter 13: Panicked Anxieties

Chapter Text

Thanatos

Phil was no stranger to the cold, having helped to found an entire empire in the icy depths of Antarctica once upon a time. However, that did not mean his avian biology was used to the biting winds and near-constant snow. While the tundra was nowhere near as bad as the Antarctic had been, it was still far too cold for him, and he was feeling the chill deep in his hollow bones.

He huddled by the fireplace, curling himself into a tiny ball of feathers beneath the thick, red fabric of Techno’s cloak. His panic had left him unaware of just how cold he had gotten until he’d made his way inside, and now he was a shivering mess. Staving off the cold, and his fears, he buried his nose in the furry trim of the cloak, breathing in the lingering smell of Piglin and potatoes. It was a familiar, friendly smell. The smell of Technoblade.

Thinking of his dearest friend, Phil felt a pang of self-loathing strike him. He hadn’t meant to make Techno upset, but he just couldn’t take that worried condescending tone of voice. He knew something was coming, no matter what Techno thought. Why else would the murder be acting this way? Were they just trolling him as Techno said?

Shaking his head, Phil took a deep breath to settle his nerves. Everything was gonna be alright. Techno was checking the perimeter, and nothing was gonna get the Blood God’s Champion on his home turf, especially with Carl safely in his stable and Steve accompanying the piglin. Yes, even if something was out there, Techno would be able to handle it.

Phil paused for a moment, his anxieties rising as he stole a glance at a clock hanging above the mantle. Techno had been out for a while, much longer than his patrols usually run. He’d probably gotten distracted by one of the forest animals or something. Lifting his head, he looked out one of the windows, but couldn’t see much through the frozen pane. All he could see was that the sun was sinking lower over the horizon, and the snow was picking up.

Should he go out looking for him? Phil immediately dismissed the idea. Techno had seemed very concerned annoyed with him before, so he probably didn’t want to be bothered. Besides, Techno could take care of himself. He didn’t need Phil hovering over him like an overbearing motherbird.

Just as the Avian turned to resume his quiet contemplation, there was a heavy thud on one of the windows. He jumped, perhaps a bit more than he would normally, and turned to face the window. There, he could see one of his crows standing by the glass, looking mildly disoriented. Quickly, Phil opened the window, ignoring the biting chill of the wind as he scooped up the bird.

“You alright there, mate?” he asked, looking the bird over for injuries. “That was quite the hit you took.”

He set the bird on a small table, waiting for it to speak. After it fluffed out its wings and regained its senses, it opened its beak and said one word that made Phil’s blood run cold.

“Technohurt!”

His thoughts came to a screeching halt, that single word replaying in his head on a loop. Techno… Techno was hurt? No, there was no way. This- This was Technoblade! Champion of the Blood God! There was no way he was hurt in any way that mattered!

Before he could ask for clarification or demand an answer from the crow, several more began to dive through the still-open window. They grabbed the young crow, cawing at it loudly and angrily as they dragged it back out into the snow.

“No!”
“Spoilers!”
“Shut!!”
“You weren't supposed to say anything!”
“Get with the program noob!”
“And stay out!”

A moment later all the crows were back outside, and Phil was left alone with his swirling thoughts. Nothing made sense anymore. His crows had thrown out one of their own, yelling at it as if it had broken some unknown rule. And… and what it said. Was Techno… could something have… No, no it couldn’t be. This- This was Techno! Technoblade never dies!

But… just because Technoblade never dies… that doesn't mean he couldn’t get hurt. And the weather was getting progressively worse. If Techno was hurt and was trapped out in the blizzard… No, no! He slapped himself hard, trying to snap himself out of that train of thought. If Techno was hurt, there was no way his crows would try and keep it from him. His crows loved Techno as much as he did! Unless… whatever was wrong with them had twisted their loyalties.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until he was hit by the arctic winds of the oncoming storm. At some point during his panic, he grabbed his boots and properly fastened Techno’s cloak on his shoulders. Pulling his wings around him for extra warmth, he made his way through the snow, determined to locate his oldest friend.

The wind was picking up and the snow was falling hard, blanketing the landscape. He could see the forest just barely in the distance and he pushed onward, bracing himself against the wind. He grabbed onto anything that could help him keep his balance, whether it be the ice-covered gate or the trees. He made it a fair distance into the snow before he stepped on something sharp. He yelped, falling into the snow hard as his foot got entangled in whatever he’d just stepped on. He turned to angrily kick at whatever the thing was but froze in horror at what he saw.

It was a crown. A golden crown with various gems embedded into it. Technoblade’s crown…

He crawled forward slightly, reaching for the crown with trembling hands. He slowly lifted it, feeling a hard lump forming in his throat. There was no denying whose crown this was, Phil having been there when Techno won it in a tournament. Tears began to run down his cheeks, freezing to his skin as he sobbed. Even worse, as he cried over the fallen crown, something else caught his eyes. A dagger, half buried in the snow, and glistening with blood. Techno’s blood.

The snowstorm had long since erased any trace of his friend, but Phil knew he would have come straight back to the cabin if he had been in any condition to. Instead, he was gone, with nothing but the crown and a single, bloody dagger left to show he was ever there. To make matters worse, it was all his fault. Someone had taken advantage of Techno being out here alone. Techno was only out here alone because Phil hadn’t wanted him around. He had yelled at him. The last time he had seen Techno, he had yelled at him, and now he was gone. 

It was too much to bear. His hands dropping into his lap, Phil threw his head back and screamed in utter anguish, the sound reverberating through the storm.


Master

Since his rebirth, the Master of Death had found himself a much more patient man. As such, he had taken the time to learn various skills and expand upon his current repertoire of knowledge. This included extensive experimentation with potions. Along with the basic 28 potions found in most brewery books, the Master had invented/discovered several other unique concoctions, ones he happily brewed and kept on hand just in case.

At the moment, his attention was focused on extra strength Healing and Regeneration potions, the alchemical solutions crucial for the speedy recovery of the piglin hybrid currently in a coma in his infirmary. Broken bones, frostbite, and blood loss were incredibly severe, to the point that the only reason the piglin was still alive was because of his status as the Blood God’s Champion. Even so, without proper medical care, it would take decades, maybe even centuries, for the piglin warrior to ever be fully healed. Luckily for him, the Master’s medicine was some of the most powerful in the land. There would be scars, but he would make a full recovery in almost record time. He was already showing such great progress after just a week of treatments.

Plucking the last potion from the brewing stand, the Master stood up, adjusting his robe before heading off to the infirmary. He paused briefly to glance out the window, where he could see Nook and Daedalus moving blocks of ice and buckets of snow. They were in the midst of working on an arctic enclosure for the arctic fox, as well as Steve the Polar Bear. The Master smiled at their efforts, knowing that the creeper had felt more than a little useless due to his lack of medical skills. He’d been quite happy when the Master had tasked him with the construction of the enclosure.

Arriving at the infirmary, the Master carefully peeked inside, seeing Clay hard at work applying magma cream to the frostbitten skin of the piglin. His old life as a member of his Manhunt group had given the man extensive medical knowledge, which the Master made a note to praise him for. Once he was done with the task, the Master walked into the room, placing a gentle hand on Clay’s shoulder.

“I’ll take it from here, Clay,” he said softly. “Go down to the kitchen and fetch some food for our new arrival.”

With a quick, mumbled affirmation, Clay rushed off to do just that. The Master watched him go, then turned his attention back to the piglin before him. He pulled the potions from his inventory, pouring them into a small, wooden bowl and carefully mixing them. He then snagged a roll of bandages, soaking them in the concoction. While that saturated, the Master carefully removed the old bandages, disposing of them properly before grabbing the freshly soaked ones.

Several minutes later, the piglin was properly bandaged once more, his wounds closing and his body’s condition steadily improving. He’d be ready to wake up soon, and the Master was looking forward to adding him to his Enclave. The piglin had suffered so much, and despite the bad blood the two had in the Master’s previous life, they were still family.

“Soon,” he cooed, gently running his fingers through the fur on the piglin’s head. “Soon, you’ll be all mine, and this time, nothing will tear us apart.”


Clay

Clay was scared, even though he knew he had no reason to be. Master had been good to him, kind and gentle, even when he messed up. Even when Daedalus had joined the Enclave, nothing had changed. So why would that not be the same for Technoblade? Sure, the piglin was incredibly strong and a very skilled person in just about every field. Sure, he and Master had once been like a family. That didn’t change anything. Clay was still useful. He still had a purpose.

So why was he so scared?

As he carried the tray of soup and water into the infirmary, Clay struggled to keep his hands from shaking. His eyes locked onto the sleeping piglin, and he was unable to keep his heart from racing a mile a minute. Even under all the bandages, it was hard to ignore how strong Techno was. He would be a great asset to the Enclave, probably a much stronger asset than he was… but that didn’t mean Master would just get rid of him!

But… what if he did? What if Master found a reason to toss him out? What if he got bored of him now that he had a new slave to play with? What would happen to him when that time came?! He didn’t think he could survive out there on his own anymore! The Enclave was the only place that was safe for him, and he was still out there! Would Master let him take him back? Back to the Vault, back to the cell, back to--?!

Clay was startled out of his thoughts when Techno shifted slightly beneath his blankets. He quickly stepped away from the bed, afraid even the slightest noise would awaken the sleeping piglin. Yes, Master had said that he would wake up soon, but Clay wasn’t quite ready to face his former ally just yet. Setting the tray down as slowly and carefully as he could manage, he walked out of the room with quiet feet.


Master

The Master was beginning to understand why Clay had constantly worn a mask in his past life. The man wore his heart on his sleeve and his emotions were far too easy to read on his face. As such, the Master could instantly tell that something was bothering his timid slave as he slipped out of the infirmary, fidgeting and chewing on his lower lip. This simply wouldn’t do. He couldn’t let Clay wallow in whatever fears were choking his mind, erasing the progress the man had made. He needed to nip this in the bud.

The Master walked up behind his slave, reaching out and gently curling his fingers on the man’s shoulders. Clay froze, stiffening at the touch before trying to force himself to relax. He was still visibly tense, but he didn’t try to pull away. The Master pulled him back until Clay’s back was flush against his chest. He then wrapped his arms around his slave, pressing his nose into the man’s soft, blonde hair. Slowly, Clay began to relax, pressing into the embrace as his eyes fluttered shut.

“What’s wrong, Clay?” the Master purred, gently caressing the slave in his grip. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“It…” Clay choked slightly, voice thick with emotion and oh so quiet. “I just… I’m scared, Master.”

“Scared of what, little one?” Master cooed, never stopping his gentle affections.

“I’m… I’m afraid I’m gonna mess something up… I’m afraid that- that…” tears slowly began to build in his eyes, “that you won’t want me anymore… That you’ll get rid of me… and that I’ll-”

The Master shushed his quivering slave, sliding down onto the ground as he pulled Clay into his lap. He turned the man so they were facing each other, gently cupping Clay’s chin and making him look up. His free hand rubbed Clay’s back, nails lightly scratching soothingly.

“Oh Clay, you don’t have to be afraid about any of that.” He placed a gentle kiss on the man’s forehead before pulling him into a warm, gentle embrace. “Nothing you say or do would ever make me want to get rid of you.”

Clay sniffed slightly, burying his face in the Master’s shoulder as he soaked up every bit of affection offered. The Master happily held him, petting him and letting his cleansing, cold touches wash away his slave’s anxieties.

“You… you promise?”

“Of course, Clay.” Master began running his hand along his slave’s spine, his other hand lightly scratching at Clay’s scalp. “I promise that no matter what, you will always be mine. I promise that there is nothing that you could do that would stop me from loving you. You could do the most horrible things imaginable, and I would still care for you.”

He looked deep into Clay’s watering eyes, gently wiping away the tears before giving him another gentle kiss.

”The consequences of your actions would be painful, yes, but I would still be there in the ashes of your destruction to pick you up and set you right. Do you understand, Clay?”

He watched as Clay nodded, gratefulness and relief making him finally spill his unshed tears. He buried his face once more in the crook of the Master’s neck and the eldritch happily let him. 

“It’s alright Clay, you're safe here,” he whispered into his slave’s ear. “Just let it all out.”

The Master would hold Clay for as long as he needed to be held, rocking him gently as he cried out his fear, pain, and regret. He would be there for him, as he would for all the others who would soon come after him. 

After all, the Master of Death took care of his own.

Chapter 14: Technoblade

Chapter Text

Theseus

Technoblade slowly opened his eyes, groaning as wakefulness returned to him. His muscles were stiff as if he had been sleeping for far too long. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room, he came to realize that he was in some sort of infirmary. There were several things wrong with this. For one thing, there were no infirmaries anywhere on the server. He didn't think there was even a doctor. So, that begged the question, where was he? 

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what happened. Unfortunately, pain had the nasty habit of overriding his other senses, making it difficult to remember much else. However, through the haze, Techno was able to recall a figure in black plucking him from the snow. He’d call it a rescue, if not for the fact that he was almost certain said figure was not an ally. He could count the number of friends he had on a single hand, and it hadn’t been any of them.

His eyes furrowed at that, not liking the implications of being “rescued” by an unknown party. He already owed one favor, and no doubt whoever had saved him would want a favor as well. He needed to get out while he had the chance. Knowing time was of the essence, he began to look over his wounds, taking stock of just how bad he was and if running was a possibility.

To Techno’s genuine surprise, he wasn’t that bad off. He checked his shoulder first, remembering the poisoned arrow violently twisted into his flesh. It was completely mummified in bandages, his arm in a sling to keep from aggravating the wound. The sling also gave him a chance to see his wrist, which was similarly bandaged. Both wrists had been neatly taken care of, and a quick flex of his fingers showed that he retained full dexterity of his digits.

What surprised him was that he still had all of his digits. Techno was no stranger to the dangers of frostbite, especially after his stint in Antarctica on SMP Earth, and his choice of home here. A quick sniff of his mobile hand let him pick up the smell of various healing potions, as well as magma cream. These were precious commodities, especially the magma cream. This meant that someone had put a lot of effort into keeping him not only alive but whole. At least that meant that whoever had taken him didn’t want to torture him. Not yet, at least.

Speaking of torture, he needed to check the status of his lower body as well. After all, the duck had not only broken both of his legs but had nearly disemboweled him as well. He lifted the soft blankets covering him so he could take a look, noticing several things.

First, the wound on his stomach seemed to be almost fully healed, bandages still wrapped around his abdomen. Second, his ankles were properly wrapped as well, though he could tell that they were still weak. Bad breaks like what he had endured would take a lot longer to heal than flesh wounds. Finally, and this was perhaps the most jarring revelation, he was completely and utterly naked.

Techno dropped the blanket, his snout turning a bright red. He did not like the implications of his lack of dress, and the fact that his inventory was uncomfortably empty. He was unarmed, undressed, and unprepared for whatever was going on. So, he turned to the only source of information he had available to him: his Voices.

“Chat? What's going on? Where am I, who took me, and where are my pants?”

Immediately, his mind was filled with a cacophony of different voices screaming over one another. 

Technolate!
Technosleep!
Bruh, did you hibernate again?
WHERE’S THE DUCK?!
Toothpick!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!
E
E

“Chat, that is literally the opposite of helpful.” He pinched the bridge of his snout. “I did not hibernate, I passed out from blood loss.” He stopped, then looked up. “Wait… why do you think I hibernated?”

Technosleep
Sleepy Bois!
Sleep for a week
Technohurt
DUCK HURT YOU BAD!!
KILL THE DUCK!!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!

Techno was frozen in shock. A week? He’d been passed out for a week? Just what had been done to him in that week outside of healing?! Something was definitely not right here. He needed to get out while he had the chance. However, before he could even begin to form a plan, a loud caw reached his ears.

Several lifetimes of living with the Angel of Death made Techno immediately recognize the sound of one of the avian’s crows anywhere. Immediately, his eyes fell on an open window high above his head, where a single black crow was perched. It cawed at him again, then flew down and perched on the small table next to the infirmary bed. Techno looked it over, quickly noticing the small nametag of the bird’s foot that identified it as Joey. The very same Joey that had been the crux of this entire mess.

“You…” Techno pointed an accusatory finger right at the crow. “You little rat with wings. Do you have any idea how scared Phil is because of your little stunt? The man's probably stress plucking again thanks to this prank!”

His raised voice didn’t even ruffle the crow’s feathers. However, his own points did cause Techno to freeze. Phil… the man was probably a wreck by this point, especially if he’d up and vanished for a full week! Add that to the blizzard, and the fact that he had left a very unhealthy amount of blood in the snow, and Phil was no doubt suffering from any number of horrible What-If scenarios. Techno needed to get out of here and back home ASAP.

He swung his legs over the cot and tentatively pressed his hoof to the floor. He felt a twinge of pain race up his leg, letting him know that he couldn’t support his weight quite yet. Perfect … Now he was stuck in this strange place with no way to get to or contact Phil. Fan-freakin-tastic.

Techno was pulled from his angry muttering by the sound of the door slowly opening. His eyes snapped up and his entire body tensed, ready to face whomever it was that had kidnapped him. However, he was not met with the face of the black-clothed man. Instead, he caught sight of the last person he expected to see: Dream!

The man was not in the best shape, his body on almost lewd display in the skimpy purple outfit he was in. This also gave Techno a very good look at the large number of scars littering the man’s body. His mask was gone and his hair was very long, albeit combed and braided with a simple ribbon. His eyes were red and puffy as if he had just stopped crying, and his posture was very timid and submissive, a far cry from the proud warrior he had fought alongside on multiple occasions.

Dream slowly approached the bed, gently shooing Joey off of the side table so he could place down the bandages he had been carrying. As he bent down to grab a potion from the small cabinet on the table, Techno got a very close look at the golden collar locked around his neck. Someone had enslaved Dream and had done a very thorough job of breaking his spirit. It made Techno’s stomach churn, realizing that this was no doubt the fate that was planned for him if he didn’t escape.

Dream grabbed a potion from the cabinet, soaking the bandages in the liquid while Techno watched. Being the observant warrior he was, Techno noticed that the potion looked a bit dark for a regen potion, even if it was still the normal color. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but all that came out was a cough. The enslaved man flinched slightly at the sound, quickly reaching for a glass of water sitting on the table and handing it to him with a shaky grip. Techno took the glass, downing the water to soothe his parched throat. He looked back at Dream, who was still preparing the bandages. He cleared his throat, then tried speaking again.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Dream?” he asked as gently as he could manage. Even a blind man could see how jumpy Dream was.

At the mention of his name, Dream stiffened visibly, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

“P-please… Don’t call me that. My… My name is Clay now…”

Oh, Techno didn’t like that one bit. The voice was barely above a whisper and it was clear how broken the man was. Everything about the man had been thoroughly beaten and trampled on until this timid, terrified husk remained. Just what had been done to Dream to make him like this so quickly? And changing his name like that? Techno knew it was a way of erasing his old identity, a common practice in the slave trade. It terrified him to think of how effective his captor’s methods were.

Techno was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when Dre-... when Clay began to remove his old bandages, replacing them with the new ones soaked in the strange potion. Despite the trepidation overflowing his entire form, Techno remained still and compliant, knowing he needed to heal as soon as possible. He contemplated attempting to question the enslaved man, but it was highly unlikely he knew anything of value. Even if he did, the man would no doubt keep quiet to avoid any punishments from their captor.

“Hey uh… Clay?” he called out softly, speaking as he would to one of his animals when they were injured. “Your hands are shaking pretty bad. You doin’ alright?”

Clay flinched at his voice, hurriedly finishing his chore before eventually speaking.

“I’m… I’m fine…”

Yeah, and Technoblade was a pacifist. Who did he think he was fooling with such a feeble lie? Dream was a master manipulator with a silver tongue, but Clay could barely string two words together without stammering. 

“Here…” Clay slipped a tray that had been sitting on the side table onto Techno’s lap, revealing a bowl of soup in a wooden bowl. “It’s… it’s potato soup with h-healing… Please eat it…”

Before Techno could say anything, Clay hurried out the door, closing it behind him with a soft click. The piglin could hear the man practically bolting away, his footsteps slapping against the hardwood floors as he fled. Techno sighed at that, then looked down at the bowl of suspicious soup.

As he studied the food, Joey hopped onto his head, clicking slightly before jumping onto the bed itself. He cawed and hopped towards the tray, pecking at the side of the bowl. When Techno raised his eyebrow at the bird, Joey pecked again, this time at the spoon.

“Are you seriously trying to get me to eat this stuff?” He gestured to the soup like it had offended him. “Dream, or Clay, or whatever… He literally said that there was a potion in it. Who knows what other drugs and shit have been mixed in.”

Despite not having any real facial features to his name, Joey somehow managed to look at Techno like he was an idiot. He pecked at the bowl again, even going as far as to dip his beak into it and drink a small amount. When Techno still didn’t do what Joey wanted, the crow cawed loudly and flapped his wings erratically until the piglin gave in.

“Alright, alright, I get it.” He picked up the spoon, scooping up some of the soup. “Jeez, you are one persistent rat with wings.”

As he took a tentative bite of the soup, he nearly snorted in surprise as the wonderful flavor washed over his tongue. It was potato soup, just like Clay had said, laced with the strange tinge of a healing potion. It tasted ridiculously good, as if he hadn't eaten in days. Granted, if he had been in a coma for a week, he truly hadn’t.

Unable to properly stop himself, Techno made short work of the soup, scarfing it down until not a single drop remained. He then set the tray aside, doing his best to arrange himself on the bed so he was facing the door. Even with the healing potion in his system, he didn’t trust his legs just yet. He didn’t want to wait for whoever had enslaved Clay, and no doubt planned to do the same to him, but he didn’t have a choice. So, ignoring the roiling in his gut, Technoblade sat back and waited.

~\~/~

Techno was unsure of how much time passed before the door opened again. He had been listening carefully for any approaching footsteps, trying to discern who would visit next. Would it be another slave, or the slave master himself? As the new figure stepped into the room, Techno felt all the air leave his body. No… No this- this couldn’t be.

Standing before him, pale skin and white hair shining in the sunlight beneath his black, silken robes, was Tommy! His Tommy! His little brother, the very same Tommy who was supposed to be dead! How was this-?! This couldn’t be possible! He looked straight into the albino Tommy’s eyes, shuddering when their gaze met. Those eyes… they were not the eyes of a boy, and they felt too old to be a man. More than that, they felt too inhuman to be a man’s eyes.

“Welcome to my Enclave.” Prime, even his voice was different, laced with power that made him shudder and the Voices quiet slightly. “I am glad to see that you have finally awoken.”

So many red flags were going up in Techno’s head, and the Voices were in full agreement with him. He knew Tommy was dead, no matter how much he denied it aloud. He had put on a façade for the Syndicate when Ranboo broke the news, fighting back the tears he had wanted to shed. He couldn’t be weak… Was it weakness to mourn a loved one?

Shaking his head to clear it of unwanted yes they were wanted! This was Tommy! emotion, Techno tried to rationalize what he was seeing. If Tommy was dead, was this him revived? Or… was this something using Tommy’s body as a meat puppet, something dangerous? He prayed that it was the former, but he knew deep in his gut it was the latter.

As the creature walked forward, sitting down on the small stool beside the bed, Techno couldn’t keep himself from reaching out. His hand was shaking from emotional pain as he longed to touch the boy’s Man’s? Creature’s? face.

“Theseus…” he whispered.

Just before his hand touched skin, the creature suddenly grabbed his wrist. Techno hissed under his breath as the white-haired Tommy rubbed his thumb gently across where his stab wound was.

“I was not Theseus.” The cold voice made him shiver. “I was never Theseus. I wasn't trying to be a hero, and that wasn't why I was exiled.”

So he was Tommy?

“I wanted to escape, to be free, and to touch the sky. That is why I was exiled, That is why I was killed, because I almost made it out of Minos’ labyrinth. I am not Theseus, no... I am Icarus, the son of Daedalus, the boy who flew too close to the Sun after finally tasting freedom.” 

Whatever this thing was, whether it be Tommy reborn or some horror wearing his skin, it certainly knew its ancient history, not to mention the history of this server. They also weren’t wrong.  

“Theseus was never me... he was you. You were Theseus, even if you did not want to admit it. You tried to be the hero and you were shunned and killed for it. Or at least they tried to kill you for it. Despite all you did, you were never a hero in their eyes.” 

The man's eyes were burning with passion, burning like the frost that bit at your skin in a blizzard. Techno honestly didn’t know whether he should be impressed by such a dramatic speech, or offended by what it was implying. However, the more pressing concern at the moment was the fact that his, still very injured, wrist was trapped in the unyielding grip of this creature’s icy hand. Pulling on the wrist only succeeded in exacerbating the wounds, so he was well and truly trapped.

Techno was so distracted by his arm that he didn’t notice the man reaching for him. That is, until he felt a freezing touch grazing just below his ear. He found himself completely and utterly frozen, the Voices screaming that something was going on, something very, very wrong. Techno tried to focus on what they were trying to warn him about, but the touch was making everything… fuzzy.

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit. He needed to get away! He needed to fight this!! It was getting hard to think, hard to focus on anything. The man was speaking, but his words may as well have been a Villager’s grunts. Nothing made sense anymore. And then…

Click

Something cold, solid, and metal wrapped around his neck, the click echoing loudly despite how quiet the sound had been. Techno’s eyes snapped open and the Voices overtook him. The Blood God overtook him. Acting on instinct, he turned his head, grabbing onto something with his teeth, and he bit!

The Voices were demanding he rip the flesh from bone, that he spill the blood of the beast who dared to collar him and steal the skin of his brother! He was going to rip this creature apart, spill its blood for… blood for… blood…

This didn’t taste like blood…

Whatever was flowing through the veins of this creature was not blood. While it had that metallic taste that blood was supposed to have, it was almost completely overpowered by the taste of rot. He almost thought it was a corpse’s blood, but it still flowed like blood was supposed to and wasn’t clotted.

Disgusted, and starting to feel woozy, Techno slowly unlatched his jaw from whatever he had bitten. Through bleary eyes, the piglin could make out what looked like to be a pale forearm, one now sporting a perfect bite mark that was oozing an iridescent black ichor. Slowly, as if he was moving through molasses, Techno followed the arm up to the creature in Tommy’s skin, who was staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

Before he could say or do anything, he found himself tilting sideways. It took him a moment to realize that he had been pushed back onto the bed. It was so hard to focus, the world around him growing fuzzier by the minute as the Voices seemed to become more and more garbled. He thought he heard the man speak as well, but language was far beyond his comprehension at the moment. The only thing he could focus on was the cold hand running across his scalp, seemingly lulling him to sleep. 

It felt nice.

Chapter 15: Running and Flying

Chapter Text

Theseus

Consciousness was slow to return to Techno like something was keeping his body sluggish and subdued. Still, he was eventually able to pry his eyes open, groaning slightly as he did. He rubbed his eyes before blinking and looking around, trying to piece his scattered memories together. Almost immediately, he stiffened up, remembering everything that had happened.

He had bitten the thing that looked like Tommy, the creature infesting his corpse, and its blood had drugged him to sleep. Whatever that thing was, it was far from human. Unfortunately, it wasn’t any creature Techno had ever seen either, leaving him at a loss about what to make of his enemy. 

He examined himself, trying to see if anything was out of place or if his injuries were worse. He had bitten the man, left very visible marks, and had drawn their equivalent of blood. There wasn’t a chance in hell that the slaver was just going to let that go. However, as the piglin brute began to pat himself down, he was surprised to find that he was no worse for wear. If anything, he seemed to be doing a little better than before.

One thing Techno happily noted was that he was no longer naked. The only problem was that the clothing he had been provided was a pair of very tight, very short shorts. He had preferred loose-fitting clothing for as long as he could remember and did not care for how constricting these shorts were. Sadly, he got the feeling that his opinions no longer mattered.

“Alright, Chat,” he called out as he tuned in to what the Voices were shouting in the back of his mind. With luck, maybe they would have something of value to offer him. “What did I miss?”

“Technowake!”
“Gold! Bad Gold!”
“Bad Blood!”
“Bad Gold from Bad Blood!”
“Get rid of Bad Gold!”
“KILL BAD BLOOD!!”
“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!”
“I don't think Blood God wants Bad Blood.”

“Bad gold? What are you on about-?”

Techno’s words died on his tongue as the memory of something wrapping around his neck hit him. His hand went to his neck, and it trembled as he brushed against something metal.

“Son of a--”

“BAD GOLD! BAD GOLD!!”
“OFF! OFF WITH BAD GOLD!!”
“No Collars for Techno!”
“Technoblade, not Theseus!”
“KILL BAD BLOOD!!”

Immediately, Techno began to try and claw at the collar, attempting to pry it off his neck. He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination, but it felt like the metal was welded to his skin. He couldn’t even get a single claw under the metal, only succeeding in leaving red, angry welts all along his throat.

With a huff, Techno ceased his futile struggles and let his arms drop. It was probably enchanted with Curse of Binding, meaning he couldn’t get it off with conventional means. Once he got out of this hellhole, he would need to figure out a plan. Maybe he could take a Fire Res and jump in lava, let the gold melt in the heat.

With nothing left to do, Techno carefully stood up. Thankfully, his legs could now support his weight, even if he was still a bit wobbly. It was better than nothing though, so he made his way towards the door. However, just as he reached for the handle, it began to move, allowing someone entry.

Techno tensed, immediately expecting his possessed little brother. No doubt he would be making demands and attempting to punish the piglin for the earlier assault. However, instead of the pale facsimile of Tommy, in walked Sam. Techno was legitimately surprised by the sight of the Creeper hybrid, and it seemed the feeling was mutual if Sam’s instant panic was anything to go by.

“Oh…” the nervous hybrid let out, “m-morning.” 

Shit, Sam’s voice was just as broken as Clay’s was. A glance at the man’s neck showed that he wore the same golden collar as well, a collar Techno himself now possessed. At least now the piglin warrior knew what had happened to the two missing people Quackity had been going on about during his assault. 

Reading Sam’s body language like an open book, Techno immediately recognized the same deep-rooted nervousness and submissive traits that Clay had. This was a stark contrast to the Sam he remembered. Techno had always held a begrudging, yet genuine respect for the hybrid, viewing him as a strong, kind, brutally efficient man. But now, he was just a shell, stripped of his freedom and dignity, not even granted the kindness of a stitch of clothing.

The lack of clothing also revealed something that made Techno’s blood run cold. Across his arms and legs, peeking over his shoulders, the piglin warrior could see long, straight scars carved into his flesh. Even an idiot would recognize the marks of a whip, but something about the marks was… off. They looked more jagged than a typical lash scar, meaning that the weapon used was particularly cruel. That did not bode well for Techno’s fate if he stayed.

“Hullo…” he said in his usual greeting, doing everything in his power to appear nonchalant and unphased.

“I- I wasn’t expecting you to be… well, to be up…” Sam looked around nervously. “M-Maybe you could sit down… please?”

Oh hell no! Techno wasn’t an idiot. Sam wanted him to sit there like a good slave and wait for that monster in his brother’s body to come for him! How could he not have seen it sooner?! He needed to get out of there now, find Phil, and make a plan to avenge his brother. So, he ignored the creeper hybrid and moved to leave.

“Theseus, wait!” Sam cried out, trying to catch his arm. “Your legs are still healing! Please, don’t do anything rash!”

Techno’s eye twitch. So, the slaver wearing his brother’s skin had decided to name him Theseus. Well, good luck getting him to ever acknowledge that name. He was Technoblade, the Blood God’s Champion.

“Get out of my way, Sam,” he warned. He didn’t want to hurt the guy who was just trying to survive, but he wasn’t going to remain here as a slave.

“It’s Daedalus, not Sam,” the creeper retorted, moving to get between Techno and the door. “And… and I can’t let you leave.”

He didn’t have time for this. Still, he should probably try to be gentle. Slaves were almost always traumatized.

“Sam,” Techno growled, feeling the Voices beginning to rile up at the promise of violence, “get out of my way before I make you…”

Sam- Daedalus… whatever he went by, was clearly intimidated by the threat. His ears were pinned to his skull and he visibly wavered. However, he remained firm and in the way. Techno snarled and grabbed the creeper by the arm, shoving him aside before throwing the door open and stalking out. Behind him, he could hear Daedalus scrambling to his feet.

“Theseus, come back! Please, you’re not ready to be out yet!”

Techno ignored him, speed-walking to the best of his abilities. He cursed out Quackity for his bum legs, as well as his own heritage for his horribly fragile ankle bones. Why couldn’t he have been a hybrid with human feet and not stupid piglin hooves?! He couldn’t risk speeding up too much, otherwise, he would trip and would no doubt damage his legs even further. Unfortunately, this proved to be to his detriment as Daedalus managed to catch him.

The second Techno felt the hybrid’s hand on his arm, instincts completely took over. With a roar, he turned around, grabbed the arm, and pulled it forward. Without wasting a second, he bit down hard, his sharp teeth tearing through the skin with ease.

The Voices howled in victory as coppery blood filled his mouth, Daedalus screaming in pain while trying to pull away. Initially, Techno intended to stop at just the bite, but the smell and taste of blood had washed over his senses. The Voices were now much more interested in that than escaping. He growled and shook the arm he was holding, playing with his prey like a cat with a mouse.

“Enough!”

Horrible pain originating from his collar pierced Techno mercilessly. He let out an anguished squeal, releasing his prey as he crumbled to the ground, curling up as electricity coursed through his entire body. It felt like he had been struck by lightning, the energy leaving him just as fast as he came. He remained on the carpet, his body so weak that he felt like a helpless newborn. It was a struggle just to keep his eyes open.

Cold hands began to lift him, but all Techno could do was weakly snarl, a noise that sounded more like a whine than anything. The cold felt nice on his skin, but the Voices went off, insisting that it was all fake. But even if it was, it wasn’t like he could do anything. The world was too far away, too fuzzy. He couldn’t make out anything beyond the Voices and the cold hands still holding him.

Vaguely, he felt something strange beginning to enclose around his snout, and something sliding between his panting, gasping lips. It felt heavy and he got the distant taste of metal. It pinned down his tongue as his snout was trapped, his groans coming out somewhat muffled and garbled. It wasn’t until he felt straps tightening behind his head that he realized what was going on.

He was being muzzled.

The lock clicked into place and the Voices shrieked, demanding he rip the thing off. Unfortunately, he didn’t even have the strength to lift his arm. The cold touch rubbed at his ears as an indiscernible voice whispered into them. Whatever was being said, it was making him feel so… so… sleepy…

His eyes drooped closed, and this time, he didn’t fight it. Everything went black.


Thanatos

Phil sat beside the fireplace, gripping Techno’s bloodied crown close to his chest. He hadn't moved from his spot since waking up the first time. His mind was lost in a sea of grief, unable to muster the energy to do anything more than silently sob. Deep down, he knew he needed to move, whether that be to take care of himself or even just wash the blood off the crown, but he just… couldn’t. No matter how much it hurt, the buzzing feeling under his skin kept him completely still. 

This had happened to him before, when his limbs became like stone, and his mind became like mud. He hadn’t had an episode this bad in years, centuries even. Of course, seeing as he always had Techno nearby to help him get out, it just made the yawning abyss left in the piglin’s absence all the more painful.

A sharp clatter right in front of him caused Phil to start slightly, his wings fluffing up as he looked around. It sounded like metal falling, but none of the weapons on display had fallen. So what…

His eyes fell on the strange dagger now resting at his feet, the blade covered in dried blood. Through his daze, he tilted his head at the dagger, trying to place its origin. Neither he nor Techno carried daggers, and when they did, they were never something as gaudy and over the top as this thing. As he stared down at the dagger, he heard a caw from one of his crows, just as a black shape darted out of the corner of the room.

So, this dagger was from the murder? But why? He picked it up, turning it over in his hand as he tried to figure out why his crows would be so interested in it. Sure it was shiny, made from pure netherite with a golden handle inlaid with sapphires. Still, his crows preferred emeralds, not something like this. As he brushed his hands over the hilt, he spotted an engraving on the bottom. 

:]

Phil nearly dropped the dagger in pure shock. That… That was Quackity’s symbol. This was Quackity’s dagger! Quackity, the man who hated Techno! Quackity, the man who had gotten Techno executed!

The avian’s depression was immediately overwhelmed by a wave of pure, unadulterated rage, now having a suspect on who hurt Techno. He let out a low, trilling growl and grabbed his coat, snagging his cane sword from the bucket where it sat. He pulled them on before throwing open the door. He jumped into the air, flapping his newly healed wings and taking to the sky. He had to find Techno before it was too late!

~\~/~

The retired Angel of Death may not hold the power and prowess he once did, but that didn’t mean he had shirked on his fighting, or more importantly, his hunting skills. He flew with purpose through the scorching deserts of Las Nevadas, searching with keen, bird-like attention for his prey. His black talons had extended over his fingers, ready to claw their way through flesh and bone. 

Curled in his clawed hand was the bloody dagger, one Phil planned to bury in Quackity’s other eye. His entire body was tense and focused, ready to kill. He flew past several buildings and windows, finally locating the one that held his victim. His mouth curled into a predatory grin as he tucked his wings into a dive. 

Glass shattered around him as he broke through the window, Quackity letting out a startled shriek as he fell out of his office chair in shock. Phil flared his aching wings in a threatening display, towering over the man menacingly. 

“Philza?!” spluttered the startled, scar-faced man.

“WHERE IS HE?!” Phil yelled, his voice thundering with the strength of his shout.

Quackity scrambled to his feet, backing away in fear.

“I- I don’t know what you’re t- talking ab-”

Phil angrily gripped the desk in front of him, his talons carving deep gouges into the wood as he threw it against the wall. The man’s words came to a stuttering halt as wood shattered around the room.

“WHERE IS TECHNO?!”

“I don’t know, man!!” Quackity was clearly in a panic, holding up his hands to try and ward off Phil, not that it would do him any good. Too bad his armor was on a stand across the room. “I didn’t take him, I swear!”

“LIAR!!”

He threw the dagger at Quackity’s foot, missing it by scant centimeters. The man yelped at a high pitch that made something in Phil’s mind tilt in curiosity, but he ignored it. He was on a mission. He had to find Techno.

“This is Techno’s blood and your fucking smile! Now tell me where he is!!”

Quackity eyed the dagger, then swallowed visibly. He straightened up and Phil watched as he plastered a fake, sleazy smirk on his face.

“Look man, I’m hardly the only person in Las Nevadas who has it out for the pig. And even if that is one of my daggers, I told you I didn’t take him. I have no clue where he-”

Phil grabbed the man by his shirt collar, tearing holes in it as he lifted the man, slamming him into the wall.

“Don’t test me, Quackity!” he growled, spitting in the man's face. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten your attempt to execute him! You’re the only one stupid enough to pull this off. Now spill!”

The man finally seemed to understand that his lies wouldn’t get him anywhere, and the sleazy grin fell.

“Alright, fine. You want the truth? I gutted that fat, anarchist pig like the animal he was and left him to die in that snowbank. I got the prize I wanted and showed that pig that he’s not as invincible as he thought. If you can’t find him…” the grin came back, “well then I guess that makes you a piss poor friend.”

Phil was seething in rage, breathing hard as his hands began to shake. Quackity must have mistaken it for grief because the fool just kept right on talking. Stop talking, you idiot!

“I left him pinned right there in that blizzard, bleeding out like a stuck pig. No doubt he finally lost the life he should have when I dropped that anvil on his head. The coward’s probably moping around spawn about how someone finally managed to cut him-”

Phil clenched his fist, lifting the man higher before throwing him into a bookshelf. The entire thing shattered causing books to go flying everywhere. Quackity collapsed to the ground, several heavy tomes hitting him hard. Most fell around him in a fair-sized pile, getting kicked aside by the pissed-off Angel. He drew his sword, watching as the man stared at him in pure terror. Why was he enjoying this? He wasn’t a torturer!

“You’re gonna pay for this…” His voice was quiet and cold as he threw the sheathe to the side. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know, and then I am going to make you bleed…

Quackity blanched and Phil lunged at the scared man, lunging forward to stab him. Quackity rolled out of the way with a yelp, the blade catching on the man's shirt. The sharp sword cut through the shirt easily, causing it to rip clean off. The bandages underneath the shirt also ripped, causing the man’s- no… the avian’s wings to come tumbling out. 

Phil gasped in horror at the sight, his anger vanishing as quickly as it had come. The wings were a dull yellow color, probably once bright as gold, but the dirt and muck covering them dulled their vibrancy. There were patches of agitated skin showing signs that someone had ripped out handfuls of feathers. Most of the feathers were askew somehow, twisted this way and that instead of flat against the grain as they should be. Most of the flight feathers had jagged ends where they had been cut, rising up and down the wings in a horrific pattern. The lines were so uneven it looked like a drunkard had tried to clip them. 

Phil’s own wings ached in empathy. He couldn’t help how his stance loosened or his eyes softened. His instincts churred with a deep-seated want to protect. No wonder he acted the way he did. Anyone hurt so horribly would lash out against those they saw as a threat.

“You’re… an avian…” His tone was soft like one would use to talk to a victim instead of the harsher tones from before.

Quackity paled dramatically, completely disregarding Phil and his sword as he scrambled to hide his wings. Phil could see the way the avian flinched at his own touches, trying to hold the atrophied wings against his back with his hands. Quietly, the angel retrieved his sheath, putting his sword away before walking forward. He reached out and grabbed the other man's wings, doing his best to be gentle and avoid the rougher-looking spots. He needed to see them. How had they gotten this bad!? What had happened to this poor man’s wings?!

"NO! No please no no no stop please please.....!" Quackity begged fervently as he scrambled to get out of his grip. 

Phil held the man steady as the younger avian fearfully warbled, looking over the wounded wings. These were old wounds, much older than his own. Phil knew some people on the DreamSMP had come here looking for sanctuary, hoping to escape dire situations, but… He had never expected something as bad as this. He should have. Humans liked to do horrible things to non-humans.  

Even so, this bird had hurt Techno, leaving him to bleed out and die. Even if Techno was incapable of death, there was no forgiving that crime. If anything, the thought of his bonded’s blood in the snow caused his hands to squeeze the wings in his grasp. Looking down at the begging avian made him hesitate. He'd be gentle, but he needed to know for sure that Quackity had truly left him. He needed to save him! He needed to save them both.

"Tell me where Techno is," he squeezed the wings, "now."

"I don't know! Please, please, I don't know! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I promise I'll be good! I promise! Please..!

Phil knew that the man wouldn't lie with his wings on the line. Especially as hurt as he was. Still, he needed to be sure.

"I am going to tear your country apart, and if I find that you've lied to me.…."

Phil grabbed one of the broken feathers, choosing one that was close to falling out. He gritted his teeth and pulled. Quackity let out a shriek and Phil immediately dropped the avian. His instincts were thrashing at the sound of a distressed avian. That sound made Phil want to protect him, take care of him so he would never try to hide like this again. Phil fought with his instincts as they insisted that he help the grounded man. Eventually, he forced himself to walk out of the room. He couldn’t help the enemy. Maybe if he helped him, then he wouldn’t be his enemy anymore. Even if they were a grounded, scared, abused avian, he couldn’t.


Watcher

The Watcher walked into Quackity from Las Nevadas’ office, looking around at the destruction the retired Angel had caused. It saddened him to think that if the horrible pestilence was not here, the retired Angel would have been able to help Quackity from Las Nevadas. Instead, one avian had flown off to search for the bonded that he would not find, leaving the other avian shivering on the floor. He didn’t hold any grudge against the retired Angel. He couldn’t, knowing what he knew. So, he focused his attention on tending to his friend. He walked over to Quackity, seeing how deep the poor man was in his fearful mind.

“Quackity from Las Nevadas,” he cooed gently at the man, trying to keep from startling him. He didn’t yell or act loudly like he usually would, knowing that this was not the time to be keeping up his naive act. “The retired Angel is gone now.” 

He draped a new shirt over Quackity from Las Nevadas’ back, covering his exposed wings. The avian was still trembling, but the Watcher’s voice seemed to help shake him out of his panicked thoughts.

“....S-slime?” Quackity looked up at him with blank eyes, blown wide by fear.

“Hi, Quackity.” He smiled down at the avian. “It’s me, the normal man with over 300 bones!” 

He played up his usual bit, using his cheery voice to appear as harmless and gentle as possible. It was clear his friend was badly spooked, especially when he finally registered that his wings were out of their horrible bindings. The avian jerked up, pushing his wings hard against his back in an attempt to hide them. He then looked at his back, seeing the new shirt that the slime had draped over him.

“Your other shirt got torn badly, so I got you a new one!” He kept his voice chipper and oblivious, hoping that Quackity would feel more comfortable if he stayed nonchalant. Maybe letting a bit of that naivety out would help.

“...T-thanks slime…” 

Quackity looked up at him as he pulled the shirt around himself. He can see the way the duck looked at him imploringly, searching for signs of judgment or betrayal. He smiled his kindest smile he could muster, hoping to show that he needn’t fear any of that from him.

“No problem, Quackity from Las Nevadas!” He bounced a bit closer to the avian, trying to be supportive while keeping enough distance to not crowd him. “Are you going to continue searching for Dream from Manhunt and Sam from the Pandorica?”

“Y-Yeah… Just… In a bit… I-I'm going to bed…” Quackity quickly shuffled past him, muttering a quick goodnight as he fled to his penthouse.

“Okay Quackity from Las Nevadas, get some good sleep!”

The Watcher’s smile dropped as Quackity left his view. He hoped that The Master would be ready for his friend soon. He didn’t like seeing his friend hurt, but he knew he had to be patient and wait for the right time.

The Watcher was very good at being patient. 

Chapter 16: Training Difficulties

Chapter Text

Master

As morning dawned, the Master of Death made his way towards the hallway that served as the slave barracks, specifically to the room where he’d moved Theseus after naming and collaring him. Of course, it came as no surprise when the piglin immediately tried to run, though the Master was still disappointed that he actually bit Daedalus. He had hoped we would not have to use the muzzle he’d commissioned so soon, but he would not risk the safety of his slaves.

Reaching the correct room, the Master opened the door with an air of confidence and dominance. Upon entry, he was greeted by the sight of Theseus attempting to pry his muzzle off, red marks lining the area around his snout where his claws had dug into his skin. As their eyes met, Theseus froze, staring at the Master with an expression full of various negative emotions.

“Oh Theseus,” the Master admonished, approaching his new slave. “You’re only hurting yourself like that. Let’s not do this anymore, alright?”

In response, Theseus snarled and growled, gnashing through the bit in an attempt to be intimidating. The Master kept his expression neutral, getting within arm’s reach before the piglin’s threats went from verbal to physical. Theseus launched himself at the Master, his claws out and aimed right at the Master’s throat.

With a sigh, the Master deftly caught the piglin’s wrists, holding them firmly as he waited for Theseus to submit. Piglins were notoriously stubborn, and Theseus even more so. There were a few harsh tugs that got the piglin nowhere, then a few more experimental ones, then Theseus stopped altogether, seemingly sagging in defeat. Any normal person would expect that he had given up, but the Master knew better.

Testing his theory, the Master slightly loosened his grip, relaxing his hold. Not even a second after this minute opening was provided, Theseus took it. He pulled free and immediately went to claw at his throat once more. With a sigh, the Master reclaimed his hold on the piglin’s wrist, enclosing them in one hand as he let out a tut of disapproval. With his free hand, he summoned a pair of thick, leather mitts, ones that would reduce Theseus’ hands to useless balls.

“Violent actions directed onto the inhabitants of my Enclave will not be tolerated.”

Carefully, he began to slide the mitts onto Theseus’ hands, eliciting slightly higher-pitched whines and growls from his new slave.

“If I could safely file down your finger hooves, I would, but these will have to do until you learn your place.”

Once the mitts were fastened on, the Master clicked some small locks into place, ensuring that he would be the only one who could remove them. Of course, with his snout muzzled and his hands useless balls, there was little Theseus could do to get them off. That didn’t stop him from trying the second the Master let go of his wrists. He strained against the sturdy leather, attempting to free himself to no avail.

“Now, are you going to be good-” the piglin tried to lunge at him once more, so the Master spun him around and pushed him onto the bed “-and stop attacking me, or do I need to bind your arms as well?”

The threat did little to deter Theseus, who merely snarled and kept struggling, obviously intending to fight for as long as possible. With a sigh, the Master pulled a third padlock from his inventory, maneuvering the piglin’s hands behind him before clipping the mitts together. With his new slave now safely contained, he summoned a chain leash, attaching it right onto the bottom of Theseus’ muzzle. Once that was done, he stepped back, finally allowing the piglin to stand.

“Fighting will get you nowhere, Theseus,” he warned the growling, struggling piglin. “Now come.”

He turned and started walking, pulling on Theseus’ lead. He heard the piglin hybrid snort and growl, attempting to yank himself free of the Master’s grip. Of course, the Master stayed firm, practically dragging the piglin along. Theseus was still a little wobbly on his feet and fell multiple times due to his struggle. Of course, the Master did his best to give him a moment to regain his footing, but his newest slave quickly caught on and stopped getting up. 

In the wake of this defiance, the Master felt a twinge of annoyance. Still, he didn’t let it bother him as he gave the lead a hard yank. This forced Theseus back on his hooves and they continued their march to the training room. The stubborn piglin tried about three or four times to remain on the ground, but each time, the Master forced him to continue.

When they finally reached the training room, the Master allowed Theseus to remain on his knees, closing the door and preparing to try and begin training. He held no illusions that it would be an easy session, but he was ready to try.

“Now Theseus, stand,” the Master commanded, knowing that Theseus would not obey. 

The piglin snorted and chuffed at him angrily through the bit, straining his arms and trying to throw his head back, still attempting to pull out of his bonds. The Master waited a few moments, letting Theseus struggle a bit, before forcing the piglin to his feet. It was like corralling a bull. Move the head, and the body follows. 

“Good boy, Theseus,” he cooed, giving Theseus a gentle pet. 

Theseus snarled and growled, attempting to back away to escape his touch. The Master persisted, scratching behind the piglin’s ears in the spot he knew was a sensitive area. After petting him for a moment he let the piglin shy away from his touch. 

“Now Theseus, kneel.” 

Theseus immediately proved to be continuing his defiant streak, pulling on his lead and trying to get away from him. The Master sighed once more at the piglin’s resistance, that twinge of annoyance growing ever so slightly. He jerked on the lead, making his rebellious slave stumble and fall to his knees. 

“There you go,” he said as he petted the piglin once more. “Good boy.”

The man continued to be as defiant and difficult as possible, no matter how many times the Master forced him to obey. This was going to be a long training session.

-

Eventually, The Master of Death ended the training as it was time to eat lunch. As such, he dragged the struggling piglin to the dining room. He approached his usual seat, seeing that a cushion had already been set out for Theseus at the side.

“Theseus, kneel.” 

He waited a moment to see if the command would be followed before forcing Theseus to his knees. The piglin grunted as his knees hit the cushion, but he didn’t try to get up. No doubt he was still recovering, and the training session had wiped his reserves of energy. 

The Master called for Clay and Daedalus as he prepared the food, deciding to keep it simple and make some loaded baked potatoes. Since Clay was still not quite ready for the starchy root vegetable, he made his first slave a simple salad instead. It was a small concession, but he could let it slide, quietly hoping that the offering of his favorite root vegetable would make Theseus a bit more pliant for the meal. It was already starting to smell good as his other two slaves came into the dining room. Both of them eyed the panting piglin wearily, Daedalus still sporting a bandage from where he had been bitten before.

“It’s alright you two,” the Master assured them both. “He can’t hurt anyone like this.” 

Theseus gave an affronted snort, but the Master ignored it, keeping his focus on Clay and Daedalus as they took their seats at the table. He had made it a point to teach them how to act at the table once they were comfortable with eating from his hand, wanting them to have some self-reliance. As such, both were sitting politely as they were served, backs straight and hands in their laps as they waited for permission to eat.

Despite both of them having had time to adjust to sitting at the table, the Master could tell that they were both overtly nervous today. When Theseus snarled into his muzzle, Clay flinched, proving that the two were clearly afraid of their fellow slave. He would need to find a way to get them comfortable with one another soon, once Theseus was no longer being so defiant.

The Master knew that the only reason Theseus wasn’t trying to stand right this second was because he didn’t have the energy. But that didn’t mean that he was done fighting, and unfortunately, feeding time meant he would have to remove the muzzle. This was going to be difficult.

Setting down the piglin’s plate, the Master sat down in his chair at the head of the table, the kneeling slave next to him leaning away subtly. He gripped Theseus’ muzzle, pulling him back where he was supposed to be. Once Theseus stopped trying to pull his head out of his grip, the Master unlocked the muzzle and started to remove it.

“Now Theseus,” he began, keeping his tone firm, “you’re going to be a good boy when I take this off. Understand?”

The Master then carefully removed Theseus’ muzzle, watching the piglin as he worked his jaw. Keeping careful watch, the Master put the muzzle down on the table and picked up a small bite of potato onto a fork. 

“Theseus, open.” 

Theseus’s ear twitched for a moment before he lunged and snapped at the Master’s fingers. The Master pulled his hand back before the piglin's jaw could clamp down on it. He quickly grabbed his slave by the scruff, grabbing the iron muzzle and putting it back around the piglin’s snout. 

“I believe you were warned against hurting anyone, Theseus,” he admonished in a disappointed tone. 

Theseus snarled and growled, but he couldn’t do much in his weakened, exhausted state. With a sigh, the Master looked over to find his other two slaves frozen in terror. His eyes softened at the sight of the both of them huddling together as close as they could without falling out of their chairs.

“Clay, Daedalus,” he let out softly, his voice soothing and gentle as he approached them. “Don’t be afraid. I will not let him hurt you. You both have been hurt enough.”

He carefully ran his hands through their hair, urging them to relax into his touch. They both snuggled into his abdomen eagerly, their shaking slowly subsiding. The Master held them close, never stopping his petting as they slowly calmed. This level of violence had no place in their new lives and it would no doubt be detrimental to their wellbeing. He would need to give them both some personal attention soon to ensure that they were not bottling away their emotions.

Yes, that sounded like a splendid idea. The struggling Theseus could wait.


Theseus

Technoblade refused to bow to this man. He was Technoblade! The Blood God’s champion! He was an immortal warrior incapable of dying! He would not bow to this monster masquerading as his brother! He didn’t care that his arms were bound and his snout was muzzled; he would prevail above all he challenged! 

Techno scoured the room he had been put in meticulously, determined to find a way to escape. He had to. Frustratingly, the small bedroom he had been placed in was incredibly sparse. It consisted of two beds, two chests, two side tables, and two lanterns. He went around the room, attempting to grab and make use of things, but the leather mitts fastened around his fists prevented him from using his hands. The padlock trapping his wrists behind his back didn’t help either. He couldn’t use his mouth to pick up anything either, because of this blasted muzzle! The window was too small to even attempt to escape through, and all of his efforts to escape got him nowhere. 

Techno sat down on one of the beds, wishing he could put his head in his hands. He listened to chat babble on about how useless and horrible he was for not being able to escape, wishing they would stop but knowing that they wouldn’t. 

With a sigh, he lifted his head and stared at the door out of the room, almost hoping that the skinwalker would come back.

Immediately, he mentally slapped himself. No, he didn’t need that… Thing! He didn’t need anyone! He was the great Technoblade! He would just kick the door down himself! 

He marched up to the door and kicked it before being painfully reminded that he was still healing from a broken ankle. He cursed and shook out his hoof, almost falling over due to his lack of arms to help him balance. He took a moment to breathe deeply through the bit in his mouth, ignoring the pain lancing up his leg. He had endured worse… this was nothing. 

After taking a moment to steady himself against the pain, he opened his eyes, staring at the still-closed door wearily. He hated the defeated feeling that was rising in him. He was Technoblade! He never accepted defeat! Technoblade scrutinized the door once more, looking for cracks or weaknesses in the wood. The door itself was made of dark oak wood, and its polished finish was fresh. This door had been made recently, and the entire thing was as smooth as a newly forged sword. 

He huffed in frustration, wanting to kick the door again but not wanting to add even more pain to his aching ankle. He was about to give up and walk back over to the simplistic bed when he noticed something. The door had a handle that curved to the side, similar to many other doors he had seen. However, what stuck out about this particular door was that he couldn’t see a lock. He couldn’t think of any way for a lock to work on a door without it showing on both sides. The more he thought of it, when he had been brought back to the room after the meal, he hadn’t seen any external locks.

He trotted up to the door, mentally wishing he was right and berating himself for not noticing before. Techno used his muzzled snout to push down on the door handle and push. The door swung open easily, revealing the empty hallway. 

Techno stared at the now open doorway in shock, doing his best to block out Chat’s taunts and jeers. It wasn’t his fault he had assumed the door was locked! It wasn’t like most people who kidnapped him left him in a room without tying him up or locking the door!

Still, the fact that the door wasn’t locked sent up so many red flags in Techno’s mind. The skinwalker had been insanely thorough with restraints and had been prepared for every eventuality that Techno would fight back or escape. There was no way in hell that he had just forgotten to lock the door, or even install one. There was a catch or a trap, but he couldn’t afford to think about that for too long. He needed to escape.

Doing his best to keep quiet, he snuck out of the room and made his way through the house. His stealth wasn’t nearly as good as he would have liked it to be, but it never was during hard recoveries. The house was quiet, the occupants either outside or very quiet. He was betting on the former since this was a slave plantation. He wasn’t sure what work two of the most powerful people on the server were being made to do, but he was sure that it was harsh labor. 

After poking his nose into several different doors, he finally found the one that led outside. He never got the chance to see the actual plantation, so he took a moment to look around.

There were dark oak trees everywhere, with basic grass paths everywhere. Off to the left, the path slowly transitioned to gravel, leading to a stone building that seemed to be some sort of rudimentary forge. 

Creeping closer, hoping perhaps to find a tool he could use to free himself somehow (yes, he was still stuck with basically no way of holding things! He was aware of that Chat! Stop shouting!) Techno could see Sam, or Daedalus now, working hard over an anvil on something. His back was to the piglin, meaning he couldn’t see exactly what he was working on. Sadly, the creeper hybrid’s presence also meant that stealing tools was impossible. The fact that Daedalus was working alone and unsupervised made it clear that trying to request assistance would only lead to Techno’s imprisonment.

With an annoyed scoff, the piglin turned and prepared to head in the opposite direction. He didn’t make it far before he ran into someone. He jumped back, snorting in shock as he looked down at the tiny person staring up at him. It was a child from the looks of them, a tanuki wearing work pants and a hard hat. Just who the heck was this?

“YOU SHOULD BE RESTING THESEUS...” the small child said in a loud, robotic voice.   

Techno flinched at the unexpected loud noise, immediately looking around in a panic. He had to shut this kid up before someone else noticed him! The great Technoblade wasn’t about to be caught in his escape due to some child. He rushed at the tanuki, expecting the boy to dodge out of the way. Instead of dodging the large Piglin hybrid, the small tanuki braced themselves before grabbing his legs and flipping him over onto the ground. Techno groaned, more annoyed at Chat’s mockery at his failure than having hit the ground too hard. 

Techno started to attempt to get up without the use of his arms, but before he could, the tanuki grabbed the muzzle still locked around his face and pulled him into the dirt. Just who was this kid? And why were they so strong? 

“MASTER ICARUS! THESEUS IS OUTSIDE WITHOUT PERMISSION!” the very strong child yelled loudly.

Techno wiggled and struggled desperately, growling at the boy with the fire of the Blood God in his eyes. The Voices shouted and chanted for blood, but he couldn’t manage to get out of the tanuki’s grip. Why was this guy so fucking strong?! Even as he started to sink further into the Voices, the little tanuki kept his head firmly pinned in the dirt. A moment later, a much larger, colder hand grabbed him by the scruff, lifting him clear off the ground. He let out an embarrassing yip as he hung from the skinwalker’s hand.

“I should have expected as much from you Theseus,” the monster sighed. “Thank you for alerting me Nook.” 

“OF COURSE MASTER ICARUS!’ The kid, Nook, beamed up at the slaver.

Icarus, huh? Flew too close to the sun while trying to escape and ended up drowning. Fitting.

Techno growled at Icarus, kicking out as best he could, only for his hooves to meet nothing but air. The skinwalker barely noticed, turning and walking to the right of the house. Techno continued to try and escape as he was dragged around the house, passing a few basic crop fields before stopping in front of a moderately sized barn. 

Chat howled and mocked and screamed as he was forced to his knees next to an iron post. It took him a moment to think past their chatter to realize that it was a hitching post. He growled once more at the slaver as the monster attached a chain lead to the muzzle. The other end of the lead was attached to the hitching post as if he were an unruly horse. He growled and tried to wrench his head away, to break the chain or uproot the post, but all he accomplished was worsening his headache. 

The man left him there with a casual head scratch. He growled at the touch, wishing he could bite the man for it. Chat screamed as well, enraged by the cold touch. Chat hated the skinwalker and his touches, and for once, Techno fully agreed with them. There was something horribly wrong with staring at the body of his dead baby brother and knowing that it was being used by some malevolent entity. 

Techno tried to stand, but there wasn’t enough slack on the chain for him to get his legs underneath him. He was forced to kneel beside the metal hitching post, doing his best to ignore the dread pooling in his gut. It didn’t look like he was getting out of here quite as soon as he would have liked.

He hoped Phil was alright.

Chapter 17: Stress

Chapter Text

Daedalus

The sound of pounding metal rang through the forge as Daedalus worked on his latest project, his old circlet. It had originally been confiscated when he was enslaved, as no slave could possibly be allowed to wear any form of crown. However, Master allowed him to have it back, provided that he shaped it into something more befitting for his station. So, he had melted it down, prying out the ruby to be used for something else, and was currently working on shaping it into a slave band for his upper arm.

The sound of the hammer hitting metal was soothing, a hypnotic rhythm that had him completely absorbed in his work. He had a few other ideas floating around in his mind for other projects he could tinker with, maybe even a piece of tribute for his owner. Maybe he could even use the ruby from his circlet in it…

After an unknown amount of time, he thought he heard something off near the house. He stopped his work, perking his ears up to listen around. As he did so, he heard the sound of Nook’s voice calling out. The robot was far enough away that he couldn’t make out any words, but with the little tanuki constantly shouting, he could still hear his voice. 

Daedalus smiled at the thought of little Nook, his heart warming slightly. He was quite happy with the progress Nook had made since being rebooted. He was becoming more and more lifelike with each passing day, gaining his own thoughts and opinions. Almost as if he was developing a will of his own.

Not long after the robot’s voice died off, Nook came into view, along with Master, and a struggling Theseus. While the robot was at a proper heel like he was programmed, the piglin was being dragged by his scruff towards the barn. Daedalus felt a twinge of fear go through him, remembering that the piglin was supposed to be in bed. What was he doing outside? Was he being punished? Was he the reason Nook had been shouting earlier? 

Daedalus watched as Master tied Theseus to the hitching post, the piglin struggling against the chain, but unable to get free. The creeper hybrid stared for a moment before realizing that Master was coming his way, quickly refocusing on his work. He just managed to finish up the main shape of the band when he felt a cold hand settle on his head.

“I hope your work was not disturbed Daedalus,” his Master told him softly.

“O-Of course not, Master,” Daedalus hastily assured his owner, immediately picking up on the mildly annoyed tinge to Master’s voice. “C-Can I ask… w-what happened?”

“Theseus is just being stubborn.” Master sighed, releasing a long breath as he said this. “I'm afraid that I'm not sure what to do with him. Taming him will be completely different from taming the two of you. I fear that if I am not careful, I may end up going too far.” 

Daedalus chanced a glance at his Master, taking note of the small signs that the man was upset. His snow-white brows were pinched together slightly, and his crimson blood-colored lips were pursed together in a slight frown. The creeper hybrid hated how shaken he was by all this. He was scared enough by Theseus’ behavior that he was able to notice the smallest of details about Master’s body language. He was hyper-alert to Master’s mood, and all the signs told him that it was not good. 

He didn’t want to find out what happened when Master was pushed to his limits. He didn’t want to watch Theseus get punished for fighting so hard. There had to be some way to alleviate Master’s mood, but that was unlikely while Theseus was still untrained and insolent.  

“Um… M-master, i-if I may?” he asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to accidentally anger Master when he was already in a bad mood.

“Yes, Daedalus?” The Master replied in a calm tone, or at least a facsimile of calm that he was hiding his irritation behind.

“I-... I believe one of the reasons Theseus is… is giving you so much trouble is that…” He stuttered quickly through his explanation, hoping that Master would not take offense.  “Well… when we came to you, w-we were already broken… o-or nearly broken. Theseus is still fighting anything and everything that g-gets in his way. If… If you wish to t-tame him without much trouble, you may want to use a… a f-firmer hand.”

Daedalus didn’t want Theseus to get hurt, but he knew that the piglin would if things stayed the way they were. Maybe if Master went a bit harder on him now, then Theseus wouldn’t get punished as hard for fighting.

Master sighed, “Yes, it is likely that I will have to be quite firm with Theseus.”

“MASTER ICARUS, WHY DON’T YOU DO RESEARCH ON PIGLINS AND PIGLIN HYBRIDS TO SEE IF YOU CAN USE THESEUS’ INSTINCTS TO HELP TAME HIM? THIS MAY BE HELPFUL TO AVOID DAMAGE TO EVERYONE!” Nook suggested loudly.

Daedalus couldn’t help but start at the shouted suggestion, but Master merely looked thoughtful.

“Yes, that may be a very good idea. Thank you Nook, I’ll have to look into that.” Master smiled fondly at Nook, scratching behind his ears. “And thank you for your input as well, Daedalus.”

He blushed at the compliment, letting out a small hissing click as Master scratched behind his ears as well. He leaned into the touch until Master pulled away.

"If anyone needs me I will be in the library. Keep up the good work you two." 

Master then turned on his heels and walked back to the house, leaving Daedalus floating happily in the wake of Master’s praise and touch. As always, Master was continuously kind and gentle, even when things weren't going the way he wanted. Daedalus could only hope that Theseus would soon be able to relish in Master's love for them. Anyone could see that the Master cared for the piglin, but Theseus wasn't accepting that care. Hopefully, Master would get through to him eventually, and then he would also bask in their kind Master's touch and words.

He hummed to himself as he picked up the golden slave band, wanting to add some details before presenting it to Master. He held no doubt that Master would accept it, but he wanted it to be perfect for him nonetheless. Master deserved his best after everything he had done to save him.

With luck, he would save them all in time.


Lethe

He had been walking for what felt like days, wandering aimlessly through the dense woods of the SMP. He was still under the control of the red vines, egg, bad! owner, even though it had stopped giving him commands and forcing his body to obey. He could only hope that its grip would loosen soon, so Ranboo could resurface. 

He couldn’t remember where the name Ranboo came from, but he was pretty sure that it hadn't been given to him by either of his newest owners. Still, it wasn’t like he could name himself. That was his owner’s right, and if he tried to name himself, there would be hell to pay. Besides, the red and green shields didn’t know that they even had an owner right now. It thought it was a person, and since people had names, he let it use Ranboo.

He didn't think the shield had always been red and green, but he couldn't remember for sure. The whole reason he had started using the shield in the first place was so that he didn't have to be in his body when he was being hurt. He could see what was happening when the shields were down, but he didn't want to most of the time. Recently the shields have been protecting him against the red vines, bad, run! owner who had decided to control him directly from his head instead of looking at his memory from his book like the green smiles, sharp, fear! owner did. 

It was a bit confusing having two owners, but he had done it before. The only real issue was that it was a bit difficult to tell which owner was his primary owner. While the green owner was the one who bought him from his old owner, the red owner was the one who controlled him whenever he didn't have the shields down to protect him. He used to have the green smile, liar, bad! owner's voice in his head as well, but it had gone away a while ago. Perhaps that meant that the green owner had gotten rid of him, and he was now the sole property of the red owner. That was a scary thought.

When the Ranboo came out with the shields, the red owner couldn't control it, but if it got too stressed, then the red master would be able to take over. Vaguely, he could remember a time when he could control when the shields came up and down, but he couldn't anymore with the red owner in his mind. 

He liked some of the things the Ranboo had done though, so it wasn’t all bad. He loved the fawn named Tubbo, the human named Tommy, and the piglin named Michael. He had never known someone before that he had genuinely wanted to be around, even if it wasn’t him that they were ever really around. They only ever interacted with Ranboo, not him. That was probably a good thing since when he was himself he still wasn’t really him. Not when the red owner took over his mind and body. 

He hated all of the things the red owner made him do. The red owner would punish him by making him do bad things, like help kill Tommy or hurt himself with water. He could never get away like he could if it was happening to Ranboo because the red owner always made him watch and feel everything.

He knew that the fawn and the piglin saw Ranboo as family, and while he could often see the things that were happening to Ranboo, it wasn’t the same as if it were him. He wished that he would be able to meet Tubbo for real one day. He hoped Tubbo would like him if they ever got to meet. Then he would be able to hug him as himself and hold him close in the way no one else ever has.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a hand on his arm. The red owner's hold was looser now, no longer holding him in a strangling grip. His gaze drifted down until he saw the familiar, short horns of Tubbo. Like almost every time the red owner took hold of them, Tubbo came to find him and bring him home.

He could feel the shields coming down as Tubbo gently coaxed Ranboo out. He let himself slip into the back of his own mind, letting the Ranboo come fully out and forcing the vines of the red owner to recede into the background with him. He watched through the red and green tint as Tubbo beamed up at them in happiness and relief. 

It was all he needed to see to know he was doing the right thing.


Patroclus

Tubbo Underscore-Beloved was very stressed, not that his being stressed was anything new. There was so much for him to do every day that the days were just never long enough. He was trying to find the time to grieve his best friend's death and solve his murder, on top of caring for his sick and dying child, running his commune, trying to make sure said commune was protected from threats, and trying to find and help his husband. 

Ranboo Beloved-Underscore had a horrible habit of running off when he was upset, meaning that Tubbo had to find where he went if he wanted to help him. He was pretty sure that Ranboo had a condition that made him drop into an instinct-driven state whenever he got too stressed. Ranboo never remembered what happened afterward, and Tubbo always found him wandering around with purple eyes like a full-blooded enderman whenever it happened.

A few days ago, they had been at Tommy's grave to pay their respects. After Tubbo had said his part, Ranboo let out a panicked warble and ran away as if he was being chased. Tubbo had grabbed the freaked-out Michael and tried to run after him, but by the time he had started to run after his husband, the enderman was gone. At the time, he had assumed that Ranboo had just been overwhelmed by grief, but his husband hadn't come home that night.

So now, here he was, walking through the snow in an attempt to find his Enderwalking husband. He had put Michael to bed a few hours ago, making sure that his slowly zombifying child was as comfortable as he could be. It was the least he could do since he had failed once again to cure the poor boy.

While most people nowadays were immune to the zombie virus, there were still plenty of new victims every day. It was just a part of life to have to ward off the occasional undead visitor looking for food. However, while richer servers had ready access to potions and medicines across the Overworld, the nether was not so lucky. 

It was even worse in this server, where wars, infighting, and griefing had made most of the villagers flee to new areas. Not even pillagers stuck around anymore. This made it nigh impossible to find the necessary resources to cure zombified piglins. Poor little Michael had been left behind by his sounder, doomed to die a slow death to his infection. Both Tubbo and Ranboo had tried some different medications, but neither of them knew how to cure zombification in piglins. All they had managed to do was slow it down.

During his really bad days, Tubbo would find himself sitting alone, wondering who he would lose next: his husband, or his child. Michael was doomed, and Tubbo had tried to make peace with that knowledge, but Ranboo’s condition was hard to understand. He feared that one day, Ranboo would fall into his feral Enderman state and never wake up. He cried a lot on those bad days.

Tubbo snapped out of his thoughts as he caught sight of something black in the endless plain of white snow. Tubbo trudged through the snow over to the lanky figure, his heart soaring as he saw that it was his husband. He’d found him! Moving quickly, he managed to catch up to the ender hybrid, grabbing his hand to stop his slow shuffling.

“Hey Boo, it’s me, it’s Tubbo.” He kept his voice soft and gentle, trying to carefully coax Ranboo out of his instincts. “You're okay now, you're safe. I’ve got you Ranboo, so come back to me. Please Boo, you need to come and tuck Michael into bed. Michael is waiting for his Daddy to come kiss him goodnight.” 

Tubbo kept murmuring sweet loving words to Ranboo, rubbing the endarian’s hand gently as his eyes slowly faded from purple to red and green. Tubbo beamed up at him, relief filling him as Ranboo came to. The man blinked a few times as the last of the purple faded, glancing around in confusion.

“W-where… what… Tubbo?” Ranboo stuttered out, shivering in the cold icy winds.

“Hey Boo, it’s good to see you.” Tubbo squeezed Ranboo’s hand before gently tugging him in the direction of Snowchester. “Come on, let's get you home. You must be freezing!” 

He was gonna bring his husband home and bundle him up in every blanket they owned. He would keep his family safe if it killed him.

“Oh, uh, thanks, Bee. For, you know, coming to find me.” Ranboo blushed slightly, seemingly embarrassed. Or maybe he was just flushed from the cold. Either way, he looked cute.

“It’s no problem, Boo,” Tubbo teased, “I’ll always come to find you.” 

Tubbo smiled up at Ranboo, and Ranboo smiled back. As long as he had his family, everything would be alright.

Chapter 18: Alpha and Omega

Chapter Text

Theseus

The sound of rattling chains pulled Technoblade from his fitful slumber. At some point in the night, he had managed to fall asleep curled up in the dirt next to the post he had been chained to. He felt grimy now after sleeping in the elements like a normal pig, and now someone was disturbing him far too early for his taste. He felt as if he’d barely been asleep for an hour, and given that the moon was still high in the sky, it was still the middle of the night.

Turning his gaze towards the post, Techno snarled when he saw that it was the skinwalker, who was looking far too happy for his liking as it held the end of Techno’s chain like a leash.

“Theseus, come,” the creature commanded, giving the piglin a large, toothy grin that showed off way too many teeth. “It’s time to put an end to your rebellious streak.”

Techno snarled and growled as he was pulled to his feet via the chain, really not liking the implications of those words. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t strong enough to pull free from the chain, and the fact that he skipped eating all day yesterday was beginning to bite him in the ass. Sure he had trained his body to ignore hunger pains, but he was still weak from his injuries, and his hunger was only making that weakness worse.

He stumbled as he was dragged along, trying futility to dig in his heels. Unfortunately, the bastard didn’t even bother looking back when he fell anymore, just pulling on the leash with no regard for Techno. That didn’t stop him and he kept fighting, trying to find even the smallest sliver of an opening. The Voices were chanting in his ears, yelling for him to Fight! Draw Blood! Win! Escape! He would not, could not let them down. As long as the Voices of the Blood God rang in his ears, he would always win.

Instead of being taken to the padded room for another demeaning training session, Techno’s would-be Master dragged him up the stairs and towards the double doors that led to an ornate bedroom. It didn’t take a genius to figure out whose room this was, and there was no way in hell Techno was going in there. He tried to cling to the door frame but only managed to fall flat on his face. He grunted in pain, his broken tusk aching from being smacked. 

Fingers hooked into the muzzle, dragging him across the ground and over to the large black bed. He snorted angrily as he was dropped, growling as he barely managed to stay upright on his knees. His ear flicked as Chat roared in his head, the yelling overlapping to the point that he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Focusing a bit, he could just make out something about… eyes? He looked up into the imposter's eyes, freezing as the stare bore into him in a way human eyes just couldn’t replicate.

The eyes looked like a coming storm; sky blue swirled with a cloudy gray, slowly darkening as if rain was approaching. They were filled with the promise of no mercy and held more power than Technoblade thought possible within the body of his former brother. A chill ran down his spine, dread pooling in his stomach.

“I can see it in your eyes,” the man said, his voice low and dangerous. “The Voices of the Blood God are rabid, no doubt attempting to coax you into doing something foolish.” 

The man reached out, placing his hand right on the center of Techno’s forehead, the cold of the touch seeping into every fiber of his being. He shuddered, hating everything about this.

“I think it’s time for the Voices to be silent. After all, the Blood God has held you for so long. Now… it’s my turn.”

Techno tried to shake the hand off, hating that he couldn’t keep the slaver from petting him like a dog. He glared up at the man who had managed to force him to his knees, mentally vowing on the Voices of the Blood God that he would make this man pay. He got a bit distracted from his mental promise as the gray parts of the imposter's eyes seemed to turn darker.

"Silence." 

Techno froze, primal terror which he hadn't felt in decades rushing over him in a wave. He could feel the sound reverberate through his bones, physically rattling him to the core.

And then… it was silent. The Voices that had been constantly shouting in his mind for the last several centuries suddenly went completely silent. There was not so much as a whisper of noise in his head other than his own thoughts. 

Suddenly the world seemed far too loud and far too much. He could hear the sounds of birds chirping outside, louder than he could ever remember them being. He didn’t even realize that you could hear things like that from indoors.

He flinched hard at the sound of something being thrown. He looked over at the terrifying monster disguised as a man, seeing that the sound he had heard was simply him taking off his boots. He flinched again at the sound of the second boot being tossed onto the floor, shocked that such a small action could make such a loud noise. The man took off his gray socks and undershirt but kept his black robe and short shorts on. The stark contrast of black fabric against pale skin reminded Techno of the man’s iridescent black blood.

He was wrong. This was no mere skinwalker. Whatever wore the face of his brother… it wasn’t even remotely human. This beast… was a true monster, and it had Techno by the short and curlies.

He leaned away from the monster as it padded back over to him, the creature’s bare feet making such noise that he winced at every step. The creature put its cold hand back on his forehead, the feeling making him shudder. This being held power. More power than he would have imagined possible. The strange cool feeling that spread from the touch was much more noticeable now that he didn’t have Chat screaming at him to get away. The feeling coaxed him to relax, sink into the cold, and stay there. 

He shook his head, trying half-heartedly to shake off the weird sensation. There was magic here. Strong magic that was trying to bring him into its thrall. But he couldn’t let himself fall! He was Technoblade! The Blood God’s champion! He would not fall for such mind tricks! It didn’t matter that Chat was gone. He would endure! He had to…

“Why do you insist on being difficult, Theseus?” The creature sighed, shaking its stolen head. “If you refuse to cooperate, then you leave me no choice. In truth, perhaps this is for the best. After all… it’s been far too long since your last Drop.”

Techno barely had time to wonder what the fuck that meant before power filled the man’s eyes and voice.

“Theseus, Shift."

And shift he did.

The world spun strangely, everything shrinking slightly. His snout shortened and flattened into a human-like face, his fur changing into small human hairs, and his mane transforming into long pink hair. He gasped as everything suddenly became sharper to the touch, his fists slipping out of the mitts and his shorts falling to rest on his knees. Where there had been a large muscled Piglin before, now knelt a small, scrawny human. His ears and teeth were longer and sharper than a human’s, but his body was now as frail as one. 

He had avoided shifting into his human form for so long that it was weaker and more sensitive than it had ever been. The now loose muzzle felt heavy as if it was weighing his head down, and the press of the bit into his mouth stung with pins and needles. What he had before considered to be rather plain shorts now felt abrasive where they rubbed against his legs.

Techno tried to duck and scramble away as the man grabbed at him. He yelped as the muzzle was taken and torn off his face. He fell onto his back as he tried to escape, hissing as his skin hit the floor. He stared up at the monster who had done this to him in terror, fully aware that he could do nothing to defend himself in this form. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t run. He could barely move without buzzing jolts of not-quite-pain tearing through him.

“Theseus, Come,” the creature commanded, freezing hands reaching out and grasping him by the arms. “It’s time for you to learn your place.”

The transformed piglin squealed at the sensation of the frigid hands on his sensitive skin, the sickly sweet words from his captor only making his stomach churn in terror. His fears were all but cemented when he was thrown onto the bed face first. He barely had a moment to pant and breathe before those strong, icy hands were pinning him down, arctic cold thighs pressed against his back. He nearly screamed at the cold touches, the strange feeling from before washing over him in waves. 

He would say that it felt like burning alive if he didn’t already know what burning alive felt like. The creature’s skin was so cold it burned wherever it touched, digging into him and freezing him right down to the bone. He struggled and cried out, but his soft skin and baby-like fat were no match for the beast holding him down. The hands moved up and down his back, the sensation of too-sharp nails digging into his skin leaving him a mess. He sobbed as a hand squeezed his throat lightly, mewling and crying out as freezing-cold pressure was applied.

“S-stop…” he gasped, his voice weak and trembling as he attempted to cry out for mercy. “Pl-ple-aah!”

“Stop?” The creature, his would-be Master, seemed to tilt his head in curiosity, digging his nails into his back and watching him scream. “Not just yet. Not until you submit to me like a good little omega. You want that, don’t you? To be a good little omega for your Alpha?”

The words terrifyingly scratched against his brain, his instincts stirring at the dolled-up words. He was the great Technoblade! He was an omega to no one! He didn’t care how much power this man had, he would never bow to him as his Alpha! 

His thoughts were interrupted as his ear was nipped lightly, bringing back all the freezing sensations as a yip tore from his throat.

“Not… ngh… not m-my… Not my Alph-AHH!”

His mind went white as the man lay fully on top of him, his entire body being covered by freezing, burning skin as his protests completely sputtered out.

“Oh yes, I am your Alpha, Theseus,” the creature snarled in his ear, a hand pressing against his freshly healed gut wound. The scarred flesh was so sensitive that it burned twice as bad. “Deep down, you know this to be true. You are my little omega slave, my precious little piglin. All you have to do is admit it to yourself and submit."

He made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a scream, his mind slowly succumbing to the freezing magic being pressed into his body. He panted and whined and squealed, shaking and wiggling in a desperate attempt to free himself. He couldn’t give in! He had to stay strong!

Techn-... He struggled to keep himself together under the constant pressure being kneaded into his soft skin. He mewled as teeth nipped at the back of his neck. He couldn’t give in! He couldn’t. He was the great Tech-... No… No no no nononono! He couldn't give in, he wouldn’t! He was Tech-... Tec-... 

Why… Why couldn’t he remember his name?! He wasn’t Theseus, he wasn’t! It couldn’t be the Voices, so why were his thoughts being so disrupted?! 

His instincts, which he had thought were long dead had stirred up, urging him to submit to the strong Alpha. His soft skin was slowly going numb to the freezing touch, the signals of pain starting to mingle and twist into signals of pleasure. A squealing moan slipped past his lips as a cold hand squeezed his thigh. 

Everything was a blurry mess of sensations and sounds, most of the man's words going in one ear and out the other. His instincts had reared their head hard, pushing for him to be Theseus, his Alpha's good little omega slave. He tried to fight against his piglin roots, but the pounding in his head had him inching closer and closer to giving in. He had fought so hard for so long to be the biggest Alpha around, he couldn’t give in now! He was T-… he was… he was the Blood God's champion! He couldn't let some slaver be his Alpha! 

He let out a high-pitched mewl as a hand groped at his stomach, making him arch further into the man's torso. He didn't want to be an omega… but Prime, when had such a bitter cold ever felt so good?! He could feel it covering his body, pressing up against his skin and setting his cells alight. 

He gasped out a keen as his sensitive ear was rubbed. A cold hand tugged at his hair and he mewled as his head was jerked back. His mind was a cacophony of war, part of him desperately urging him to submit and melt into the touches, and another part of him desperately telling him to run. But he couldn’t run. He couldn’t get away. He could do nothing but submit.

No, he could never submit! But... What could he do? He moaned and keened as he was squeezed between his Alpha’s thighs. No! He was not his Alpha! He.. he couldn’t be! He… he…

“Come Theseus, be a good omega slave for your Alpha~!” the Alpha crooned in his ear.

He whimpered, mind torn between submitting and rebelling. He didn’t want to be an omega, but with the Alpha pinning him down, resistance became less and less of an option as he sunk further and further into a drop of his newly awakened instincts. 

“A-alnn-....”

He bit his tongue hard, cutting himself off before he could say that dreaded word. While the pain did clear his mind ever so slightly, the taste of blood didn’t have quite the effect he wanted, seeing as Chat wasn’t there to roar over it.

“Give in, Omega!” the Alpha growled at him, squeezing one of his nipples and nipping at his ear. “Submit to your Alpha! SUBMIT!"

He squealed loudly in a submissive tone, his instincts finally winning over at the audible submission.

“A-Al-...pha!”

The instinct-driven part of him flooded his mind with pleasure, pleased that he had given in to his Alpha and submitted. The rest of his mind was horrified and embarrassed, feeling internally betrayed by the fact that he had finally submitted to another. After all this time, someone had finally become his Alpha, and they were a slaver no less. 

His pride was shattered and he broke down into sobs, torn between relief and dread. His mind was so jumbled that he could barely think, everything was an overstimulating concoction of feelings and sensations and instincts. He sagged into his Alpha’s bed, pitifully glad that he wasn’t being pinched or bit.

“Good boy,” his Alpha gushed, cooing in his ear while pulling them close, cuddling him like a stuffed animal. “That’s my good omega. You did so well, being so good for me.”

The omega whimpered and sniffled, taking in shuddering breaths as he slowly relaxed into his Alpha’s hold. The praise from his Alpha had his instincts purring happily, urging him to relax into the pleased Alpha’s touch. He sunk deep into his Alpha’s embrace, basking in the soothing murmurs of encouragement being purred into his ears. 

Time lost all meaning, the only important thing was Alpha’s touch. His Alpha petted him gently, icy fingers running over his hair soothingly. This was where he was supposed to be. This was where he belonged. He only had one last thought running through his mind as he fell asleep.

He was Theseus, his Alpha’s omega slave.


Master

Piglins were quite a fascinating species, something the Master had always thought even before his ascension to his current role. Still, he’d never had the patience for research until now, and even if he had, there was little in genuine studies that would have been available to his formerly loud-mouthed self. Now, however, he had both the patience and the access to as much research material as he wanted.

In the wake of Theseus’ escape attempt, the Master spent the rest of the night studying the Piglin culture, as well as their hybrids. It irked him slightly that much of the information was either biased or propagandized, but that was just the way that the world worked when it came to mobs and hybrids. Still, legitimate studies and books were available, and the Master eagerly snatched them all up.

Along with his piglin research, the Master also began to look into the Blood God. As the violent deity’s champion, Theseus had undergone a blood ritual to gain their power. This is what had rendered him immortal. On top of this, he also had to deal with the Voices. This, coupled with the hybrid’s status as a Piglin Shifter, meant that the poor thing had a lot of odds stacked against him when it came to maintaining a healthy life balance.

Through his research, the Master learned that Piglins were a meritocratic race, where status was defined by strength and skill. With this in mind, Theseus was undoubtedly seen as the highest of all Alphas, meaning he had no doubt gotten quite comfortable and cocky on his gilded pedestal. Knocking him off that pedestal would require the Master to prove he was stronger, but even if he did, could he trust Theseus’ instincts to recognize him as an Alpha?

Further research into the Blood God showed that the Voices existed to ensure that the Champion would always put their God’s will first. They overwrote everything else, even such biological urges like instincts. That meant that for Theseus to submit, the Master would need to silence the Voices. Thankfully, his Death-given powers would do exactly that, quieting them and leaving Theseus ripe for the picking.

Still, silencing the Voices wasn’t going to be enough. Thanks to them silencing Theseus’ instincts, the piglin had kept his piglin form for centuries, neglecting his human form. This was incredibly unhealthy for shifters, who needed to regularly shift so that both forms would have the chance to become healthy and strong. After centuries of disuse, Theseus’ human form would no doubt be weakened, not to mention touch starved.

The perfect state for his plans.

One command had silenced the Voices, and another had transformed Theseus into his human form. As expected, the man’s body was pale, slender, weakened, and oh-so-sensitive. This left him to sink into his instinct drop, utterly shattering from the overstimulation across his tender skin. In time, the sensitivity would lessen, but until then, he would take his enjoyment from Theseus’ reactions.

The Master spooned the sleeping hybrid, gently running his fingers through his hair and watching him sleep. He had already wiped the man’s tears, comforting the Piglin’s distressed state as best he could. He wanted Theseus’ first drop in years to be as good and comfortable as possible. This would be a crucial time for Theseus, as this drop would likely affect him much more than an average drop would, mostly due to the severity and how long it has been. 

He hoped that he would be a good Alpha for Theseus.


Daedalus

Daedalus sat huddled on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest and chin resting on his knees. Master had sent them to their room after dinner, saying that he was going to go deal with Theseus. He and Clay had gone and sat down on their respective beds, basking in the peaceful silence of the room. They had gotten used to each other's presence after a few weeks, the tense atmosphere of the room finally dissipating.

He wished he had never suggested a firmer hand to master.

Everything had been quiet for a while, only a few thumps and growls seeping in through the thin walls. Then, the screaming started. Screams, moans, keens, mewls, and every horrible sound sank right through the wood and into their room. Daedalus had curled up tightly, trying to stave off a panic attack at the thought of what must be happening to Theseus because of him.

As if drawn by his terror, Clay slowly approached the bed. The mattress sank slightly, then a warm, rough hand slipped into his own. Daedalus looked up, seeing a small, strained smile on his fellow slave’s face.

“It’s alright…” Clay whispered, giving him a comforting look. “I’m right here, and Master won’t do that to us. We’re good boys.”

Daedalus felt his gaze soften as he glanced over at Clay’s face. His heart was warmed by the terrified man trying to comfort him, even when Clay himself was clearly scared. They may have gotten over the initial awkwardness of living together, but they still struggled with navigating their complex past and relationship.

“T-thanks Clay,” Daedalus responds quietly. “I just… I feel like it’s…  that it’s my f-fault…” 

It was his fault. He had suggested that Master go hard on Theo. He was the reason Theseus was being tortured. From the sound of it, maybe even raped. He flinched as another shrill moan permeated the air. Clay squeezes his hand softly.

“It’s not your fault, Dae. Master would have punished him eventually for being so bad.” 

He appreciated the sentiment, even if he didn’t fully believe it. It was still his fault, even if-... wait…

“Did you just call me Dae?”

Clay paled as he realized what he had just said. “O-oh, I am so sorry! I- I didn’t mean to--!”

Daedalus burst into giggles, trying to wave off Clay’s concerns, but forgetting that they were holding hands and merely waving their connected hands up and down a bit.

“Y-you’re fine!” he managed to gasp out through his giggles. “I just-... I just wasn’t expecting it!” 

Clay blushed in embarrassment, stuttering out excuses. “I just-... I mean… we used to shorten your o-old name, so I figured-...” 

“It- It’s fine Clay. I don’t mind.” Dae smiled at the blushing man, watching as some of the tension left him at his reassurance.  “It’s kind of sweet really.” 

“Thanks, Dae,” Clay said, smiling back at him and squeezing his hand gently.

The soft moment was interrupted by a squealing scream, the sound echoing slightly throughout the house. Dae whimpered at the sound, his ears pinning back against his skull. Clay’s hand squeezed him tighter, pulling him towards the man. Clay tugged him into his arms, holding him in a firm hug and whispering reassurances in his ears. He sniffled slightly, burying his face in Clay’s chest and hugging him tightly.

The two cuddled on Daedalus’ bed, clinging to each other for comfort as the sound of Theseus’ punishment rattled through the walls. Dae eventually fell asleep in Clay’s arms, curled up together with a newly forged connection that would last a lifetime.

Unlikely as it had been, Daedalus would become the brother that Clay had never had.

Chapter 19: Fluffy...Ish

Chapter Text

Master

It was well past sunrise, but the Master of Death remained in his room, smiling down at the sleeping Theseus snuggled into his side. From his research, the Master knew that Piglins, especially their hybrids, were known to have rather severe instinct drops, ones that lasted for several days at a time. For Theseus, who had been suppressing his instincts for many centuries, it would no doubt be even more severe than normal, meaning the Master would have to handle this matter delicately. The last thing he wanted was for his new slave to suffer the ramifications of a bad drop.

Still, it was getting late in the morning, and the Master still had two other slaves that needed and deserved his attention, not to mention breakfast. As much as he would have loved to let Theseus nap, it simply wasn’t feasible. So, he gently brushed some of the long, pink strands of hair out of the Omega’s face, running his fingers across his scalp.

"Wake up, little Theseus," he cooed, continuing his soft touches.

Theseus groaned and shifted, nuzzling further into the Master’s embrace. He chuckled at the sleepy hybrid, petting him as he tried to settle back down. 

“Come now Theseus, it’s time to be awake.” 

He lifted the half-asleep Omega’s head from where he was trying to hide it, eliciting a tired whine that was half like a pig squeal. Theseus blinked sleepily, then slowly turned his gaze to the Master. He grunted slightly and chuffed, pressing his cheek into the Master’s hand like a pet asking for head scratches. Meeting the Omega’s gaze, the Master could see that his pupils were blown out, eyes slightly glazed over.

This was a good sign, a sign of a positive drop where the hybrid felt calm and comfortable. As long as he remained in that headspace, Theseus would spend the remainder of his drop acting somewhere between a sleepy child or a cat high on catnip. If his headspace ever turned negative, then the Omega would become violent, territorial, and protective of anyone or anything he considered his.

Despite the rocky start, Theseus felt safe enough for his drop to be a positive one, although that could also be due to the cold magic covering his skin. His little Omega seemed to still be a bit sensitive since they were currently switching back and forth from nuzzling him and squinting at him in annoyance. 

“Good morning my little Omega,” he greets with warmth in his voice. 

Theseus’ ears perk at the title, seemingly pleased with the pet name. The Piglin rumbled at him as they nibbled gently on his hand. He smiled at the show of affection, leaning down to kiss Theseus on the forehead. His little Omega purred at the gesture, leaning his head forward as the Master pulled back from the kiss. Icarus put his hand up and Theseus thumped his head against it, one of the man’s now small hands coming up to grip his wrist.

“Come Theseus, you must be hungry." The Master sat up, pulling Theseus into his lap. “Oh, but you’ll need new clothes. Your old shorts won't stay put on your smaller form.”

The little Omega didn’t seem to be listening to him, trying to find the most comfortable way to sit in the Master’s lap. He snuggled and shifted, whining as the Master’s cold skin came into contact with his oversensitized body. The Master chuckled again, kissing the top of Theseus’ head before carefully sliding him onto the bed. Theseus whined loudly as he stood up, his small fragile hands grasping at his robe. The Master smiled down at his Omega, cupping their head in his hand.

“It’s alright little one,” he comforted the Omega, smiling slightly at the man’s clinginess.  “I’m not leaving you. I just need to find you some shorts."

Theseus not wanting him to leave him meant that he was becoming attached to him, seeing him as someone he could trust to take care of him in this malleable state. This was most likely caused by a mixture of his newly established spot as the hybrid’s Alpha, and the small connection to his past as Tommy that had lasted through the wars. Yes, this was a good sign, proof of a strong connection, and a show of submission. There would no doubt be some conflict once Theseus started to come out of the drop, but if the Master did what he needed to do properly, then even once he was out of his drop, Theseus would instinctively see him as his Alpha and caretaker.

The Master gently removed Thesues’ hands from his robe, pushing the hybrid down and forcing him to lay out on his back. He let go of his Omega’s hands and quickly moved away so that he could not grab it again. The Master felt his heart melt as soft begging whines filled the air. Theseus was currently quite fragile in both body and mind, and the large puppy eyes he was giving him were much more effective with his pupils being so dilated from the drop. He quickly grabbed a pair of shorts that would fit his small Omega, moving back over to his bed and petting his pouting slave’s head. 

“I’m right here Theseus, let me take care of you," he said, rubbing Theseus’ skin soothingly as he helped the hybrid into the shorts.

Theseus whined and chuffed pitifully, snuggling into his robe and picking at the shorts. Icarus huffed at the man quietly, scratching the hybrid’s head and soothingly rubbing their back. Theseus hummed softly at the touches but was still messing with the shorts in an agitated manner.

“What's wrong, little one?” he asked, trying to figure out what Theseus was thinking as the hybrid was currently non-verbal. 

Theseus whined once more and tugged at the shorts, half-heartedly trying to pull them off. The Master petted the hybrid comfortingly, watching him wiggle with slight confusion. It took his little Omega flinching away from his touch as a claw brushed their skin for Icarus to realize that the wool shorts must be itchy on the shifter's sensitive skin. Theseus looked up at him with big puppy eyes, tilting his head back into Icaraus’ shoulder as a show of submission and tugging slightly on his robe. 

“Alright Alright, I’ll take them off.” Gently, the Master slipped the shorts off of Theseus, folding them and setting them aside. “But we have to find something for you to wear."

Theseus settled down into his side, wiggling between his torso and his robe. Master sighed and side-hugged the man, draping his arm over him and rocking his slave gently. He kissed the top of his Omega’s head, covering their naked body with his robe and rubbing their back through the cloth. He smiled as the wiggling hybrid purred and chuffed as they burrowed into his side.

Although Theseus was placated for the moment, Icarus now had a bit of a dilemma to deal with. His Enclave was still rather small, meaning he didn’t have ready access to materials for clothing and such. Trading was out of the question, given that all of the villages had been long since abandoned. He had been lucky in his raids to find enough silk and soft material for his own clothing, settling on wool from his sheep for his slave’s clothing. Clay never complained or showed any signs of discomfort, but he didn’t have the same sensory issues that Theseus did.

Rubbing his chin, the Master tried to think of what he could do. Spider silk seemed to be the only thing that Theseus could handle in his current oversensitized state if the way he was snuggling against his robe was anything to go by. He could probably make a trip out to one of the abandoned villages to gather some spider silk later, but for now, he needed something readily available. Thankfully, he had a baggy sleep shirt he had made with the leftover materials from his robe. It wouldn’t be the most flattering thing, but it was better than nothing.

Master smiled and stood, carefully removing the whining Piglin hybrid from his robe. “I’ll be right back Theseus, I promise. I just need to grab something and then I’ll be back.”

Icarus kissed the whining Theseus’ forehead, smiling as he walked speedily to where he had left the nightshirt. He didn’t require sleep anymore, even if he did occasionally partake in the activity to simply pass the time. However, his slaves did, and thus he had made the nightshirt for if one of them had a nightmare and needed something more comfortable to curl up in. Thankfully, it had yet to become necessary, so it was still in the drawer he had left it in after he had finished it. 

He pulled out the shirt, draping it over his arm as he walked back to his deeply dropped Omega. The second he was within reach, Theseus hugged him tightly, his face smushed into his chest as he purred and churred happily at his return. Heart melting, the Master smiled and kissed the top of his Omega’s head, rubbing their back as they shivered and squirmed against his chest. 

“Here little one, let’s get you dressed.”

He helped Theseus into the large shirt, the white, silk fabric draping over their shoulders and cascading down to almost to his knees. Icarus cupped Theseus’ cheek as he looked him over. His little Omega looked so cute in the too-large shirt! The sun reflected off the silk in a pretty white sheen that made Theseus look like he was glowing in the sunlight.

He cooed at the soft little Omega as he leaned his head into his hand, baring his neck and closing his eyes in quiet submission. It was a precious sight that made him wish he could purr. He attempted to copy Theseus’ heavy chuffs and rumbling purrs, his pretty little Omega’s ears perking at his loving but pitiful attempt to copy the hybrid's sounds.

“Such a pretty little thing~!” he praised with a happy smile. 

The Master carefully threaded his fingers into Theseus’ waist-length hair, watching to make sure he wasn’t hurting the man with his fingernails or pulling his hair too sharply. It would need to be brushed and braided to keep it from knotting. Theseus purred and leaned into his touch, still shivering from his cold magic but seemingly content with his place. 

His eyes caught on something black in his Omega’s hair and he gently parted the hair to see what it was. He was slightly surprised to find a large black feather tucked lovingly into Theseus’ hair. The plumage shone in the sunlight, a slight purple sheen shimmering over the bristles. The Master smiled at the claim, carefully tucking it back into Theseus’ hair. 

A gentle rumble from Theseus’ stomach quickly reminded the Master that breakfast had yet to be made. To make matters worse, all of his slaves had skipped dinner because of Theseus’ behavior. They all had to be quite hungry by this point, something that the Master absolutely wouldn’t let stand. No one starved in his Enclave. 

Wrapping his arms around Theseus, he picked him up and tucked the man’s head underneath his chin. Together, they walked out of his room and down the stairs, traveling through the dining room and into the kitchen. It was a small room, nothing extravagant or fancy, but it served its purpose well. 

The Master gathered all the things he would need to make hash browns, seeing as his little Omega’s favorite food was potatoes. He’d need to make something different for Clay, but he wanted to spoil his new Omega a bit. He smiled down at Theseus and gave him another kiss before gently setting him on the floor by his feet. Theseus whined and clung to his leg anxiously, but he simply gave the man a pet before getting to work.

~\~/~

Icarus carefully set out the various plates of food across the dining room table; fluffy eggs, crisp bacon, steaming biscuits with a wide array of fruit jams, and both hashbrowns and breakfast potatoes. He set out pitchers of fresh juice, then smiled at his work. From the way Theseus was whining and chuffing at the food, it was clear that his efforts would be appreciated. Now, all he needed to do was go and collect the rest of his slaves.

The Master gently picked up Theseus and settled him against his hip. His cute little Omega slumped against him and put his head on his shoulder. He smiled and petted the man as he carried him along.

“Come little one, let’s go wake up the others.”

~\~/~

The Master walked to his slaves’ room, gently knocking on the door before opening it. He walked in on the adorable sight of Daedalus and Clay cuddling together on Daedalus' bed. He had to stifle a coo at the cute sight, humming quietly to himself as he walked up to the bed. He was a bit surprised that the two were still asleep, but at least it looked like they had slept well. He was glad that they were getting along well enough that they could comfortably sleep in each other's arms.

He brushed some hair out of Clay’s face, leaning down and blowing gently across his nose. Icarus didn’t want to wake the man harshly by shaking him, the idea just seeming so unnecessary on this calm, beautiful morning. He blew some more and watched as the man’s face scrunched in his sleep. He petted the crooning Piglin as he leaned down to look at the two as well, seemingly agreeing that they were a cute sight. Theseus chuffed and blew into Clay’s face, copying his earlier movements. Theseus’ blow was significantly less gentle and quiet than his own, and the extra force succeeded in waking the man.

His sleepy slave groaned and opened his eyes, squinting up at them in confusion. Clay blinked for a moment before his mind fully awoke and he jerked up in surprise. 

“M-Master!” The man seemed horribly disoriented, glancing around rapidly to try and gain his bearings. Quickly, Clay began to gently shake Daedalus, trying to lift the creeper hybrid off of him. Even though Clay had been steadily regaining his strength since his time in the Pandorica, he was still weak when it came to lifting heavy objects.

“Good morning Clay.,” the Master greeted softly. “Did you sleep well?”

Theseus settled back against his side, chuffing quietly and burrowing into his neck. He rewarded the affection with another pet as Clay gained his bearings and Daedalus started to wake up.

“Y-yes Master, I slept well,” Clay answered, matching the Master’s gentle tone before his eyes drifted to Theseus. “Um, who… who's this, Master?”

“Why this is Theseus,” the Master replied with a smile, finding Clay’s bewildered expression so adorable. “You see, he’s a shifter hybrid, and this is his smaller, human form. He’s going to be spending an extended bit of time like this so he can get used to it. He’s a bit sensitive at the moment.”

The bewilderment gave way to fear as Clay stared at Theseus, no doubt concerned for the Omega and his current physical and mental state. Then again, Clay had been rather spooked by Theseus’ violent attitude before, and this stark change would be rather jarring. Hopefully, the two would have the chance to settle and adjust to one another so Clay could feel safe again.

A groan from Daedalus drew the Master’s gaze from Clay to the Creeper, watching as his second slave attempted to get his bearings. As the green hybrid squinted at the Master and Theseus, he fully awoke with a start, letting out a hiss from shock.

“Good morning Daedalus. Did you sleep well?” 

“Y-yes Master. Um…” Daedalus stared at Theseus uncomprehendingly. 

“As I told Clay, this is Theseus, specifically his human form. He’s a shifter hybrid, and he will be maintaining his human form for a bit.” The Master cupped Theseus’ chin, running his thumb along his jaw. “Don’t worry. He won’t bite you again.”

“O-oh, uh, I-...I see…”

Icarus could tell that neither of his slaves was awake yet, and he gently gave them a pet before heading for the door. He gave Theseus one as well when the hybrid grunted and headbutted his shoulder.

“I just wanted to let you two know breakfast is ready. You can come to eat once you are ready, but the sooner you come the warmer your food will be.”

Icarus then walked out and closed the door behind him, having decided that he would give his slaves some time to adjust. It seemed that they had just made great progress in their relationship, and he didn’t want to have them start to avoid each other due to awkward feelings. If they needed some time to talk, then he would gladly give it to them. He wanted everyone to be able to live in comfortable harmony under his care. He knew it would take some time for all those who had been hurt to make amends, but he had faith that it could happen. Under his guidance, everyone who had been hurt would soon find peace. 

The Master of Death would allow nothing else.


Clay

Clay blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes, trying to comprehend what he had just seen. When he had woken up to his Master leaning over him, he had expected to be reprimanded, maybe punished for not being in his bed or oversleeping and not being in the Greet position. Instead, Master had merely told them that breakfast was ready. He had been even more shocked to see Theseus in a smaller form that he didn’t know the piglin had and burrowing into the Master’s neck.

Dae seemed just as shocked as he was, staring at the door with wide eyes as he clung to his hand. “Did… did that just… h-happen…?”

“I’m… I’m not sure…” Clay responded shakily. “Was… was that r-really Theseus?”

He looked at Dae and they met eyes, seeing their fear reflected in the other. Neither of them fully understood what had happened to Theseus, but seeing him acting like a docile house cat couldn’t mean anything good. Theseus was not known for his docility. He was known more for his violence than anything. 

"He almost looked dropped, but like… worse somehow," Dae said.

And if that didn’t send chills down Clay’s spine. Instinct drops were common among just about every type of hybrid out there, even if the intensity varied. Clay knew from experience that Piglin hybrids typically acted hostile and protective when they dropped instead of going into the pliant state that most hybrids experienced.

"Do you…” Clay swallowed hard, barely able to voice his thoughts. “Do you think he's… drugged?"

"Where would Master get high-end drugs that could do something like that?"

"He's Master." 

Indeed, that was all the answer either of them needed. Master was all-powerful, unstoppable, and undeniable. As the most powerful figure in their lives, he might as well have been a God. To Clay, who knew that his owner was anything but human, this fact was the crux of his instinctive terror of the being who owned him in body, mind, and soul.

“Right…” Dae whimpered, picking at a loose string on the bedsheets.

Clay sighed, untangling himself from the sheets of Dae's bed. Dwelling on things they had no chance of changing was a waste of time, and Master had told them to come eat breakfast. Though he phrased it like it was a choice, Clay knew it was an order. 

"Come on, we should get ready."

As the two of them got ready, Clay bit his lip. Last night had not been fun for either of them, but it had been a huge leap in their relationship. Should… should he bring it up? He glanced over at Dae, taking a deep breath before deciding to go for it.

“H-hey, uh Dae? A-about… about last night…”

Dae blushed slightly at the reminder. “Hey, it’s… it’s fine. I-I’m the one who fell asleep on you.”

“I mean, I was the one who came into your bed and pulled you in, so I figure it’s more my fault than yours.” Clay rubbed the back of his neck, taking a deep breath as he steeled his nerves. “By the way… are you… r-really okay with me calling you Dae? I-I know last night you said you were but… But I wanted to check.”

“I’m fine with it, I promise.” Dae paused in the middle of making his bed, one leg rubbing nervously against the other. “But… uh… t-thanks for c-checking.” 

There was a moment of silence. Neither of them moved or spoke. Clay was pretty sure he was holding his breath too. Then, Dae released a breath he had been holding, turning around to face Clay.

I… I also didn’t mind… l-last night. I-I mean…” He groaned, rubbing his face in annoyance. Clay could tell it was directed internally and not at him. “Look Clay, I know we’re not on… the b-best of terms, and… And I get that our p-past isn’t just going to… g-go away, and I know we have a lot to work through, but… I… uh…”

Dae floundered, his speech picking up speed near the end before sputtering out like a dying motor. Clay sighed softly and gave the embarrassed man a small smile.

“Hey, you're doing good. I agree, our past won’t just go away.. and we don’t have the best past… but if you’re okay with it… I would want to work on it. I-...” He closed his eyes, straightening a bit. “I want to have a better relationship with you, especially since we’re roommates.”

Dae nodded. “Y-yeah, that would be great.”

He gave Dae a reassuring smile, also giving his hand a small squeeze. Dae smiled shyly back and returned the squeeze before they both separated to finish getting ready.

~\~/~

Once their room was clean like it was supposed to be, Clay and Dae made their way to the dining room. He did his best to mentally prepare for the sight that would await him, but it wasn’t enough to keep from staring as he entered the room.

Theseus was sitting in Master’s lap, making a soft huffing noise as Master shooed his hand away from the fork he was holding. Clay stood frozen as he watched Master gently redirect Theseus every time the hybrid tried to grab at the utensil, the forkful of egg eventually making its way to Theseus’ mouth once he stopped trying to grip the fork. The man pouted at having been thwarted in his attempts of self-feeding but seemed to feel better at the taste of the eggs and Master’s gentle voice giving him praise. 

Dae’s hand gripped his own for a moment, snapping him out of it just as Master looked up and spotted them. Their Master smiled at them as they walked to their seats and sat down.

“I’m glad to see you made it.” Their owner gestured to the spread of food across the table, as well as the two empty plates in front of them. “Help yourselves to whatever you want. Clay, you do not have to eat the hashbrowns or the breakfast potatoes if you don’t want to. I will not be upset.”

“Yes Master,” they chorused obediently.

Not wanting to upset Master by taking too long, he and Dae immediately began to serve themselves, ensuring they filled their plates without looking greedy or selfish. Clay contemplated taking some of the hashbrowns so they wouldn’t go to waste, but even reaching for the bowl made him feel ill. In the end, he just grabbed a second biscuit and started eating.

Master watched them take a few bites before Theseus started to try and grasp at the fork again. Master tutted at him but got another bite of food for him. “I will most likely be busy with Theseus for the next few days, but feel free to come to me if you need something. I may not be able to help you right that second, but if I am aware that you have need of me I will be able to set aside the time necessary for you. Do you understand?”

Clay was surprised by this, but now that he thought about it, that seemed like something the Master would do. Even if it was just said to help them feel better, the proclamation that Master would set time aside for him if he asked warmed his heart and softened the fearful knot that had settled into his stomach since Theseus’ arrival.

“Yes Master," he and Dae quickly said.

Clay quietly ate the rest of his meal, so very glad that his Master was as kind as he was. It was nice to know that despite his fears, he would never be abandoned. After all he had done, he had expected to have the idea that he deserved to be alone even further beaten into him, but Master had never once told him that. He glanced over at his roommate, watching as Dae caught his eye and gave him a small strained smile.

Yes, Master had made sure that he would never again be alone, and he couldn’t think of much more he could wish for.


Thanatos

Philza flew in circles around Las Nevadas, his aching feathers fluffed up in agitation. He had torn the place apart, just like he had promised he would, but he had found no sign on Techno. Maybe it was time to admit that Quackity was telling the truth, that Techno really wasn’t here. It had been days now, and he was no closer to finding his bonded than he had been when he had started. He had gone and questioned Quackity a few more times, each time more gently than before, wishing he could help the broken man,  but he had nothing of use to tell him.

His eyes fluttered slightly and he dropped a few feet in the air. It wasn’t a big deal, but he had to make sure he didn’t hit anything. It was a big deal when he hadn’t eaten or slept or rested at all since he had started! Soon he would have to stop before he fell out of the sky.  He had to keep looking. He had to find Techno. He couldn’t leave him, he couldn’t!

He circled the city one more time, sighing in frustration and landing on one of the tall towers. This was getting him nowhere. He needed to widen his search parameters and figure out who else could have taken Techno and where they would be keeping him. It had never taken him more than a few days to track down his bonded, and that was because of travel time. Why couldn’t he just track him down? Why did he have to search? Something wasn’t right here.  He rubbed the emerald earring hanging from his lobe, wishing that Techno’s matching one would bring him luck in this horrible situation.

Techno was strong, even if Phil wasn’t there he could handle himself. He knew this firsthand.  He had practically raised the piglin, even if their relationship was anything but filial. The two of them had been through thick and thin, through peace and war, and all manner of dangerous situations. He had been by his side for every slaughtered army, executed king, and decapitated slaver lord.

Of course, he had also been there for the aftermath, the limbs stitched together with potions and prayers, and the grievous injuries only staved off by the Blood God’s claim. He’d practically gone hoarse lecturing the stubborn Piglin on taking better care of himself. Just because he couldn’t die didn’t mean he got to skip out on the infirmary. Realistically, he knew Techno could take care of himself… so, why did this feel so different?

He heaved a heavy sigh, shaking himself and fluffing out his wings to try and clear his head. His head was never clear these days.  No matter what Techno’s abilities were, he still needed help, and Phil wasn’t gonna stop until he found him and brought him home.

He shook out his wings and winced as he spread them, ignoring the pain as he prepared for flight. He took a deep breath before jumping off the tower's edge, falling a few meters before his burning wings stretched out fully and he glided off. He wasn’t used to flying this much anymore! He needed to rest before he fell!  He would find Technoblade if it was the last thing he did.

At this rate, it might just be.

Chapter 20: Fragile Peace

Notes:

Hey everyone, this is Author of the Insane. Long time no see, huh? Well, some things have cropped up with Black Foy healthwise. Don't worry, she's recovering as well as she can, but she had taken a bit of a step away from the Dream SMP and its fandom. She hopes that one day, she may have the inspiration to continue work on The Master of Death, Tommyinnit, but we're not holding our breath

In the meantime, she has entrusted me with her legacy, which is in the form of Era of Death. This chapter I am posting now is the last of the content that she was able to write before her health declined, so everything after will be my own work and my own words. I was thankfully granted all of her notes on MOD:T, and I've spent the past three years working on it with her, so hopefully I can continue to entertain you with this work.

Also, thank you in advance for being so patient with this story and for continuing to support it despite my absence. While my health is good, my stress levels have hit a max point thanks to my upcoming graduation from college and having to become an Honest to God Working Adult. I do intend to continue this story and live up to BlackFoy's Legacy, despite everything. This story deserves to be finished.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter!!

Chapter Text

Master

“Theseus, kneel.”

Theseus went to his knees, eyes focused on the treat in his Master’s hand: a small piece of Golden Apple dipped in a hardened sugarcane shell. They were a special treat that Icarus had concocted to motivate his omega slave to listen during training. His mindset was that of a docile animal or a small child, and the Master had always favored the carrot approach over the stick. It had still taken a few tries, but now Theseus was eagerly obeying, smiling as he snapped up the treat once it was offered.

“Good boy. Theseus, bow.”

Theseus snorted eagerly and bowed to the ground, his stomach against his knees and his hands above his head. He gave the man a gentle pet on his head, stroking his fingers through the long, pink hair. 

It had been a few days since he had initially dropped the piglin hybrid, and as he had expected, Theseus was coming out of it at a snail’s pace. As expected, he would remain in this state for a while at least. Hopefully, the piglin’s earlier repression of his instincts wouldn’t extend the drop for too long. There have even been records of Piglin drops lasting over a year, and he didn’t want Theseus to be in this fragile state for that long. Even so, he was prepared for the long haul.

Theseus made an indignant sound at his lack of reward, but he didn’t lift his head like he had the last time Icarus didn’t immediately supply the treat. The Master smiled fondly at his slave, rewarding his patients with a sizable golden chunk. His omega squealed happily as he munched on the sugary treat, uncaring of his awkward eating position. Needless to say, the Master was proud of how far his little one had come, knowing how much harder things were for him than the others. 

Theseus was getting to the point where he could wait a moment for his food and keep his attention for a longer training session, even if he often struggled to be good even when he wanted to be. Theseus acted akin to a particularly needy child, but Icarus didn’t mind. The transformed Piglin coming to him for comfort and care proved that his instincts accepted him as the man’s Alpha, and it was good for him to get the proper care all Omegas should receive. 

“Good boy, Theseus. Release.”

He put the treats in his inventory, picking the small man up. Theseus had some trouble with Release, but that was to be expected. All his slaves had difficulty learning when they no longer needed to wait for his command. Theseus seemed to believe that the command meant that he should relax, but he wouldn’t correct him for now. It was a bit of a struggle to get the dropped hybrid to understand words sometimes, much less anything requiring complex thought.

“Come little one, let’s go put your hair in a nice braid.”

Theseus clung to him like a koala and made a content chutting sound, making the Master glad that his omega was comfortable. They made their way upstairs, his slave content to cling to his side as he searched his bedroom for the brush and comb he had just made. It had taken quite some time to carve out the teeth of the comb and insert the bristles into the brush back, but it would all be worth it. He found what he was looking for and picked up the bone comb, smiling at his accomplishment.

“Are you ready to do your hair, little one?” Theseus nodded rapidly, bouncing a bit from his perch on the Master’s hip. He smiled at his happy omega and sat down on his bed.  “Let me grab the brush and ribbons. Then we can get started.”

Theseus was hesitant to let him go, but he smiled reassuringly at the man until he loosened his grip. It didn’t take him long to find the dark oak backing of the hair brush, and soon he was back on the bed with his omega. The piglin hybrid let out an excited squeal, immediately crawling into his lap. He gave him an affectionate kiss on the forehead before adjusting the man into a position where he could reach his hair.

“Can you say hair for me Theseus?”

Since Theseus was slowly coming out of his drop, his ability to say and comprehend words was also slowly coming back. His comprehension of what he said was getting better, but his little piglin didn’t seem to like talking very much. Still, he was a good Omega and did his best for his Alpha.

“....H-hair!” Theseus squeaked out.

“Yes, good boy! Good omega!”

The Master gave him a scratch behind his ears, watching them wiggle with pride in his eyes. His slave was learning so well now that he was open to it. Master let them bask in the victory for a few moments before tilting his slave’s head forward and getting to work.

During his research into piglin and piglin hybrids’ culture and instincts, he discovered something interesting about piglin’s manes and hair. The length and upkeep of a piglin’s mane was an indicator of the age, wisdom, and status of that piglin. Piglin’s never cut their manes, so the longer their mane was, the older and more experienced they were. Piglin manes were often kept in braids due to their length, and the more complex and decorated the braid, the more learned and resourceful the piglin was.

Icarus wasn’t sure how much of these instincts would transfer over to Theseus, but seeing how his long pink hair went down to his calves, he had to assume that it was at least somewhat involved. His knowledge about braids was a bit limited, but he would do his best to make his omega look and feel pretty. Plus, he had some lovely black ribbon to weave in as well. One day, he would need to gift the man some golden hair accessories, but for now, this would do.

Master gently carded his fingers through his slave’s thick straight hair, watching as he squirmed and yipped at his touch. Even though Theseus had done his best to keep his hair orderly, it had quite a few knots due to its length and his current dropped state. Icarus gently started to work through them, grimacing whenever Theseus would whine or cry out at his tugging. He didn’t want one of his slaves to be in pain, but he knew that Theseus’ hair would only get worse and more bothersome as time passed. He didn’t want to have to cut his good little omega’s hair. It seemed to be much too important for that kind of negligence.

After an agonizing few minutes, he got most of the big knots out, grabbing the comb and running it as gently as he could through the long pink strands. Theseus was obviously displeased by the pain, but he didn’t try to get away. 

“I’m so proud of you Theseus,” Icarus cooed, his voice light and gentle as he continued his work. “You’re doing so well.” 

Theseus perked at his praise but wilted again when the next knot was snagged. A little more soothing and soft words washed the discomfort away, and for a small moment, all was well. 

Eventually, the comb could make it through his omega’s sensitive hair without snagging on anything, so he switched to the soft hair brush. The rosy locks shimmered slightly in the light from the window, and Master smiled at the smooth waterfall of hair running down his omega’s back.

Now for the braid. Master took the three long black ribbons he had tied together, gathering some hair from Theseus’ temple and situating it underneath. He then separated the hair into three strands and started to do what he hoped would be a good Dutch braid. It was slow going with his inexperience and the multiple strands, but after a while, he managed to get the hang of it.

While the sounds of pain stopped when the knots were undone, his little omega never stopped making noise. Whenever Icarus stroked or grasped his hair, Theseus would gasp or whine, shifting in a way that made the Master think it was more overstimulation than pain. The piglin hybrid’s hair was different from theirs after all. He would have to keep a close eye on how this progressed to ensure his little one was properly adjusting to this side of himself.

After hours of braiding Theseus’ hair as gently as he could, he finally got to the end, tying the ribbon around the end to keep everything in place. He took out the long black feather, watching its sheen ripple as he moved it. While the Master had confiscated all of Theseus’ decorations, including the Emerald earring that he shared with the Angel, this feather was something he would not keep from his slave. After all, it was a mark of belonging, proof of his bonded’s love for him. As such, the Master made sure it was firmly secured before letting it go.

Theseus huffed slightly, turning his head and feeling the braid. He seemed to approve. Icarus tried to churr at him, and while he was sure it sounded horrible, his little omega churred back happily. Theseus wiggled around so that he could bury his face into the Master’s chest, purring and nudging him with his face. He giggled at the childlike action, oh so gently petting his newly braided head.

They cuddled together for a long while, Master occasionally prompting Theseus to speak or making him squeal as he caressed his braided hair. They were simply laying with Theseus curled up on his stomach when he decided it was time he checked up on his other slaves.

“Come little one, let’s go see what the others are doing. My good little omega could do with some fresh air.”

His slave whined as he tried to set him on his feet, clinging to his side and making grabby hands. It was clear that Theseus much preferred to be carried, and while Icarus would love to oblige him, he knew his omega needed to learn to walk for himself sooner rather than later.

“Alright, but just until we get outside. Then you’re going to walk on your own for a bit.”

Theseus made a pleased sound as he lifted him into his arms, burying his face into his neck and clinging to him as he walked. He gently rubbed his omega’s back as they walked downstairs, savoring the peace of the moment. 

-

As expected, when Icarus gently removed Theseus from his side, the little omega whined in displeasure. Still, he didn’t fight him or try to cling to his Alpha. Instead, he simply stood in the grass, waiting for Master’s instructions.

“Good boy.” The Master rewarded Theseus with a pet. “You can hold my hand while we walk, alright?”

The piglin hybrid gave a light squeal of happiness, readily taking the Master’s hand and squeezing it. It felt like a child squeezing his parent’s hand since he was still quite weak. Even so, the Master just smiled and began leading his little omega to the little hill where his other two slaves were taking a break.

It had been a bit of a struggle to get his two slaves to take appropriate breaks, neither of them having a solid foundation for their own self-care. In the beginning, he had needed to enforce the break times himself; otherwise, the two would simply keep working until he called them. He was glad that they were so eager to please him, but he didn’t want that enthusiasm to harm them. The last thing he wanted was for any of his slaves to collapse from overworking themselves.

Right now, both of his slaves were leaning against the tree at the top of the hill. Daedalus seemed to be working on some sketches in a notebook Icarus had given him. It didn’t have many drawings in it yet, but in time, that would change. Clay was weaving some dandelions into a flower crown, something the Master had taught him how to do. With luck, the task would help Clay to regain some of his lost finger dexterity.

“Clay, Daedalus, enjoying your break?”

His two slaves looked up, only mildly startled by his presence. His nature meant that he had to intentionally make himself known to them if he didn’t want to scare them. Both were quite delicate and he didn’t like when they flinched at his touch or the sound of his voice. Perhaps the reason they enjoyed this hill so much was because they could see him coming. Or perhaps having Theseus with him simply made him stand out more. He was rather hard to miss with his long pink hair and shimmering silk wrap.

(He’d finally been able to slip into the Spider Spawner and collect some more silk to make a proper wrap for his omega slave. He was also in the process of making better clothes for Clay.)

“Yes, Master. We are,” Clay greeted, nervously eying Theseus while idly toying with the crown he was making. “I… I made one of the crowns you taught me to make. D-do you like it?”

The slave shakily held it out and the Master cooed over it with a smile. 

“You have done well, Clay. It is a little loose on one side, but you are improving greatly.” He reached out and gently combed his fingers through the man’s hair, relishing in the full body shudder and the wanton moans he let out. His hair was getting longer, but it was also healthy and full. It made the Master happy. “Keep up the good work for me.”

“Master?” Daedalus hesitantly piped up. The Master turned to him, giving the Creeper his full and undivided attention. “I um… I finished my work on my old circlet. I… wanted you to... to look at it. To make sure it… umm… that its new design is… appropriate… Master.”

Nervous, Daedalus held out his hands, summoning his old circlet into his hands. It was much smaller now, looking about the size of an upper armband. Icarus knew such bands were often known as slave bands, denoting ownership to whoever placed them on the slave. This one was incredibly detailed, the metal engraved with flowering designs and a skull right in the center. On the forehead of the skull was a symbol.

“What is this?” the Master asked, keeping his voice gentle as he tapped the symbol.

“Oh… it’s…” Daedalus turned a darker shade of green, clearly blushing. “It’s the symbol for… for Icarus, Master.”

Hearing this, the Master’s heart absolutely melted. They cooed and smiled, keeping it soft and warm before reaching out to cup the Creeper’s cheek.

“It is gorgeous, Daedalus. Not only is it appropriate, but it is a very touching gesture. I cannot wait to see you wearing it.”

Daedalus blushed at the soft praise, ducking his head and chittering happily under his breath. He would need to help encourage his slave’s self-esteem and make sure he knew that he was allowed to vocally express his emotions. It was an unfortunate truth that hybrids were often ridiculed and shamed for making noises or calls that were not considered human sounds. Of course, the Master was not like that. None of his slaves would be shamed for being who they were. He wanted his slaves to be happy and healthy after all.

“If you would like, I can enchant this for you. I have some new enchantments I have been working on that I think would be of great benefit to you.”

Hearing this, Daedalus began to nod enthusiastically.

“Yes, please Master. Your slave would be grateful to bear more of your enchantments.”

“Of course little one.” 

He gently scratched the creeper hybrid behind his ear, basking in the way the man leaned into his touch. This would be a perfect opportunity for his three slaves to become more comfortable with each other. While Theseus was well-behaved when he was alone with Icarus, he needed to learn to behave when with his fellow slaves as well. Besides, socializing was a key aspect of healing and rehabilitation.

“While I work on these enchantments, would you both watch over Theseus for me? He needs some outside time and I do not want to risk him breaking my concentration while I’m working.”

Both Clay and Daedalus tensed anxiously, sharing a glance that spoke of a great deal of concern they held. Theseus, who had been idly toying with a daisy growing beside him, perked up at the sound of his name. The Master sighed slightly, petting both Clay and Daedalus in an attempt to soothe their fears.

“He will not harm either of you. His body is still far too weak for that, and he knows better than to bite anymore. You won’t even have to do anything other than keep him company until I return. If anything, consider it an extension of your break in exchange for this small favor.”

“Oh-Okay Master…” Daedalus said hesitantly as Clay just nodded in agreement. “We’ll do our best.”

“I know you will.” Icarus then turned his attention to his omega slave, watching him tilt his head curiously. “Theseus, you need to stay here with Alpha Clay and Alpha Daedalus, alright? I won’t be long.”

As if sensing that he was leaving, Theseus whined and dove for his leg, clinging to him while chuffing in a begging manner. With a soft laugh, the Master gently pried the omega off, setting him down next to Daedalus.

“Theseus, you need to stay. Have I ever left you somewhere and not come back for you?”

Theseus chuffed quietly, shaking his head.

“Exactly. Just stay here and be good for your other Alphas. Can you do that for me?”

Theseus still seemed upset but remained where he had been placed. He seemed to be pouting but lightened up a bit when Icarus leaned down and gently kissed him on the forehead.

“That’s my good boy.” He looked up at all of his slaves. “You too, Daedalus and Clay. All of you are my good boys.”

He gave the other two slaves a similar kiss, ruffling their hair before straightening up. He made his way down the hill toward the house, toying with the band in his hand. He could already picture some enchantments he would use, including one that could send some soothing pulses through its wearer’s body. It would be perfect to help with the man’s anxiety, and it would look cute to boot.

Maybe he should have Clay decorated somehow. Perhaps once he was a bit more settled. For now, he made his way inside, excited to work on some new enchantments.


Clay

Clay felt like his heart was going to beat its way out of his chest, despite knowing that he was doing nothing wrong. Of course, knowing he wasn’t doing anything wrong and believing it were two completely different things.

Clay’s Master was a kind one, far kinder than Clay felt he deserved. After all, what kind of slaver allowed their property to take breaks like this? Slaves were supposed to work from sun-up to sundown with the possibility of being allowed to eat if their owners decided they had earned the right to food. While Clay had heard stories of merciful masters who fed their slaves every day, they were a rarity, and his Master was the rarest of them all.

Three meals a day, actual beds in clean rooms, and now breaks periodically, depending on the workload assigned to them. It felt too good to be true, even after weeks of such wonderful treatment.

Deep down, Clay knew that he didn’t deserve such kindness. He had made sure that Clay knew just how much of a disgusting, despicable monster he truly was. He didn’t deserve so much good food, he didn’t deserve breaks. He’d allowed himself to become such a horrible, selfish creature, turning his SMP, his sanctuary into a pit of pain and despair. He’d stolen, manipulated, threatened, gaslighted, murdered… and yet his Master remained so kind and forgiving.

Why was the Master so kind to him? Why wasn’t he disgusted? Why did he seem so content to leave the past in the past? Clay had killed him back when he was still-... and yet… the only time Master ever got upset was when he disobeyed that one time before Daedalus came.

Glancing over at Dae, Clay couldn’t help but eye the scars that covered the Creeper’s back and shoulders. That fight in the clearing, when Master had claimed Daedalus as his slave, was the closest the Creeper ever came to being punished. Could it even be counted as a punishment since he wasn’t owned by the Master yet?

Whatever the case, neither of them was punished since both of them strove to be obedient and hardworking. Neither of them would ever dare to raise a hand against their owner again. They were good slaves, and good slaves were obedient.

Those thoughts led Clay’s gaze to drift down to where Theseus was curled up. The transformed Piglin looked nothing like the Blood God’s Champion that he had come to know. He looked more like an emaciated Highborn than a piglin. The only thing that gave Theseus away as a piglin hybrid was his one tooth that stuck out like a tusk from his lower lip.

Theseus still scared Clay, but not because he feared the violence that the former Champion was known for. Instead, he was afraid of his glassy stare and just how weak he had become. Neither he nor Daedalus knew the full story of what the Master had done to Theseus to break him like this, but the images supplied by their imagination were far from pleasant. The fact that it had been almost two weeks since that day and Theseus was still not recovered spoke volumes of the power of the man that owned them all.

At the moment, Theseus seemed to be watching them just as much as they were watching him. He was also playing with the fur on Daedalus’ leg, running his fingers through it. Dae did shuffle his legs a bit but didn’t admonish the piglin for what he was doing. It was clear that Theseus didn’t mean any harm. There was no malice in his eyes, just childish curiosity.

“Whatcha doing there, Theseus?” Dae asked, keeping his voice gentle as if he were speaking to a skittish animal.

Theseus just looked up at Dae, blinking owlishly. He then continued to play with the Creeper’s fur, chuffing slightly at the feeling. Daedalus smiled at him, then reached out to pet the man’s hair in a similar manner. Theseus shivered harshly but didn’t pull away from the touch.

It still shook Clay to his core when he saw how far the once battle-hardened warrior had fallen. His pale skin was visible for everyone to see, and he just looked so fragile and delicate. Not surprising, given the power of their Master. He could strip a person down until only their innermost self remained. Nothing was hidden from him.

With a shaky breath, Clay carefully scooted across the grass, making his way over to his fellow slaves. Theseus glanced over at him with those glassy eyes, letting out a strange snort before reaching out for Clay. He couldn’t help how his body froze when he realized he was being reached for. He had gotten better at managing his flinching after weeks of constant touching from his Master, but the anxiety remained.

On the bright side, Theseus had oddly soft hands. When he was a large piglin, his hands were huge and rough, covered in callouses from fighting and farming. Now, they were so small and soft, almost like those of a child. His touch was also soft enough that Clay was soon able to unlock his joints and make himself relax. He leaned against the tree, letting the piglin hybrid explore the skin of his leg.

Before he became Clay, before the obsidian pot and the anger, his skin had been an almost pasty white. Because of this, he had kept his skin completely covered. Long pants, thick hoodies, gloves, his mask… he never let an inch of his skin show. In the pot, he didn’t have that luxury, so the lava burned his delicate skin until it was an angry red. Now, his skin had a healthy tan after spending so much time out in the sun. Even with all the scars riddling his body, he couldn’t help but appreciate how healthy he looked. 

Perhaps that was why Theseus seemed so enamored by his leg, those delicate fingers brushing against his hairless legs. Or maybe this was some sort of piglin grooming instinct he didn’t know about. Either way, Clay didn’t mind the touch.

After allowing the petting to continue for a little bit, Clay reached out to try and pet Theseus. However, he froze just before he touched the man. It was clear that the man was still quite skittish, and that glassy stare of his suggested that he was still recovering from whatever the Master had done to him. He may allow Clay to touch him simply because of Master’s orders to be good for them while not enjoying it.

“Theseus…” Clay said in a low, quiet voice. “May I pet you? I-I won’t be upset if you say no.”

The piglin was still at the stage where he didn’t talk much, but Master told them that he could understand most words at this point. Or maybe it was that he could properly comprehend them now that some time had passed. Either way, Clay waited patiently for Theseus’ answer.

After a moment, Theseus slowly stopped petting Clay’s leg, leaning forward so the top of his head pressed against the man’s outstretched hand.

“Gentle…” he whispered.

The word was so quiet that Clay almost didn't hear it over the sounds of nature. Once he processed them, he gave Theseus a gentle nod.

“Of course,” he promised with a warm smile. “I’ll be gentle.”

Theseus shuddered at his touch, but Clay could tell that it wasn’t from pain or fear. It was more like he was overwhelmed by the touch. When the piglin chuffed and snuggled closer, Clay let him, petting him as he leaned back against the tree.

It was strange, sitting there with two people he had once considered the greatest threats on the server. He was so used to being on edge around such strong warriors, constantly aware of how dangerous they could be. But now, none of that mattered. They were all Master’s slaves, only allowed as much power as their owner decided to allot them.

 Despite having been under the Master’s collar for the longest, the Master hadn’t given him any kind of extra rank. He wasn’t a head slave, or above anyone. He and Daedalus were equals, with Theseus apparently being kept just a step below. Perhaps that was as punishment for the piglin’s defiance, or because he was still mentally a child at the moment. Whatever the case, none of them would defy their Master.

As he relaxed once again, continuing his idle petting of Theseus, Clay let out a long, relaxed breath. Rank didn’t matter, neither did power or control. All that mattered was obedience and serving their owner. Here in his Enclave, up on their little hill, there were no wars, battles, or other dangers to look out for.

They were safe, and it was nice.


Dolus

It had been… days? Weeks? Quackity couldn’t tell how long it had been since he’d been attacked by Philza. During that time, he’d holed himself up in his nest, redoing it over and over again to try and stave off the anxiety of having his disfigured wings exposed.

His wings were a part of him disgusting to look at, not to mention painful to the touch. The bald patches the scars, the utterly deplorable state they were in… No one could see them. No one was ever supposed to see them. If they did… maybe he could get help.

Quackity grunted, pulling fresh bandages tight around his wings and he bound them to his back. They were a weakness, one that he absolutely could not afford for anyone to see. It was a harsh lesson that he had learned the hard way. As such, he simply bit his lip and pulled tighter, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the pain. After a long painful shower, he’d managed to fold them up enough that they would be flush against his back. It hurt like a bitch Why did he do this to himself? It hurt so much! Stop doing this! but he just shook it off and tied the final knot.

The pain overwhelmed him and he had to fall back in his chair, gritting his teeth and fighting back tears. He did his best to regulate his breathing, clenching his fists. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t afford to leave his wings exposed. He would only end up in more pain if he left them open. Keeping them free would allow them to bump into things and leave room for people to grab them as they pleased. 

Philza had been a very cruel reminder of how dangerous others could be. He should have known that hurting one would draw the wrath of the other. He had been blindsided by the avian’s rage, caught off guard without proper defenses. He had forgotten that while Philza had retired from the fighting game, that didn’t mean he had lost his skills. He was a well-experienced fighter, and Quackity needed to be prepared for when the Angel of Death came back for his revenge.

Slime knowing about his wings was significantly less of an issue. His strange goopy friend was seemingly unfazed by his broken, hurting repulsive wings. If anything, Slime seemed somewhat curious, but otherwise unconcerned. Or, well, he had been concerned, but only because he had been attacked, not because his wings were out. It confused the duck, but there was a good chance that his friend was just like that. He knew the slime was curious, as he had touched his bound back before, but it was more so a child-like innocence that filled Slime’s face than anything malicious.

Even so, he couldn’t afford to be sloppy.

He carefully stood up and stiffly buttoned up his shirt. The stiffness made it hard to get things done It hurt to move. He needed help, please! but he needed to stop wasting time. He had Philza breathing down his neck and he was no closer to finding Dream or Sam. Sighing heavily at the reminder, he ran a hand through his hair and gathered some weapons. Usually, he would only take a few, but recently it seemed like the more defenses he had on him, the better.

He double-checked himself, ensuring everything was tucked in properly and that all of his weapons and potions were secured in his inventory. Satisfied that he was sufficiently prepared, Quackity opened the doors of his penthouse suite and stepped out into the main part of his hotel. 

His first order of business was to find Slime. The hybrid was young, very young in fact. And he was a high-percentage hybrid, lacking any visible human parts despite his insistence that he had 300 bones. Slime hybrids typically had only certain parts of their bodies made from some type of slime. They might have goopy hair or a gelatinous eye, but they were never entirely made out of slime. But Quackity’s Slime was. He had the frankly impressive ability to change his viscosity and shape at will, solidifying parts of himself to pick things up or liquefy himself so he could squeeze his entire body into the tiniest of cracks.

Slime was powerful, but he was also naive. He had no survival instincts whatsoever and couldn’t recognize a threat if they were aiming a sword at his face. Quackity knew this because he did exactly that when they first met. Had it been anyone else who found him, Slime would have been used for a slime farm, or used for his abilities. Wasn’t that what he was doing? He was sure that a rare thing like Slime would go for a lot on the hybrid markets, especially a young, innocent, easily malleable, fully slime hybrid with the ability to get inside most anything. As such, Quackity was grateful the kid ended up here. Even if this place wasn’t exactly the best, it was a known hybrid sanctuary for a reason. 

Or at least it was before all of the wars and shit started.

As he reached the bottom of the spiral staircase to the hotel lobby, Quackity spotted Slime sitting beside the fireplace. He had a small red blob in between his fingers, one that he nonchalantly tossed into the fire. What the fuck was that?! Did he just burn part of himself?! Why was it red?! Is he injured?! Once he got a bit closer, Slime turned around, spotting him.

“Quackity from Las Nevadas! You’re awake!”

Despite shouting like usual and smiling in that broad, derpy way he always did, Quackity could tell something was off. His Slime’s slime seemed to be a duller color than usual, and he was sagging a bit more than usual. He looked… tired, to put it simply. He hoped that his friend was okay. Could slimes get sick? Was it because he threw a piece of himself in the fire? Why? Hopefully, the little guy didn’t lose too much sleep worrying about him.

“Hey Slime, how’ve you been bud?” he asked.

“I am well, Quackity from Las Nevadas! How are you doing?! You were napping for a long time! Do you feel better now?”

Quackity couldn’t help but laugh slightly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m all better now.” No, he wasn’t. If anything he was worse. “Ready to get back to work.”

“I’m glad, Quackity from Las Nevadas! In fact, I had an idea on how to locate Dream from Manhunt and Sam from the Pandorica!”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Dream from Manhunt was friends with Sapnap from the Lava Wastes and George from Kinoko Kingdom! Maybe one of them knows where he is?”

Hearing those names, Quackity couldn’t help but grimace. Of course, Slime was right, but going to Kinoko Kingdom… that was the last place he ever wanted to go. How could he handle facing them?!

“Quackity from Las Nevadas?” A cool, slimy hand was placed on his shoulder. “Are you okay? Was that not a good idea?”

The duck quickly shook his head, pulling himself from the memories threatening to swallow him up. He then plastered on a smile and tried to make it seem genuine. The kid deserved some validation for his idea, no matter how much it made his skin crawl to consider.

“No no, it’s a good idea Slime. It’s just…” He sighed again, rubbing his face. “Nevermind. I’ll head there in a bit to see if any of them know anything. While I do, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on Las Nevadas for me. You’re the only one I can trust with this, so please… stay here.”

It felt wonderful strange to admit he trusted Slime, but couldn’t deny the truth. Besides, the kid was clearly sick with something and needed some rest. If he went out in the field, and anyone figured out just how much his Slime meant to him…

Well, Dream had shown everyone on the server what happened to a person’s attachments.

“Okay, Quackity from Las Nevadas!” Slime smiled at him, one that was just shy of its usual exuberance. “Good luck! I hope everything works out!”

Slime waved enthusiastically at Quackity as he left, and the duck couldn’t help but give a little wave back. Prime, he was going soft. He didn’t have the heart to tell the kid how bad this would go. He didn’t know where he and George stood, but he knew Sapnap and Karl hated him. No! They still loved him! They wouldn’t just leave him!! Or, at the very least, were disgusted by him. After all, why else would they not tell him about Kinoko Kingdom and leave him behind? 

He should have known better than to try and give his heart away again. It only ever got shattered.

With a shaky breath, Quackity steeled himself, taking out his ax and putting his game face on. This wasn’t some pleasurable visit to see his exes. No, this was an interrogation on the whereabouts of an escaped prisoner. Nothing more, nothing less.

But it didn’t have to be…

Chapter 21: Shattered

Summary:

Some things are broken and others are fixed

Notes:

And thus, I begin my way into writing this story on my own. Boy oh boy was this one interesting to do. Please look upon it favorably and I do hope you enjoy it. Kudos and comments will keep me motivated. Enjoy!

Chapter Text

Theseus

Theseus knelt in the dirt of his Master Alpha’s farm, carefully planting some small potato spuds he had been given. He was in his bigger form for the first time in weeks, which meant he could walk on his own a lot easier, and do things that required more strength than his smaller form could handle. 

It also meant that he was wearing a strange muzzle over his snout, which made sense. He could remember being bad and biting Master Alpha and Alpha Daedalus, so keeping him muzzled was just smart. He didn’t mind though. It didn’t hurt, and it was a small price to pay if it meant he could be useful. 

Everyone in the Sounder had work to do, chores to help everything run smoothly. Alpha Daedalus worked in the forge, making tools and refining ores their Brute brought back when he went mining. Alpha Clay tended to all of the animals, feeding them and taking care of all of their needs. And Theseus was a farmer. 

Master Alpha had very large fields, each with a different crop that needed to be grown and harvested. Beetroot, carrots, melons, pumpkins, wheat, mushrooms, netherwart, and best of all, potatoes! That one was his favorite, even if it wasn’t as big as his old…

Theseus paused his work as his mind drifted to a different potato farm. This one was much bigger and almost seemed to be floating in the sky. It didn’t have a wall like the wooden ones that surrounded Master Alpha’s fields, and strange creatures were helping him with the planting.

Skyblock minions…

A sharp pain, like someone was sticking a needle in his forehead, made Theseus whimper and fall to his knees. He bit down on the part of his muzzle in his mouth, trying to block out the discomfort. It had been hurting a lot recently, especially when he tried to think too hard about things. Usually, Master Alpha could soothe the pain and make him forget about whatever was bothering him, but Alpha Master wasn’t here right now. He was outside their Bastion, providing for the sounder and collecting resources.

Theseus shook his head, trying to banish the hurting thoughts. He needed to be a good omega for his Alpha and do the job he had been given. He needed to be a good provider, and that meant filling all of the squishy dirt with potatoes so he could do the same for the carrot field before the sun went down.

Carefully, Theseus picked up the wooden watering can that Master Alpha had given him, watering the freshly planted spuds. As he did, he noticed how light the can had become. He took a peek through the top, seeing that he was almost out of water. Luckily, there was a river just outside the little gate to the farm, perfect for gathering water.

Standing up slowly, the omega made his way through the rows of plants, making sure to keep an eye on where he stepped. Master Alpha said his hooves may still be a bit delicate and that he had to be careful. They felt fine to him, especially compared to how much pain he had been in before Master Alpha had claimed him as an omega, but he was still careful regardless.

Reaching the riverside, Theseus knelt down and prepared to scoop up some of the water in the can. As he did, he froze, catching his reflection in the water.

This was the first time in weeks that Theseus had seen what he looked like while in his big form. Master Alpha usually kept him in his smaller form when bathing or grooming him, so he barely recognized himself. Was that because he wasn’t in his smaller form?

No… no that wasn’t it.

This… this was what he was supposed to look like. This was the real him… but it was wrong… Why was it wrong? This wrongness made his skin crawl and the watering can tumbled from his fingers. The more he looked at himself, the more he felt like he wanted to tear… something off. What was it?

Bad Gold…

The sharp pain returned, but this time, it brought with it a feeling that made Theseus ignore the discomfort: anger. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him! The muzzle, his collar, it was all wrong! But- But why?! He was Theseus, Master Alpha’s omega slave! This was how his Alpha wanted him to be, so it wasn’t wrong… but then… why…

He shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the bad thoughts. His braid began to wave as he did, and something sleek and black flickered in the corner of his eye. Theseus froze, grabbing at the black thing. He found that it was attached to a small section of his hair that was free of the braid, forming a tiny braid of its own. At the end of this tiny braid was a glossy black feather, one far too big to belong to a bird.

Angel…

That word brought an entire slew of emotions crashing down around Theseus. Angel… His Angel. He couldn’t remember their name, but he knew that the Angel was important. So important. That thought alone filled him with such a deep sense of longing that he whined loudly. It also filled him with concern and terror. He didn’t have his Angel here. He wasn’t in the Bastion, wasn’t safe with the sounder. This was… bad? Good? He couldn’t tell. The emotions were too much to understand. All he did know was that his Angel was not doing well, and he needed to go find him. Now!

“Theseus?”

Hearing Master Alpha’s voice, Theseus whipped around to see the man looming over him, an expression of concern on his face. For some reason, seeing Master Alpha made him… angry. Like the wrongness that he was feeling was also surrounding the man. What was going on?

“Theseus, what’s wrong?”

Master Alpha reached for him and Theseus almost leaned in for the touch. He wanted that blissful cold to soothe his wrongness and make him feel better like it had in the past. However, something in him made him slap the hand away. As bad as the wrongness felt, he needed it. Otherwise, he may forget his Angel again. He couldn’t forget his Angel!

Master Alpha looked at the hand Theseus had slapped, but he didn’t seem angry. He actually looked more confused and concerned than anything. After a moment of silence, Master Alpha pulled his hand away, lowering it fully.

“Theseus, Shift for me.”

Power washed over the omega and his body began to shrink once more. His silken wrap slid right off of him, pooling at his knees as the muzzle on his face was suddenly too big. Master Alpha carefully removed it, setting it aside before sitting down in the dirt across from Theseus.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he commanded, his icy blue eyes feeling like they were boring into the piglin’s soul. “What has you so upset, little one?”

Despite the overwhelming wrongness of everything, Theseus reached out and grabbed the feather, holding it out so Master Alpha could see it.

“My Angel,” he said, desperation coloring his words as he struggled to force them out. Talking was still hard for him at this point, but he needed to do it. “Want… my Angel. Need my Angel.”

Master Alpha’s face fell ever so slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. It was hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling, but Theseus could tell he wasn’t happy with his omega’s declaration. After a moment, he shook his head softly and began to pet the piglin gently.

“I’m sorry, little one. Unfortunately, I am not equipped to take care of your Angel just yet. More than that, you’re not ready to have your angel. Just be patient a little longer and--”

Rage overtook Theseus at that moment. He jumped to his feet, his body growing on its own until he was in his larger form. Without thinking, he began to shout and try to shove his Alpha.

“I can’t be patient! I NEED to find my Angel! If you won’t find him, then I will!”

He felt like there should have been something to fill the silence that surrounded him. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears, and he could faintly imagine voices baying for blood. He felt stronger than he had in weeks, like he could take on an entire army by himself. Deep down, he knew he would if it meant finding his Angel.

For you… the World

With those words echoing in his mind, Theseus stared down his Alpha, waiting for the man to cave. Instead, Master Alpha seemed to be contemplating something. Like before, he didn’t seem angry or upset. He just seemed to be evaluating everything with a detached interest. After a minute, the man got to his feet, dusting himself off.

“I had hoped I would be able to ease you out of your drop,” he lamented, sighing ever so slightly. “But, perhaps we can make this work.”

“I need my Angel,” Theseus growled, refusing to back down. The Angel was too important to back down.

“Yes, yes, and I completely understand your desire to rush to your Angel’s side. However, I cannot in good conscience allow you to leave my Enclave when your training is far from complete.” Master Alpha turned toward the dirt path leading to the eastern side of the manor. “So, you will have to prove to me that you can handle it.”

Theseus let out a confused snort, slowly trailing after his Alpha. There was nothing on the eastern side of the mansion outside of a dirt patch just beyond the river. Reaching this dirt patch, Master Alpha picked up a stick from one of the many dark oak trees that filled the area. With the stick, the man began to draw a large circle in the dirt, one easily large enough for two men to duel in. On instinct, Theseus stepped into the circle, keeping to one side as his Alpha moved to the other.

“This will have to serve as our arena for the time being. I’ll have to add its construction to Nook’s To-Do list…”

“Arena, Alpha?”

Master Alpha nodded one, tossing the stick aside. 

“Yes. Piglins are a meritocratic race where the strongest are seen as those who must be obeyed. So, you and I shall battle to see which one of us will obey the other. Hand-to-hand combat, and we fight until one of us is forced to yield. Should you manage to best me, I shall allow you to go out in search of your Angel. However, should I emerge victorious, you will submit to me as my obedient omega without a single complaint.”

Theseus smirked, feeling confidence and pride welling up inside of him. He could do this. He could prove himself to be the Alpha, that he was strong enough to protect his Angel. He would show Master Alpha his strength and become his Beta. Then, he could save his Angel, and… he wasn’t sure what he would do after that, but finding his Angel was the most important step. And to do that, he had to win.

“I accept.”


Melpomene

Ghostbur didn’t remember much of anything, but that wasn’t uncommon for him. Sometimes, he was lucky if he remembered his own name. Right now, he would be happy just being able to remember how he came to be in such a strange place.

He was floating in a void full of endless stars, not another soul in sight for miles. Perhaps he should have been scared, or worried about how he had come to be in this place, but none of those emotions made themselves known to the ghost. Instead, all he felt was warmth and a strange sense of belonging.

“Oh, my son…” a woman’s voice echoed through the void. “My beloved Wilbur… what has the world done to you?”

Ever so slowly, a pair of large hands began to materialize from the aether, cupping themselves around Ghostbur. He let out a small yelp at the feeling but allowed himself to be cradled. As the hands became visible, so did the one they belonged to. A beautiful woman easily taller than the highest mountain peaks. Her skin was the color of moonlight, with eyes like swirling galaxies hidden behind the thin veil of her wide-brimmed hat. Her black-colored lips seemed to be on the cusp of sobbing, and her auburn hair, the same color as Ghostbur’s natural hair, swayed in an unfelt wind.

A normal person would have been in awe of this gorgeous woman or scared of how they came to be in her arms. Not Ghostbur though. He just grinned wide and flew toward the woman’s chest.

“MUMZA!!” he squealed, hugging her as best as he could with his tiny size.

A warm hand came to gently rest across him, his Mumza’s way of hugging him back. He heard her sniffle slightly and he frowned, pulling away. He could see tears welling in her eyes, the teardrops looking like stormy clouds of pure darkness.

“Mumza, what’s wrong? Why are you upset?” He began to search his pockets before pulling out a lump of the blue dye that he always kept on him. “Here, have some Blue. It always makes everyone feel better. I’m sure it can help you too, Mumza!”

With another sniffle, Mumza let out a sound that seemed to be a combination of a sob and a laugh. She wiped her eyes as Ghostbur dutifully placed the dye on her free palm before sitting down on it like a child. He rocked back and forth, curiosity getting the better of him.

“What is this place, Mumza? I don’t think I’ve been here before.”

“You were once. Long ago, back when you were born from mine and your father’s essence. Back when you were still whole” Mumza looked up at the endless void, watching one of the many stars streak across it. “I formed you from these very stars as a testament of the love my Angel and I shared. I had hoped that our paths would not cross like this.” Her face grew solemn. “I had hoped that when the time came for you to come to me, it would be as an old man who lived a long and happy life.”

“Well, I am technically an old man,” Ghostbur joked, knowing that he had been very old when he died. Even when he was alive, he couldn’t remember his exact age. He’d lost count a very long time ago.

“But your life was not a happy one…” Mumza looked saddened by that fact. “Neglected by my Angel in favor of the Blood God’s Champion, left to fester in the pestilence that infects that server… betrayed and slain by those who should have protected you…”

Ghostbur’s face fell at the reminders, the bad memories making him uncomfortable. Normally, he would just take some of his blue and forget about the bad memories, but for some reason, the blue wasn’t working.

“Even in my embrace, you cannot know peace. Your soul was so full of torment and strife that you were torn asunder.”

“Torn asunder…?” Ghostbur repeated, his voice tiny and tinged with fear.

As if sensing his discomfort, Mumza gently began to pet his head with a single finger. He happily leaned into the touch, letting her cold skin soothe his pain.

“When Wilbur lost his last life in that cave, his soul was split in two. The part of him that was sent to limbo was his pain, hatred, and self-loathing.” The finger petting his head moved under his chin, a well-manicured, black nail gently lifting it. “And you, little Ghostbur, were the opposite. You were his kindness, his creativity… his love.”

Ghostbur didn’t quite understand, but it sounded like he was very important. Kindness and love were super important. Without them, everyone would just keep fighting and being angry with each other.

“The pestilence nearly destroyed you, using the soul of J. Schlatt to do so. It took me far too long to unravel you two and to send him to his place in the afterlife. I’ve only just now finished gathering the last of your essence to reform you.”

“So… I’ve been gone awhile…”

That made sense. The last thing he remembered was feeling sick after the resurrection attempt. Everyone must be so worried about him. They probably ran out of blue too! And Friend! Oh no, Friend! His beloved sheep had to be worried sick without him!

“Now that I’m better, am I going back? I need to check on everyone, make sure everyone has blue! Tommy probably needs some! He’s always running out and-!”

“I’m afraid returning is not possible.”

Ghostbur froze, turning back to Mumza with a confused expression. “I… can’t go back?”

Mumza shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ghostbur, but you have lingered as a partial soul for far too long. It is time for you to be reunited with your other half, and be made whole once more.”

Before Ghostbur could ask for clarification, it dawned on him that they had been moving this entire time. Massive black wings were flapping behind Mumza’s back as they flew through the void toward a bright light at the end of a long tunnel. The little ghost shielded his eyes as the sound of a train horn filled the area. 

When the light died down, he and Mumza were standing on a black and white train station, one that seemed to stretch on forever. Mumza was no longer a towering giant but was just a little taller than Ghostbur. She was holding his hand, and staring at a figure hunched over on a bench.

The figure had greasy brown hair with a thick white streak running through it and cloudy brown eyes. Glasses were perched on his nose, and a cigarette was dangling from his lips. A faded yellow jumper was hidden under a thick, brown coat with the L’Manberg flag sewn on the sleeve, and his pants were black denim with holes in the knees.

“Alivebur?” Ghostbur questioned.

The figure didn’t move, but his eyes did, coming to rest on the pair. Slowly, he removed the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a plume of smoke before leaning back on the bench.

“I think you have the wrong guy,” he muttered in a voice that was rusty from disuse and chain smoking. “I haven’t been alive for nearly 13 and a half years.”

“13 and a half…” Mumza looked horrified. “How could I have let this go on for so long.”

“It’s not your fault, Mumza!” Ghostbur insisted, hating how his mom seemed to be blaming herself. “Please don’t be upset! Here, have some more blue!”

Wilbur lazily twisted his head toward the pair, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“So… you’re finally intervening, huh Mom?” He chuckled dryly before flicking the cigarette butt away from himself. “About damn time. What made you finally get up and do something about that shitshow of a server?”

“...”

“Don’t go clamming up now, Mumza,” Wilbur snapped, getting up on the bench. “You only get involved when things get incredibly bad. The Rise of the Wither King, the Blood God Wars, the Village The Went Mad. Just what happened on the Dream SMP that’s made you act.”

Ghostbur looked between Mumza and Wilbur, watching them as they stared down one another. Well, Wilbur was doing the staring. Mumza just sighed, closing her eyes and deflating like a pufferfish.

“There is a pestilence growing on the server, consuming all within its grasp. When it feeds, it erases its prey from the world, taking away all memories associated with them. The more beloved they are, the more power the pestilence gains. By now, it has enough power to manipulate those on the server to act on their most primal impulses and selfish desires. And those it cannot control… it destroys.”

She cringed as she said that last part and something in Ghostbur felt colder than normal.

“Mumza… who did it destroy?”

Mumza closed her eyes, cringing as she spoke.

“Tommyinnit…”

“TOMMY?!” both Ghostbur and Wilbur howled in absolute horror.

“He was struck down in the Pandorica, his final life taken from him far too soon.”

“No…” Wilbur muttered, clutching his head as he fell back onto the bench. “No, no, no, no, no that-... that’s not possible. I would have seen him. Tommy… Tommy never came here. He can’t be dead, he--”

“He has been reborn,” Mumza interjected. “Like your father, I plucked his soul from the Void and shaped him into a vessel of my will. He has begun a new life as my Second, the future leader of my Eldritch… the Master of Death.”

Silence fell over the two, Wilbur stunned into silence. Ghostbur was in a similar state, his fragile, child-like mind trying to wrap around this new information.

“Is… is he still Tommy?” he asked in a voice so quiet that he was almost not heard.

“He holds all of Tommy’s memories, all of his love and affection for his friends and family. However, he is no longer the same mortal. He is something far greater, with a mission that he must complete.”

“And us?” Wilbur questioned, sounding bitter and upset. “Will we be remade too? Do you intend to turn us into your puppets too?”

“Alivebur!” Ghostbur admonished, absolutely stunned by his counterpart’s audacity. How could he accuse their Mumza of such things?

“My Eldritch are not puppets, Wilbur. They retain their agency and autonomy. They can choose how they fulfill the missions I grant them. It is why my Angel, your father, could go off with the Champion. I do not rob my Eldritch of their free will. I am not like the pestilence.”

“See?” Ghostbur declared, grinning and crossing his arms proudly.

“As for what your fate will be…” Mumza smiled warmly. “That is entirely up to you.”

The two Wilburs looked up at that and the world around them began to shift. The train station melted away to reveal a simple room. Everything was very simple and boring, with tan walls with concrete floors. There were no windows, and three of the four walls were blank. On the fourth wall, there were two doors, identical in every way, but with two different feels to them.

“There are two choices for you to take, but you much both make the same choice.” Mumza gestured to the door on the left. “You can step through this door, and you will be remade whole. Then, you will ascend into the world beyond, and finally know the peace you have been barred from for so long.”

Wilbur stared at that door, unblinking. Ghostbur got the feeling that was the door he wanted to take. After 13 and a half years in a dreary train station, he’d want to move on too. Then, Mumza moved to the door on the right.

“Or… you can step through this door. You will be remade whole… and you will be given a second chance at life.”

That made Wilbur gasp.

“A… a second chance?”

“We can go back to the SMP?!” Ghostbur cried out.

“Not quite. You will be reincarnated beyond the borders of the Dream SMP. You will not remember your previous life and will be able to try again with a clean slate. You won’t be one of my Eldritch. You will simply be Wilbur Soot. You will be the person you choose to be, free of the Angel and the pestilence.”

Now, Wilbur was staring at the second door, his hands shaking at the possibility of a second chance. Ghostbur had to admit that the offer was… well, it was a very good offer. Even so, there was one thing that was nagging at him, something that he just couldn’t let go of.

“If… if we go through that second door… if we choose to be reborn… if we see Dadza or Techie or… or Tommy again… will we know who they are?”

Mumza thought on that for a moment, the galaxies in her eyes swirling as she did. After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision.

“If your paths ever cross, you will not remember who they are… but you will know deep in your core that they can be trusted. You will know that they are important to you, and you can form fresh bonds with them.”

Hearing this, Wilbur straightened up, having clearly made his choice. He turned to Ghostbur, holding out a hand.

“A second chance, huh?” He smirked, letting the ghost take his hand. “Sounds like an adventure.”

“Uh-huh!” Ghostbur readily agreed. “I can’t wait!”

The second door slowly opened, a blinding light waiting just beyond it. Hand in hand, the two Wilburs stepped through the door. As they did, the two became one, melding seamlessly into a single person. This person had brilliant blue eyes and bright auburn hair with a white streak. He wore glasses and smiled with a carefree edge once unseen on his face. The smell of smoke no longer clung to him, and his jumper was now a vibrant yellow once more. He pulled a red beanie from the pocket of his hole-less jeans, sliding it onto his head as the door closed behind him.

“I wish you luck in your new life… my precious son.”

Chapter 22: Broken Bonds

Notes:

Slowly getting into the groove of this story again, Luckily, BlackFoy is still offering me advice and input, which helps. Thank you to those who continue to read, comment, and kudo. This next chapter is for you.

Chapter Text

Prometheus

Karl Jacobs was missing.

Again.

Sapnap should have been used to his fiance going missing, but he was never able to do that. The multi-colored man would disappear for hours, days, or sometimes even weeks at a time. He never talked about where he went, but every time he returned, Karl felt… off. Sapnap had tried following him, trying to see where he disappeared off to, but Karl always managed to elude him somehow.

Perhaps it was none of his business. After all, the Dream SMP was supposed to be a haven. It was meant to be even if it hadn’t been for a long time a place for those attempting to escape from bad circumstances could come together and live in harmony. While Karl was 100% a human, that didn’t mean that he was immune to the world turning on him. No one knew that better than Sapnap, who had watched his best friend, the human who made this entire server possible, succumb to madness.

The man shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts before continuing his search for his missing fiance. He stuck his head in the simple, mushroom hut that was the home of George Lore, hoping that his other best friend was awake. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t.

George had become narcoleptic in the early days of the server, and it just got worse from there. Sapnap couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen the mushroom-clad man out of bed or awake. It hurt to see him like that, to know there was nothing he could do. (Why was he so powerless to help the people he cared about?)

Stepping away from the hut, Sapnap went and sat down on the edge of the fountain in the center of Kinoko Kingdom. He buried his face in his hands, just trying not to cry. How could the world have come to this? Why did everyone hate each other? Why did it feel like something was eating away at his very soul?

“Hey Sapnap!”

Sapnap’s head shot up, his armor materializing on his body on instinct. He summoned his bow and took aim, seconds away from releasing the shot before he saw who it was. He couldn’t help the audible gasp that left his mouth when he saw Quackity standing before him. Relief washed over him and he dropped the bow, rushing forward and grabbing his missing fiance. He hugged him close, even as the man squawked at the affection.

“Quackity! You came! You finally came!”

After a moment, Quackity began to wriggle hard in his grasp, shoving the man off of him.

“Get off me!” he snapped, his expression a mix of fear, confusion, and anger. “Where the fuck do you get off touching me like that?!”

Sapnap recoiled at the venom in his fiance’s voice. His brows furrowed and his face scrunched up in confusion. A sliver of horror ran down his back. Did… Did Quackity have the same problem as Karl? Was his memory gone too? Had he forgotten Sapnap? He couldn’t handle being called the wrong name by the one he loved again

“Quackity… do… Please tell me you remember who I am.”

“Oh, I remember alright.” 

Quackity looked mad enough to spit, but Sapnap felt nothing but relief. That is, until Quackity finished his statement.

“I remember the fucking traitor who replaced me with-... with fucking George Notfound!”

“What-?” Sapnap shook his head, confused as all hell. “Replaced? Quackity what are you talking about? No one replaced anyone!”

“Don’t lie to me, Sapnap!” The scar-faced man shoved Sapnap, his teeth grinding as the golden fang glistened in the sunlight. “You, Karl, and George abandoned El Rapids! You just up and left me without so much as a goodbye! You fucked off and built your stupid, fucking mushroom kingdom with George and just forgot about me!!”

Sapnap ended up backing into one of the many mushroom buildings, unable to escape from his angry ex? fiance. Nothing about this made any sense at all. He scrambled to try and explain himself.

“Quackity, I swear to you, none of us forgot-” he cringed, remembering Karl’s memory issues. “None of us left you behind. We sent you an invitation to join us. We wanted you to be a part of Kinoko Kingdom, but you never replied.”

Quackity scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Kinda hard to reply to an invitation that I never received.”

“Never recei-...”

Everything came crashing down at that moment, realization dawning on Sapnap. Quackity never received the invitation. The invitation Karl had promised to deliver. He must have had an episode of… whatever was wrong with him, and forgotten to deliver it. And because of that… Quackity thought that they…

“Quackity-”

“Save it,” Quackity snapped. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I am sick and tired of people trying to gaslight me and manipulate-!”

“Karl’s sick!”

He blurted it out before he could stop himself, but the word had the desired effect: Quackity fell silent. His mouth hung open slightly, but no words escaped his mouth. Unable to stop himself, Sapnap continued to talk.

“He will disappear for days or weeks on end, and when he returns he’s different. He forgets things all the time, has this distant look in his eye, and- and just last week, he called me James!”

Quackity was just standing there, eyes wide and small whispers slipping through his trembling lips. Unfortunately, Sapnap was far from done.

“Everything has gone to shit, Quackity! My best friend has gone absolutely insane and was thrown in prison. The two people I consider to be my parents are obsessed with their cult and won’t even talk to me! One fiance is sick and keeps forgetting me, and the other thinks that we don’t want him anymore and hates us! I don’t know what to do anymore!!” He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt steam on his cheeks. “I-...I don’t know what I even can do anymore…”

Feeling like someone had pulled his plug, Sapnap just collapsed onto the mycelium and grass, putting his face in his hands as he sobbed. It was too much for him to shoulder, had been for a long time now. It made sense that he finally broke. He’d broken a long time ago.

As he stayed there, he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Quackity nervously reaching out for him. The man’s earlier anger was gone, replaced with grief and pain.

“I didn’t know…” he whispered, sitting down next to Sapnap. “I-.. I had no idea…”

“Why didn’t you ever come find us?” Sapnap sobbed. “Why didn’t you come? Even without an invitation, you’re our fiance… we love you.”

“I… I wish I knew…”

Sapnap reached out, slowly curling his fingers around Quackity’s hand.

“Please… stay…” he begged. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore… I can’t shoulder all of this alone. I’m begging you… Don’t leave me alone anymore.”

There was a long moment of silence, one that made Sapnap’s already fragile heart crack even more. Then, mercifully, his long-lost lover finally spoke.

“Okay, Pandas…” Quackity settled down next to Sapnap, pulling the man closer and holding him. “I’ll stay.”


George

George was dreaming again. It was getting easier to tell when things were a dream, usually by small things that were out of place in the world. In this case, the biggest red flag was L’Manberg.

The former country should have been a massive hole in the ground, overgrown with vines and filled with pools of water from the various lakes and rivers feeding into it. However, instead, he saw an amalgamation of the former settlement, like a collage of magazine clippings pasted together. The hole was still there with the boardwalks from New L’Manberg stretching across the yawning chasm. The original black and gold walls stretched out around the entire thing, though the blackstone seemed to flicker to obsidian if he stared hard enough.

People were walking along the wooden streets, but their conversations were unintelligible, just static in the back of George’s mind. Some faces he could make out, while others almost seemed to be fading from his memory entirely.

He could see Tubbo walking with Ranboo, the former’s burn scars flickering on his skin like a glitch in a video game. Ranboo’s eyes were also a solid purple color, and he seemed to only be making noises akin to a feral enderman. Both of them seemed to be either ignoring George or simply didn’t register him, continuing their unintelligible conversation through him.

As he continued walking, he spotted Wilbur sitting atop the Camarvan, which seemed to be half pristine and half covered in rust and soot from explosions. Wilbur was perched right on the edge of this drastic shift, the side of him on the destroyed half drenched in blood and covered in dirt. The other half had blue stains on his hands, and tear streaks across his face in a similar hue. Like everything else, he didn’t recognize George.

A loud laugh reached his ears and he turned, seeing Tommy standing atop an ugly cobblestone tower that was, for some reason, right in the middle of L’Manberg. He was grinning widely, holding his discs up in the air while shouting unknown obscenities at everyone below him. The odd thing was that Tommy's hair was completely white, and he seemed to have blood pouring from a head wound.

“Oh…” George let out, finally realizing what was going on. “That’s why…”

The last thing he remembered before laying his head down was being told Tommy was dead. That Dream had murdered the boy in his prison cell. So now, his mind was bringing up every memory associated with the once-happy blonde and shoving them together into this collage. He sighed, sitting down on a bench that he distantly recognized as Tommy’s bench.

“You seem upset,” a voice said softly from next to him.

George looked over, seeing Dream sitting next to him on the bench. This Dream wasn’t the one that had spiraled out of control and ruined their precious SMP. No, this was his Dream. The smiling Dream who only wore the mask on the side of his head. The Dream who was warm and welcoming to everyone. This was…

Glittering, multicolored eyes blinked at George, and the man felt his heart sink.

“What do you want, XD?”

Dream didn’t react, but when he spoke again, it was XD’s voice that came out of his mouth.

“You seemed upset, so I wanted to come and make sure you were okay.”

“So you’re invading my dreams…” George leaned back on the bench, closing his eyes and trying to breathe. “Do you not remember when we had that discussion on boundaries? About how you needed to ask for permission to do things to others unless-”

“Unless it was an emergency, yes.” Dream’s head nodded. “You were upset though.”

“Well, now I’m even more upset!” George got up and began to pace.

“I can fix that.”

Before George even knew what was going on, the scenery shifted. The L’Manberg collage melted away as dark oak trees and tall mushrooms began to sprout. Foliage blanketed everything and the world went quiet. Soon, all George could hear were birds and nature.

“There you go,” XD said, still using Dream’s form to converse. “This is much nicer, isn’t it? A much more pleasant dream.”

George screamed to the heavens, kicking a tree as hard as he could. It bent to his kick like it was made of paper. Like it wasn’t real.

“I’m sick and tired of dreaming!” he snapped, whirling on XD with frustrated tears in his eyes. “All I ever do is sleep and dream these days and I’m sick of it!”

“Dreams are so much better though,” XD insisted, gesturing to the world around them. “Here, all your friends are happy. Here, there are no wars, no pain. Here, you’re safe.”

“But it’s not real,” George shot down, shaking his head. “Yeah the real world sucks, but it’s real. And if I’m asleep, I can’t fix it.”

“And what makes you think you could fix it even if you were awake?” XD reached out with Dream’s hand, cupping George’s cheek. “Stay here in the dream. You’ll be safe here.”

Gently, George removed the hand from his face, lifting the thick glasses always over his eyes. One blue and one hazel eye looked the fake Dream square in the face.

“I want to wake up.”

With a sigh, XD took a step back, lowering his borrowed head.

“As you wish.”

And with that, the world went white…


Palaemon

It never rained in the desert. The occasional cloud would pass over, but they were never strong enough to create the rain that the arid landscape needed. However, despite this lack of cloud cover, thunder and lightning rang throughout the sandstone halls of Foolish’s Temple of Death.

The massive, living totem clutched one of the many putrid, red vines that had been infecting his home in his fists. There was a crack of thunder as lightning exploded across his clenched fingers, eradicating the pestilence. As the noise lessened, he tossed the charred plant matter into his disposal bin. Already, it was overflowing with similarly destroyed vines, and the Totem knew that it was only a matter of time before more came to try and claim his temple for its own.

Cursing internally, Foolish turned and went to his storage area, beginning to pack provisions and supplies. The damned Egg had made it clear that waiting around for information to come his way was not going to work anymore. If he wanted to find Alistair, he needed to step up and start pounding the pavement.

Once he had everything he could possibly need, the Totem set out for the Greater Dream SMP area. With luck, he could find his brother and get some information on Alistair.

After all, if one wanted to find the spawn of an Eldritch, ask another Eldritch.

Chapter 23: Worth Fighting For

Chapter Text

Master

The daily duels with Theseus had done wonders for the piglin’s development into a healthy omega. By now, they had dueled bright and early in the morning for a good few weeks. Time was strange for Icarus, who focused more on his precious slaves and expanding his Enclave than on the passage of minutes and days. What he did know was that Nook had managed to create a small arena around the circle where he and Theseus would battle. It was coming along nicely, even if it would likely never house any bloody gladiatorial battles.

The duels Icarus had with Theseus were bloodless, despite the piglin’s best efforts to spill the Master’s black blood across the sandy floor. Every morning he would fight with all the strength he possessed and with every battle-primed instinct he had spent centuries honing. However, the Master remained forever out of his reach. He would let the piglin try a few attacks, effortlessly dodging each one before grabbing Theseus by the neck and slamming him face-first into the dirt.

This was a common practice during duels in piglin tribes to assert who was the Alpha and who was the Omega. Death and bloodshed were never the intended outcome. Instead, they sought to subdue their opponent, to bring them low, and make them admit to the superior strength of the winner. Usually, such battles between two creatures weren’t repeated. The victor was considered the Alpha and the Omega would submit. However, Theseus remained stubborn, refusing to fully accept his defeat if it meant he couldn’t go and find his beloved Angel.

And so every morning, they would duel. And every morning, the Master would shove Theseus face-first into the sand until he submitted. For the rest of the day, Theseus would be an obedient Omega, submitting to his training and doing his chores without a word of complaint. Occasionally, he would look longingly at the feather in his hair or watch the birds circling the Enclave, but he remained obedient and compliant.

Today’s duel ended as it usually did, with Theseus face-first in the sand as Icarus held him there, waiting for him to stop squirming. He kept his hand on the back of the piglin’s head, fingers entangled in his thick mane.

“Are you done yet, my little omega?” he cooed, keeping his voice gentle. If his tone was mocking at all, Theseus would just continue to fight. The gentle tones and lack of aggression helped his instincts to recognize him as a safe Alpha.

Slowly, Theseus ceased his squirming, slumping into the sand. The Master watched all of the tension bleed out of his body as his instincts accepted his place as the omega. Recognizing this, the Master knelt down and gently scooped the large piglin into a hug. Affection was incredibly important after being brought low, especially during battles for superiority. Failing to properly care for an omega could lead to a bad drop and send the unfortunate piglin spiraling into self-depreciation and feelings of worthlessness. This was something that Icarus absolutely would not allow.

“There we go.” He spoke softly as he continued to cradle Theseus in one arm. The other came up and began to gently pet the piglin’s mane. “I’m not mad at you. I know why you keep fighting. Were the circumstances different, I would be more than happy to let you go and find your Angel. However, the time simply isn’t right yet.”

Theseus let out a sad chutting noise but didn’t try to argue. Before, he would snap and curse, yelling about needing to save his Angel no matter what. The fact that he was no longer doing so showed just how much progress he had made.

“Master!”

Both Icarus and Theseus looked up to see Clay coming into the arena through the arch that served as its entrance. With him was an animal that was achingly familiar to the Master. It was a blue sheep, one dragging a leather lead dyed the same blue as his wool. It baaed in greeting, wandering over to the Master and pressing his head into the man’s stomach.

“Friend?” Theseus whispered, recognition flickering in his eyes.

“Indeed,” Master replied, a twinge of surprise in his tone. He reached out, gently petting the sheep’s head as he glanced over at Clay. “I’m surprised the ghost of Wilbur Soot wandered this far into the SMP. Then again, he has been missing for some time now. I suppose Nook is keeping him at the gate until I allow him entry?”

Clay grimaced, rubbing his arm and looking down at the ground.

“Master… Friend arrived at the gate alone.”

Hearing this, the Master felt something deep inside him begin to ache. He put a hand to his chest, recognizing the emotion as dread. Friend never went far without the ghostly remnants of his owner, so for the blue sheep to wander all the way here on his own, something must have happened. Gently, Icarus placed two fingers on Friend’s forehead, the lamb closing his eyes and allowing the Master to see into his memories.

He watched the failed resurrection attempt, the melding of two ghosts into an abominable soul. He saw Lady Death descend to take the soul, whisking it away. He watched through the eyes of this loyal companion as one soul was released and the other was reunited with its lost half. It was bittersweet, watching as Wilbur Soot was made whole once more and granted passage into a new life. The ache deep inside him seemed to shift as well, the dread making way for something different: grief.

"Master?" 

Clay's voice called out to him, pulling Icarus from the borrowed memories. He removed his fingers from Friend's forehead, giving Clay his full attention.

"Master, are you okay?" His slave looked concerned and a little scared. "What did you see?"

The Master smiled, reaching out and cupping Clay's cheek.

"I am fine, Clay. Friend here was simply telling me about Wilbur Soot, and how he was finally able to move on. His soul is no longer in turmoil and he is free."

Clay leaned into his hand, but it didn't seem to be because he longed for the touch. It was reminiscent of a pet attempting to comfort its owner when they were upset. In fact, it was exactly what Friend was attempting to do as well.

"Wilbur's gone?" Theseus whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

"In truth, he has been gone since the day L'Manberg was destroyed the first time. His soul was simply in no state to cross over into the next life. But now, he has."

"Is that why you're crying, Master?" Clay asked gently.

Hearing those words, Icarus was made acutely aware of a wetness running down his cheeks. With a single hand, he reached up to touch his face. When he pulled it away, he saw tears glistening on his fingertips.

"Oh…" he let out, genuinely surprised by their presence. "I was unaware I still had the capacity to cry."

In truth, he shouldn't have been surprised. Lady Death was far from a cruel Mistress. She would not rob those who served her of the primal emotions that made life worth living. While he was not the same Tommyinnit that he was before his final death, he still held all the connections and bonds he had formed over his lifetime, and the strongest of those bonds was the one he held with the man who practically raised him. While he understood that Wilbur moving on was nature's way, the grief deep in his soul showed no signs of lessening any time soon. Nor did the tears show any sign of stopping.

"My apologies, Theseus," the Master said, carefully wiping his eyes. "I'm afraid that we will have to postpone your training for today. It would seem that I require a moment to compose myself."

Theseus said nothing, his gaze shifting between Icarus and Friend. Remembering the blue sheep, the Master turned to Clay.

"Clay, take Friend to the barn and find them a comfortable place to rest. They have come a long way and are no doubt quite famished."

Clay nodded quickly, fumbling for the lead that was still dragging in the dirt. The slave took a moment to clean it off, then ushered the sheep out of the arena. The Master got to his feet at that, glancing over at the still shell-shocked Theseus.

"Theseus, go on and tend to your chores for today. Take your time and don't feel the need to rush for my sake."

As Theseus moved to obey, he seemed listless, his movements akin to one of the zombies that shuffled in the darkness beyond the Enclave. It was understandable, given the omega's own connection to Wilbur Soot. They were friends, almost brothers once upon a time. His loss must be hurting Theseus as much as it was hurting Icarus.

Hopefully, this grief would not cripple the piglin’s growth into a healthy omega.


Theseus

Grief was an ugly emotion, but it was also a powerful one. For Theseus, the grief he felt at the loss of someone he had once considered a brother was strong enough to pierce through the haze of instincts clouding his mind for Prime knows how long. For the first time in far too long, his mind was open to him and he could finally remember.

Seeing that blue sheep had dragged Theseus back into memories of an attack on his home when the ghost of his brother showed him that blue sheep as he prepared to fight for his life. He remembered how the little ghost clung to it as that anvil fell on his head, his blessing as the Blood God’s champion allowing him to survive what should have been a fatal blow. He remembered being dragged to that cage, pulling on the chains holding him as he laid eyes on his Angel.

No… on Phil.

Remembering Phil's name brought everything else crashing down. Theseus clenched his eyes shut against the onslaught, and Technoblade opened them.

He stood in the center of the potato field, hoe buried far deeper in the dirt than it needed to be. His breath was coming out in long, ragged gasps as he pieced his thoughts together.

He was Technoblade. He was the Blood God’s champion. He had been attacked, taken, and enslaved by... by whatever Tommy had become. His initial thoughts on the boy being a skinwalker didn't match up with the genuine grief that the creature had shown at the news of Wilbur's passing. It hardly mattered though. He had still enslaved Techno, trying to break him down into an omega slave and erase who he was supposed to be.

And the terrifying thing was that it was working.

Techno could feel it deep in his core. Deep down, he knew that this new Tommy, this Master he was supposed to obey, was stronger than him. His body longed for him to submit to being an omega. He could feel the desire growing, urging him to be good for his Alpha and to truly become Theseus.

But he couldn't. Not while Phil was still out in the world alone. Not when his Angel, his partner in crime, the man he would fight the world for, was hurting and alone.

Techno dropped the hoe, fumbling for the muzzle over his face. The Master didn't lock it anymore, not since their deal about the duels and his obedience. As such, he was able to slip it off his face and drop it into the dirt. His snout felt oddly naked without it on, which only made Techno shudder in disgust. He had been trained to find that torture device comforting. All the more reason to get out of there.

Stepping out of the potato field, Techno tentatively peeked around the wooden house toward the barn in the very back. There was no sign of Clay, meaning he was still inside with Friend. Satisfied, he turned his attention toward the forge. Daedalus was hard at work on something involving thin wires of gold. It must have required a lot of detail because his focus was locked on those golden wires.

All that was left was Nook.

The little Tanuki robot had been Techno's downfall last time. It had caught him and led the Master straight to him. He couldn't afford to underestimate the thing a second time. Luckily, Nook seemed preoccupied with putting the final touches on the arena where Techno and the Master had been holding their duels. While he showed far more sentience than most robots or Redstone contraptions, it was still a machine and could not multitask. Meaning that if Techno wanted to escape, now was the time to do it.

Techno knew that if he tried to be sneaky about it, someone would get suspicious. Luckily, he was allowed to go anywhere in the Enclave when he was on one of the Master’s breaks. Thus, it wasn't out of place for him to be wandering around. If anything, it was normal. He used this to his advantage, acting as if he was simply wandering around to clear his head, all while following the dirt path leading to the main gate.

The entire Enclave was surrounded by a simple wooden wall, not all that dissimilar to the walls that surrounded the individual crop fields. The only difference was that these walls were much taller, at least ten blocks high with the occasional lantern lighting it up. It surrounded everything up to the main gate, which was an open archway with a drop-down grate made of thick, wooden poles. From there, the path led to the Dark Oak forest and beyond. In other words, freedom.

Techno could practically taste his freedom as he approached the gate. Once he got to the woods, he could disappear. Once he made it to the Greater SMP area, he could get new armor, new weapons, find Phil, and then-

His collar began to buzz.

Techno froze in place at the feeling, terror washing over him. 

No… no this wasn't possible. He was so close!

He stepped back and the buzzing stopped. He stepped forward and it resumed. He took another step forward again, and the buzzing became an almost threatening rumble.

Expletives that Techno would not normally ever say aloud were going off in his head like fireworks. He shrieked in rage, grabbing a rock and throwing it in frustration. Of course, the Master had rigged their collars. He wasn't stupid! He knew that at least one of them would try to escape, so the damned things were boobytrapped. Techno could vividly remember the pain of getting shocked after he had bitten Daedalus, the pain akin to being struck by lightning. If he tried to cross that threshold, it would no doubt go off and he would be left a spasming lump in the dirt.

"I half expected you to still go through with your escape, despite the warning," the Master’s voice spoke up from behind him. "Then again, you're not the Blood God’s champion for your strength alone."

Even with his Voices silenced, Techno felt something deep inside him demanding blood. His rage and frustration had reached its boiling point and he snapped. With a roar, he turned on the Master and charged, grabbing him by the front of his tunic and slamming him against the wall. He held no delusions about being in control. He knew that the Master let him do this, but he didn't care. His emotions were a twisted track system and he was just along for the ride.

"Take this thing off of me and let me go," he growled, panting hard and grinding his teeth.

"Theseus-"

"Technoblade." He smirked as he finally voiced his true name. "Yeah. I remember who I really am now, and your little game of Alphas and Omegas ends here. Now let me go and let me find Phil."

The Master looked disappointed, and a part of Techno felt bad about disappointing the man. He quashed it quickly. He couldn't afford to give that part of him the chance to fester.

"I understand your desire to find and protect the Angel. However, you are not equipped to properly take care of him, and sadly neither am I just yet. You must be patient."

"Patient?" Techno shoved the Master hard against the tree, stepping back a bit to laugh mirthlessly. "How can you expect me to be patient when the one being I actually care about is out there alone and stressed out of his mind?! How can you expect me to just sit here and play the part of your ditzy little omega when the man you once called Dadza is suffering?! His son is gone for good! Both of them considering you sure as hell aren't Tommy anymore! If you were, then you'd be doing something about this instead of just sitting here in your little cottage core slave plantation!!"

At the end of his tirade, Theseus just stood there, panting as the tension in his body seemed to bleed out of him. The anger was still there, but he no longer felt like a TNT block about to explode. He rubbed his face, tipping his head back as he regained control of himself. When he finished, he turned back to the Master, who was just leaning against the wall and watching him.

"I suppose this is where you punish me," he groused, the earlier heat in his voice reduced to a simmer. "Muzzle me again, put me in those mitts, maybe tether me outside the barn again?"

The Master approached him but Techno didn't flinch or fight. Despite his earlier demands, he knew that the man was stronger than him. That fact had been hammered home more times than he could count over the weeks he had dueled the man for his freedom. Those cold hands touched the back of his head and he braced himself to be shoved into the dirt. 

However, rather than being shoved or knocked down, Techno found himself pulled into a hug. A surprised “Heh?” slipped out of him as the Master hugged him close, petting the back of his head and rubbing his back in what was meant to be a soothing manner. That little part of him from before couldn’t help but preen at the feeling, soaking up the affection the man was showing him.

“Oh, Theseus,” the Master spoke softly into his ear, “I’m not going to punish you for grieving, nor will I punish you for wanting to comfort and protect your angel. What kind of Master would I be if I didn’t acknowledge the feelings of those under my protection?”

Techno was frozen, his mind reeling from this whispered remark. His hands shook with the desire to shove the man off, but deep down, that little part of him that longed to be Theseus stayed his hand. After a minute, he lowered his hands, letting them hang limply at his sides.

“If…” he swallowed a bit, emotion welling up in his throat. “If you really don’t want to punish me, why do you keep stopping me? Why won’t you let me go and help Phil? Why… why are you so insistent on making me your omega?”

The Master pulled back, those blissfully cold hands coming to gently caress Techno’s cheeks. His face was soft, and those piercing eyes were full of nothing but kindness.

“Let me counter that last question with one of my own: Why are you so insistent on not becoming my omega?”

Normally, such a question would have Techno swinging before it ever finished. Normally, he would already be pouncing on whoever asked and trying to rip their throat out. This time, he found himself just standing there, hesitating only briefly before answering.

"Because… because I can't." His limp hands clenched into tight fists. "Omegas are weaklings, powerless to do anything. If I become an omega… then it's basically saying that I'm too weak to protect what matters to me. I have too much to lose to become an omega."

"Oh, Theseus…" He was pulled back into another hug, which made him feel like a shoat being comforted after a nightmare. "Is that what you were taught? Oh my sweet Theseus, being an Omega is nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn't mean that you're weak. It means that you have someone to help you so you don't have to be strong all the time. As your Alpha, I will protect what is precious to me, and that includes what is precious to you."

Techno longed to believe it, to believe that this man was telling him the truth. He longed to be able to believe that he could just give in and stop fighting all the time. But… but he couldn't. He had too much to lose.

"I'm sorry…" Techno pulled free of the hug, stepping back and shaking his head softly. "Even if what you say is true… I can't stop fighting. Not with Phil's life at stake."

The Master was silent for a moment, his face unreadable. Techno met his eyes without hesitation, ready to face whatever this man decided to do to him for his continued defiance. He couldn't run, so he would endure. For Phil's sake.

"Then let us settle this," the Master declared, straightening his back and exuding an aura of power that reminded Techno of Philza when the man got angry. "One last duel, an all-or-nothing battle."

Techno couldn't help but scoff.

"You mean one of your little duels where you toy with me and shove me in the dirt?" He shook his head. "No. No, if we're gonna fight, we're gonna do it right."

The corner of the Master’s mouth quirked into a tiny smirk.

"Oh? And how would we do it right, as you put it?"

"I want you to fight me for real. Don't just dance around and shove me, fight me. We use weapons and we don't stop until one of us either yields or dies."

The Master nodded slowly as if mulling over the suggestion.

"I see. If you are to submit to being my omega, I need to prove myself as a true warrior." He gave one last nod. "Very well then. However, I feel as though a fight of this magnitude should have much higher stakes than what we have been fighting for. What do you want if you manage to succeed?"

Techno smirked at that. "I want you to free all of us, remove our collars, and return the real Tommy."

The Master chuckled softly, hiding his smirk behind his sleeve. Techno wanted to feel slighted, but he shoved it aside. This was his best chance to put an end to all of this and get the real Tommy back.

"Very well then. However, should I emerge victorious, you will denounce the name Technoblade and become Theseus. You will swear your fealty to me as your Brute, and…" The Master held out a hand, summoning a thick golden ring into his hand. It looked like a cattle ring or the kind of ring used on domesticated Hoglins or enslaved piglins. "You will be ringed."

Techno put a hand to his snout, cringing at the idea of such a massive ring piercing his snout. He had to admit, the idea was terrifying. Even so, he wouldn't be deterred. He steeled his nerves, taking a breath before lowering his hand. He held it out, eyes blazing with power and will.

"Alright then. You've got yourself a deal."

The Master grinned, showing off far too many teeth as he took the offered hand.

Chapter 24: One Last Shot

Notes:

Special shoutout to my friend Ben who helped me to make this fight scene. I'm normally not all that good with stuff like this, so his help was greatly appreciated.

Chapter Text

Daedalus

Dae had done his best to try and ignore the construction of the arena just beyond the borders of his forge. He kept his nose to the grindstone, working on the various projects his master gave him and doing everything in his power to be good. He knew that arenas were where slaves were sent to kill each other for the entertainment of others when their usefulness had run out. While the Master seemed too possessive to ever throw any of them away, the site filled Daedalus with nothing but trepidation and fear.

So when he and Clay were ordered to go to the arena, the Creeper began to exhale thick plumes of smoke out of fear.

Had he done something wrong? Were they going to be getting some sort of collective punishment? Or did Master want to have them fight each other for his entertainment? Clay could barely hold a pair of sheers without devolving into a panic attack and Daedalus hadn’t even made any weapons since becoming the Enclave’s blacksmith. Would they be forced to fight hand to hand? What would happen to the loser? All of these questions were rattling around in his skull as he and Clay made their way into the arena. 

Upon stepping through the archway entrance, they were greeted by the sight of Theseus sitting against the wall of the arena, sharpening a very familiar war axe. It was a massive two-handed weapon, the base a thick dark oak handle with a double-headed netherite blade. Leather was wrapped around the handle with a tassel that had a black feather, an emerald bead, a turtle scute, and what looked like a small chunk of bedrock. The entire thing was shimmering with at least half a dozen enchantments, and it had an imposing aura to it.

“The Axe of Peace…” Clay whispered, shaking visibly as he clung to Daedalus.

The Creeper wrapped an arm around his fellow slave, his eyes locked on that axe. The last time he saw that axe, it had been in Tommy’s hands as he used it to take one of Dream’s lives. It made sense that the Master would have the weapon… but why was Theseus holding it?

“CLAY, DAEDALUS,” Nook’s voice called out to them from a simple wooden bleacher set into the stone of the area wall. “COME AND JOIN ME HERE. MASTER ICARUS WANTS ALL OF US TO SIT AND BE WITNESSES TO HIS FINAL DUEL WITH THESEUS.”

A mixture of emotions was churning in Daedalus’ gut at those words. On one hand, he and Clay were not being made to fight just yet. They were simply to bear witness to one of their own fighting. However, Nook calling this Master’s final duel with Theseus had a ring to it that made the creeper shudder. Deep down, he knew that this wasn’t going to be like the fights the piglin had been having where the worst he got was a bruised snout and some dirt on his face. Especially with the weapon he saw the Master brandishing.

The bone whip. The very same bone whip that Master had used to beat Daedalus back when he was still Sam. Seeing the ivory weapon made the scars on the creeper’s body ache and burn. He rubbed one of the ones on his arm, shrinking into himself as he sat down on the simple wooden bench.

“Y-you okay, Dae?” Clay whispered, similarly hunched over in an effort to look small.

“I…” He wanted to say he was fine, but the lie refused to leave his mouth. “I’m scared…”

“Yeah… Yeah, me too…” Clay began toying with the hem of his shorts, chewing on the bottom of his lip. “D-do you think… that Master is gonna… gonna…”

“No.” Dae shook his head, banishing the very idea. “Master is far too possessive to… y’know…” 

Slowly, his gaze drifted out to the arena, where the Master and Theseus were moving to meet in the middle.

“However… I get the feeling that Theseus won’t be walking away from this unscathed.”


Theseus

Having the Axe of Peace back in his hands gave Technoblade a boost of confidence he didn’t know he needed. He was proficient at just about every weapon in existence, even going so far as making weapons out of rather unconventional tools. He could still remember using his pickaxe Toothpick to rip Quackity’s face apart, despite being unarmed and injured while the man was clad in netherite.

But that was Quackity, another run-of-the-will player who was only average at PVP. The Master, however, was a completely different creature. This man exuded power and confidence and held himself like a warrior with just as much experience as Techno when it came to battle. He couldn’t afford to get cocky and let his guard down, and he certainly couldn’t afford to give this fight anything short of his best. 

“Are you ready for this, Theseus?” the Master asked, unfurling a gnarly-looking whip made out of sharpened vertebrae. “I do not want you to regret your decision for being too hasty.”

“I won’t regret this,” he insisted, snorting loudly as he heaved his axe into his hands. “But don’t you dare hold back on me.”

“I promise you, I will take this fight seriously.” The Master took a step back, sliding into a ready position with one hand wrapped loosely around the handle of his whip. “I would not dishonor you in such a manner.”

“Well then,” Techno smirked, adjusting his grip on the Axe of Peace. “May the best fighter win.”

And with that, the fight began.

Techno had battled whip-users before, especially when he and Phil would go on crusades to rescue slaves from corrupt masters. Their strength was their range, being able to strike their opponents from a distance to deal devastating blows. However, that range was also a very set area, and if you got too close or far from it, then all the whip could do was tear at the ground. The Axe of Peace was a close-range weapon, meant to cleave enemies in twain with brute strength and a sharp edge to the heavy axe head. This meant that this battle was one of maintaining the desired range that kept him out of reach of the whip while also taking down the Master.

Technoblade bared his teeth, his knuckles white around his axe as he lowered his haunches. Then, sand exploded upwards around his hooves as Techno dashed forward, quickly closing the distance between him and the Master. A slight smirk emerged on the man’s face as he slowly wrapped the whip around both of his hands, clenching it in his fists. Techno leaped into the air, the war axe reeling backward as he let out a battle roar. 

The Master watched dutifully, pulling the whip taut between his hands as the axe came down with a sickening crunch. The blade stopped, a small indent appearing as it met with the thin cord connecting the sections of bone that made up the whip. For a moment, Techno stood in midair with an expression of surprise.

“Acting rashly gets you nowhere, Theseus,” the Master said sternly.

With a flick of his wrist, the bone whip snapped backward, sending the axe, along with Techno, flying backward. The piglin hit the ground hard, rolling in the dirt for a bit as his weapon clattered loudly next to him. Techno rubbed his eyes, dirt fluttering around him like a shroud as his hand attempted to find his axe in the haze. The Master remained motionless, merely watching from his stalwart position. 

Finally, Techno gripped the axe handle, pressing the blade into the ground like a crutch as he got up. His shoulder was sore, but he had endured far worse pain than this. He would not be deterred from his victory. He wiped the sand from his face, kicking the backside of the axe head so it spun into his other hand. He then turned his head, spitting onto the ground before snarling. He felt his anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach, a growl escaping from between his teeth. In response, the Master simply returned to his previous stance, raising the whip high before bringing it down with a loud crack.

Techno’s body tensed as the whip arced towards him, quickly sidestepping as it struck the ground where he had just been standing. Sand kicked up from the impact, but Techno barely noticed, more impressed with his ability to dodge the attack. Unfortunately, his joy was short-lived as he found that dodging was all he could do. The Master’s whip continued to strike the ground, kicking up more dust and dirt with every hit. The man even performed a sweeping maneuver with it, combing the sharped bones through the dirt fast enough that Techno just barely managed to jump over it. It was such an outlandish move that it left the piglin feeling confused.

That confusion was soon short-lived as realization dawned. The sand kicked up from their combined movements had turned the air into a screen of dust and dirt. Techno grinned excitedly. If he couldn’t see the Master then the Master couldn’t see him.  

Probably. 

Either way, this was likely the only opening he was going to get and he was not about to let it go to waste. He lunged into the cloud, moving fast as he reeled the axe into attack position. A shadow appeared with its arm raised high. No defense, no way to block. He swung the axe with all his might, cutting through the figment like it was pure air. 

His mind raced as he noticed there was no blood, no scream, nothing. From the clouds, something wrapped around his waist and he felt something pulling him. The bastard had tricked him! The whip cut through the dust screen like a fine blade and the Master revealed himself just as Techno was thrown into the stone wall. His face connected with the solid stone wall and the rough bricks tore at his face, blood running from various wounds as he slowly fell backward with a thud. 

That bubbling anger from before was now boiling over as the piglin got back to his feet. He could taste his coppery blood running from the various cuts on his face. With a slow pass of his palm, he wiped it away, looking at his palm while struggling to control himself. The Voices weren’t there screaming for blood, but he felt that lust overtaking him just from the sight of it.

“You told me you would take this seriously!” he snapped, wiping the blood on his demeaning wrap before reclaiming his weapon. “Stop toying with me and fight me!!”

The Master sighed before letting his whip trail along the dirt once more, running his free hand through his hair.

“Very well…”

Techno quickly vaulted to his feet when he noticed the whip preparing to arc. Quickly, he grabbed his axe, swinging to his free hand as the whip cleared the distance between them. Holding it tightly, Techno smirked as the Master’s whip curled around the handle. He planted his hooves and tightened his grip, pulling back with all the strength he could muster. If he could disarm the Master, then this fight was his. His axe could keep him out of the reach of any attempt to grab him and he could finally deal some damage. All he had to do was-

There was a loud crack and all the tension keeping Techno on his feet vanished. He fell backward against the bloodied wall, and as he did, he realized something that sent a bolt of fear down his spine. 

The Axe of Peace was now in two pieces.

The axe head only had about a foot of handle attached to it, the leather wrapped around it frayed and snapped. The rest of the handle was in Techno’s other hand, now nothing more than a useless stick with decorations on it.

“A clever tactic,” the Master commended, snapping his whip to dislodge the splinters caught in between the different vertebrae. “Were I any other foe, I would have been disarmed.”

“HEH?! H-How?!” This shouldn’t have been possible! The Axe of Peace had Unbreaking III on it, the highest level of the Unbreaking enchantment a weapon or tool could possibly have! And yet, the Master had just snapped it like a twig! Quickly all the anger that had flooded Techno’s body drained into fear.

“Don’t worry, Theseus,” the Master spoke up, his tone softer, like he was trying to reassure a small child. “When this is over, I will happily repair the Axe of Peace for you. You will need it to help in the defense of my Enclave.”

The fear quickly returned to blood-boiling anger at the Master’s casual declaration. The man was essentially telling him that the fight was over and that Techno had lost. He snorted at the idea, tossing the broken handle aside before picking up the axe head in one hand. There was enough left to let him use it one-handed, and he intended to do just that. 

He lunged a third time, reeling the axe back to close that distance with his next attack. Quickly, the Master sidestepped as Techno recovered and swung at his throat. The man ducked, rolling before his whip curled around Techno’s arm. The piglin’s eyes widened, retracting his arm quickly as the bones tightened, cutting into the flesh as he jerked himself free. The bony segments of the whip clattered ominously as if taunting Techno.

Technoblade leapt back, reaching out to the whip. This was the end for the Master. A bone spur dug into his palm as his hand closed around the threads. The man cocked a single eyebrow, watching as Techno pulled on the whip. However, rather than wrench the weapon away as the piglin had intended, all he got was the barbed tip striking the back of his hand. Techno screamed, trying to loosen his grip before the Master rolled to the side and pulled the whip down. Techno’s arm lurched hard to the ground, throwing his whole body into the sand.

The Axe of Peace skittered across the ground as Techno fell, blood pouring from the wounds inflicted. Before he could try to recover his weapon, the Master stepped behind the piglin and cracked the whip hard across his back. He let out a squeal akin to a wild pig getting slaughtered, crumbling to the ground. A black, shining boot began to apply pressure to his head. Not enough to cave in his skull, but just enough that he couldn’t get back up.

“Yield, Theseus.”

“Never…” Theseus gritted out, fumbling for the Axe of Peace that was just out of reach.

The whip cracked, the sound accompanied by a fiery pain that tore across his back. Techno screamed in agony as blood began to pour from the two wounds, staining the dirt beneath him. If Quackity’s attempt at torturing him had been bad, then this was a thousand times worse.

“Yield, Theseus.”

Panting, Techno managed to let out a breathy “No” before trying to get back up. All that got him was another brutal strike with the whip. The Master repeated his demand, and Techno did his best to refuse. He managed to hold out for at least a dozen strikes across his back and legs. By the thirteenth strike, everything was starting to grow fuzzy. His back burned and the dirt around him was thick with his blood.

“Yield, Theseus.”

Techno closed his eyes, panting hard as he tried to muster up what little strength remained in his body. However, he had nothing left to use. His limbs felt like lead and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. There was no coming back from this. He had lost.

Theseus opened his eyes, going limp beneath his Alpha.

“I… yield…” he whimpered.

The boot on his head was removed and his Alpha… no, his Brute bent down to pick him up. Knowing what his owner wanted, Theseus did his best to get into the Snuggle position, tears of pain rolling freely down his cheeks. Everything hurt and he longed for the comfort of his Alpha’s touch.

“Shh, it’s alright, little omega. You don’t need to be afraid. I won’t hurt you anymore. I’m your Brute now, and I’m going to take good care of you. You just leave everything to me and focus on healing. Okay, Theseus?”

Words were too difficult for him to muster at the moment, but Theseus was able to nod. His Brute would take care of everything. He didn’t need to fight anymore. He could focus on getting better so he could show his Brute how good of an omega he could be. And maybe if he was good and was able to help out properly around their Bastion, then Alpha Brute would agree to bring him his Angel.

Yes, all he had to do was be good and trust in his Brute. That’s what a good Omega did.


Watcher

The Watcher looked over Quackity from Las Nevadas, watching as he sat and ate at a dining room table with Sapnap from the Lava Wastes. The slime couldn’t help but feel relieved at the sight of his friend finally taking time to speak with one of the people he loved. Karl Jacobs from the Inbetween was still missing, which was unfortunate. It would have been better if all three could have been able to enjoy a meal together.

Well, there was still time for that. He just had to be patient.

There was movement in the corner of the Watcher’s vision, drawing him over to a window just next to where he was hiding. There, he could make out the translucent silhouette of J. Schlatt slowly coming into view. The Watcher remembered watching the ram hybrid back when he was alive, seeing him trying to drown out the pestilence’s curse with copious alcohol. The poor man had no idea that he was just opening his mind and body to its influence. It was why he had fallen to the pestilence as easily as he had, much to the detriment of everyone around him.

There was no trace of the pestilence on the ghostly figure, but with how transparent he was, it was clear that he was not fully here either. Perhaps he was simply looking in on the mortal plane from Limbo, watching over the living without being able to interact with anything.

“J. Schlatt from Limbo?” the Watcher called out.

The ghostly ram jumped slightly, turning to him. Despite clearly cursing, no sound came out of the ghost’s mouth. This confirmed the Watcher’s theory about him just looking in. Lady Kristen of Death must have placed him in Limbo after freeing his soul from the remnants of Wilbur Soot from L’Manberg. He had a pretty good idea as to why, given what the ghost was doing before he showed up.

“Quackity from Las Nevadas isn’t ready to see you just yet,” he told the ghostly ram. “It is not time for you to meet.”

Schlatt did not seem happy with this, going off on a silent rant about something. The Watcher let him rant, then reached out and touched the man on the shoulder. As a ghost, nothing mortal should have been able to touch him, especially in such a fragile state. However, the Watcher was different.

“Lady Kristen of Death will allow you to see him when he is ready to listen. However, that time has not come yet. You must be patient.”

The rant continued, but J. Schlatt’s expression wasn’t one of anger or annoyance. He looked almost desperate, pain etched into his face. He gazed through the window at Quackity from Las Nevadas, looking like a man full of regret. The Watcher gently squeezed his shoulder, trying to offer the dead man comfort.

“Whatever you have to say to him, he will hear it. Just wait a bit longer, then you can air your sins and be free.”

Schlatt still looked pained and reluctant, but he slowly drifted away from the window. With one last glance, he turned away and faded from sight. The Watcher watched him go, then turned back to the two in the mushroom house. His core felt warm at the sight of the tiny smile Quackity from las Nevadas shared with Sapnap from the Lava wastes.

In time, those smiles would not be so fleeting. In time, they would all be happy.

Chapter 25: Friendship Emeralds

Notes:

A little shorty McShortshorts chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Text

Theseus

Theseus woke up on his stomach. His entire body felt stiff and sore, and his mind was half-sunk in the haze of instincts that had been plaguing him for so long. As his eyes slowly fluttered open, he found himself lying on the plain white bed of the infirmary. The menagerie of empty potion bottles on the little table next to him suggested that many potions had been applied to his body in the wake of his loss.

Remembering the duel, Theseus couldn't help but cringe. How could he have been so stupid to think that he could beat his Brute? Hadn’t he learned by now that the man was stronger than him? The use of weapons hadn’t even given him an iota of an advantage. All it did was give his Brute the excuse to whip his disobedient omega into submission. If he was honest with himself, Theseus was lucky he had been allowed to live.

The sound of the door opening made him flick his ear, the omega attempting to lift his head. However, a blissfully cold hand gently pushed it back onto the pillow, sharp claws scratching softly at his sensitive scalp.

“Shh, sh, sh, don’t get up,” his Brute commanded in that soft voice he used for his good slaves. “Even with my potions, your body still needs time to rest and recover.”

Theseus moaned at the touch, practically melting onto the bed. It felt so good to be cared for, especially after all the pain he had endured. He happily soaked up those icy touches, doing as he was told and being met with an approving rumble from somewhere deep in his Brute’s chest.

“That’s my good boy. See how much more enjoyable things are when you’re good?”

“Yes… Alpha…” Theseus managed to slur, his tongue feeling heavy.

As he spoke, he felt something heavy bouncing ever so slightly against his lip. Confused, he reached up with a single hand to touch his face. Aside from the occasional bandage pasted over his facial wounds, he also had a thick ring now threaded through his snout. It felt tingly, like there were enchantments on it, and it felt like a solid piece of metal. Instantly, Theseus remembered his Brute telling him that when he lost, he would be ringed like a truly owned piglin slave.

“Ah, yes,” the Brute’s voice spoke up again, gently pulling Theseus’ hand away from the ring. “I took the liberty of having you ringed while you were asleep. You were already in enough pain and I felt it would be better for you if I took care of it so you wouldn’t have to suffer needlessly.”

Theseus let out a soft chutting noise, feeling the ring bounce as he did. His Brute truly was a kind one, thinking of his lowly omega’s comfort even after his shameful disobedience and display of aggression. The hand on his scalp continued to gently pet him and he melted further into the bed.

“With your new ring, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Daedalus to make you a new muzzle. This one will be much less restrictive than the one you have been wearing and will have a slot for your ring. As a treat, I even had him make it out of gold just for you.”

Hearing that, Theseus made more pleased chutting noises, excited about the prospect of more gold for him to wear. He didn’t even mind that it was a muzzle. If anything, he was happy that his old one was being replaced with a more comfortable one. Now he could be good for his Brute and be comfortable. The gold was just a nice bonus.

“I’m glad you’re happy Theseus.” The hand slowly pulled away from his head and the omega couldn’t help but whine. “I also have another gift for you, something I think you’re ready to have back.”

The whine cut off and Theseus grunted slightly, tilting his head up so he could see his Brute. The man was standing over the bed, smiling warmly at the omega while holding an ornate box in his hands. It was carved from dark oak and looked like a small chest, only more detailed and compact enough to be easily carried. The man set the box down on the small table, opening it to reveal a velvety interior. Theseus couldn’t see the contents from where he was lying, but he was able to see what his Brute removed from the box.

It was a single earring, a golden hoop with a golden chain that was about 2 inches long. At the end of the chain was a single emerald. Theseus went wide-eyed at the sight, instinctively trying to get up and grab it. Pain lancing across his back quickly reminded him of why that was a bad idea and he collapsed on the bed.

“I see you remember this little trinket,” the Master spoke up, carefully rearranging Theseus into a comfortable position. “Considering its significance to you and the magic it held, I chose to hold onto it until the time was right. Now that you’ve settled and accepted your place as my omega, I can safely say that you’re ready to have this back.”

It was no mere trinket. That earring was part of a matching set, its partner being worn by Phil. It was called a Friendship Emerald, and it was magically connected to its twin. If two people wore them, then they would be able to find one another no matter the distance. It was a spell that Phil had learned specifically for them so that they would always be able to find one another without the risk of outside parties being able to find out.

Theseus held perfectly still as his Brute carefully slipped the earring into its place on his ear. Instantly, he could feel his connection to Phil and could sense him flying around many thousands of blocks away. Just being able to know he was still alive and kicking made something deep in his heart settle down. His Angel was okay, at least for the time being. And with the connection restored, there was no doubt in his mind that they would be reunited.

“Feel better, Theseus?”

Theseus chutted happily, nodding as best he could. He couldn’t wait to see Phil again, and when he came, no doubt his Brute would help him like he was helping Theseus. He could be a part of their sounder, and join their bastion.

With those happy thoughts flitting through his mind, Theseus settled in for some much-needed rest.


Thanatos

Philza collapsed into one of the first trees he saw that was strong enough to hold him. More like he crashed into it. He was so exhausted that he could barely see straight. The sun had set long ago, plunging the swamp he was flying through into a pitch-black darkness. Mangrove swamps were naturally thick and dark, enough so that night mobs could be seen hiding amongst the roots even during the day. The fact that Phil had even made it to one showed just how far he had flown since starting his search. Did he even know where he was going?

As the avian lay on the rough wood of the tree, his stomach began to loudly protest his current state. He didn’t need to look at his communicator to know that his hunger levels were getting dangerously low. He should have gotten more supplies. He should have made a plan. He should have actually thought this foolish stunt through. He checked his inventory, finding a few slices of bread and two plain apples. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

He ravenously ate his meager meal, then settled on the branch to try and catch some rest. With luck, he could catch a few winks to regain his strength before resuming his search. He needed more than a few winks. He needed proper sleep. He needed to go home and let himself heal and do this properly.

Phil had just managed to drift off to sleep when he felt something connecting in his mind. His eyes flew open and he sat up, gasping as he grasped at his ear. Dangling from a golden chain was his Friendship Emerald, a gift from Techno he had enchanted after that disastrous incident with his oldest friend’s attempted execution. He had forgotten about that particular enchantment. How? How could he have forgotten about something as important as the Friendship Emerald?

He closed his eyes, focusing on the connection. His brow furrowed as he poured everything he had into the connection, trying to pinpoint exactly where Techno was. Finally, he managed to sense the piglin. He was thousands of blocks away, far from the Greater SMP area, and he was terrifyingly stationary. Still, it was the first lead he had.

It was a trap. It was such an obvious trap. He’s suddenly able to track Techno after literal weeks of nothing and he’s just supposed to accept it? There was no way this wasn’t going to end badly. He had to think this through, or at the very least take time to take care of himself before going! Why did he keep making such rash decisions without even thinking?!

Ignoring the fatigue dragging at his body, Phil forced himself to his feet, turning in the direction where he sensed Techno. He spread his aching, sore, worn-out wings and took off into the night. He was gonna find Techno or die trying.

That last part seemed far too likely…

Chapter 26: Plans, Potions, and Pain

Chapter Text

George

George pinched himself a good half a dozen times throughout his walk through Kinoko Kingdom. He needed to know for sure that he was awake this time. More than that, he needed to stay awake.

After convincing XD to release him from the dream he had been having, George was stunned to learn that literal months had passed since the death of Tommyinnit. He should have been stiff or starving from sleeping for so long, but he was apparently okay. His narcolepsy did occasionally lead to random bouts of sleepwalking, so perhaps his body had been taking care of itself while his mind remained lost in the realm of dreams.

Either way, he was done dreaming. He was awake, and he needed to do something.

The first step of his, admittedly non-existent, plan was to locate Sapnap and Karl, hoping one of them could help him get caught up on just what he had missed during his recent bout of fairytale-esque sleep. He stuck his head inside Karl’s library, but the multi-colored man was nowhere to be seen. George wasn’t surprised, given that the man was around less often than he was. Hopefully, he will come home soon.

When he knocked on the door of Sapnap’s house, he was surprised when Quackity answered instead. The scar-faced man looked rough, his shirt partially unbuttoned and his tie just hanging loosely around his neck. He had bags under his eyes and was very skinny under his clothes.

“Quackity?” George let out, stunned by the sight before him.

“Oh, hey George.” Even Quackity’s voice sounded rough, like he’d been crying and screaming for hours on end. It could explain the puffy bags, as well as just how rough he was. “Glad you’re awake.”

“Is that George?!”

There was a clatter somewhere inside the house, and then Sapnap came running up to the door. Like Quackity, he looked exhausted both physically and emotionally. His eyes were red and dull, suggesting his own crying session, but the smile he gave was full of nothing but relief.

“George, thank Prime.” The man reached out, pulling George into a warm, tight hug. “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?”

“Um… I’d imagine a bit.”

“Jeez, let him breathe, Pandas,” Quackity quipped, leaning against the doorframe and watching the two of them. “You’re gonna break his spine at this rate.”

There was some reluctance, but Sapnap eventually let George go, much to the relief of his spine. Still, warm hands continued to rest on his shoulders as if afraid that he would just up and disappear on the warm man. Honestly, it was a reasonable fear, given that the situation with Karl was almost exactly like that.

“Come on, let’s get inside,” Quackity insisted, gesturing with his arm. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on and I’ve found that conversations like this are best done over a hard drink.”

“Yeah, but we’re having tea, not liquor,” Sapnap shot down, wrapping an arm around George’s shoulders before trying to do the same with Quackity. The scar-faced man ducked out of the way of the hold but offered his hand instead.

“Fair enough. Knowing this place it would probably taste like shrooms anyhow.”

The deflection didn’t quite work as well as Quackity had hoped, but neither George nor Sapnap chose to push on him dodging the latter’s arm. Instead, Sapnap just took the offered hand and all three of them made their way inside.

~\~/~

The teacup clattered loudly onto its saucer as George jumped to his feet.

“Dream escaped?!”

The three of them had been sitting around the dining room table, drinking tea and eating some light snacks as they got George caught up on everything he missed. Needless to say, the news of Dream’s escape from Pandora’s Vault was by far one of the most shocking bits of news he had received.

“How?! There’s no way he could have escaped on his own! Not with the number of security measures Sam had in place!”

“Trust me, that’s a question I would love the answer to,” Quackity let out, toying with his teacup to try and get rid of the restless energy he was keeping in. “In all honesty, the entire reason I came here was because you two were Dream’s friends once upon a time. Not to mention the fact that the guy’s basically obsessed with George.”

“You mean was obsessed,” George muttered bitterly, looking away from his companions. The last time he had seen Dream was when the man had stripped him of his title as King of the SMP. And even back then, the only reason he had been made king was to stick it to Eret for not falling in line like Dream wanted. George was nothing but a tool for Dream these days, not a friend. “If he’s obsessed with anyone, it’s Tommy.”

“And he killed Tommy…” Sapnap remembered, clenching his cup harder than necessary.

“What worries me is the state the prison was in when I found it,” Quackity chimed in. “The Elder Guardians were just gone, all of the restone was deactivated, the portal was dead, and there was just this hole in the obsidian. Even worse, Sam was sealed in his office for hours before I showed up to let him out.”

“Why were you even at the prison?” George questioned. “I thought Sam banned visitation after Tommy was killed.”

Quackity visibly bristled at the question, biting his lip.

“Sam’s a member of Las Nevadas,” he said after a moment, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. “When he was a no-show, I got worried and went to check on him. You know the rest of the story.”

George and Sapnap exchanged looks, knowing that their one-eyed companion was hiding something from them. Still, from what Sapnap had said, the man’s trust in the two of them was pretty much at rock bottom, so it made sense that he was keeping some things close to the chest. Hopefully, he would feel comfortable enough to tell them the truth eventually.

“Alright then,” George eventually allowed, deciding best to move on. “So where is Sam now? Surely he has some leads on who could have freed Dream.”

That made Quackity grimace even more. “If he did, I don’t know. He up and vanished on me a few weeks after the breakout.”

“Seriously?” That put George more than a little on edge. “Could Dream have kidnapped him for some sort of revenge? Or… do you think Sam’s…”

“Sam’s not dead,” Sapnap shot down with a shake of his head. “If he were, we would have gotten an alert about him dying. More than that, Sam still has all three of his Canon lives. One death wouldn’t be enough to end him, and no one keeps their spawn points out in the open anymore.”

“Maybe he left the server then?”

That one got a shake of the head from Quackity. “Don’t you remember? Dream completely sealed off the server after he was put in prison. He declared that if he was going to be a prisoner of his own SMP, then he would make sure the rest of us rotted alongside him.”

Now it was George’s turn to shake his head. Like just about every major event that occurred on the server, he had slept through the final confrontation down in Dream’s vault. He’d only heard about it secondhand, but he did have a vague recollection of all of those with server access trying to unlock everything. Unfortunately, Dream was the owner of the server, and they couldn’t open it without his approval. The only one who could possibly override the command was Callahan, the server’s resident Mod, but the certivaur had fled the SMP long ago.

“Okay, so we can rule out that anyone’s left the server,” Sapnap interjected, pulling everyone back to the task at hand. “Meaning they’re all somewhere on the SMP. Quackity, have you checked anywhere else?”

“I spoke with Technoblade about the breakout, but he denied any involvement.” The twitch in the scarred man’s fingers suggested that this was not the whole story. “I’m pretty convinced he was telling the truth.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure that if Technoblade was the one behind the breakout, then the entire server would have heard about it,” George spoke up. “That piglin is many things, but subtle isn’t one of them. When he does something, he takes things to the extreme.”

All three of them had to agree on that point. Whenever Techno was in the middle of something, things usually ended up blown up or someone ended up dead.

“So… we’ve got nothing,” Sapnap remarked.

“Less than nothing honestly,” Quackity admitted.

“Well, then let’s start searching,” George declared, standing up from the table. “We split up, search the SMP for any trace of Dream or Sam. We find them, we let the others know.”

“You sure about this?” Sapnap asked, looking at George with concern. “Can you stay awake that long?”

“Yeah. I can. I have a lot I need to say to Dream, and I’m not going to sleep until I see him again.” His fists clenched where they were resting on the table. “I’m done sleeping through everything. We’re going to end this.”

He met the eyes of his two companions, seeing their gazes harden with determination. One way or another, this was going to end.


Patrocles

The brewing stand fell to the ground with a loud crash, spilling the contents of its potion bottles across the floors of the lab. Tubbo had sent it flying after another potion had boiled over, fizzling out into a useless gunk. Right now, the satyr was bent over his work table, struggling to keep tears of frustration from falling down his face.

He was supposed to be good at this. He’d made potions for the War for L’Manberg Independence, not to mention all the other battles he had been forced to take part in. So why… why couldn’t he get this cure right?!

Michael was getting worse every day, the green rot of the zombification curse eating away at more of his skin. By this point, almost half of his body had been consumed and the other half wasn’t far behind. And yet, somehow, his little boy remained so brave and strong.

“Look Papa!” the boy had cried out as he showed off his rotting half. “We match!”

Those words meant to be a child’s way of making their father laugh just shattered Tubbo’s heart. He was running out of time, as well as ideas. Already, piles of notebooks and calculations littered the ground, along with broken potion bottles, spoiled ingredients, and the splattered remains of countless failures. Tubbo felt like a failure. But he wasn’t one. He was doing everything he could, but he was just a kid!

Long arms gently wrapped around his shoulders as a thin, tufted tail curled around one of his legs. A soft chin rested on his head between his horns as the soft chirps and churrs of an enderman reached his ears. With a shaky hand, he reached up and grasped at the arms holding him. He gripped the arms gently, but firmly, using them as a tether to reality.

“Boo…” he whispered, sniffling as he spoke.

“It’s the middle of the night,” his husband replied, nuzzling him in that soft way he did instead of kissing. “Come to bed, Tubbo.”

“I can’t.” There was so much he couldn’t do. Shouldn’t have to do. It wasn’t fair! “I have to make this cure.”

“You need to take care of yourself first.” The arms around him began to gently steer him away from the lab and towards the exit. “You need food and rest, then you can come back at it with fresh eyes.”

Tubbo let out a half-hearted bleat of protest but didn’t stop Ranboo from escorting him out. He was so tired. Tired of having to be responsible. Tired of having to shoulder everything. Tired of being too powerless to even help his family. It was just too much…

It had been too much even back during the War for Independence. He was just a kid. Why did everyone just forget that about him? Why did he forget sometimes?

“We’ll figure this out,” Ranboo insisted, nuzzling his scalp again as they stepped out into the snow. “I know we will.”

“I hope so, Boo…” Tubbo’s eyes drifted up to the snowy sky and the moon tucked behind the clouds. “I hope so…”


Thanatos

Phil was flat on his face in the middle of a birch forest, still thousands of blocks from where he had sensed Techno. Everything hurt, but the worst pain was coming from his wing. It had already been in serious pain, and now it was even worse. A skeleton had gotten a lucky shot and managed to nail his wing, sending him plummeting to the ground. It was only sheer luck that he managed not to die on impact, but he felt like he was just teetering on the edge of death.

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Phil rolled over and readied his crossbow, aiming at the approaching skeleton. He could barely see straight, it hurt so much. It felt like he was looking at the world through a broken, filthy spyglass. His first two shots missed, but the third one nailed the skeleton right in the center of its skull. It crumbled to the ground, now nothing more than bones. He’d be joining it soon if he kept this up…

With the skeleton defeated, Phil summoned an ebony cane into his hand. It had a silver crow motif for the head and a leather-wrapped handle beneath it. He used it to pull himself to his feet, leaning on it more than he usually did. His bones were hollow and he had probably landed wrong in the fall. He really should have stopped in that village he flew over and bought some potions. Still, he clenched his teeth and did his best to remain standing.

A hiss behind him had his battered, broken, aching wings puffing on instinct and he grabbed the handle of his cane. He pulled it free of the ebony sheathe, revealing the blade hidden within. He twisted on his most likely broken ankles, the blade slashing through an approaching creeper just as it was about to explode. The green-skinned monster toppled over, its gunpowder blood spilling out across the grass. Unfortunately, it was far from the only night mob converging on the injured avian.

Spiders, skeletons, zombies, and Creepers were all making their way through the trees, drawn to the smell of blood and the sound of Phil’s racing heart. Injured as he was, he was easy prey for all of them, and his strength was already on the cusp of petering out. He grasped his sword, looking around as he scrambled to come up with a plan.

Unfortunately, he could only come up with one.

No, this was stupid! When was the last time he even tapped into that part of him?! Could he even do it anymore and under this much duress?! Out of options, Phil closed his eyes, curled both hands around his sword, and unlocked a part of himself that had been sealed away for centuries.

When he opened his eyes once more, they were devoid of all color. They were solid black, almost like they were empty sockets. From the roots of his scalp, his hair turned a silvery color, glowing faintly in the moonlight. It also began to grow rapidly until it began to brush the grass. His wings expanded until his wingspan was almost 7 meters long, the feathers becoming so black that they were practically melting into the darkness of the night. The color also drained from his normal jinbei, the fabric morphing into the black and white cloth of a traditional Japanese mourning outfit. When it was over, he reached up to his usual bucket hat, pulling it down over his eyes. As he did, it morphed in his hand, taking the form of a mask that was made of bone and shaped like a bird’s skull.

The pain from before faded away but it would be back when he turned back and his sword shimmered with his eldritch power. He slipped into a fighting stance, the mods around him frozen as they stared at his new form.

“Alright then. Come at me!”

And with that, the fight was on.

~\~/~

Everything was over in a matter of minutes. The mobs lay dead at his feet, their various drops littering the forest floor. Most of them had fled from Phil after realizing just how out of their league they truly were. For a brief moment, Philza grinned triumphantly. But then, he coughed wetly, tasting blood in his mouth. He reached for his mouth, wiping his chin as blood stained his arm. Of course, this was happening. Not only had he not transformed like this in centuries, but he was injured when he did so to boot! He was lucky he wasn’t keeling over at this point! Glaring at it, he wiped it off on the scrap of a zombie’s shirt before turning back to the sky.

His human form was too weak to keep going, but this form wasn’t. It wasn’t weak, but it was unstable! Why was he being so reckless?! If he wanted to get to Techno, then he would need to remain like this for a bit longer. So, he spread his massive wings and took off into the sky. With luck, he would reach Techno within a few more days.

And when he found him, whoever was keeping his friend prisoner would be reminded of why he was called the Angel of Death.

Chapter 27: History

Chapter Text

Clay

After spending months under his Master’s gentle care, Clay had almost forgotten just how powerful and dangerous his owner was. Almost. The final duel between the Master and Theseus had been a stark reminder of the power gap between the former and those wearing his collar. Not even Theseus, the Blood God’s Champion, could hold a candle to the man who owned them.

It had been about a week since that final duel and Theseus was finally released from the infirmary. When Clay had seen the massive piglin heeling to their Master, he had done a double take at what he saw. The fight in Theseus’ eyes was completely gone, replaced with the same devotion and awe that Clay and Daedalus held for their owner. The piglin was also covered in more scars than Daedalus was, his silk wrap doing nothing to hide the proof of his powerlessness. He was muzzled again, but this one was different from the leather and iron contraption that looked more like a torture device than anything. This one was made of gold and seemed to be more decorative than anything. It was large enough that Theseus could likely talk if he so desired, and it even had a slot for the thick golden ring that now hung from his snout.

Clay didn’t realize he was staring until Friend, whom he had been attempting to shear, bleated loudly and gently headbutted him. The slave all but jumped, the shears tumbling from his shaking fingers. After taking a moment to calm himself, he shook out his hands and carefully reclaimed his shears. He resumed his work, but his gaze drifted back over to Theseus.

The Master had left the piglin by the wheat field, petting his head before heading off to do whatever it was he did while his slaves did their chores. Theseus, meanwhile, began to reap the wheat that had fully grown, bundling it up into bales. Clay watched him for a bit, feeling the urge to go and check on the piglin.

Was he even allowed to? He had been told to shear the sheep today because the Master needed the wool for something. But the Master also encouraged them to take breaks and socialize. Part of him was terrified of the idea of stopping his work, especially after his owner’s display of power during that one-sided duel. He never wanted to face that whip himself, even if the only punishment he had ever faced was that single shock oh-so-long ago.

Remembering the shock, Clay thought back to how Master had described how punishments would go. He had described them as “the natural consequences of your actions”, and he had shown that much so far. When Daedalus was still Sammy and challenged Master to a fight, he got the fight he wanted and was whipped during it. Those were the natural consequences. And with Theseus, every punishment he had received was a natural consequence. When he bit, he was muzzled. When he fought, the Master fought back. So… if Clay did end up punished for not finishing his work… he would most likely have to keep working until he did finish. He’d probably end up going to bed late or have to skip dinner to get it all done, but… this was a reasonable punishment. He could take it if he had to.

His mind made up, Clay rose from the small stool he was sitting on, making his way over to the wheat field. Luckily, the wall wasn’t too tall, never more than three blocks high in places. It was tall enough to keep animals out and the crops contained, but the fields weren’t completely isolated. No doubt this had been done purposely so that the farmer could socialize while working. In fact, there were even sections of the fence that were spaced out just enough that a person could lean on or perch there if they chose. Perching felt like a bit too much, Clay’s thoughts nagging him about lazy slaves and not being bad, but he was able to rest his arms on one of these areas as he called out to Theseus.

“H-hey…”

Theseus looked up from his reaping, turning to face Clay as he lowered his tool.

“Hello, Alpha Clay.”

Clay bristled a bit at the address. He didn’t know much about piglins and what kind of Alpha/Omega dynamics they had, but being an Alpha usually put you above someone else. A voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounded identical to him, reminded him that he didn’t deserve to be above anyone. He wasn’t anyone’s Alpha.

“Just… Just Clay is okay…”

Theseus seemed to grimace a bit. “...Clay…”

Clay put on the biggest most genuine smile he could muster, wanting to make sure his fellow slave knew he was happy.

“Thank you. I like that much better.”

The grimace faded from the piglin’s face and he seemed to relax a bit. Clay kept his smile as he looked Theseus over, checking his various injuries and seeking signs of pain. He was pretty good at being able to tell when someone was masking pain, mostly from his own experiences. Luckily, Theseus didn’t seem to be suffering from any sort of debilitating injury. In fact, aside from his scars, he seemed fully healed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked after a moment. “Master… Master was rather r-rough with you…”

Theseus seemed to snort in agreement, nodding. 

“Was. Deserved it.” The piglin turned away, shame coloring his face. “Bad omega…”

“M-Maybe… but you’re not anymore.” Clay did his best to keep up his cheerful demeanor. “You were punished, and now you’ve learned your lesson.”

Theseus nodded at that, almost too eager to agree. “Yes. Good omega. Obey Brute.”

Brute must have been what Master was to him. Scouring his limited knowledge of Piglins, Clay remembered that Brutes were the most vital members of any Bastion. They were the protectors and leaders of their weaker brethren. It was a fitting title for Master.

“Uh-huh. And… and if you ever need help or-... or just someone t-to talk to, you can come to e-either me or Dae. I… can’t promise much but… we’re all Master’s slaves and… and we s-should watch out for one another… r-right?”

Theseus nodded in agreement to that, smiling behind his muzzle.

“Obey Brute. Support sounder. Help Alphas.”

“Right and… and A-Alphas will help you.” He did his best not to show his discomfort with the word. “Just speak up if you ever need anything, Theo.”

Clay paused when he realized what he had just said, grimacing at making the same mistake with two different slaves. Like Dae before him, Theseus looked at him in confusion at the shortened name. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. It would have been cute were he in his more diminutive, human form.

“Theo?” the piglin repeated.

“R-right. Well… umm…” Clay began nervously picking at the wood beneath his fingers. “Y-y’see… Theseus is… It’s a nice name. I mean, it’s the name Master gave you so- so of course it’s nice. It’s just… Do you remember how we used to shorten your old name? Like with Dae back when he was still Sammy?”

Theseus nodded a bit. “So Theo?”

“O-Only if you wanna be called that. I don’t… You should be called what you wanna be called…” He turned a bit pale as he realized how his words could be misconstrued. “So long as we’re not using your dead name. That’s against the rules and- and we don’t wanna be bad.”

Thankfully, Theo seemed to understand that he wasn’t trying to make him disobey their Master.

“Theo… Like it.”

Clay smiled at that, feeling relief wash over him. He went to say something more, but a loud bleat from Friend reminded him of his half-finished chore. With a yelp, he pulled away from the fence, stammering as he backed away.

“I- I gotta go. It… was nice talking to you.”

As he retreated to the barn, he heard Theo call out to him with a “Nice talking to you,” before the piglin returned to his work. Feeling better after the talk, and after letting Theo know he wasn’t alone, Clay reclaimed his shears and resumed his chores.


George

It had been far too long since George had participated in a manhunt. A couple of years at least. It almost felt nostalgic, running through the wilds of the SMP in search of Dream alongside Sapnap. The only thing that would have made this better would be the inclusion of the other manhunters. Sadly, Sammy was missing and both Badboyhalo and Antfrost were… well, there was little chance of either of them getting involved in a manhunt that wasn’t issued by their precious Egg.

The mushroom-clad man quickly shook his head, slapping his cheeks twice in a row to get himself back on track. Reminiscing about days long past wouldn’t do him any good. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Besides, unlike with manhunts, he had no magic compass to point him right at Dream. He had to do this the old-fashioned way.

As he made his way through the forest, George couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Obviously, there was just the general uneasiness that seemed to hang over the SMP as of late, but this wrongness seemed to be centered around himself.

Even at his healthiest, before his narcolepsy began to rob him of his strength and energy, George wasn’t exactly the most physically fit of his friends. He was, for lack of a better word, a twink. A slender, lithe, not very muscular twink. His stamina had been average at best and his strength was just a bit below the average. However, that was no longer the case. His body remained physically the same, but he found that he wasn’t feeling tired at all. His strength didn’t seem to be waning and he didn’t even feel hungry. He hadn’t thought much of it at first, but by now, three days had gone by and he still felt the same.

George stopped in his tracks, looking down at his hands. Just what was going on? Why did he feel so different? Was this his magic? But… he hadn’t tapped into that part of himself in so long… He didn’t even think he could use his magic if he wanted to.

Wait, what was he doing? He slapped his cheeks once more, pulling himself out of his thoughts before adjusting his glasses and focusing. This was a gift horse, a chance for him to keep looking for Dream without getting tired. Why was he checking for teeth?

Determined not to think about it too hard, George pressed onward, hoping to locate his lost friends.


Alistair

Sometimes, Eret wondered why they even had a museum on the server. A rather existential question, given that they were the one who had built it in the first place. Then again, their own lack of history is most likely what drove them to create the museum. A way for them to make sure they didn’t forget their past, even if not all of it was pleasant. In truth, almost all of their past on the SMP was rife with pain and regret.

The latest exhibit in his museum was one he had been working on for a while now, an addition to the L’Manberg wing. It was a memorial for Tommy, complete with a replica of his dirt shack, the bench from the cliffside, and a jukebox that would play either Cat or Mellohi when activated. In the center of the exhibit was a statue of Tommyinnit the way Eret remembered him: a bright smile and a light in his eyes. He was in his trademark t-shirt and khakis, holding his discs aloft as if to taunt someone to come take them. At the base of the statue was a placard with the following inscription:

Tommyinnit

Brother, Warrior, Patriot, Friend

As they put the finishing touches on the statue, Eret heard a crash just behind him. Instincts from years of battle why did it feel like it was longer than that? kicked in and Eret instantly summoned their sword, their netherite gear manifesting on their body. As they turned around, their eyes narrowed at the sight of three intruders: Badboyhalo, Antfrost, and Punz. At their feet was one of the banner stands that had been displaying the L’Manberg flag, said flag now being shamelessly trampled by the three.

“Whoops,” Bad let out, the smirk on his pitch-black face making it clear that he was anything but remorseful. “Did we do that?”

Eret’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the three, their grip tightening on his sword. The three weren’t there supposed to be four of them? were the founding members of a nasty cult surrounding a demonic egg that had been plaguing the server as of late. Eret did not like the Egg in the slightest, the thing giving them a bad feeling that reminded them of… of… why could they never remember?! It didn’t matter. It was bad, and that’s all the King needed to know.

“Get out,” Eret demanded. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Aw, come now Eret,” Bad spoke up, holding out his hands as if to offer a hug. “Don’t be like that. We just thought you might be getting a bit lonely, that’s all.”

The demon’s eyes became like crescent moons and his fanged mouth spread into an open leer of a grin. Eret took a deep breath, forcing their body to remain steady. They could not afford to let the Eggpire see them scared.

“I said get out.”

Bad just shook his head, chuckling slightly as Antfrost and Punz let out similar dark laughter. The latter two didn’t move as the demon stepped forward, idly tracing a claw along one of the walls of the museum. Wherever his claw touched, red vines began to grow, much to Eret’s disgust.

“Why so jumpy, Your Highness?” The way the demon said the title made it feel like an insult. In a way, it was. “I said we only came to keep you company, and I meant it. Plus, you’ve got such a lovely exhibit you’re working on. It would be a crime if no one got the chance to see it.”

“Look at this,” Punz sneered as he gestured to the placard on Tommy’s statue. “Brother, warrior, patriot, friend.”

“I think you forgot a few descriptors,” Antfrost chimed in like the two-bit flunky he had become. “Pest. Brat. Good-for-nothing.”

“Now, now,” Bad admonished, though his tone was more mocking than genuinely scolding, “it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, no matter how true it may be.”

“Says the demon who threw a party to celebrate the boy’s death in his own hotel,” Punz chimed in, laughing as he remembered.

Eret couldn’t suppress the almost feral growl bubbling in their throat. Behind their sunglasses, their eyes flashed with power. Their fingers itched to reach up and reveal their eyes, to make the three of them suffer from the Brine Stare. But… They stayed their hand. The last thing they wanted was to start a 3v1 battle that they had no chance of winning. Besides, even if he did win the fight, the Egg was the true monster in this situation, not them.

“Enough games,” Eret growled out, forcing their voice to remain even. “Just say what you came here to say and leave already.”

Bad glanced over at the monarch, white eyes scanning him in an appraising manner.

“As you wish,” he decided after a moment, snapping his claws and ushering his companions to his side. “Y’know, the Eggpire is always welcoming to new members, regardless of their past actions.”

Eret wished they had pupils just so they could roll their eyes. Bad just stepped toward the monarch, his voice laced with mockery and honey.

“Aren’t you tired of being alone?” The demon began to circle the Brine, his tail playfully flicking Eret on the chin. “Tired of being… looked down on for everything? Don’t you want to have friends again? To have people on your side?”

Eret remained still, refusing to budge or show any sign that the words were affecting them. Instead, the King just pointed to the exit, speaking through gritted teeth.

“Leave.”

Bad stopped in front of Eret, the two of them locking eyes with one another. Although neither entity possessed pupils, they could feel the other’s stare. After a solid minute without either of them blinking, Bad let out a soft snort before closing his eyes and shrugging.

“The Egg is a patient entity, Eret,” he promised as he stepped backward and rejoined Punz and Antfrost. “Eventually, this loneliness will consume you, and when it does, you will beg for the warm embrace of the Egg to erase your pain.”

And with that, the Eggpire took their leave of the museum, making sure to trample over the L’Manberg flag as they did. Eret watched them go, then reached down for the fallen flag. They picked it up, gently brushing off the dirt before erecting the stand once more. They then approached the wall where the vines were slowly growing, their eyes narrowing at the sight.

“Patient entity, huh?” 

A soul torch materialized in their hand before Eret twisted it around and stabbed it into the vines. They almost seemed to scream as it burned, the blue flames reflecting in Eret’s glasses. 

“Well, keep waiting.”

Chapter 28: Do you Believe in Fairies?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Master

Theseus was finally settling into the Enclave, which was a relief for the Master. It had taken a great deal of time and patience, but his efforts to train the piglin were finally paying off. However, during his time focusing on Theseus, Icarus felt like he had begun to neglect his other two slaves, which was something he simply could not allow. All of his slaves were precious to him and neglect was simply unacceptable.

He had done his best to keep his slaves up to date on everything that was going on in the Enclave, seeing as this was their home. It was why he had called them to bear witness to his final duel with Theseus. In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better to simply tell them about it afterward, given that the aftermath of the duel was particularly… violent. In the wake of the duel, both Daedalus and Clay had been acting skittish around him, much like they had when they were first collared. It was a step back, and the Master needed to fix things.

It was a little after lunchtime when Icarus went out to find his slaves. Theseus was cooling off by the river, soaking his feet in his human form. It did the Master proud to see muscle definition and a healthy tan on the once pale, weakened body. His training and exercise in his human form was paying off. Perhaps soon he could even start doing some of his chores in human form.

Daedalus was the next slave he spotted, the Creeper hybrid sitting under a tree with Nook in his lap, apparently doing some sort of tune-up work on the tanuki. Next to him, Clay was fidgeting with what appeared to be a piece of wool from one of the sheep, just kneading it between his fingers. With the gentle smile he’d spent the past few months perfecting, Icarus approached the two.

“Clay, Daedalus.”

Both slaves jumped at the sound of his voice, which made the Master cringe internally. Having them witness the final duel truly had been a mistake. Hopefully, he could rectify that.

“Is… d-do you need something, Master?” Daedalus hesitantly asked as Clay just sat frozen with the wool in his hands.

“I wanted to bring you the armband you made,” Icarus explained, summoning the ornate armband into his waiting palm. “I apologize that I took so long to get around to enchanting it. I promise you it was never my intention to take this long in returning it.”

Daedalus’ eyes fell on the armband and the Creeper took a moment to process things. Seeing it seemed to remind his precious blacksmith of how much the Master cared for him, which led to some of the tension in his body slowly easing. Tentatively Daedalus reached for it before thinking better of it. Instead, he turned his body so he was showing his arm to Icarus.

“W-would you be willing to… to p-putting it on me… please?”

His gentle smile becoming warmer, the Master opened the armband, clasping it around Daedalus’ upper arm. The enchantments activated immediately, ensuring that no one could take the band from him. It was a unique form of the Curse of Binding, to the point that it couldn’t be called a curse. The enchantment was designed so that only the wearer of the item, as well as the enchanter themselves, could remove it. It was an enchantment that Icarus knew would become his favorite as the Enclave expanded.

“Thank you, Master,” Daedalus let out, his free hand coming to gently adjust the band.

“Of course.” Icarus reached out and gently cupped the Creeper’s cheek, running his thumb along the cubic ridges in his skin. Daedalus let out a sound akin to a purr, leaning into his hand much to the Master’s delight. “Feel free to let me know if you come up with any new decorations for yourself or your fellow slaves. I’d be happy to enchant them similarly.”

With Daedalus all but melting in his arm, Icarus felt satisfied that his attempt at easing the tension that had overtaken the Creeper had succeeded. This left him with Clay, who was staring at him as he shakily held out his piece of wool. As the Master’s attention settled on his first slave, he realized that Clay was holding out the wool, as if offering it to him. His expression was one of fear and guilt, like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Icarus’ face fell and he gave his slave his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong, Clay? Why are you upset?”

“I…” Clay swallowed hard, looking like he was on the verge of crying. “I’m sorry, Master! I-I swear that I wasn’t trying to steal it! I was… I was going to put it with the rest of the sheared wool after my break! I just… I wanted…”

He sniffled once, then began to openly sob. With a soft sigh, the Master picked up Clay and cradled him close to his chest, running his fingers through the slave’s hair. His anxieties must have hit their peak for him to break down like this.

“I’m not upset, Clay,” the Master insisted, keeping his tone soft and gentle. “I would never begrudge my slaves something to make them feel comfortable, especially something as simple as a piece of wool.”

Clay sniffed, then slowly looked up. He wiped his eyes, slowly curling into the Snuggle position.

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have stolen…”

“You said so yourself that you were only holding onto it during your break. I’d hardly call that stealing.” The Master couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, the sound rumbling in his chest a bit, which seemed to help Clay relax. As he did, an idea came to Icarus. “If you want, I would be more than happy to make you something to play with during your breaks.”

That made Clay gasp, his slave looking up at him with bright, innocent eyes. He almost looked like a puppy being told it could have a treat.

“You… you would do that, Master?”

“Of course. I’ve been wanting to reward you for all your hard work and to show how proud I am of your progress.” Icarus gently took the wool Clay had been playing with, twirling it in his hands. “How about a small plush? I could make you one that looks like any animal of your choosing, and I’ll even dye it whatever color you want.”

“R-really?” Clay looked like Icarus was giving him the moon. It made the Master smile.

“Just name it and I will do what I can.”

Clay seemed to hesitate slightly, probably still feeling some of his earlier anxieties curbing his desires. His precious slave tried so hard to be good that making anything that could resemble a selfish request was probably nerve-wracking. As such, Icarus just continued his gentle petting, letting his slave take his time while the Master explored his body and let his magic wash over the man. Clay’s eyes slowly drifted closed, moaning slightly with every caress.

“Maybe…” Clay’s voice was so quiet that the Master almost didn’t hear him. “Maybe… a sheep? A… A green sheep? B-but not my… my old green color. Something more… natural?”

With a knowing smile, the Master picked up one of the leaves that had fallen from the tree. It was still fresh and green, and as Icarus twirled it in his fingers, he saw Clay watching it.

“Perhaps this shade of green then?”

Clay nodded enthusiastically, smiling as he did. The Master slid the leaf into his inventory, along with the wool. He could probably have the plush done by tomorrow morning, provided nothing got in the way of his-

A presence in his land made the Master freeze. His gaze snapped to the gate as his body went on high alert. As if sensing his shift in mood, both Daedalus and Clay scrambled into kneeling positions. Out of the corner of his eye, Icarus could see Theseus rushing over, quickly joining his fellow slaves. They waited for him to give them their orders as he felt out the presence, trying to deduce who it was. His eyebrows furrowed at what he found and he knew he had to prepare.

“Everyone, return to your chores,” he commanded. “Whatever happens, everyone is to continue as normal unless I say otherwise.”

“What’s wrong, Alpha?” Theseus questioned, hands twitching like they did when he wanted to summon a weapon.

“Nothing’s wrong, Theseus.” Icarus stood up, his gaze focused on the gate. “We’re just about to have some company.”


George

George could feel how the air seemed to shift as he stepped into the massive Dark Oak forest biome on the farthest outskirts of the SMP. As of late, the atmosphere had been oppressive with something dark lurking in the shadows. He was especially sensitive to this darkness, which may have been why he had been suffering from his narcolepsy. However, that darkness seemed absent from the air as George moved deeper into the woods, replaced by a different power. It felt similar to the aura that XD seemed to give off all the time, but there was a subtle difference that had George on edge.

He felt like he was walking into the den of some mighty creature. Was it the Warden? No, they were a subterranean creature that kept to the deep dark. But, the Warden was the only overworld creature that could give off such a menacing aura. The only other creature outside of the Egg that had such a menacing presence was the Ender Dragon itself, and the End was sealed off on this server.

George shook his head, trying to clear it. Whatever was in charge of this biome, they were powerful, and if he knew Dream, then his former friend would likely be drawn to its presence. It made the mushroom-clad man shudder, thinking about Dream harnessing this power for himself. If that was the case, then he had to stop him, once and for all.

The forest was thick the deeper George trekked, the occasional mushroom breaking through the sea of dark oak and grass. Oddly enough, although it was starting to get late, George didn’t feel like he was in any danger. Something about this forest promised safety, though George could tell that anyone who sought to harm its Master would suffer dearly. Maybe that was why there didn’t seem to be any hostile mobs anywhere. Even in broad daylight, there was still the chance of the odd skeleton or spider to spawn. It would be a Creeper if you were unlucky, but not in this biome. There was a surplus of wolves, foxes, cows, sheep, and wild cats, but nothing that could be construed as hostile.

“What is going on here?” he couldn’t help but mumble to himself.

Moving deeper into the forest, George could see a clearing beginning to form up ahead. Given the size of the biome, there was a chance it had a mini biome contained somewhere in its acreage. At least, that’s what he thought until he finally stepped out of the trees to find himself staring at a wall. 

One look instantly told him that the wall was a build. The pillagers never had fortifications as nice as the wall before him, and George had never seen a village with a wall that wasn’t created by a player. Could this be where Dream was hiding? Was he building a fortress this far away from the Greater SMP area to remain hidden? There was only one way to find out.

Unfortunately, the wall was seven blocks high and there were no trees close enough to allow George to parkour over it. This meant climbing it was nigh impossible. Unless…

George grimaced, knowing that there was only one way to get over the wall quickly, and one way to ensure he wouldn’t be noticed. Still, it had been a long time since he had used even a fraction of his power. But… he didn’t have a choice.

Closing his eyes, George slid his glasses off of his face, sliding them into his inventory. He undid the clasp on the mossy cloak he wore, stowing it as well. When he was done, he opened his eyes, revealing one brown eye and one blue eye. He brushed his hair out of his face, his once rounded ears now pointed slightly. He removed his blue tee shirt, revealing a white undershirt that completely bared his back. This also revealed a massive tattoo across his back that looked like cicada wings made of stained glass. They were blue in color, with a gradient ranging from dark blue along the edges to almost white at the base. There were even white freckles found sporadically in the swirling blues.

With a deep breath, George began to focus, magical energy swirling around his back as the tattoo began to peel off of his back, stretching out to full-sized wings perfect for his size. He let them buzz and flitter, adjusting to being out after a few years of hiding. Luckily, they didn’t seem any worse for wear, the benefits of magic, and he was ready for his next spell.

This spell caused magic to swirl around him to form an almost blinding cyclone of particles. After a minute or so, the light settled and he was now much smaller than before. He was about 9 inches tall, a quarter the size of a normal block. Now much smaller and lighter, George spread his wings and began to fly. 

He arched over the fence, keeping to the sky as he looked around. The fence stretched on for several chunks, surrounding a large swath of forest. There were still several trees filling the area, but now George could see dirt paths carved into the landscape, along with simple wooden lamp posts erected along it. Moving deeper into the fenced-off territory, George spotted some buildings amidst the trees. He saw large crop fields, a building that looked like some sort of forge, a large barn, and a massive dark oak mansion. Putting it all together, George felt his stomach drop.

This was a plantation. A slave plantation. George had seen his fair share of them not to recognize one. But what was it doing on the Dream SMP? This was supposed to be a haven! A safe place away from the persecution and loss of human rights that followed everyone who wasn’t a hundred percent human (or could appear as such). Could Dream have…?

No. George shook his head at that, banishing the notion. Even at his worst, Dream would never willingly ally himself with a slaver. Which begged the question… had it been willingly? The attack on the prison hadn’t matched the M.O. of anyone that he, Sapnap, or Quackity could think of. More than that, the ones who had gone missing were Dream, the admin of the server, and Sam, a Creeper hybrid with a high trait percentage. With Dream, this slaver could force the admin to alter the SMP to his wishes, including preventing any chance of escape. And with Sam… well, Creepers always did fetch a high price on the market, especially for mining operations or pit fighters.

Needing more answers, George flew deeper into the plantation, eager to find out the truth.


Clay

Clay did his best to focus on milking the cows, trying not to stress out about his Master’s strange behavior earlier. The mention of company made him think back to when Daedalus first came to the Enclave. When he demanded Clay be handed over and that Master fight him. Was this going to be a repeat of what happened? Had someone come to fight the Master? If so, who could it be?

The slave tried to think back to who could be the visitor that had set Master on edge. Maybe it was Philza coming to look for Theo. Or maybe it was someone from his country looking for Dae. Or… maybe it was him… coming to find Clay and drag him back to the obsidian pot. The very idea made the slave shudder on his stool, pausing his work just to hug himself.

He didn’t want to go back to the pot! He didn’t want to go back to endless pain and heat! He didn’t want to lose the sun and the grass and the animals! Slipping into a panic, Clay began to rock on the stool, hugging his legs and trying to breathe. His eyes were screwed shut as his mind flooded with painful memories of him and all the torture he endured. His scars burned and his body ached as he struggled to keep himself together.

A sound akin to a soft bell chime made Clay’s head snap up. It didn’t sound like the mealtime bell Master had set up, but something about the sound nagged at the slave. Somewhere in his fuzzy memories of the Before, he had heard that chime. The sound was pleasant and it helped Clay to calm down a little bit. Whatever the source of this chime was, his experiences with it must have been good.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clay saw a flickering blue light flitting through the barn. It circled him about three times, leaving Clay dizzy before it finally settled right in front of the slave’s face. As he blinked to try and banish the last of his dizziness, Clay made out a humanoid shape amidst the glow, a shape that Clay instantly recognized. With shaky hands, he cupped both his palms as the tiny humanoid gently landed on them, their eyes locked on one another.

“G-George…”

He had been one of two people who knew of George’s true lineage, the other being Sapnap. All three of them had sworn never to tell a soul, a secret that even the madness he had been under couldn’t make him tell. Seeing his oldest friend in a form only a few were privy to made Clay’s heart swell with a slew of emotions.

“George what…” his voice was barely above a whisper, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the illusion. “How are you here? What… what are you-?”

George hopped off of his hands and began to glow. Instincts kicked in as Clay shielded his eyes and stepped back as light flooded the barn. When it died down, A full-sized George was standing on the hay-covered ground, immediately hugging the slave in a tight embrace. After taking a moment to get over his stupefaction, Clay quickly returned the hug.

“Dream-” Clay couldn’t suppress the flinch at his deadname “-Prime, what happened to you?”

They pulled away and George’s mismatched eyes seemed to be scrutinizing every scar on his body. For the first time since his enslavement, Clay felt self-conscious and tried to cover himself.

“Oh Dream…” George reached out and gently touched his collar, grimacing as he did. “How did none of us see the signs… Just how long have you been under the thumb of a slaver?”

Clay was confused, on top of the still churning emotions brought about by the fae’s sudden appearance in the barn. By now, the slave had worked out that George was the company that the Master had been expecting, which meant-

“Come on.” George’s voice cut through Clay’s thoughts as a warm, slender hand took his. “We need to get you out of here.”

Panic hit Clay like a ton of bricks and he stumbled back, hastily shaking his head. His breath came out in ragged gasps, unable to put into words how bad of an idea that was. He had nothing waiting for him beyond the walls but pain and suffering and the obsidian pot. More than that, running away from the Enclave was bad! If he did that, he’d be an escaped slave! Escaped slaves always got beaten and branded to show how worthless they were! Even if the Master was lenient and had his rules about the natural consequences, the only punishment suitable for a runaway was a cruel beating to ensure they could never run again. 

“Dream!” Clay flinched again, even as warm hands grasped his arms. “Dream, look at me! Look me in the eye!”

After months of training, Clay couldn’t help but immediately obey, meeting George’s eyes. The second his gaze locked with those heterochromatic orbs, all of his fears and anxieties seemed to fall to the wayside. In fact, everything outside of George just seemed to melt away. He slowly calmed down, his breathing leveling out as the fairy began to speak.

“Everything is going to be alright,” he said, his voice feeling like honey in his ears, sweet and melodic to an almost addictive degree. “But we need to run, okay? Take my hand and let’s run.”

Clay nodded, taking George’s hand. Everything would be alright. All he had to do was run. Those were the only thoughts running through his head as George pulled him out of the barn…

Notes:

The lovely wing image was provided by my friend Ivan who is obsessed with bugs and is a fellow DSMP nerd.

Chapter 29: Brothers

Notes:

This one was a bit of a booger bear to get out, but I finally managed to get a product I was happy with. I hope you all enjoy it as well.

Chapter Text

Clay

Everything was going to be fine, so long as he kept running. This thought played on repeat in Clay’s mind as he let George pull him along. The warm hand holding his felt like an anchor to a world that felt just out of reach. Not that it mattered. He had George with him, and George said everything was going to be alright. All he had to do was keep running.

“Come on, come on…” George’s voice muttered, still honeyed and addicting even when amid frustrated panic. “Where’s the fucking- GATE!!”

The grip on his hand tightened and they seemed to be moving faster.

“We’re almost out, Dream. Just keep running and we’ll be free!”

He could do that. They were almost out. All he had to do was just keep running.

Just keep running.

Just keep-

A buzz coming from his neck made Clay scream as reality came crashing down around him. He ripped his hand free of George’s grip, both of them flying to his neck as his collar continued to rumble ominously. He stumbled backward, his gaze clearing as he realized where he was: steps away from going out the gate. Horror washed over him as the strength in his legs gave out, causing him to collapse into the dirt.

He had almost escaped. He had almost gone beyond the walls of the Enclave. He had almost committed the worst offense a slave could do… he had been BAD!! He was going to be in so much trouble!! He was going to get beaten! Or whipped! Or- or branded and then beaten and whipped!! Or… or it would be like it was with Theseus, and the tortures the piglin was made to endure when he tried to escape! Whatever happened to him, it was guaranteed to be hellish and painful!

“Dream?”

Hearing George deadname him sent Clay deeper into his panic. He slammed his eyes shut and covered his ears, trying to drown out that name.

“Not Dream! Not Dream! I’m Clay! I’m not bad! Not bad!!”

He was screaming and sobbing at the same time, unable to stop himself as he curled up into a tight ball. He was so scared and ashamed of himself. Why did he always ruin things? Why couldn’t he just be a good boy and do as he was told?! He had a good life here and he had ruined it for himself!

“Dream, Dream, calm down. Dream-!”

“That’s not his name anymore, little fairy.”

Clay’s head shot up, just in time to see his Master almost materializing between him and George. His owner’s back was to the slave, a pale hand reaching out to George. The fae didn’t even have time to say a single word before two fingers were placed on his forehead. Instantly, George’s eyes rolled back in his head and he began to sway. Thankfully, Master caught him before he fell, gently laying him on the grass while being mindful of his wings. Then, the man turned to Clay.

The second Master’s gaze fell on him, Clay threw himself at his feet. He pressed his forehead to the man’s boot and scrambled into the Bow position. He was openly crying on his owner’s boot, resisting the urge to cling to his ankle while blubbering apologies and begging. He just kept saying “I’m sorry” over and over again up until his Master’s cold hands gently wrapped around him. He was pulled into a hug, those blissfully cool hands rubbing his back and petting his head.

“It’s alright,” the Master said in a soft voice, devoid of any anger or negative tone. “You’re alright, Clay. I’m not upset.”

With a sniffle, Clay slowly looked up in disbelief. How was his Master not angry with him? He had tried to escape!! How could he not be in trouble?!

“I know you’re a good boy, Clay. I know you wouldn’t willingly try to leave my Enclave. And even if it was of your own volition, you never left the grounds. You stopped before you went beyond the gate.”

Even with those reassurances and his Master’s gentle embrace, Clay couldn’t shake the anxiety that continued to cling to his chest. All he could think about was how he tried to run, tried to leave the one person on this server who had given him a chance. Who had taken him in, healed him, and made him better. The very idea that he could ever disrespect his Master like that made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Please…” he whimpered, struggling to get the word out. “Don’t… don’t wanna run… don’t… wanna be bad again…”

“Oh, Clay...” The gentle petting continued and he was rocked like a child. It felt nice. Nicer than he deserved. “Sweet, sweet Clay. What can I do to make you feel better?”

Clay was silent in the wake of the question, honestly not knowing the answer. He just sat in his Master’s arms, soaking up as much of that cold touch as he could. Being in his Master’s care never failed to calm him these days, especially when his owner would hold him in such a gentle manner. He reached up to touch his collar, feeling the way the enchantments on it tickled his fingers.

The day he had been collared was the day Clay had been reborn, given a chance at a life he thought was forever beyond his reach. After everything he did during the Before, after all the people he hurt and the heinous acts he committed, Clay truly expected to die in that obsidian pot, forgotten and abandoned. But now… now he had a new purpose, a better life, and people who genuinely cared about him. Sure he was a slave, but… what did he need freedom for? He was much happier owned than he ever was as a free man, which was why the fact that he had tried to run felt so utterly wrong.

He never wanted to run again. He didn’t even want the chance to do so.

“Master…” he whispered. “Please… don’t wanna run again… never again… please…”

Unable to get any more words out beyond that, the best Clay could do was stick out his legs as if offering them up. Whatever happened beyond that, he wouldn’t complain. If his owner chose to cripple him by breaking his legs or rendering his feet unusable, he’d accept it.

“I understand.”

Those two words were just as soft and gentle as ever, his Master remaining kind even as he set Clay down on the dirt path. The man then squatted down, carefully taking both of his ankles into his hands. Clay closed his eyes, bracing himself for pain. But, of course, none came. Instead, he felt something soft beginning to snake around his ankles.

The slave opened his eyes to see soft, black robes beginning to wind around his legs, binding them together. This wasn’t your typical rope, like what you’d see used on a lead. Instead, the rope almost seemed to be made of a mixture of wool and silk, making it soft on the skin. Seeing it made Clay shudder slightly, hiding his face in his hands.

Of course, his Master wouldn’t cripple him or hurt him. How long would it take for him to understand that his Master would never cause any of his slaves such pain when it wasn’t necessary? There were ways to ensure he couldn’t run beyond crippling him, plus how would he do his chores if he was crippled? Clay shook his head, taking a breath and focusing on the feeling of the ropes on his ankles. They were tight, but not to the point of pain. He could still move slightly, but with his ankles connected like this, he wouldn’t be able to walk much less run.

“There we go,” his Master said softly, patting Clay’s legs before standing up. “How does that feel, Clay?”

“Good… Master…” he replied, wiggling his toes a bit.

“I’ll have Daedalus make you something prettier. Perhaps some proper shackles. That way, you can walk around and still do your chores, but you won’t be able to run. How does that sound?”

It sounded perfect. Never in his life did he think the promise of restrictions and shackles would fill him with relief. For the first time since this incident occurred, Clay smiled and leaned against his owner’s leg. A cold hand came to rest on his head and the slave’s eyes fluttered a bit, relaxing in his Master’s care.

When his eyes eventually opened once more, his gaze fell on the sleeping George. He felt a pang of concern in his heart, worried that his Master would be harsh on someone who had tried to take one of his slaves. He didn’t want George to suffer or to see him covered in scars like the rest of them.

“Master? What… What are you going to do with George?”

A gentle chuckle reached Clay’s ears as he was scooped up off the ground and cradled against his Master’s chest.

“Fear not, my precious little Clay. I have no intention of punishing George for his actions. In his mind, he was simply trying to rescue a friend from what he saw as a dangerous situation. I’m just having him rest for a bit, that’s all.”

Before Clay could ask any more questions, footsteps began to approach the pair. Clay turned, surprised to see Theo approaching them in his full Piglin form. He knelt before the Master, snorting in greeting as he lowered his head. Master must have summoned him.

“Theseus, thank you for coming so quickly.” Clay was held out to Theo, much to the slave’s surprise. “Your chores are on hold for the rest of the day. Instead, I want for you to carry Clay wherever he needs to go and help him with his duties. Keep an eye on him and make sure he’s safe. Can you do that for me, little omega?”

Theo made a snorting noise that sounded affirmative in nature, carefully taking Clay from the Master. The bound slave couldn’t help but whine at the loss of his owner’s cool touch, but the Master just reached out and caressed his face.

“Don’t you worry, Clay. I’ll have to teach you how to walk in shackles and help you bathe, so you won’t be wanting for my touch anytime soon. I just have to take care of something fairly important for the time being, so be good for me. Alright?”

“Y-Yes Master!” he quickly replied, already imagining his owner holding him and helping him. Just the idea of that blissful cold touch all over his body made him want to melt.

“My good boy.” The Master’s free hand was giving Theo ear scritches while the other continued to caress Clay. “I’m so lucky to have such good boys.”

With those lingering words and gentle touches, Clay and Theo were dismissed, heading toward the barn and leaving their owner alone with George.


Master

Icarus watched Theseus carry Clay deeper into the Enclave, waiting until both of them were out of sight. Only then did he allow his true emotions to come forth. What he had sensed when the fairy ventured onto his land was an abomination, a fracture in the rules of life. George’s very essence, the code that made him who he was had been altered, and these edits had not been with his consent.

Life Code tampering was a very serious matter, especially when done against the will of another. Thankfully, the power to do so was incredibly rare, and heavily regulated. On this server, there was only one being outside of himself that had the power to alter the Life Code of a player: his fellow Eldritch, The Guardian.

The Master took in a deep breath, exhaling for a good ten seconds. As he did, his form began to change. He had done his best to maintain his human form while around his slaves, not wanting to scare them with the power of his Eldritch form. However, now he needed his full strength to assert his place as Death’s Second. 

His hair grew out, still the same snow white as always. As it grew, it twisted itself into a long braid, tied off with a silk ribbon as black as pitch. A long cloak flowed down his back, clasped on his breast by an ivory pin shaped like a skull. On the forehead of the skull was the symbol for Icarus, a new edition after the name he was granted. The cloak came with a hood that he pulled over his head, letting it frame his face with ominous shadows. A mask akin to the top half of a human skull manifested in his hand as he settled it onto his face.

For the rest of his outfit, his clothing transformed into a long, flowing robe that seemed to ripple like shadows. Silver decorations that looked like a rib cage clung to his torso, a blood-red gem pulsating ominously from its seat on the sternum. A loose belt hung in a Y-shape on his hips, a silver clasp with another bloody gemstone keeping it in place. Various satchels and bottles for potions hung from slots on the belt, while on his hip hung his coiled bone whip. His boots became heavier, silver buckles lining one side of each as about five belts held them in place up to his knees. Finally, silver bracers closed around his upper arms as rings decorated his fingers. The index of each finger had a silver talon that looked sharp enough to pierce skin like it was tissue paper.

Now in his full form, and standing at a solid ten feet tall, the Master of Death turned to the front gate of his Enclave. His glowing eyes pierced through the shadows of the forest beyond them, searching for the entity hidden within their embrace.

“Just how long do you intend to hide from me, Brother?”

The air before him shimmered and the Guardian, the one known to the server as XD, appeared. They were in their true form as the Master was, a constant for his fellow Eldritch. Like Icarus, they wore a long cloak, one that shimmered with different shades of green and was lined with gold. It covered every piece of skin the figure had, making it impossible to tell their species. Clawed hands that seemed to be carved from the Void itself could be seen through the folds of the fabric, stars occasionally shimmering across the long fingers. Two sets of large, pearly white wings sprouted from the figure’s back, making the powerful being appear even more so. There was no face to be seen. Instead, a shimmering white mask with the letters XD covered it all as two golden rings circled their head in the form of an X.

“Master of Death,” The Guardian greeted, their deep voice echoing across the landscape. “It is an honor to--”

The Master of Death held up a hand, cutting off the Eldritch’s empty words. He then twisted his hand elegantly, beckoning the creature forward with his clawed finger. Despite having no visible face, the Guardian seemed to be sweating as they moved to obey. As they approached, the beckoning finger turned downward, gesturing to the floor. Slowly, the Guardian sank to their knees. When the finger didn’t move, they pressed their non-existent face to the ground.

Good. They knew that their actions were not without consequences. But the Master wasn’t satisfied just yet.

“Shift,” he commanded.

With a shudder, the Guardian began to shrink, their towering frame condensing down until they were no taller than Tubbo. Golden curly hair fell from beneath their hood, framing their mask. Like Theseus, the Guardian had not taken their smaller form in far too long, meaning that the Eldritch no doubt felt vulnerable in this smaller, weaker state. The Master smirked at that, knowing this mindset would serve his purposes perfectly.

“Our lady is disappointed in you, little brother.” The Guardian cringed, keeping their head lowered as the Master circled their cowed form. “Neglecting your duties… allowing the Pestilence to spread as far as it has… and then there’s what you did to this poor fae here.”

The Guardian visibly swallowed, starting to shake a little. When they spoke, their voice was somewhat effeminate and soft, nothing like the deep, booming voice the Guardian was known for.

“I-... I can assure you, dear brother, that I have not brought any harm to--”

The Master was normally a patient man, a trait that his lady had made sure to instill in him. However, the flowery language his brother was spouting triggered something deep inside of him. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the Guardian by the front of their cloak, hoisting them into the air with one hand. This caused the cloak to fall away and the hood to fall, revealing the Eldritch’s androgynous, slender body. 

Their clothes under the cloak were a pair of black pants that clung to their hips and legs like a second skin, with golden boots riding up to their knees. A robe made of green and white fabric with golden edging hung off their shoulders. Their arms were no longer starry, instead pale and slender without a single blemish. Their mask was also askew, revealing a bright, glowing green eye and a trembling, terrified mouth.

“You rewrote his Life Code…”

“What? N-No! Brother you have it all wrong!" The Guardian looked panicked, clinging to the Master’s wrist in desperation.

“Then explain it to me.”

“I-...” They swallowed hard, their feet kicking slightly. “I didn’t alter his code. I just… added something to him.”

“That is the definition of an alteration, little brother…”

“But-! But this is different! I… I gave him a piece of myself.”

The Master blinked at that, genuinely stunned by this development. So stunned, in fact, that he ended up dropping the cowering Guardian to the ground. Needing to see for himself, the Master bent down and ripped off his brother’s mask, fully exposing their face, and the secrets hidden in it. To his surprise, instead of two glowing green eyes staring back at him, there was only one. In place of the second was a dull brown eye, one that lacked the same glowing power of his true eye. Slowly, the Master glanced at the sleeping fae, bending down and opening one of the man’s eyelids. This revealed the shimmering blue eye that sang of Eldritch power.

The Guardian’s missing eye.

“So, you gave him your eye…” He allowed the fae’s eyelid to slide shut once more, returning his gaze to his brother. “Why?”

“Full Eldritch are immune to the pestilence,” the Guardian hastily explained. “So… I thought that if I gave George a piece of myself… a piece of a full eldritch…”

“Then he too would be immune.” It made sense, especially considering the Master was using a similar method to protect his slaves. The collars were an extension of his power, warding off the influence of the pestilence and keeping his beloved slaves safe. The Guardian had simply taken it to a great extreme. “How long?”

The Guardian slowly got up, arranging themselves so they were kneeling on the dirt path beneath them. Their hands were on their knees and they were still shaking visibly, but they did their best to answer the Master’s inquiry.

“It.. was during the election… I could sense something beginning to seep into the world, something… dark. I had been watching George for a while, using the guise of the Admin and…” They looked embarrassed, their face turning red as their green eye swirled brilliantly. “And I wanted to make sure it couldn’t touch him. So… when he was asleep, I took his left eye and gave him mine… I swear he never felt a thing!!”

The Master thought back to the election, remembering that was when George had begun his descent into narcolepsy. Only now he knew that it wasn’t such a mundane condition as that. Instead, it was the fae’s body attempting to adjust to the sudden influx of Eldritch power. That amount of power fundamentally changes a person, and after nearly two years of time to adjust, it was far too late to reverse things.

George Lore was now, and would forever be, part Eldritch.

“What a mess…” The Master let out, slowly shrinking himself down until he was in his normal form once more. He still held the mask in his hand, clawed nails digging into the porcelain. “I’m assuming George is unaware of what you have done to him.”

“That is correct, brother,” the Guardian nodded. “He noticed his heterochromia, but as I had yet to introduce myself to him, he assumed it was his magic that did it. I… did not see the need to correct that assumption.”

“Well, I do.” The Master gave the mask an idle toss, letting it clatter to the ground in front of his wayward brother. “I am going to tend to the little fae and explain to him exactly what you did. From there, he will decide what is to be done with you. But until then… I think you would do well with some time to reflect.”

The Master snapped his fingers and lightning struck right where the Guardian had been kneeling. In the blink of an eye, they were gone, teleported away to a part of the Enclave none of his slaves knew about. XD could languish there for a few days to reflect on their actions. In the meantime, Icarus had work to do.

Turning back to the still sleeping George, the Master gently scooped him up, cradling him bridal style. Careful not to wake the sleeping fae, he made his way back to the house.

Chapter 30: Chrysalis

Notes:

Hoo boy! So! Life has been a shit show for me! I've graduated from college and I'm currently working on moving in with my parents for a bit while I work on getting a real job. From there, I'll be getting my own place and finally becoming an independent adult. (I'm almost 30...)

Anyway! Thank the QSMP for some awesome lore that inspired me to get back into this. Also, keep an eye out for future chapters and a character plucked from the QSMP to be part of this. I wonder who you think I'll pick.

Comments and Kudos welcome! Enjoy!

Chapter Text

George

Cold, gentle hands stroking his wings is what George awoke to. It was a slow awakening, not unlike how it had been for so long while battling his narcolepsy. However, rather than feeling sluggish and heavy, the fairy felt genuinely refreshed. It was strange, to say the least, but he felt comfortable, especially with whatever was currently caressing his…

His… Wings…

Panic lanced through George’s body and he shoved himself forward, finding himself tumbling to the ground. He landed on a soft, red carpet, immediately turning to see a massive deepslate throne with menacing bones protruding from it. Sitting on this throne was a man, a white-haired man with eyes that reminded George of XD, but somehow more. Sprawled out on the ground as he was, the fairy couldn’t help but feel small.

“There’s no need to be afraid, little fairy,” the man said in a voice that felt rich with power—more power than George had felt before. Not even XD was this powerful. “You are safe here.”

“Safe?” George felt anger welling up inside of him at that word. He got to his feet, glaring at the man. “I’m safe?! Then why the fuck was I just in your lap while you-... you…”

“Massaged your wings?” the man offered, smiling ever so slightly. “I will admit, I was taken by their beauty and couldn’t help myself. I seem to have gained an affinity for such beautiful things since my awakening.”

The fairy was torn between being flattered and disgusted. He went to point accusingly at the man, only to discover something surprising. His outfit was completely different from before, suggesting someone had changed him while he was asleep. Likely, it was the man sitting before him, the same man who was starting to look almost smug. Taking stock of his new attire, George was surprised to find the outfit flattering and almost… powerful.

He was wearing a super crop sleeve, one that clasped around his neck with a high collar which just barely reached the top of his wings in the back. The sleeves themselves trailed down his arms, tapering around his hand to form a triangle with a golden ring to wrap around his middle fingers. Thin, golden bracelets were wrapped around his wrists, breaking up the endless sky blue of the skin-tight fabric. Beneath the crop, he had a low-cut, form-fitting cream shirt, giving him what was crudely known as a boob window with most of his back completely exposed. This was most likely to accommodate his wings. 

His pants were gone, replaced with a silken wrap that was a beautiful shade of navy blue. The wrap included a patterned piece that hung in the center and was decorated with embroidered vines and mushrooms, which fit his aesthetic nicely. As a final touch, George realized that the clasp on his crop was a small mushroom. From his ears, he could feel ear cuffs with dangling chains clasped to the points, small mushroom charms glittering with every flick. His sneakers were replaced with golden sandals that wrapped up to his knees. His clout glasses weren’t on, still tucked safely in his inventory, and there was something on his head. A quick pat revealed it to be some sort of golden laurel.

“What’s going on?” he questioned, confusion and terror tearing him apart. “Who are you? Why am I dressed like this? What is this place? And where’s Dream!?”

The man chuckled lightly, rising from his throne. George took a step back on instinct, his wings buzzing aggressively. However, the man didn’t seem to be hostile, at least for the time being. He simply placed his hands behind his back and approached the fairy.

“I was granted the title of Master of Death, but I shall allow you the privilege of addressing me by my given name, Icarus.”

George stiffened at the title, all of the color draining from his face as his wings and ears drooped in fear. As a member of the Fair Folk, George was privy to many legends and lore surrounding those beings considered supernatural. When someone has a title that includes the words “Of Death”, it is to be taken quite literally. Those who were Of Death were beholden to Kristen, the Goddess of Death, serving as her soldiers and scions in the land of the living. While some claimed to be Of Death, it was easy to tell those people from the true Scions of Death. But this Master… he was nothing short of a true Scion.

“Relax, little fae.” A cool hand cupped his cheek, making George jump as he snapped back to reality. “While I did have plans to add you to my Enclave at some point in the near future, I fear that is no longer a viable option with the metamorphosis you have been made to undertake.”

George blinked at that, startled. Metamorphosis? What was he talking about? Did… did it have something to do with how much stronger he had felt on the way here? He looked down at his hands as if they would have the answer, only to have Icarus’ cold fingers gently curl around them. He pulled away sharply from the touch, refocusing on the man.

“It would seem you are as in the dark as I had surmised.” The man scowled. “My brother has much to answer for, it would seem.”

“Your… your brother?”

“The Guardian of Death and Lord of the End. However, I believe the name they were given in this world was XD.”

That threw George for a loop. XD was one of Death’s Scions?! He’d just assumed that XD was just some sort of Server God, or a Mod who had gained enough power to appear as one. Then again, the kind of power XD held… it was far from natural. Nothing even remotely human could use that kind of power…

“Allow me to explain what my brother has done.” The cool hand from before returned, a soft thumb running itself along his cheek just beneath his blue eye. “Once upon a time, you were not heterochromic. Instead, both of your eyes were brown until one day, this one turned such a beautiful shade of cerulean.”

Slowly, George nodded. It was such a strange day for him, waking up with a singular blue eye. It had been right after his first bout of narcolepsy when he’d slept through the Election. He’d chalked it up to his magic and had written it off as nothing he needed to worry about. It wasn’t like he went anywhere without his clout glasses anyhow, so no one would see it.

Had… he been wrong about that? Did XD change his eye color? If that were true, then it could hardly be called a metamorphosis. He was still George Lore after all.

“However, what had happened was not a transformation, but a trade.” The Master tapped his thumb on George’s cheek before pulling away. “While you slept, the Guardian came to you. There was a great evil arising on this Server, an evil they wanted to protect you from. And thus, they wanted to give you the power to render you immune to its advances. So, they plucked out one of their own eyes, a piece of themselves imbued with their power and traded it for one of yours..”

Immediately, George slapped a hand over his blue eye. His eye had been plucked out?! XD had taken his eye and replaced it?! His breath came out in ragged gasps as he slipped into a panic attack. The Master reached out and pulled him into a hug, pressing the fae’s back against his chest. Even through the silk fabric of their clothes, the blissful cold of the man’s skin helped to ground him back to reality. The panic was still eating at him and through gulps of air, he tried to force words out.

“What… does that mean?”

The Master sighed, sounding almost remorseful. “When you were given The Guardian’s Eye, your body was overwhelmed by their power. To help you adapt, your body had to focus on regulating your new magical capacity. Thus, extensive rest was required.”

Through the slew of racing thoughts, George managed to piece together the meaning of that final sentence. “My… my narcolepsy?”

“Indeed. Though I suppose a more accurate term would be ‘Healing Coma’.”

Shakily, George turned to face the Master. The Eldritch’s face was unreadable, though his eyes were sparkling with a sad, remorseful air to them. His gaze filled George with a deep pit of dread.

“I… can’t go back… can I?”

Slowly, the Master shook his head. “Your evolution is complete. Perhaps if I had caught this sooner it could have been reversed, but your body has fully accepted both the eye and the power. It is impossible to remove either of them. You are now, and for all time, a Pseudo-Eldritch.”

Once again, George found his gaze falling on his hands. It felt like he was staring at foreign limbs. Seconds become minutes, minutes become hours, and time loses all meaning. The world around him just seemed to fade into the background as his ears began to ring. He struggled to breathe (did he even need to breathe anymore?) and his entire body felt tense. He felt like he was adrift at sea…

Then a cold hand carded through his scalp.

That sudden coldness snapped George back to reality with a gasp. The world felt solid once more and time seemed to resume. He looked down, focusing on his breathing while staring at his feet. For some reason, several small mushrooms were now sprouting between the slats of Dark Oak that made up the floor.

“Little Fairy?”

George pulled away, his breath finally evening out. He could still feel the vestiges of panic clawing at his mind and knew that he needed to center himself. He got up, stumbling away from the throne. With every step he took, mushrooms grew, which only added to the fae’s growing anxiety.

“I… I need some air.”

The Master nodded at that, gesturing with his arm to the exit of the throne room. A large parlor could be seen through a grand archway with a door leading to the outside.

“Take as much time as you need,” the Master insisted. “If you need me, I will find you or you can ask one of my slaves.”

With a nod, George backed out of the throne room, his eyes never leaving the Master. He didn’t break eye contact until he felt his back hit the door. Only then did he turn away, pushing the door open before slipping out into the Enclave.


Master

As the front door slid shut, Icarus couldn’t help but sigh. George was understandably upset, having been left in the dark for as long as he had. The Master had been fortunate enough to be informed of the changes he was made to undertake as well as provided time to adjust to everything. It was a luxury that the fairy had not been granted.

Truly, the Guardian had crossed a line.

Rising from his throne, the Master walked through the grand hall toward the entrance of the mansion. He stepped through, breaking away from the path that led toward the small area populated with buildings. Instead, he followed a more secluded path, one that lacked the defined outlines he had dug out for the others. This path led to a hill to the east of the small arena where a small cave was hidden behind hanging vines.

Pushing the vines out of the way revealed a pair of iron doors, though there was no visible means of opening them. The walls were devoid of buttons and levers and there were no pressure plates hidden amongst the cobblestone. Instead, the doors opened with a wave of the Master’s hand, revealing a deepslate staircase leading down. Soul lanterns dotted the ceiling at regular intervals, casting an eerie glow on everything. The stairs led deep into the ground before curving, masking just how many steps it would take to reach the bottom.

Stepping through the doors, Icarus heard them closing behind him, sealing shut as he descended the stairs. The last thing he wanted was for one of his slaves to find this door and stumble in. None of his slaves deserved to see this place, nor did he have any intention of utilizing it when it came to them. After all, none of his precious slaves deserved to suffer in the dungeon.

At the very bottom of this curved staircase, a new pair of iron doors were waiting. Once again, they slid open with a wave of the Master’s hand, revealing a gloomy hallway lined with small prison cells. Unlike the Pandorica, these were not obsidian monstrosities surrounded by lava. Instead, they were simple, deepslate cells with a wall made of iron bars. More soul lanterns illuminated the area and filled the cells with sparse light. Each cell was completely bare save for a thin, gray mat and chains hanging from the wall.

Taking a deep breath, the Master stepped into the dungeon, the doors slamming shut behind him with an audible bang. Every step he took echoed across the mostly empty hall until he reached a cell near the end on the left. He came to a stop, turning on his heels before facing the cell’s occupant.

The Guardian was still in their human form, the chains locked around their wrists as they sat on the mat. When the Master’s shadow fell over them, they looked up, mismatched eyes full of remorse and fear. They didn’t dare speak, just waiting for their better to address them.

“George did not take the news of his transmogrification well,” Icarus informed them, his words blunt and to the point. “He is understandably overwhelmed and upset.”

The Guardian cringed at that, curling up on the mat. They hugged their legs, pulling their wings around them miserably.

“I swear to you brother, I never intended to cause George any form of distress. All I wanted was to protect him from the pestilence.”

“I understand that, Guardian.” The Master pinched his brow, staving off a headache. It was a sensation he had forgotten about since becoming an Eldritch. Perhaps in another circumstance, he would enjoy the novelty of such human experiences. “However, the fact remains that you have permanently altered a Player against their will, irrevocably changing them and altering their destiny. This is not something that can be swept under the rug and forgotten.”

The Guardian whimpered at that, turning away. Seeing the genuine remorse in his brother’s gaze, the Master couldn’t help but sigh.

“Your fate is in George’s hands now, but no matter what he decides, what happens to him from this point forward is on your head.”

The Guardian gave a small nod, remaining silent. With nothing left to say, the Master took his leave of the dungeon, the doors slamming behind him with a resounding bang.


George

George felt like the entire world had been turned on its side. He didn’t know what to do anymore or what to believe. Everything just felt like a jumbled mess and he just wanted someone to talk to. But who could he even talk to about all this? Who would even believe him? Plus, everyone had their own problems to deal with these days and he didn’t want to add to their stress.

These thoughts were running through his head as he wandered aimlessly through the Enclave. Despite the fact that it was a slave plantation, there was a peacefulness to it. The aura from before was still in the air, but now that he wasn’t a trespasser, it didn’t feel oppressive anymore. The air felt cleaner and it almost reminded the fairy of how things had been in the very beginning.

The sound of voices pulled George from his funk and he stopped his wandering. Glancing up, he found himself standing just outside the small fence of a barn. It was a fair-sized barn, one made of dark oak wood and what looked to be brown mushrooms. Some sheep were grazing in a pasture, including a familiar blue one, and he could hear the mooing of cows inside. He approached the entrance to the barn, seeing two familiar figures inside.

Dream was sitting on a short, wooden stool, carefully milking a cow. He looked calmer than he had been before, focusing on his work. There was a black rope tied around his ankles, but it didn’t look like it was all that tight. He was clearly restrained, but in a manner that could almost be described as comfortable. 

The more George watched his old friend, the more he noticed how at peace he looked. There was a timidness to him and he wasn’t being his outgoing self anymore, but he also wasn’t the cold, cruel person he had become. He looked… soft. Soft in a way that he hadn’t been in far too long. Even with the scars decorating the man’s skin and the collar on his neck, Dream looked and felt closer to his true self than he had in what felt like years.

A loud pig snort drew the fae’s attention to the other person in the barn: none other than Technoblade himself. The piglin was always scarred, a side effect of his time as a warrior, but George could see new scars decorating his skin that hadn’t been there before. Scars that told a rather violent story alongside the muzzle on the piglin’s snout. At the moment, Techno was staring at him with an expression that was a mix of hostility and curiosity. He was also subtly putting himself between George and Dream.

“Oh,” Dream spoke up, his voice so quiet and subdued that George almost missed it. “Theo, it’s okay. He wouldn’t be here unless Master said it was okay.”

Slowly, Technoblade backed down and George was left with some questions.

“Theo?” he repeated quietly.

“Theseus,” Technoblade said, pointing to himself. “Theo for short.”

“Master renames everyone who becomes his,” Dream explained, shyly toying with the handle of the milk bucket in his lap. “I’m now Clay, and he’s Theseus. We call him Theo because it’s easier.”

“Sam is Daedalus, or Dae,” Techno… or Theo explained. “No deadnames.”

George could only nod, a lump welling up in his throat that he was struggling to swallow. All three of the missing players were here, enslaved by one of Death’s Scions. Outside of Death herself or a higher-ranking Eldritch, there was no being with the power and authority to fight against them, not without inviting a fate worse than death. The fact that even Technoblade, the Champion of the Blood God, had fallen to this creature was proof of that.

“G-...George?” Dre-... Clay tentatively spoke up.

George turned to his oldest friend, feeling tears prickling in the corner of his eyes. He hiccuped slightly, then stumbled forward, clinging to Clay as he sobbed. At first, the man stiffened, then very slowly returned the hug.

“I’m sorry…” George choked out, crying into his best friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry I let things get like this. I’m sorry I didn’t try and talk you down sooner. I’m sorry I wasn’t… I’m so sorry…”

Through his sobs, George faintly heard Te-Theseus stepping out of the barn, giving the two of them some privacy. D-Clay continued to hold the fairy, being careful of his wings as he rubbed the man’s back.

“George…” Clay spoke up after a moment, “If anyone should be apologizing… it’s me.”

George sniffled and looked up, confusion filling his watery eyes. Clay pointedly didn’t meet them, his gaze on the dirt off to the side.

“What I did… to this server, to everyone… I was a monster, George. The-... the worst kind of monster.” His voice was full of pain and regret. “I don’t know why I did what I did, or if I was even thinking back then. But… I do know that there was little anyone could do. I… I was too far gone…”

“Maybe so…” George wiped his eyes. “But even then, you needed help. Not… this.”

Clay let out a quiet, wheezing laugh. It was self-deprecating and was practically drenched in self-loathing.

“George… this is help.” He reached up, pressing the tips of his fingers against the collar on his throat. “Pandora’s Vault… the Prison… it was never a place of rehabilitation. It was a place of torture… a place to break the spirits of those I deemed a threat. And when I was put in there…”

“It broke you…” George realized, eyes raking over Clay’s scarred form. 

The more he looked at the scars, the more he recognized the signs of torture. Scars circled most of his fingers where they had likely been cut off and regrown with potions. There were deep gashes in almost strategic places across the man’s body, ways to inflict pain without killing him. His wrists and ankles looked like they had been rubbed raw so many times, the same with his knees. A scar over one eye and through his lips showed that there wasn’t a part of him that had been spared.

“Who… did this to you?”

Clay just shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, likely trying to convince himself of that as much as George. “All that does… is that Master got me out of there. He healed me… protected me… he gave me a purpose.” Clay looked up, a look of devotion on his face. “He gave me a home.”

“But.. you’re a slave,” George said, but even he could tell that was a weak argument.

“I am… and I’m happy, George.” Clay smiled, a small, tentative thing. “For the first time in months, I’m not dreading waking up. Master takes care of all of us, listens to us, and even when he punishes us, it’s fair and just.”

George took this in, trying to absorb it all. Almost all of the tales he’d heard about the Eldritch spoke of their cruelty and their violent tempers. Legends about them ranged from massacres to bloody crusades and even genocide. And yet, this Eldritch, this Master of Death, seemed to be the exact opposite. He was kind, gentle, and clearly cared in his own way.

Realizing this, the fairy felt some of his anxieties and fears ease. After learning of his new status as a Pseudo-Eldritch, George had been terrified that it would change him into something dark and cruel. He’d been afraid that he would cease to be George Lore and would become another black legend of pain and suffering. But maybe… just maybe… he could still be himself. Maybe he didn’t have to fear this new power coursing through his veins.

“Clay…” he spoke up, taking a breath to compose himself. “Can I.. ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What if… what if I told you that I… was like your Master?” He cringed as he said that, feeling the way Clay cringed. “If I told you that… something happened and… I was… different… would you hate me?”

“No!” Clay cried out immediately, quickly covering his mouth. After a moment, he uncovered his mouth, trying again at a lower volume. “No, George. I… I could never hate you.”

“Even if I’m not the same as I was when we met?”

“I’m not the same as I was…” Clay shrank into himself a bit. “Do… do you hate me?”

George shook his head. “No. Maybe before, back when you were hurting everyone… but not anymore.”

Clay seemed relieved at that, squeezing the fairy’s hands for a moment or two.

“We’re both different from before,” he said, straightening a bit as if mustering his courage. “I burned our friendship before… but maybe… we can be friends again?”

George cracked a smile at that.

“A fresh start?”

“I-if you want it.”

The fae chuckled a bit, then stood up and dusted himself off. He straightened his outfit out, summoned his clout glasses from his inventory, and slid them onto his face. After a moment, he cleared his throat and then gave a small bow.

“Greetings. My name is George.” He thought for a moment, then smiled. “George HD.”

Catching on, Clay broke out into a grin that was almost a mirror of how he used to smile back in the beginning. He couldn’t stand because of the ropes, so he slid to his knees and gave a low bow.

“Hello George HD, I am Clay. It is an honor to meet you.” He lifted his head, the grin never fading. “I hope we can become good friends.”

Chapter 31: The End...?

Notes:

Woo! Double Update!

I've been wanting to finish this section for awhile because I'm excited for upcoming characters. I guess that inspiration gave me the strength to see this one through. Hope those of you who are still interested in this story enjoy!

Chapter Text

Guardian

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since The Guardian had been sealed away in the Master’s dungeon. The chains sealed away their power, leaving them as helpless as a mortal. They couldn’t even take on their bigger form like this, which only hammered home their powerlessness.

It had been centuries since XD cried, but as they slept fitfully on the mat in their cell, tears slid down their cheeks. All they wanted was to protect someone precious to them and they had blown it. Now here they were, shivering in the dank dungeon while trying to use their wings as a blanket. Being trapped underground and away from the sun made something deep in their soul ache. An old feeling from his life before Lady Kristen, before he had become The Guardian of Death. It made him cry a bit harder.

The sound of the doors opening pulled XD from their fitful slumber, making them sit up. Two sets of footsteps approached their cell, one echoing with power and the other just a bit lighter. There was also a strange light that seemed to draw closer with each step. Finally, two figures stepped into view of the cell, eliciting a gasp from the captive Eldritch.

“George…” they whispered, their voice filled with awe.

Indeed, it was the Master and George who had been kind enough to grace XD with their presence. The former was, of course, oozing with power and control, as was his right as the owner of this domain. However, George was also holding himself in a way that conveyed power. The glow from before was coming from the fae’s wings, both of them shimmering with a glow that added to the ethereal beauty of the Guardian’s beloved fairy. He felt confident and sure of himself, though not in the arrogant way XD often gave off. In a word, XD was awestruck.

“So, this is what you really look like,” George mused, looking XD up and down. Even through the thick glasses on his face, XD felt like they were being appraised. “I think you’re even smaller than I am.”

“All eldritch have two forms,” The Master explained, gently resting a hand on the fae’s shoulder. “What you are seeing is the Guardian’s mortal form. This is a close approximation to what they looked like before they were enlightened by Our Lady. The traits they do or do not maintain after their enlightenment depends on the Eldritch.”

“So the form they usually take is their Eldritch Form?”

“Indeed it is. In our mortal forms, we cannot easily access our full strength so as to help us blend in with mortals.” The Master then chuckled a bit. “Of course, that does not mean it is completely beyond our reach, but it is easier to use it in our full forms.”

“Will I get a full form?” George questioned, sounding more curious than afraid.

“For a pseudo-eldritch like yourself, there is a chance that you will. However, it is just as likely that you will retain only a single form.”

XD grimaced, hating how they were having this conversation in front of them like they weren’t even there. It stung deeply and they couldn’t help but bristle.

“However, I digress,” the Master interjected, clearing his throat and regaining XD’s attention. “George and I had a talk about what you did and how he feels about the situation you have created. He has come to a decision, but first, he wanted the chance to speak to you.”

With that, the Master stepped back, moving away from the cell so George could step forward. The fae looked down at the kneeling Guardian, then summoned a wooden chair from his inventory. Placing it on the ground, he sat down, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together.

“Were you ever going to tell me what you did to me?” he asked, getting straight to the point.

XD grimaced, turning away.

“I swear to you, I had no idea the full ramifications of my actions. Had I known what my gift would do to you, I would have found another way. I just wanted to protect you.”

“You didn’t know?” George pressed.

“Likely not,” the Master spoke up. “Never before has an Eldritch sacrificed a piece of themselves to another. While both the King and the Angel have spawned offspring, that is a different situation from this one. Not even I was aware of the possibility until I laid my eyes upon you.”

Hearing this, George took a deep breath.

“Alright then…” He met XD’s eyes, the Guardian feeling so small under that gaze. “I’m willing to believe that you were just trying to help in your own way, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m pissed about not being given a choice.”

“I’m sorry…” XD whimpered, curling up and trying to hide in their wings. “I’m sorry, George…”

“If you’re truly sorry-” there was the sound of wood against stone, suggesting the fae had stood up “-then help me.”

Tentatively, XD peeked through the feathers of their wings. “Help?”

George nodded. “I know how fae magic works, but I don’t know the first thing about being an Eldritch, pseudo or otherwise. I don’t want to accidentally hurt anyone with my power and I want to learn how to control it. And to do that, I’m going to need a teacher.”

With a gasp, XD quickly unfurled their wings, nodding eagerly before approaching the bars.

“I’ll teach you! I’ll teach you everything I know! I- I’ll be the best teacher you could ask for!” If they had a tail, they would have been wagging. “Anything to make things right, George!”

The fae watched their reaction, then turned his gaze to the Master. “Is that alright with you, Icarus?”

The Master gave a nod, smiling as he did. “As the wronged party, you have every right to decide the Guardian’s fate. If this is what you choose, I see no reason to object. My only suggestion would be that while you are working to control your powers, you go somewhere devoid of players and mobs.”

“My domain,” the Guardian offered up immediately. “I am the Guardian of the End and I can easily create an End Island that would be perfect for training! You- You could even create a new kingdom there if you want! A new Kinoko Kingdom in the End!”

George rubbed his chin in thought, clearly intrigued by the idea. The Master was also nodding, his smile never fading.

“I see no downside to this proposal,” he declared. “The Guardian needs to return to the End regardless so that they can attend to the duties they have neglected as of late.”

XD couldn’t help but cringe a bit, already imagining the workload that would be waiting for them once they returned to the End, but George’s presence would make it bearable. The fae in question was already buzzing with energy, wings twitching in the way they did when the fairy was brimming with ideas.

“I’ll need time to collect some resources and tools, maybe leave a note for Sapnap and Quackity.” George paused, then turned to XD. “Question, how would we get to the End? I thought the realm was sealed off.”

XD chuckled sheepishly at that. “Because I sealed it. If Players couldn’t reach it, I saw no reason to continue with upkeep.”

“Plus, sealing the End kept the pestilence from seeping into the realm,” The Master added, his brow furrowed as he attempted to figure out a solution. “Opening an End Portal beyond my borders is far too risky. We will need to construct one within my Enclave to ensure its security.”

“Can you do that?” George questioned, only to retract it a second later when both The Master and The Guardian gave him a look. “Right. Eldritch. Forget I said anything.”

The Master just laughed richly, snapping a finger. Immediately, the chains on XD’s wrists fell away and the iron bars parted like curtains, allowing them to step out of the cell. They remained in their mortal form, bowing once they were completely out of the cell.

“Brother, George, thank you for giving me a chance to rectify my mistakes. I promise I will not squander this opportunity.”

George crossed his arms, doing his best to look stern. “You better keep that promise. You won’t get another chance.”

“Well said,” the Master agreed, reaching down and pulling XD to their feet. “Go and do what you need to do. I shall see to the construction of the portal.”

Both George and XD nodded, and then the Guardian took the fae’s hand in theirs. With a small spark of power, they disappeared from sight, teleporting out of the dungeon and out of the Enclave.


Palaemon

The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon as Kinoko Kingdom came into view. Foolish had been traveling for days, using his larger form to easily traverse the long distances. A benefit to his unique physiology was that he technically didn’t need to eat or sleep, meaning he could skip such time-consuming endeavors when need be. Thus, he reached the mainland and his destination kingdom in a fraction of the time it would normally take. Now all he had to do was find his brother.

“Hello?” he called out, shrinking down to his human size as he looked around, feeling a bit unnerved by how abandoned everything looked. “Anyone home? Karl? Sapnap? George?”

As he called out the last name, he heard a door opening off to the side. He looked over at the massive mushroom that served as George’s home to see the man himself stepping out. He had a large backpack with him, the kind of backpack you would find on a modded server. It looked to be full to bursting with materials, suggesting that the man was going somewhere with no intention of returning anytime soon.

“George?” Foolish called out, garnering the attention of the man.

“Oh, Foolish!” George grinned, giving a wave.

Foolish made his way over to the mushroom house, watching as George closed the door and locked it before sticking a note on it. Seeing that, the Totem furrowed his brow a bit.

“You moving out?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

George chuckled at that, sliding the backpack onto his shoulders. “Yeah. Some things came up and I’m relocating with XD for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh, XD! Speaking of!” Foolish clapped his hands together, flinching as he accidentally caused a clap of thunder to ring out overhead. “Sorry. XD, are they here? I kinda need to talk to them about something important.”

As he said this, a familiar face came around the back of the building, carrying a backpack identical to George’s. This androgynous figure had a mask resting on the side of their head and seemed distracted by the contents of the backpack they were carrying.

“George, I gathered as many seeds, saplings, and blocks of dirt as I could carry. I also created some spawn eggs for various domesticated animals so we should be able to recreate an overworld biome once we reach the…” The figure trailed off when they finally laid eyes on Foolish, pausing before blinking in an owlish manner. “Oh, greetings little brother. What brings you here?”

“XD?!” Foolish actually stumbled back, rubbing his eyes before blinking. “Is that you?! What the fuck?”

“Oh, that’s right. You have not seen me in this form for a millennia or two, have you?” XD adjusted the backpack on their shoulder before smiling. “George seems to prefer me when I look like this, so I shall be retaining this form for the time being.”

“I like that you actually have a face,” George quipped, gently ribbing the eldritch. “Plus, you’re easier to understand without your deep dark voice.”

“Your compliments are appreciated,” XD replied before returning his gaze to Foolish. “Now then, as much as I would enjoy the chance to catch up, I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a time clock.”

“O-oh…” Foolish felt himself deflate, chewing on his lip nervously. “I was hoping I could get your help with something kind of important.”

“What’s wrong?” George asked, sounding concerned. “Is it the Eggpire again? Did they blow up another statue?”

“No, no, this isn’t Eggpire related.” Well, not directly at least. The Eggpire and their damn Egg were just pushing Foolish’s timetable by several margins. “I was just hoping XD knew anything about a player who came to this server near the beginning. Their name’s Alistair and I initially came here to try and find them. I’ve been doing my own search through my Doozers but… well, you’ve seen what’s been going on lately.”

XD’s brow furrowed and they tapped their fist against their lips, trying to think. George did the same, chewing on his thumb in thought. After a moment, the former grimaced and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, brother. I am afraid that I know of no one on the server by that name.”

“Are you sure?” Foolish couldn’t keep the desperation out of his tone. XD practically ran this place. If they didn’t know Alistair, then no one would-... wait. “Maybe they went by an alias! They’re kinda infamous and they didn’t want to stand out.”

“What did they look like?” George asked. “I was there at the very beginning so I’ve seen everyone who’s come and gone.”

He was grasping at straws. He knew he was, but this was the closest he’d come to a lead since coming here. He had to take the chance.

“Um… they have brown, curly hair, a deep voice, pale skin… Oh! They’d be wearing some sort of eye covering! Glasses, most likely!”

Both George and XD perked at the same time.

“I believe I know exactly who you are referring to, brother,” XD declared, turning toward the entrance of the kingdom. “Head for the Greater SMP area. You will pass the old animal sanctuary created by the Siamese Anthro Antfrost. From there, follow the Prime Path to Pride Palace. Speak with King Eret. They should be able to help you from there.”

Relief washed over Foolish like a tidal wave. He had a lead, a solid lead. He felt like he was about to cry from the weight that had been lifted from his chest. Quickly, he turned in the direction his brother had pointed, growing back to his full 23 ft height.

“Thank you! Thank you so much! I have to go!”

Not wasting another second, he took off at a full sprint. He was so close! Finally, he would see Alistair again, and this time, he wouldn’t let his beloved out of his sight.


Master

The Master rarely tapped into his full power, especially when it came to something as simple as building. There was something satisfying about making something with your own hands, gathering the materials yourself, and putting in the work to bring a build together. Unfortunately, this was a situation where he did not have the luxury of time. As such, he channeled his eldritch powers to carve a path deep into the ground, all the way down to bedrock level.

An End Portal was a commodity that was not to be taken lightly, especially on a server infected by a parasitic pestilence. As such, he took as many precautions as he could. The tunnel leading to the portal was hidden behind a stone wall in the dungeon, a redstone door cleverly disguising the entrance as a smooth wall. As added security, only Icarus would be able to open it, ensuring that it could never be used without his express permission.

With security handled, the Master decided to have a little fun. With a grand flourish of his hand, he carved out a massive room right at the bedrock level. He flattened out the floor, filling in all of the empty spaces of bedrock with deepslate tiles. He also created a pathway framed by dark oak logs, the path itself made from spruce planks. The portal itself rested in the center of the room, with similar paths branching off from all four sides to add symmetry to the room. The frame was surrounded by dark oak stairs with a solid log set up into the ground. Fencing branching from the log to the ceiling, where a similar log was waiting, and glowberry vines wrapped around the entire thing. Dark Oak siding hugged the walls and more glowberry vines illuminated the room. It was a stark contrast from the dungeon above, the room feeling much warmer and inviting.

As he finished the room, Icarus felt the world shift behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the Guardian and George coming into existence. The latter whistled as they looked around, adjusting the modded backpack on their shoulder.

“This is… not what I was expecting,” he remarked, looking around.

“I have discovered that in this new life of mine, I have a newfound appreciation for detail and aesthetics.” He held out a hand, twelve Eye of Ender swirling in a lazy circle above them. “Now then, are you ready to go?”

“We have everything we will require to make George comfortable, and whatever we don’t have I can create for him.”

“George?” Icarus prompted.

“I left a note for Sapnap and Quackity. I didn’t go into detail, only that I was going on a sabbatical with XD for the foreseeable future.” The fairy looked nervous, toying with the strap of his backpack. “Um… can I ask you something?”

Sensing the seriousness of what he wanted, Icarus gave the fae his full and undivided attention. After a moment, George took a breath and composed himself.

“Once I have this whole… Eldritch thing under control… could I… could I see Clay again?”

Hearing that, the Master felt his heart melting a bit. While he had done much to help Clay to recover, there was nothing better to sooth a broken soul than a true friend. With a smile, he gave a nod of assent.

“I believe Clay would benefit greatly from your presence.”

George visibly brightened at that, smiling wide as he bounced on his heels. With nothing left to say, the Master turned back to the portal, holding out his hand to send the Eye of Ender into their slots. As all twelve slid into place, there was a loud crack like lightning before reality tore, revealing the starry expanse of the End. His job done, Icarus stepped back, allowing the Guardian and George to step forward.

“Ready?” the Guardian asked, offering their hand to the fae.

Taking a breath, George took the outstretched hand. “I am.”

With that, the two stepped forward, vanishing through the portal.

Chapter 32: Angels and Musicians

Notes:

Didja miss me?

Long story short, I graduated from college, moved, and I am currently searching for a job. I am also obsessed with the QSMP and I am SO glad that all of the eggs are back home safe! Anyway, enjoy this rollercoaster of emotions!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Theseus

Life in the Enclave was peaceful, a true peace that Theseus had never really known. Even back when he had attempted to retire, there had always been that underlying feeling of anxiety that kept him from truly relaxing. He always felt like he had to look over his shoulder and remain forever vigilant. Now, he didn’t have to worry as much. He was safe, and he didn’t have to shoulder the burden of protecting himself all on his own.

Who would have thought becoming an omega would have been so freeing?

After a long day of tilling the fields and gathering the crops, Theo leaned against the wooden fence of the potato field, sliding his muzzle off so he could drink some water. Thankfully, the Master had recently created a new well, allowing Theo to draw a bucket full of crisp, clean water to quench his thirst. He drank his fill, then splashed a bit on his face to help him cool down. He had to shake water out of his face, but it was a small price to pay for some relief.

Putting the bucket back, Theo decided it was time for a break. He set his hoe against the edge of the fence, stretching a bit before heading toward the tree on the hill. It had become a sort of designated break area long before he ever came to the Enclave and he had to admit it was a nice place. He settled down in the grass, leaning back and closing his eyes.

On instinct, he began to reach out for the magic that hummed against his ear; the magic of the Friendship Emerald. For weeks now, he could feel Phil drawing closer and closer to the Enclave, pushing through the night and often for days on end. It honestly had Theo on edge. The piglin knew from experience how often Phil would push himself past his limits if and when things went south. While Theo knew that he was not in any danger, Phil had no way of knowing that and his angel was likely on a warpath.

As his eyes slid shut, he tapped into the magic to try and get a read on how close Phil was. He had been growing closer and closer by the day, leading Theo to be hopeful that their reunion was close at hand. He was looking forward to holding his angel close and assuring him that things were good. He could show him Joey and prove to his oldest friend that there was nothing to fear. All he had to do was be patient.

~\~/~

Blood.

It was a smell that Theo could never forget. A cloying, metallic scent that had his instincts screaming at him to get up. His eyes snapped open and he rolled to his feet, instinctively summoning a weapon from his inventory. Unfortunately, he had no weapon at the ready given his status as a slave, so he ended up just summoning a handful of beetroot seeds. Gritting his teeth, he looked around, spotting his hoe still resting against the potato field fence where he’d left it. He rushed down the hill, skidding through the grass before reaching his hoe, grabbing it, and holding it like a weapon.

“Clay! Daedalus! Find Master! We’ve got company!”

He didn’t know if either of them were nearby to hear him, but he had to hope they were. Meanwhile, he would defend their home until their Master came. He may be an Omega, but he was still the Blood God’s Champion, and he would be damned before he allowed someone to bring death and pain to this peaceful Enclave.

A snap of a twig reached his ear and he turned sharply toward the dirt path leading from the direction of the gate. The trees were still thick in this area and Nook had yet to install lamps to illuminate the path. As such, it was pretty dark, especially with the darkening skies that promised an oncoming storm. Still, even through the dark haze of the tree line, Theo could make out a single figure shuffling down the path, drawing ever closer.

At first, Theo thought it was a zombie, even though hostile mobs seemed never to spawn anywhere near this place. It was certainly moving like one, walking with a noticeable limp while dragging… something behind it. However, zombies never smelled like blood. They smelled like rot and mold, and neither of those scents were in the air. So what could this thing be?

Then, the thing stepped out of the trees and Theo gasped, the how tumbling from his suddenly numb fingers.

“P-Phil…”

Shuffling toward him was a pale, gaunt version of Phil dressed in black and white rags that were practically drenched in blood. The massive things he was dragging behind him were his wings, now twice as big as they normally were and full of twigs, leaves, and arrows. On his face was a bird skull mask, one that was cracked across the beak and looked to be barely holding to his face. His hair was dragging alongside his wings, its silvery locks caked in blood and mud.

With a shaking, bleeding hand, Phil reached for his mask, pushing it to the top of his head. This action caused the mask to morph, forming the avian’s usual bucket hat and kickstarting a metamorphosis with the man. With every step he took, more of his darkened form seemed to melt away. The long silver hair reversed its growth, darkening to the dirty blonde that Theo knew so well. The massive wings shrunk as well, a trail of broken feathers and fallen arrows left in his wake. The rags he wore regained the green of his usual attire and when their gaze met, Phil’s bright blue eyes met his.

“Techno…” the man rasped, coughing up blood as he stumbled hard. “I finally… found…”

Phil’s eyes rolled back in his head and Theo moved as fast as he could, catching the avian before he could hit the ground. The second they were touching, the piglin felt his body soaking in his old friend’s blood, countless wounds opening up across the unconscious avian’s body.

“No, no, no, no, no!” He began looking around frantically. “Help! Master! Come quick!”

“I’m here, Theseus.”

Theo whipped his head behind him, seeing his Brute standing behind him with both Clay and Daedalus flanking him. All three of them were eying Phil’s prone form with concern, the two slaves shaking at the sight of all the blood. Theo couldn’t blame them, feeling his own hands shaking around his angel’s body.

“Please, help him,” Theo begged, holding out his angel with tears in his head. “Please…”

His Brute nodded, carefully taking Phil from the piglin’s arms. He examined the angel, pursing his lips into a grimace.

“He pushed himself to his breaking point and beyond. Only his status as the Angel of Death has spared him from a permanent end to his existence…”

“C-Can you help him?” Daedalus asked tentatively, wringing his hands as he stared at Phil’s sleeping form.

“I can.” The Brute began walking toward the mansion, all three of his slaves trailing after him. “Though I suspect that my Lady will be taking this opportunity to have a very stern talk with her husband.”


Thanatos

Phil was floating in a pool of stars, staring up at the endless expanse of space that was the Void. His body felt far away and numb, suggesting that he had been plucked from consciousness and into this sunless realm. Slowly, he sat up, bracing his hands on the watery ground that somehow did not leave him feeling wet. He stood up, flapping his wings slightly to dislodge the non-existent water from his feather before looking around.

“Hello?” he called out. “Where are you? I know this is your realm, Kristen.”

His voice echoed in the vast nothingness, then the starry water began to ripple. From its depths emerged a massive female figure. The void parted for her like ocean waves, cascading down her body while leaving her ethereal dress untouched by the wetness these waves should have brought. Through the veil of her hat, her galactic eyes looked down at Phil with an air of sorrow and pain.

“Finally, after all this time, I can reach you once more.”

“Reach me?” Phil put a hand to his chest, clutching at the front of his robes. “I’ve been trying to reach you for so long but… it was as if you were beyond my reach…”

“I was, Philza,” Kristen declared, reaching down and cupping her hand for him to climb onto. He obliged, allowing his wife to lift him so they were face to face. “You were lost to me the moment you entered the Dream SMP. The moment you plunged that sword into our child’s heart.”

Phil flinched at the memory, the echoes of exploding TNT ringing in his ear alongside the sound of a blade piercing flesh. He could still remember watching the life drain from the boy’s face and the horror of realizing that he wasn’t respawning.

“Kristen, I swear to you… I never wanted that. I never wanted Wilbur to...” he choked on his words, covering his mouth with his hand. “Gods, Wilbur…”

Kristen watched him for a moment, her face unreadable outside of a deeply rooted pain. The pain that only one who had to bury a child could ever hope to understand. A single tear rolled down her cheek, the cloudy drop landing with a loud plop into the starry ocean below.

“Philza… My Angel…” A large finger gently lifted his chin. “There has been so much that I have wanted to say to you. So much that I wanted you to hear. But now that you are here… all I can say is… why?”

Phil blinked in confusion, brushing some hair behind his ears so he could see her better.

“Why?”

“Why did you abandon our son? Why did you leave our child by the wayside?” Something bitter laced her words and ocean void seemed to churn around her, a testament to the turmoil the Goddess of the Realm was feeling. “Why did it take his death for you to notice his pain? Why did you strike him down rather than be a father to him? WHY?!”

There was no weather in the Void, but thunder rolled across the nothingness at its Lady’s cry. Phil couldn’t help but flinch at the sound, shielding his head as he waited for the noise to die down. As the echoes slowly petered out, he lifted his head, meeting her eyes once more. She was crying in earnest now, lamenting the loss of her son. Of their son.

Despite how he had acted, Phil did love Wilbur. His son was the product of love between himself and Kristen, carved from the Void itself and given life as a true miracle. Phil had brought him home, carved out a place for his son in his life, and made sure he wanted for nothing. 

But… Phil was not someone who could stand tethers. His life before becoming the Angel of Death had been one full of tethers and ties, bindings keeping him from knowing true freedom. As much as he loved his son and wanted the best for him, he was a free spirit by nature. He didn’t want to be tied down to one place and be forced to make roots. He wanted to explore. He wanted to know what lay beyond the horizon. And that life… wasn’t one he could have with Wilbur.

When Technoblade came into his life, a chance meeting at a tournament of battle, the piglin had the promise of freedom and adventure that Phil craved. By that point, Wilbur was old enough to take care of himself, so long as Phil made sure to send him money for necessities. As such, the Angel of Death had decided to accompany his new friend on a slew of adventures, chasing that horizon together. It had been intoxicating, like a drug he couldn’t shake. He spent countless centuries traveling and fighting, making sure to send letters and money back to Wilbur on the regular.

It hadn’t been enough.

Wilbur may have been old enough to take care of himself, but he was still a child. A child who craved the love and attention of his father. Phil had given him food, shelter, and money to live off of… but he had failed to provide Wilbur with what he truly needed: genuine affection.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, knowing that Kristen was privy to his thoughts. She could read him like an open book and knew exactly what he was apologizing for. “I… I failed… I was selfish… putting my desires before the needs of our son. And… when I saw him in that room… when I saw just how far he had fallen…” He choked, feeling hitching sobs welling in his throat. “Gods…”

For a minute, he knelt in his wife’s hand, just sobbing and lamenting the loss of the one living being who would have loved him unconditionally had he just been there. Had he not been a selfish bastard, he could have prevented his son… his son… from falling as far as he did.

“You were my most trusted Eldritch,” Kristen said softly, her sorrow making her voice shake. “I loved you, and I still do. But… my faith in you has waned in the wake of all I have witnessed on this server… and the role you played in its downfall.”

Phil cringed hard, the weight of his Goddess’ disappointment making him feel like Atlas trying to hold up the sky.

“What… what can I do to make this right?”

Kristen looked at him, her galactic eyes boring into his soul. He felt like he was being picked apart in her gaze, his very being laid bare for her to see. After a moment, she took a deep breath and released it. The choppy waves below them settled down, the starry waters becoming still and calm once more.

“A new Eldritch has arisen to combat the pestilence that has laid claim to the Dream SMP. They are known as the Master of Death and it is thanks to them that you are no longer under the corruptive influence of this vile parasite. When you return to the land of the living, you will swear your eternal loyalty to them, and you will swear it under my name.”

Phil gasped at that, his body seizing in horror. His hands began to shake and his heart was hammering in his chest.

A Death Oath. She wanted him to swear a Death Oath to this new Eldritch.

An oath sworn on the name of the Goddess of Death was eternally binding, especially for an Eldritch. By doing so, one would be magically bound to obey the terms of the agreement, unable to disobey or break the oath. If Phil swore a Death Oath of eternal loyalty to this new Eldritch… then he would be reduced to nothing more than a slave. With one word, he would be rendered nothing more than a puppet, an extension of this Master of Death’s will. He would be signing away his freedom, binding himself for all eternity to another.

“Please…” he begged, tears streaming down his face. “Kristen, please… If I do that, I will cease to be. All that I am will die.”

“And you will be remade, stronger and better.”

“I will be nothing… less than nothing…”

“And it is from nothing that you will grow into something beautiful.”

“Kristen…” He was openly sobbing now, terror gripping his heart like a vice. “Is… there truly no other way to redeem myself?”

She solemnly shook her head. 

“I am sorry, My Angel. I know that this will not be easy for you, and there will be moments where you will long for things to be different, but I promise you that you will benefit from this in the long run.” A soft, hopeful smile graced her face. “And perhaps… one day… you can be reunited with our son.”

That made Phil perk. He looked up, a spark of hope in his eyes as Kristen held out her other hand. The stars swirled in a circle above her palm before glowing brightly, forming a mirror-like surface. In the mirror, an image manifested that took Phil’s breath away. 

Sitting on the lip of a large fountain, strumming on an old guitar, was Wilbur. Not the dark Wilbur he had found in that Button Room, but a smiling, warm Wilbur who was singing for passersby. At the sight, Phil couldn’t resist reaching out for the image, pressing his palm against the glassy surface of the looking glass.

“Wilbur…”

“I gave him the choice to begin life anew, a choice he took. While he has no memory of you or anyone on this server, should your paths cross in this new life, you will be able to start anew. You will have a clean slate and will be able to make new memories with him.”

Phil covered his mouth, a mixture of a laugh and a sob slipping through his fingers. He stared at the image for a good minute, then wiped his eyes and stood up.

“Everything I am now… for a second chance with Wilbur…” He took a breath, then steeled his nerves. “A small price to pay if it means I can make things right.”

Kristen smiled at that, the image fading away.

“Then I look forward to seeing who you will become, My Angel…”


Melpomene

Wilbur Soot had spent his entire life on the road, a professional nomad who never put down roots anywhere. He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t traveling, guitar on his back, and the wind in his hair. He wasn’t sure if he was looking for something or someone, any memory of a family lost deep in the recesses of his mind. Not that he really cared. Part of the allure of traveling was meeting new people and forming new connections.

At the moment, Wilbur’s travels had brought him to a larger server hub somewhere along the Mexican border. He was running a bit low on funds so he had set himself up on the lip of a large stone fountain with his guitar. The case was open with a sign pasted to the inner lid asking for any donations. Already, he had a few emeralds collected and someone had even thrown in a diamond. With luck, he could gather enough funds to rent an inn for the night and maybe get a hot meal.

He strummed on his guitar, singing one of many songs that he had written over his travels. This one was a particular favorite of his and never failed to get him some emeralds.

“The cute bomber jacket you've had since sixth form / Adorned with patches of places you've been / Is nothing on my khaki coat I got / From a roadside when I was sixteen / My boots are from airports / My backpack's from friends / I'm not a man of substance, and so I'll pretend / To be a wanderer, wondering / Leaving ascetic belongings in hostels and restaurant bins.”

A few passersby tossed some emeralds into his guitar case and he tipped his head toward them respectfully. As he continued singing and playing, he spotted someone watching him from behind some barrels near an alley. It was a small person, a little girl from the looks of them, no older than five. He could see long, wild hair that almost looked like his own hiding one of the child’s eyes. The one he could see was a bright green color that almost seemed to glow.

As he wrapped up his song, he bent down to check his money, seeing how much he had collected. He could see another diamond in the pile, and another six emeralds. Looks like that inn room was becoming a possibility. He pocketed the money and checked his guitar, ready to begin his next song. However, that’s when his eyes fell on two unsavory characters making their way through the crowd. Their eyes were on the alley where the little girl was, and their gazes spoke of incredibly ill intentions.

Knowing that it was unlikely anyone else would act, Wilbur set his guitar down and got up, rushing over to the alley. The little girl gasped at the sight of him, but he was fast enough to catch her before she could run off.

“Tallulah!” he shouted, making sure it was loud enough that it drew the attention of the various pedestrians in the area. “There you are! What did I say about wandering off while I’m playing?”

He hugged her close to him, pressing his mouth to her ear. He distantly registered that the girl was wearing hearing aids, but he could only pray that she could hear him and understand he wasn’t an enemy.

“Bad men were watching you,” he whispered as quietly as he could. “Hug me tight.”

Immediately, the girl stiffened, then quickly hugged him as instructed, burying her face in his neck. From the corner of his eye, Wilbur watched the two men grimace, then turn away, silently cursing their bad luck. He waited until they disappeared into the crowd before he loosened his grip on the girl, letting her lean back so they were eye to eye.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he told her. “I saw those men coming toward you and I couldn’t just sit there and watch something bad happen.”

He went to put her down, but she let out a sound akin to a whine, clinging to his jumper and pressing her face back into his neck. He straightened back up, gently patting her and trying to soothe her. As he did, he was able to take a better look at her, and he began to notice some unsettling things.

The girl was skinny, far too skinny. Her hair was matted and greasy, suggesting she hadn’t had a bath in a while. She was wearing a simple, short-sleeved dress that was the color of eggshells, the hem ragged and dirty. She didn’t have any shoes and from the dirt and scuffs on her feet, it was unlikely she’d worn any for a long time. At a second glance, he noticed that her hearing aids were old and didn’t fit properly.

With a grimace, Wilbur glanced down the alley, looking for any signs of a mother or father hidden among the barrels and crates. However, there was nothing to be found. This girl was alone…

Just like him.

“Hey…” he let out, getting the girl’s attention. “I was just about to get myself some lunch. There’s a little taco truck just down the street that smelled amazing. Do you want some?”

In answer, the little girl’s stomach growled audibly. She winced at the sound, but Wilbur just smiled at her.

“Don’t worry, it’s my treat.” He adjusted his grip on the girl, then began making his way back to his guitar. “I’m Wilbur, by the way. Wilbur Soot. Can you tell me your name? I know I called you Tallulah earlier, sorry. It was the first girl name I could think of off the top of my head and I needed those guys to think you were mine.”

The girl blushed at that, then poked Wilbur’s chest. He looked down at her in confusion, then watched as she mouthed the word “Tallulah” as best she could. She then poked him again, watching him expectantly.

“Are you saying that you want me to keep calling you Tallulah?”

The girl nodded, smiling as she did so. Wilbur chuckled at that, using his free arm to put his guitar back in its case before snapping it shut.

“Alright then, Tallulah.” He slung his guitar over his shoulder, then turned toward the direction of the food truck. “Let’s go and get something to eat. We’ve both earned it.”

And thus, Wilbur set off, his new companion still tucked in his arms for what he felt was the first of many days to come.

Notes:

That's right! Little 'Lulah is joining the cast! She was far too precious not to include. Don't worry, you'll be seeing more of her eventually.

Chapter 33: Fallen Angel

Summary:

The Angel joins the Enclave

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Thanatos

Phil dreaded the moment that he would awaken. He knew that the moment he opened his eyes, it would be the beginning of the end for him. Even the promise of potential reconciliation with his reincarnated son did little to sway the terror that had taken a grip on his soul. Unfortunately, his fear meant little in the face of reality. Awareness trickled into his mind, allowing him to take stock of everything before opening his eyes.

He felt clean, cleaner than he had since the day he found Techno’s crown in the snow. He could feel bandages wrapped around most of his body and a soft bed beneath his stomach. The ache in his wings had dulled significantly with some bandages wrapped around them as well. His head felt pleasantly empty, the cacophony of thoughts and emotions that had crippled him these past few months reduced to nothing. There was something cold and metallic sitting flush against his throat, something that the avian instantly recognized as a collar. The realization caused a sliver of dread to curl in his stomach. This was exacerbated by the fact that he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on him, his modesty preserved by a thin blanket pulled up to his hips.

Knowing he would need to face his new reality soon, Philza took a deep breath and slowly blinked his eyes open. As he did, he found himself in a warm room that smelled of healing potions and medicine. He could see a few white beds arranged in a row next to him, white curtains set up to give privacy as needed. Sunlight streamed through large windows that looked out at the dark oak forest beyond.

Even as groggy and off-kilter as he was following his life-threatening venture and lecture from his wife, Phil couldn’t help but be surprised at how cozy everything looked and felt. The Eldritch were not known for cozy. The King was a brutal tyrant, The Totem was a grand builder who never heard of “too much”, The Guardian was a wayward soul who loved tormenting players, and as The Angel, Phil never could settle down. Sure his cabin could have been considered cozy, but it had been Techno’s home more than his own.

Considering the Eldritch that had collected him had been granted the title of Master, Phil had been expecting harsh walls, tight chains, and cages hanging from the ceiling. He’d imagined waking up on a cold, stone floor in some subterranean dungeon, or perhaps on some pet bed in a grand room while leashed to the wall. Instead, here he was in a clean, well-stocked infirmary, his wounds tended to and his body cleaned.

The sound of shifting next to him had Phil freezing, tensing on instinct as his wings tried to puff out through the bandages. They didn’t budge but Phil managed to turn his head to the other side of the infirmary. There he could see a familiar head of bright pink hair leaning on the bed with their face buried in slender, tanned arms. He couldn’t help but gasp, shakily reaching out for that familiar shade of pink.

“T-...Tech?”

As his hand came to rest on those soft, rosy locks, the figure stirred with a pig-like snort, sitting up. While it had been many years, if not centuries since he had seen his old friend’s human form, he would have to be a fool not to recognize him. He was missing one of his lower tusks and had a new scar on his lip, but it was Techno.

“Phil…” Techno whispered, reaching out to take the avian’s hand. “Philza, thank Prime you’re alive.”

“I’m alive?” Phil croaked, his tears beginning to fall. “You’re alive… Techno, you have-... you have no idea how scared I’ve been.”

Techno pressed Phil’s hand to his cheek, squeezing it gently. He held it there for a few moments, then slowly lowered it, though he did not let it go. This allowed Phil the chance to give his friend a more thorough once-over, and one of the first things he noticed was the golden collar flush against the piglin’s throat. There was also the golden ring through his nose and the fact that the man only seemed to have a light brown loincloth as clothing. In other words, Techno looked like a slave.

“What happened to you?” Phil whispered, unable to comprehend The Technoblade being brought so low. While he knew that The Master of Death was likely the one responsible, he also knew that Techno was one of the most stubborn people alive. He craved freedom just as much as Phil did and would fight tooth or nail for it. The few times someone had managed to capture him, it was because another had been threatened. “How… how did you end up… here?”

Techno met his gaze, then sighed long and hard.

“After I took Steve on patrol that night, I was ambushed.” The humanoid piglin twisted his body to the side, revealing a new arrow wound in his shoulder. “Got shot with a weakness arrow, then taken down.”

“Quackity…”

Techno grimaced at the name, nodding once. “He wanted to know about the Prison. About… some missing players that he thought I broke out. Of course, I knew nothing… and he took that personally.”

“What--?” 

Phil coughed, his throat dry from forcing himself to talk after so long of silence. Techno quickly grabbed a pitcher of water and a small glass that was sitting on a table next to the bed. He filled the glass and dropped a straw into it before holding it out for Phil. The avian took it in his mouth, sipping the water gratefully and draining the glass. Once he was done, he tried his question again.

“What did… he do?”

Techno just shrugged as he set the glass aside. “Nothing I hadn’t experienced before. Wasn’t fun, but I survived, albeit barely. I was bleeding out in the snow when Master found me. Brought me back here, nursed me back to health, and put me in my place.”

“Your… place?”

This made Techno tilt his head back, tapping the collar on his throat. “He claimed me as his slave. I fought it, obviously, but I didn’t stand a chance. He got rid of the Voices, reawakened my long-dormant instincts… then bitched me down until I submitted myself as his omega slave.”

Phil felt the blood draining from his face as he stared in horror. A very long time ago, back when Techno was just starting his life as the Blood God’s Champion, he had told Phil about Piglin society and their unique Alpha-Beta-Omega dynamics. While most would think of those words as a sort of secondary gender, the piglins used them as titles of a sort. Alphas were the strongest, Betas were equals, and Omegas were the weaker, subservient members. Being “bitched down” was a derogatory way of saying that an Alpha had been bested by someone stronger than them, making them that Alpha’s omega.

“Did… he… hurt you?”

At this question, Techno’s face colored in embarrassment. “Not at first. He doesn’t like hurting us and avoids it where he can. But while he was working to break me down and establish the pecking order… I snapped. I demanded that he fight me for real… and with weapons.”

With that, Techno stood up and turned around fully, pulling his long braid off his back. This revealed the wide swath of deep, criss-crossing scars that could only be from a violent whipping. There were so many marks that it was hard to tell where one ended and another began. Just seeing those horrible marks had old scars on Phil’s back throbbing in phantom pains.

“Gods…”

“I asked for it, Phil,” Techno insisted, turning back around before sitting down. “And when it was over, he took care of me and gave me the best medicine he could. I was up and walking around within the week.”

“And…” Phil swallowed hard, struggling to keep his breathing even. “And he… hasn’t hurt you since?”

“Not once,” Techno promised. “Like I said, Master doesn’t like to hurt us.”

That last word clicked for Phil. Us, meaning more than just Techno. Meaning that he wasn’t the only slave here.

“Technoblade… who-?”

Techno visibly winced as he held up his hand, chewing on his lip a bit. He looked nervous, toying with his loincloth before speaking again.

“Before that… when Master claims us… he renames us. I’m not Technoblade anymore. Haven’t been for… a while now.”

Phil felt a lump welling in his throat. He should have seen it coming. Slaves owned nothing, not even their names. It wasn’t uncommon for Masters to rename their slaves, a way of marking their property beyond a collar. No doubt he too would lose his name. He cringed at the idea, his name having been the first thing he’d ever gotten for himself in his new life as an Eldritch. Losing it would… hurt felt like too soft of a word to describe what it would do.

“I… see…” he managed. “Then… what’s your name… now?”

Techno… or whoever he was now, chuckled at that. “My name’s Theseus. Theo for short.”

“Theseus?” Phil repeated.

“Indeed,” a new voice spoke up, one laced with a power the Angel knew all too well.

Gathering his wits, and what little strength his healing body could manage, Phil pushed himself up as best he could. Tec… no, Theo reached out and helped him, turning him so he was sitting properly on the bed. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Phil slowly looked up, seeing the figure standing in the doorway. The moment he saw that face, it was as if his world had shattered all over again.

“Tommy…”

Of course, he knew it wasn’t really Tommy. Not anymore. This was The Master of Death, an Eldritch powerful enough to subdue the Blood God’s Champion and Prime knew who else. Those bright blue eyes were not the ocean blue of the boy who would get into screaming matches with Wilbur over coral. They were a pale blue that spoke of untold power and knowledge. Meeting his gaze now, Phil felt so small.

“Tomminnit died many months ago, Angel. I am the Master of Death now, though you can simply address me as Master.”

“Yes…” Phil swallowed hard, “Master.”

The Master let out a small, barely audible laugh before approaching the bed. Instinctively, Phil found himself cowering on the bed, his wings trying to come up to shield him from view. Were they not practically mummified in bandages, perhaps they would have. Instead, he was left looking like a child who was awaiting punishment. However, instead of pain, a blissfully cold hand caressed his head, cupping the side of his face in an almost loving manner.

“You need not fear me, Angel. I do not seek your suffering, nor your pain. What I seek is to remake you, to help you to be better than you are.” 

Gentle pressure was applied and Phil found himself being made to meet the Master’s piercing gaze. It felt like he was being picked apart.

“Your experiences on this server have left you bitter and your losses have fractured your heart. You have strayed from the path our Lady sought for you, wandered so far from home that you have forgotten its true meaning. You have pushed away those who loved you, but it is not too late to make things right. However, you must choose to take the first step.” The hand pulled away as the Master stepped back. “You know what must be done, Angel.”

He did. He knew what was expected of him, what he had to do to regain the favor of Kristen. That didn’t change just how gut-wrenchingly terrified he was. He glanced over at Theo, who was watching him with a mixture of trepidation and confusion. After closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he gave Theo his best attempt at a smile.

“Can… you help me off the bed? Please?”

Theo blinked at the request, then turned toward the Master in silence. When the Master gave a small nod, Theo shifted into his full, piglin form. Phil held out his arms like a child would asking to be carried, allowing for the piglin to pull him from the bed. He attempted to set the avian on his feet in front of the Master, but Phil just shook his head and sank to his knees. He lowered himself to the ground, mantling his wings as best he could before closing his eyes and beginning to speak.

“By the name of my Lady, Kristen, Goddess of Death, Mistress of the Void, I, Philza Minecraft, Angel of Death, Voidwalker, Ruler of the Antarctic Empire, Conqueror of Hardcore, and…” His breath hitched and his hands trembled. He swallowed hard and pushed forward. “...Father of Wilbur Soot… bequeath unto you, the Master of Death, my obedience, being, and undying loyalty from now until the end of all.”

There was a moment of heavy silence, the oath hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles. Then, the Master extended his hand, smiling down at Phil with a welcoming gaze.

“I accept your oath, Angel, and I relinquish you of your titles and your burdens. No longer shall you be known as Philza Minecraft. Henceforth, you shall be known as Thanatos, slave of Icarus, the Master of Death, Lord of the Enclave, and Right Hand of Kristen, Goddess of Death.”

The newly named Thanatos felt like something was being lifted from his shoulders. He met his owner’s gaze, then reached out to take the extended hand. The moment their skin touched, dark power manifested itself around both of their hands. It sank deep into Thanatos’ wrist, so cold that it burned. The pain was fleeting and when it faded, a dark chain was branded into his skin. Proof of the oath that would define the rest of his life.

“Welcome home, Thanatos.”

Notes:

Anyone who's ever played Hades knows who Thanatos is. For those that haven't, he is son of Nyx and the Greek Personification of Death. Fitting for Phil's new identity.

Chapter 34: Frayed Connections

Summary:

The bonds of friendship are a fragile thing, so easily broken

Notes:

BlackFoy and I had the last section of this one planned out nearly two years ago. Took me ages to find it in the backlogs of our Discord. Still needed some tweaks, but I'm happy with how it turned out. I hope you are too!

Chapter Text

Prometheus

Sapnap sat on the lip of the fountain that made up the center of Kinoko Kingdom, a piece of paper in his hands. He’d found it nailed to George’s door when he and Quackity had returned from their hunt. A couple weeks had passed since then and Sapnap had the letter memorized by now.

Dear Quackity and Sapnap,

I’m sorry, but something has come up that I cannot ignore. I’m leaving the Overworld and going with XD to The End. I do not know when I will be back, but I do know that it won’t be for a very long time. Please don’t worry about me. I’m safe and will remain so. I wish you both the best and I hope that one day, we can meet again.

Yours,

George

“Pandas, why are you reading that thing again?” Quackity called out with bitterness in his tone. Sapnap looked up from the letter as the scar-faced man plopped down next to him. “No matter how many times you read it, it’s not gonna change.”

“I know…” Sapnap muttered, his eyes drifting back to the letter. “It’s just… hard to believe.”

That got a scoff from his ex? fiance, his eyes rolling hard as he leaned back.

“How is it that you’ve been on this fucking hellhole of a server longer than I have, and yet you’re still so naive?”

“I’m not naive,” Sapnap defended, turning to face Quackity once again.

“And yet you clearly haven’t learned the same lessons that have been pounded into me since the day I made the mistake of following Tommy to this so-called ‘sanctuary’.” The scarred man did air quotes as he said the last word. “Otherwise, you’d realize that this was all but inevitable.”

Sapnap stared at Quackity for a good, long minute, searching his gaze for… something. Why did interacting with Quackity feel like he was talking to someone else entirely? Despite their rocky reconciliation and truce after explaining what had happened with Karl, Sapnap still felt like there was something that was pushing his former? fiance away from him. This thing with George had made it even worse, the scarred man closing himself off once more.

“What do you mean?” he pressed gently, hoping for insight into what had dragged the man he loved into such a state.

Quackity smirked, leaning back on the lip of the fountain and staring up at the sky.

“First lesson I ever learned: humans are assholes. Anything that doesn’t fit into their perfect little world, they’re going to want to shove to the side or control.” Quackity let out a bitter laugh, throwing his arms into the air. “Why do you think sanctuaries even exist to begin with? Because human beings decided that hybrids and non-humans didn’t deserve to be treated like people.”

Sapnap grimaced at the reminder. He was human or at least he was human enough that he never had to deal with any of that persecution. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his family. Skeppy had been so desperate to escape from humans who wanted to use him for his diamond scales that he’d undergone a blood-binding ritual to summon a demon from the pits of hell. Sure Bad was or had been one of the sweetest beings alive, but the second anyone saw that 9-foot-tall demon with glowing eyes and long claws, they ran for the hills.

Until Dream and George came along, it made finding friends an impossible task, and now they were gone too.

“Lesson two,” Quackity went on, holding up two fingers. “Politics are the way to power. And because of that, everyone is a liar and everyone is using you.”

“That’s not true,” Sapnap tried to argue.

“Oh is it?” Quackity gave him a wide-eyed, disbelieving look. “Open your fucking eyes, Sapnap! Open your eyes and look at everything that happened! Dream used you as a pawn in his little game with Wilbur, who was using Tommy, and Tubbo, and… all the other little peons who followed him in his little game of revolution with L’Manberg. And Schlatt?” A bitter, almost crazed laugh slipped through Quackity’s teeth at the mention of that name. “All that fucker ever did was use and abuse everyone around him so he could be the biggest man on the server. And guess what? It worked. He had an entire server under his thumb because he was smart enough to twist the narrative in his favor until it all came crashing down on him.”

Sapnap sat there, gripping the letter tightly in his hand. He wanted so badly to refute those words… but he couldn’t. Because Prime damn it, Quackity was right.

“Lesson three, create no emotional attachments because, Lesson 4, everything gets destroyed.” Some of the bitterness in Quackity’s gaze gave way to sorrow at that. Why did it feel good to see that the man he loved could still feel sad? “Do you want to know why Dream was as powerful as he was? It was because he cut off his attachments. He had nothing that any of us could use against him, but he was actively seeking out everything and everyone we had, right up until the day we put him in the Prison.”

Sapnap grimaced at the reminder, remembering the day they’d found his control room so vividly. He could hear Dream screaming and declaring how he’d destroyed all his attachments back during the days of New L’Manberg, goading Tommy and threatening Tubbo in the same breath. He could still remember how much it hurt to be cast aside like that.

“If you really believe that, then why create El Rapids?” he asked, meeting the scarred man’s gaze. “Why start Las Nevadas? And why…” Why did he continue to wear their engagement rings?

His questions seemed to catch Quackity off guard, giving him pause. His demeanor softened ever so slightly. 

“I… I don’t know. Maybe… maybe I just wanted to prove that… that I was better. That I would be the first person on this fucking server to make something that lasts. But El Rapids…” The hardness returned in full force. “That just taught me Lesson five: Trust no one.”

“Quackity, I told you that--”

“Yeah, you told me now. After how long? After how many months of just… not caring that I wasn’t here?” Quackity turned away. “Yeah, sure, Karl fucked up by not delivering the invitation and maybe he’s got a good excuse because of… whatever the hell is wrong with him… but you never bothered to make sure. You never came to see me or check up on me. You abandoned me, just like everyone else did.”

Once again, Sapnap wanted to argue. He wanted so badly to refute those words, but he couldn’t. Why hadn’t he gone? Why had he just stood aside and waited? Why did he never think to see Quackity in person? Why?!

“And the worst part?” There was a sniffle from the scarred man, causing Sapnap to look up. When he did, he was shocked to see that Quackity was fighting back tears. “Every day I waited. Waited for you and Karl to come. To say ‘Hey, we miss you’ or ‘sorry we bailed’ or just a simple ‘hello’. Even if you showed up in Las Nevadas cursing my name and telling me off… it would have been better than being left alone. Being forgotten…”

“Quackity…” Sapnap let out, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Everyone is only out for themselves. No one will ever put another's desires before their own. It’s why George decided to fuck off with XD. And honestly, I can’t blame him.” Quackity rubbed his eyes. “At the end of the day, everyone is going to do what’s best for them, often to the detriment of others.”

Silence fell over the pair, the only sound being the gurgling of the water in the fountain. Slowly, Sapnap opened his hand, smoothing out the paper and reading the letter one last time.

“You think that’s why George left? For power?”

“I think George had a choice between remaining here with us, remaining powerless and helpless against Dream and whatever the fuck he’s planning, or going with XD. XD offered him protection, power, things neither of us could, and he jumped on it.” Quackity stood up, taking the letter from Sapnap. “When push comes to shove, no one would ever willingly remain helpless. I know I wouldn’t.”

He dropped the letter into the fountain, then shoved his hands in his pockets before walking off. Sapnap let him go, his eyes falling on the letter as the ink began to smudge. Or maybe that was the tears that threatened to fall. Silently, he stood up as well, walking back home.


Daedalus

Clay was sitting on the smithy work table, his legs dangling over the edge as he toyed idly with the green sheep plush that Master had made him. For the first time since George’s visit to the Enclave, the former speedrunner’s ankles were bare of any restraints. This was to be short-lived though, given the reason for Clay’s presence in the smithy.

Since the incident with George and Clay’s coerced attempt at leaving, Daedalus had been working on a special set of ankle shackles for his fellow slave. Like Theo’s muzzle and their collars, the shackles were made out of enchanted gold, designed to be flush against the skin. To make them look better, Dae had engraved designs with vines, flowers, and their Master’s symbol. Were it not for the chain connecting the two fetters, they could have been mistaken for jewelry. The chain itself was a fair length, long enough that Clay would be able to take normal steps. However, running would be impossible.

“Are you sure about this, Clay?” Dae asked, holding up the restraints as his companion looked up. “I know you asked for these but… are you… really okay with… never being able to run again?”

Clay nodded, his fingers sinking into the dyed wool of his sheep.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” he said softly, turning the plush in his hand so it was facing him. He then pressed its fabric face against his own, closing his eyes. “I spent my whole life running… but I don’t have to anymore. I’m right where I belong.”

To emphasize his resolve, the slave held out both his legs, ankles close together to make the job easier. With a small sigh, Dae gently closed the shackles on his friend’s legs, the metal sealing to the point that there wasn’t a visible seam. Now, only Master would be able to remove them, if he chose to at all. Given that Clay’s shorts now had buttons along the sides, it didn’t seem like they would be coming off anytime soon.

Dae helped Clay off the table, letting him get a feel for his new restraints. His walk was somewhat awkward, likely from having been carried around by Theo for the past few days, but Dae had faith that he would get the hang of it in time. Master had promised to train him on how to walk in leg restraints, though it had taken a bit of a backburner in the wake of Phil’s arrival.

No, not Phil. His name was Thanatos now.

“Hey, Clay?” Dae spoke up, drawing his fellow slave’s attention. “Have you… had the chance to go see Thanatos since he arrived?”

Clay shook his head, sitting down on an anvil. 

“I went to check on him once, but Theo was with him…” He rubbed his arm, looking away. “I… didn’t want to intrude.”

“What… do you think happened to him?”

“Same thing that happened to Theo?” Clay shrugged. “I don’t know, but… it was bad. Really… really bad…”

Dae shuddered at the thought, a hand coming up to touch his collar. Never in his life did he think that he would be grateful to be a slave. The world beyond the walls of the Enclave was becoming increasingly dangerous, so much so that even powerful players like Theo and Thanatos were broken and beaten down. Had he not been taken when he was, there was a very good chance that he would be dead, or at least down a life or two. Either way, life would not have been pleasant.

It made Dae wonder how the rest of the server was fairing. He didn’t have many friends after he became the Warden. In fact, he could barely remember the last time he spoke to someone regarding anything outside of the prison. He had been so isolated and alone that it didn’t surprise him that no one seemed to have noticed he had gone missing. Quackity maybe, but… Quackity was also someone he wasn’t sure he could call a friend. Not like Clay.

“Is there anyone you miss?” Dae asked, genuinely curious. “Like… friends you're hoping to see again?”

Clay mulled on that for a minute, toying with his sheep. “I miss Pandas. Him and George, they… they were my first friends. Back… Back in the Before, I… told them I had destroyed all my attachments. I said… so many hurtful things to both of them. George may have forgiven me… but Sapnap…”

“The last time you saw him, he promised to kill you if you ever got out of prison.”

Clay nodded morosely, pulling his legs in close.

“Do you think… Sapnap will come here? To the Enclave?”

Dae thought for a moment before speaking.

“I think… I think Master doesn’t plan to stop collecting slaves. I think he has plans for everyone on the server. And maybe… beyond it as well.” His gaze drifted toward the large manor, knowing that inside, their Master was hard at work on whatever plans he had. “I think that in time, there will be other slaves who join us. And I think that when they do… it’s going to be a second chance for everyone. A fresh slate.”

“Then…” Clay looked up, his eyes flickering with hope. “Do you think Pandas and I can be friends again?”

With a small smile, Dae nodded.

“I think that we can all be friends again.”


Alistair

Pride Palace was a sprawling building, sunlight filtering through the rainbow glass in all of the windows. Tapestries hung from the walls and artwork could be seen depicting important parts of the Dream SMP’s history. One tower was a bit of a mess, the home of a tenant who had left a long time ago. Eret couldn’t even remember their name, despite having shared a home with them for who knows how long. Everything else was pristine and perfect, not a single decoration out of place.

In a word, the castle was lifeless.

Eret wandered aimlessly through the large gardens that made up the castle courtyard, gently watering the various flowers. The water was from Church Prime, meaning that it helped to consecrate the palace grounds and drive off the crimson vines of the Egg. Of course, that didn’t stop the vile weeds from attempting to claim the castle for themselves.

The lonely king sighed, lowering their watering can. They were so tired…Depression always left them tired… Tired of being alone, tired of the silence that defined their life. Tired of fighting to prove… that they were worthy of love. It was a fight they could never win… not even before they came here.

Eret sat down on a stone bench in the garden, setting the watering can next to them before leaning back. They removed their crown, looking it over in their hands. The more they looked at it, the more their anger began to build.

Why did they ever agree to Dream’s proposal? Why did they even want to be king? Why did he ever think that power or some stupid title could ever make them happy?! It hadn’t before, so why would this be any different? Unable to stomach looking at the thing, Eret chucked the crown across the garden as hard as they could, hearing it bounce across the cobblestone path before rolling off somewhere. Once it was out of sight, Eret turned and laid down on the bench, closing their eyes.

“Um… I think you dropped this.”

Eret’s eyes flew back open and they sat up, turning toward the sound of the voice. A voice they recognized. A friend! Someone who cared! Someone-- Why would someone be here? Everyone steered clear of the Greater SMP area these days, and Pride Palace was hardly on anyone’s destination list. Whoever it was must be lost. Or maybe someone did care about them.

The king found the source of the voice, which turned out to be what looked to be a living Totem of Undying. They wore a hood that looked like it was made from an entire shark, a necklace of its teeth hanging from the totem’s neck. Their hands were webbed with fins on their upper arms, and they had a golden tail that looked like it belonged to a gold variant of a great white. They were wearing a black tank top that showed their midriff, a pair of cargo shorts held up by a toolbelt, and so much golden jewelry that it was ridiculous. In the totem’s hand was Eret’s crown, which looked almost like a ring in their massive fingers.

“Oh,” Eret let out, swallowing a bit. “Um… thank you.”

The totem seemed taken aback, staring at them like they had seen a ghost. Why did it feel like that when Eret looked at the Totem? They shrunk down from their giant size to a simple 6 foot, still holding onto the crown. Eret approached them, taking it from their trembling hands.

“I’m Eret,” they introduced, sliding the crown onto their forehead. It felt wrong. More wrong than usual. Was it because of the Totem? “I’m King of the Dream SMP. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet.”

“Huh?” The totem blinked, and then their eyes went wide. “Oh! Oh, no. I guess we haven’t, have we? Um… I’m Foolish. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Eret straightened up, offering his guest a smile. Why did the totem sound so… strange? “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Well, I was coming here to try and find a special someone.” Foolish smiled, revealing rows of sharp teeth upturned in a somewhat flirtatious grin. “And I think I just found them!”

“I see.” That strange feeling was getting worse. Were they sick? “Are you here to request a minister for a wedding? My schedule is-” completely empty, devoid of any meaning, full of nothing but regret and pain… “-pretty open, so I could come whenever you need me.”

Foolish’s face fell. He almost looked annoyed. Then again, who wasn’t with them these days?

“Come on, you know what I mean.”

“I… can’t say I do, sorry.”

The totem rolled his eyes.

“Sure, Eret.” Foolish held out a hand. “Hey, I have an idea. Hows about you and I get out of here, huh? Find somewhere more… private?”

Okay, the totem was definitely flirting with him, and it just kept making Eret’s stomach do flips. Why were they blowing this?! This was a chance to not be lonely anymore!! SAY SOMETHING!!

“Look, I’m flattered. Truly, I am. However, I’m not someone you want to be associated with.” Not that! Stop talking!! “You seem like a nice guy and I don’t want to tarnish your reputation with my own.” They smiled at the Totem. “Thank you though.”

Foolish looked confused, raising the totem equivalent of an eyebrow.

“...I’m sorry…what?”

Eret let out a humorless chuckle. 

“Let’s just say I’ve made some… questionable life choices that destroyed everyone’s trust in me.” Eret sat back down, shaking their head softly. “No one will ever forgive me for what I did, and honestly… I don’t blame them.”

“Eret…” Foolish scanned the garden as if searching for some unseen enemy. “What’s going on here? Is there someone watching you?”

“No. No one’s here. It’s… just me.” They shrugged. “The role of a king is a lonely one to play and all that, especially a despised king like my--”

“Alistair, stop.” Foolish grabbed them by their shoulders, looking them dead in the eye as they grew about three feet. “Just stop. This isn’t fun or funny anymore.”

Eret, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable, instantly tried to pull free.

“Let go of me!”

“Then stop with this joke, Alistair!”

“My name is Eret, not Alistair!” Eret ripped off their glasses, pupil-less eyes locking with Foolish’s. “Now let go of me!!”

A Brine’s stare was a powerful weapon, a skill that every child of Herobrine possessed. Meeting their gaze would open your soul to them, allowing them to see your deepest regrets and greatest fears. Your sins would be brought to the surface and you would be left to writhe in agony as you experienced endless pain and anguish until their gaze broke. It was because of this stare that Eret kept their eyes covered, not wanting to hurt their friends. After all, only those stronger than the brine initiating the stare could shake it off.

And Foolish was just meeting his gaze, looking more concerned than in pain.

“Alistair, you know that doesn’t work on me.”

“What the…?” Eret was flabbergasted, their glasses tumbling from suddenly numb fingers. “How- What-... That shouldn’t be possible!!”

“Alistair… do you… really not remember me?”

“No!” Eret was struggling in earnest now, terrified of this powerful being that had a death grip on their arms. “No, I don’t! Please, let go of me!!”

The Totem looked utterly crushed by that and Eret felt crushed in turn. For a brief moment, his grip loosened and Eret almost pulled free. However, it was short-lived. Foolish grew back into his giant size, the Brine now trapped in the palm of the giant’s hand several feet in the air. They screamed in fear, going from scrambling to escape to clinging to the giant’s fingers for safety.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but something is terribly wrong.” Foolish looked down at the trembling monarch, carefully cupping Eret in his hand before covering them with the other. “But don’t worry. I’ll fix you, Alistair. I swear it.”

Before Eret could try to argue or protest, they felt their giant captor begin to walk. Unable to do anything, the king could only cower as they were carried away from Pride Palace.

Chapter 35: Who are you, really?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Thanatos

Theo snored, a noise that Thanatos didn’t realize he’d missed until the first night he slept in their shared room. According to Theo, the Master had swapped out the two single beds in the piglin’s bedroom for a large nest bed, wanting the two former anarchists to share it. That was how Thanatos found himself on top of Theo, listening to his heartbeat while trying to sleep. Having the warmth of his dearest friend beneath him brought the avian some comfort in this strange new life.

Sunlight was beginning to filter through the small window of their room, alerting Thanatos to the coming dawn. Now that he was no longer laid up in the infirmary, he expected that he would be put to work. Theo had told him about everyone’s roles in the Enclave and their daily chores, as well as the training they all underwent. Despite the piglin stressing over and over that the Master never hurt them, Thanatos couldn’t help but feel anxious.

Not wanting to give his owner an excuse to punish him, Thanatos slowly got up, climbing out of bed. He stretched as best he could in the small room, then went over to the small chest that held what few possessions he was allowed. It was pitifully empty, but he at least had some clothes to wear, risque as they were.

The fallen angel’s robes and trousers were gone, replaced with a dark green shirt that was basically a cloth with ribbons. The cloth itself was translucent and shaped like a heart, barely covering him at all. The ribbons criss-crossed his back, framing his wings and keeping his “shirt” up. Instead of pants, he had a cream-colored sarong that brushed his knees, the fabric somewhat thicker than his shirt, but not by much. The fabric was soft and silky, but it made it clear what his station was.

Movement from the bed drew Thanatos’ attention. He turned toward his companion to see the piglin slowly sitting up. He yawned and stretched, then turned toward the avian with a sleepy wave.

“Mornin’ Thana…” he mumbled.

“Good morning,” Thana replied.

Thana was the nickname Theo had christened him with while he was still in the infirmary. It was amazing how such a small thing could make the avian so happy, especially when the Master said nothing about it. Then again, when one has nothing, even the smallest of boons is something to be treasured.

Theo shuffled out of bed, making his way over to his own chest. From it, he pulled his simple wrap, which he tied around his waist with brisk efficiency, then his golden muzzle. Seeing it made Thana cringe. He hated the thought of his dear friend muzzled like some sort of animal, but Theo had insisted that it wasn’t that bad.

“It’s actually pretty comfortable, and it’s not locked on like my old one,” he’d explained.

For now, the muzzle wasn’t put on, especially since breakfast was soon. Instead, he just slipped it into his inventory. No doubt the Master would insist upon Theo wearing it after everyone was fed, which reminded Thana that he didn’t know how mealtime was handled here. 

He’d been confined to the infirmary until last night, with Theo bringing him his meals. They’d been basic affairs: simple soup with soft bread and milk. Theo’s food had been similar, though with a bit more protein and somewhat larger portions, but Thana had noticed how he seemed almost clumsy with the wooden utensils he was given, like he hadn’t used them in a while.

The implications were off-putting, to say the least.

The door to their room opened and Thana jumped, turning to see the Master stepping in. For a brief moment, the avian panicked, expecting a reprimand for not kneeling at the ready. However, all they got instead was a soft smile from their Eldritch owner.

“Good morning,” the Master greeted. “Did you sleep well?”

“As always, Master,” Theo replied with a small nod, dragging his brush through his long pink hair. “Thank you for allowing me to share my room with Thana.”

“Of course, of course.” The man’s gaze then turned to the avian. “And you, Thanatos? Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough, Master.” He couldn’t lie and say it was a full night’s sleep. He didn’t want to risk receiving a punishment, especially if his owner chose to arrange different sleeping accommodations for him. The thought of sleeping alone or, Prime forbid, with the Master himself made his stomach churn.

A cool hand gently cupped his cheek and Thana couldn’t help but gasp. He would never get used to that blissful cold of his owner’s skin, or how his body seemed to crave that intense feeling. It was like a drug to him, one that he had no chance of fighting.

“You still need time to recover, both physically and mentally. I’m sure in time you will be able to sleep restfully, especially in the company of Theseus.” The hand was pulled away and Thana had to bite his lip to suppress a whine. “Breakfast will be ready shortly, so do not dawdle.”

“Yes, Master,” both he and Theo replied in unison.

The Master smiled at them both, then slipped back out the door just as silently as he entered it.

~\~/~

Breakfast was… interesting to say the least. There was a surprisingly varied selection of foods set out across the table, and even Master sat with them. Of course, Master was in a nice chair while the rest of them were on benches, but it was still jarring. Unfortunately for Thanatos, he wasn’t allowed to sit at the table. Instead, he was made to kneel at the Master’s side, eating from his hand like a dog begging for scraps.

Logically, he knew what was going on. The Master was enforcing Thanatos’ reliance on his owner, hammering home how helpless he was to do anything for himself. The others had already learned this lesson well enough that they had earned the right to feed themselves. It was humiliating and the fallen angel felt his face heating up from embarrassment. Still, he kept his complaints to himself and ate what he was given.

“Clay,” the Master spoke up, causing the only human slave to shyly lift his head. “How are you adjusting to your new shackles? They aren’t uncomfortable, are they?”

Clay shook his head. Thana’s position on the floor gave him a good view of the first slave’s feet and he saw how he gently crossed his ankles, toes playing with the slender chain.

“Not at all Master,” he insisted, smiling ever so slightly. “I’ve only tripped once because of a stray stick on the barn path.”

“You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“No, Master. It was just a little dirt on my knees. Theo even cleaned off the path for me so it wouldn’t happen again.”

The Master turned to Theo, smiling and nodding once. “Well done, Theseus.”

Theo chuffed in the way he did when he was happy, which made Thana cringe. His old friend was so enthralled by his new Alpha that such a simple compliment made him happy. His thoughts were then cut off as a bite of fruit was held out for him. He ate it, chewing slowly.

“And Daedalus, how is that commission I gave you coming along?”

The creeper lowered his fork. “It’s an interesting challenge, Master. However, I am running low on emeralds for the decorations. If… if it’s not too much trouble…”

“I can see to it that more are brought to your smithy by mid-day.”

Dae smiled at the promise, eyes brimming with excitement. Surveying all three slaves, Thana couldn’t help but wonder when he would become like that. He questioned when the day would come that he too would be so broken and submissive that simple words and tiny promises would bring him such joy. Once again, his thoughts were broken by his Master, but this time it was by a crisp, cold hand petting his hair.

“I suppose that means your training will have to wait until after lunch, Thanatos.” The hand remained on the avian’s head, Thana leaning into it like he felt he should be doing. Good slaves showed affection and gratitude for all they were given. “Likely for the best. You should take the chance to explore the Enclave, get to know your new home.”

The relief that washed over Thanatos was almost palpable in the air around him. Gratitude filled his heart and he pressed into the hand on his head, chirping out a soft thanks.

Oh.

Guess it didn’t take that long after all.


Theseus

Having Thana by his side brought a sense of completion to Theo’s life. It was like a missing piece in a puzzle that had finally been put in and the full picture could be enjoyed.  The piglin’s happiness was written across his snout as he happily showed his old friend around their modest plantation.

“Quite an upgrade from our cabin in the tundra,” he remarked. “A lot warmer too, not that I ever really cared about the cold. If anything, I enjoyed the novelty of it, though the weather here is always perfect.”

“Yeah…” Thana let out, his wings pressed against his back the way they did when he was upset. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Theo’s ear twitched, detecting the fear and concern in the avian’s tone. He couldn’t blame the man, given everything that came with being part of the Enclave. Thana valued freedom above all else, the ability to go and do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. It was the reason the two of them had become such fast friends, a bond that had lasted over the millennium. To be made a slave, to give up that freedom after binding himself to another, it had to be taking its toll.

“Hey.” Theo wrapped an arm around Thana, nudging him until he looked up. “You’re safe here. Prime, you’re probably safer here than we ever were out there. There’s no war, no feuds, our Brute takes care of all of our needs. This place is good, Thana.”

Thana said nothing, just idly rubbing the black chains that had been branded into his skin. The piglin’s brow furrowed at that, idly glancing at his own. While he had his scars, both old and recent, decorating his skin, he didn’t have any such marks anywhere on his body. He also knew that Clay and Dae were similarly unmarked, outside of the scars. So why was Thana different?

It had to be that oath he swore. Theo knew that his Angel was an extremely powerful being, something he didn’t try to show off unless someone royally pissed him off. The form Thana had been in when he arrived was him flaunting that full power, a form that Theo had only ever seen a handful of times. He didn’t know the full story behind how the avian came to be so powerful, but the long faded scars on his back suggested the tale was not an easy one. About the only thing he knew was that his powers were a gift from his wife, the Goddess of Death herself.

“Hey,” Theo let out, gesturing to the chain mark. “You mind um… you mind telling me about that thing? You keep rubbing at it and I’m a little curious.”

Thana’s wings puffed up and his grip on his marked wrist tightened. The avian pressed it to his chest, almost like he was trying to hide it. Realizing he’d crossed a line, Theo quickly released his old friend, backing off.

“Yeah, in hindsight, that was probably a bad thing to ask. Sorry Thana. Forget I--”

“No,” Thana cut him off, shaking his head. “No, it’s…”

He paused for a long moment, brow furrowed as he contemplated his next words. Theo remained silent, simply ushering his old friend over to the shady spot under the tree. He sat down, and after a soft tug on his arm, Thana did the same. Theo shifted to his human form, having been in his piglin form so he could start on chores, which allowed him to remove his muzzle. He wanted Thana to see his face, so he would see that the piglin held no judgment toward him.

Then, after another moment of silence, Thana began to speak.

“I… never told you what I was, did I?”

Theo’s nose scrunched in thought. “Well, you told me you were a crow avian, that you didn’t have a home, and uh… that you were married to the Goddess of Death.”

“Yeah, I thought not.” Thana released his wrist, leaning back against the tree. “Kristen… isn’t supposed to interfere in our world. She can’t, not physically at least. Her domain is Death and she must remain in the Void to watch over souls and see that they are sent to their next destination. However, you can’t do that for millennia without growing… attached.”

“And she grew attached to you?”

Thana nodded. “She would occasionally watch the world, like a child watching television. She’s seen it all. The good… and the bad. And when she saw me, it was…” the avian shuddered, curling in on himself while wrapping his wings around his body.

“Bad?” Theo supplied.

Thana just nodded again, hugging his knees.

“To make a long story short… I died. And there she was.” He cracked a small smile. “She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and her kindness… Theo, her kindness. After everything I had endured up to my demise, her kindness was… Gods…”

“So you… Permadied?” Theo blinked at that, finding the idea insane.

“I did. And Kristen… remade me.” Thana held up his left hand, allowing an enchanted ring to shimmer in the light of the sun. It looked like it was forged from the void itself, like a piece of it was sitting there on the avian’s hand. Theo knew that this was his old friend’s wedding band. “She reforged my body and granted me a portion of her power. I became her first Scion, a creature that was not of this world. In time, I gained the title of the Angel of Death, and I was the first of the Eldritch beings to be born.”

Theo’s jaw dropped at that, his eyes wide. He always knew his friend was ancient, but… this was absolutely insane. His expression must have been humorous because Thana let out a chuckle after glancing at him.

“Just how long have you been….. Around?”

To that, the avian shrugged. “I have no idea. I stopped counting a long time ago. But I’ve lived long enough to watch the stars change, the lands shift, and entire races be born. I’ve seen the rise of kingdoms, of empires, of Gods even… and I’ve made my mark on history.”

“Wow…” Theo couldn’t hide his awe. He considered himself an ancient being, having seen more than his fair share of wars, empires, and shifting tides. However, not even he could imagine how much time his oldest friend had existed. “So… what does that mean for you? Being her Scion.”

“It’s not all that different from how you are with the Blood God. I’m her vassal, one of her select few.”

“Select few? There’s more than one of you?”

The Blood God was a strict God, one that was very choosy with who represented them. Theo knew of no other champions outside of himself, suggesting his patron deity only had a single vassal. The Blood God’s blessing kept them from dying, but they could still be crippled and left for dead. When, and it was a when, they reached the point where they could no longer fight, the blessing would be removed and the Champion would die.

Was that how it was for Kristen? Did her blessings come with caveats? Sure the eternal life would be rather draining, Theo knew that from experience, but what other drawbacks came with that power?

“There have been Eldritch who came before, though I have never met them personally,” Thana answered. “The only ones that remain from the first generation are The King and The Guardian.” 

Theo whistled at that, the titles alone impressing him. They carried with them a power and authority that seemed to hang in the air. It reminded Theo of how his old name used to sound when spoken by others, with reverence and trepidation.

“How many are there?”

Thana did a quick count on his fingers. 

“There’s six of us, each carefully chosen over the centuries. And each of us has our individual domain and duties.” He began to list them off on his fingers. “The King of Death is the ruler of the Nether, chosen during the days of the Wither Wars. He was tasked with bringing an end to the conflict between the Piglins and the Wither Kingdom. You just need to look at what the nether has become to know how well that went.”

Theo grimaced, thinking about the crumbling fortresses and half-sunken bastions that littered the hellscape.

“The Guardian was claimed during the final days of the End, back when Elytrians still lived. Their task is to safeguard the End so that one day, life can return to that barren landscape and it can heal.” Thana tapped his chest. “I came after them, and was known as--”

“The Angel of Death,” Theo recalled. “You scoured the battlefields across all planes of existence, sheltering the innocent, slaughtering the guilty, and upholding the cycle of life while trying to minimize needless suffering. Oh, and you ferried souls to the Void.”

Thana snorted at that, unable to keep his chuckle contained. “Right. I forgot how obsessed you were with my legend.”

“Bruh.” Theo shoved him playfully. “Some weird, winged guy plucks me out of my Bastion just as I’m about to be sacrificed to the Blood God and whisks me away to the Overworld. Of course, I’m gonna ask around, do research, and figure out who you are.”

The avian held up their hands in a placating gesture. “Yeah, yeah, fair enough. Anyway, where was I?”

“Whichever eldritch came after you.”

“Ah, that would be the Totem.” Thana leaned back against the chair, an amused expression on his face. “He’s an odd one. Kristen didn’t choose him for some grand purpose exactly. She actually told me she wanted to give a Totem of Undying the chance to live. Luckily, he was created around the time life was budding up in the oceans again, so that became his domain.”

“Uh-huh.” Theo nodded slowly. “Sounds like a weirdo.”

“From there, there’s the Watcher. He’s… well, the closest approximation I can think of for what he is would be an archivist. He’s a witness to all things, the one who remembers what others have forgotten. His job is simply to watch.”

Theo nodded at that. “Can’t get much simpler than that. So, who is the final Eldritch?”

Thana opened his mouth to answer but froze before he could utter a single syllable. His eyes went wide and he stared at something behind the piglin. Before Theo could question what was from, a cold, gentle hand was resting on his shoulder. He tensed for a brief moment, then relaxed with a sigh, feeling his Master’s touch permeating his skin.

“I am,” the Master answered, his voice laced with more power and authority than Theo had ever felt directed at the slaves. His knees shook, making him feel like he should be kneeling. “While I am the newest of Lady Kristen’s Scions, I was granted the wisdom and experience to rival even the King’s. My place as her Second has me at the top of the proverbial totem pole, the one all Eldritch must obey. It is my duty to not only bring the wayward Eldritch to heel but to also cleanse this world of a vile parasite that threatens to erase everything.”

“Bring… them to heel?” Theo managed to let out, his thoughts erratic thanks to his Brute’s powerful touch.

“In the case of the Guardian, all that was needed was a stern lecture and a small punishment for them to see the error of the ways.” A cold thumb began to rub circles on Theo’s shoulder, gentle pressure being applied. The piglin couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, not missing how Thana’s wings shuddered at the sound. “However, our Angel here required… a firmer hand.”

Before Theo could ask for clarification, or even put two thoughts together long enough to speak, Master gently released him, walking out from behind the piglin over to where Thana was standing. The avian was frozen in place, cringing as their owner placed both of his hands on either of the man’s shoulders. Unlike Theo, who managed to remain upright, Thana dropped straight to his knees, eyes firmly on the ground.

“You asked what the mark on his arm means? That mark symbolizes the unbreakable oath he swore upon the name of our Lady. By her command, he swore his body, mind, and soul to me for all time.”

“Master…” Thana whimpered, shaking where he knelt.

Their owner placed a gentle kiss on the top of the man’s head. Theo’s scalp tingled jealously.

“Because of this oath, I own every last piece of him, and he cannot break that oath no matter what he tries. Only a being more powerful than our Goddess could sever the ties of that oath, and nothing is more powerful than Death. Death is eternal and irrevocable, just as the oath is.”

Hearing this, Theo’s eyes drifted from his Brute back to the trembling Thana. It clicked for him, and now he finally understood. Theo may be a slave and an omega, but his mind and soul were still his own. He still had something of himself that was his and his alone. But Thana… didn’t have that luxury, and with the power their Master held, the avian could be stripped of his mind or his soul or, Prime forbid, both… Promises of safety meant little when everything you were could be taken with just the snap of a finger or a simple, whispered order.

Their Master slowly released Thana, walking off and leaving the two alone. Immediately, silent tears slipped down the avian’s face, all of his fear spilling out. Without hesitation, Theo dropped to his knees next to his friend, pulling him into a tight hug. He let him cry, petting his head and just trying to comfort him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, refusing to let go. “I’ve got you. Just let it out.”

And Thana did.

Notes:

Hey everyone. So, I'd like to address something kinda serious: the whole Wilbur situation. While I know many MCYT writers are abandoning fics in the wake of everything that happened, I cannot in good conscience do that. However, let me make something clear. When Wilbur appears in any of my Minecraft fics, it will be as Wilbur the character, not the content creator. I do not support his actions and I hope Shubble is getting all the help and support she needs.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the story and continue to support me.

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