Chapter Text
The battle had been lost.
Not enough defences, not enough soldiers. Hell, it was a trade outpost, with shoddy buildings, tents, and large storage silos meant to keep the resources of the empire safe and secure. Not a military base, not a city with walls, not even a town protected by iron golems. It was prepared for thieves and bandits, not the full assault of an army.
Not enough defences, not enough soldiers. Far, far too many piglin raiders.
Philza had given the order of retreat. They’d fought, valiantly, to protect what his citizens needed, but it swiftly became clear that the enemy vastly outnumbered them. The loss would sting, definitely. The outpost was worth defending. But while wheat could be re-grown and iron re-mined, his fallen soldiers would stay dead no matter what.
Gritting his teeth, Philza slashed with his sword, clashing against the golden battleaxe of a piglin brute. The brute grunted, both hands on the axe as it swung towards him, a strike strong enough to break bones if Philza hadn’t been able to dodge.
He hadn’t meant to join the battle. Normally he’d put himself to the frontlines without hesitation, normally he’d be insulted at the very idea of staying behind while others fought. But that day, much more than his pride hung in the balance. Instead of leading his soldiers on the snow covered fields, he’d decided to stay near the edge of the outpost with a handful of his most trusted, in case the enemy managed to breach that far.
And breach they did.
Philza sucked in the icy air, so cold and yet burning his lungs as he struggled for breath. He was hunched over, both hands on his sword, his long braid dangling over his shoulder. His left wing was injured, and he could feel the warmth of blood pooling on his side, just below his ribcage. Smaller cuts and bruises he spared no thought, but he could feel his energy bleeding out, and his wing ached throbbed hurt hurt hurt-
Screaming, high pitched and panicked, somewhere to his right, a voice he’d know amidst thousands. “Stay back!”
Wilbur.
Philza turned his head, just far enough to see, and there. A tall, thin figure standing before two much smaller ones, shielding them from an enemy that stood large and imposing. Philza moved on instinct. He turned and ran, towards the four others, launching himself in the air and flapping his wings no matter how much they screamed in pain, faster, closer, there-
He dropped down from the air, using all his weight and momentum to strike at the enemy, followed by a careless flurry of blows. It didn't matter if his strikes were effective, all he needed was to drive them back. The enemy stepped backwards, deflecting his attacks with obnoxious ease. Philza let up, put some space between them. He glanced behind himself, and there they were.
His sons.
Tommy and Tubbo, clutching onto each other for dear life, faces twisted in terror, and in front of them Wilbur, with a sword in hand. Brave Wilbur, proud Wilbur, stupid stupid stupid Wilbur.
They didn't look badly injured, at a glance. Wilbur’s young face had a few bleeding cuts and he was favouring his right foot, but he’d be fine. Philza was fairly sure the smatterings of blood on Tommy and Tubbo weren't their own.
Metal clang brightly as the enemy stuck Philza’s sword with his own. Philza fixed his attention to the man before him, answering the attack with his own, parrying, pushing. The enemy stepped back further, and Philza finally had the chance to actually realise who he was fighting.
He might have gasped if his breathing wasn’t already laboured. The piglin who stood before Philza donned a crimson cape and a golden crown, and his sword and armour were of netherite. Pink hair was in a long braid, easily reaching his lower back, whisps and strands escaped and now flowing in the cold wind. But most striking was the boar skull that had been crafted into a mask, the splatters of red stark against the white bone. Though they’d never met before, Philza knew in an instant who this piglin was.
The Blood God.
“Emperor Philza”, the king of the piglins drawled. “I didn't expect to encounter you so late. You don't usually cower behind your army.”
“I didn’t expect the Blood God to resort to fighting children”, Philza spat back.
“Well. That one’s tall enough to be a young adult. Strong, too. Has to be at least a teenager”, the Blood God said, gesturing towards Wilbur with his sword, almost lazily.
On reflex, Philza clashed his blade against the netherite sword when it pointed towards the boy. “Stay back.”
Further by the snowy field, the pure white now stained red and dotted with corpses, the battle was dying down. He could see piglins gathering on a hillside, a mass of enemy soldiers corralling and starting to approach. Someone - a general, if he had to guess - shouted something in Piglin. The Blood God barked a few words back, and the piglin army stopped, then stood in place.
Something inside Philza lurched, made his head spin, and he stumbled to regain his balance in the snow. He gritted his teeth, trying to regain his stance as his braid fell over his shoulder again. He was exhausted and bleeding, but he could not afford to show how weak he was.
“Dad-!”
“Quiet.” Philza gripped his sword, trying to keep his hands from shaking.
“‘Dad’?”
The Blood God paused. Then his entire demeanour changed: he lowered his sword, and shifted from a fighting stance to simply standing.
“...They are your children?” The Blood God craned his neck to look past Philza. With a woosh, Philza spread his wings, biting down a cry of pain at the strain, shielding the boys behind dark feathers.
“And I won't let you touch a hair on their heads”, he growled.
Once again, the Blood God stood there, simply staring, simply looking and measuring with his eyes. Then, he slowly raised his hand, and reached behind his head.
The Blood God took off his mask.
He wasn’t a piglin, Philza realised. A piglin hybrid, certainly, as much was clear from the tusks protruding from his mouth and the pointed ears. But the shape of his head, his eyes, though blood-red, were very much human. His face was marked with scars, some lighter, some deeper, old wounds earned from numerous battles.
“I have heard much of you, emperor Philza. And I have respect for you”, the piglin king spoke, voice almost... soft. “You’re a competent leader, a fearsome combatant, and very brave if your willingness to throw yourself between your children and a sword is any indication.”
He turned his head, glancing over his soldiers and generals.
“Therefore, I’ll offer you a deal.” His face was expressionless as his eyes met Philza’s.
“You will surrender. You will kneel before me, right here, right now, and beg for mercy. Then I’ll take you to the Nether with me, and you’ll become my prisoner, slave, and personal servant. Or-”
The Blood God raised his netherite blade, pointing the tip straight at Philza’s heart.
“-I will allow you to die with a sword in your hand, and once you’re dead, I will slaughter your children.”
Philza drew a single breath, staring wide-eyed at the Blood God. He felt his body ache, crying out in pain and so, so exchaused. He felt his wing hurt and how he bled, he felt the shakiness of his legs. He saw the piglin army ready to swarm in, the sharp glimmer on the Blood God’s netherite blade. He could hear the frightened whimpering of Tubbo and quick breaths on the verge of tears from Tommy, hell, he thought he could hear Wilbur’s racing heartbeat.
Philza fell to his knees without hesitation.
Sword discarded in the snow, Phillza struggled to speak. There was much he wanted to say, words and phrases clamouring over each other in his head. Try to reason with the Blood God, grovel enough to satisfy whatever sadistic urge this was, say how his sons didn't deserve any of this. But only one word fell from his lips, one shaky whisper.
“Please.”
He heard the snow crunch, and boots entered the field of vision of his bowed head. The tip of a netherite sword came to rest under his chin, pressing just against his throat. They stood there, frozen in place, for a heartbeat, for an eternity. Philza was keenly aware of the sharp edge against his skin, how his life would end at a flick of a wrist if the Blood God so chose. Keenly aware that the other could so easily just be toying with him, drawing sick enjoyment from his desperation. That any moment the piglin king could smile and laugh as he slit his throat open, leaving Philza to choke on his own blood, his children forced to watch until the same blade drew through them.
Instead, the tip of the sword gently tilted his head up. Reluctantly, Philza met the eyes of the Blood God.
“One minute.” The piglin king sheathed his sword, and stepped back, lifting his mask back to his face. “After that, I suggest they run.”
Philza released the breath he hadn't realised he’d been holding. He turned towards his sons, who were scurrying to his side.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Wilbur demanded as he knelt beside Philza. “You can’t- He said he’s going to enslave you! Who knows what he’ll do to you-!”
“I’ll survive it. Wilbur, even if we fought, these aren’t the odds or the stakes I’m willing to gamble on.” Philza placed his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. “Trust me. This isn’t the end.”
Wilbur looked like he wanted to argue, but instead swallowed hard, and nodded.
“I’m going to need you three to be very strong and very brave for me, okay? Look after each other.” Philza pulled Tommy and Tubbo into his arms. “Listen to Wilbur, he’ll keep you safe.”
“O-okay”, Tommy said, swallowing back tears. Tubbo just nodded, expressionless. While Tommy would scream and shout and cry, Tubbo protected himself by closing himself off, mute and numb.
Philza squeezed them both tight. Then he turned back to Wilbur, cupping his cheek with his hand. Wilbur, sweet Wilbur, his firstborn, his little boy.
“Go to the river, there are others grouping there, soldiers- Find Ian, he’ll- he’ll know what to do.” Philza gently pressed his forehead against Wilbur’s. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry- It’s much, it’s so much for you to carry. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll protect them. I promise.”
“I know you will.”
Philza could hear the snow crunching under heavy boots. Time’s up.
“Go. Run, and don't look back.” An iron grip yanked him to his feet, away from his sons. “I love you-!”
Philza barely registered that he was being dragged away, that he was roughly turned and that a coarse rope tied his wrists together. He watched as Wilbur took Tommy and Tubbo by the hand, as the three fled across the snowy field tainted with violence.
With a tug of the rope, the Blood God began to lead him away, towards the piglin soldiers. Philza’s heart lurched when he saw some of them had raised crossbows and were aiming at his fleeing sons, but the Blood God grunted an order in Piglin, and they slowly lowered their weapons. Some generals were gathering close, speaking with their king in gruff tones. Philza kept his head down. He knew the piglins were staring, but he couldn't find the energy to care. The Blood God led him to a large portal, obsidian frame wide and humming with purple magic. Many soldiers were passing to and fro, carrying in large boxes of their stolen loot.
Philza listened as the magic of the portal churned, suddenly so very aware of his surroundings. The bright sun, the freezing air, the crunch of snow, the sounds of birds in the distance. Once he stepped through, he’d be trapped in the Nether with the piglin king.
“What’s your name?”
“Hmh?”
“What’s your name”, Philza repeated quietly. “Or do they just call you the Blood God?”
“...Technoblade.”
His captor placed a warm hand on his shoulder, and led him into the swirling magic.