Transangelic Exodus (Mcyt Oneshots,Mostly Angst)

4;the Ichor running through their veins

The Ichor Running Through Their Veins

SBI God AU,not really angst.
Tw:none that I can think of

Phil was made from the gentle and caring hands of the universe. His godlyhood was known from the start. He had small horns,like ones of a gazelle. Large Raven wings speckled in gold that cradled him and others around,Ichor running through his veins. He was the god of creation,and wore the title with pride.

He made buildings sprout from ashes and soot,lakes out of droplets of rain with the snap of his bruised fingers. He'd make lively forests and gardens out of small seeds and a wink of his emerald eyes. When he couldn't sleep at night,the universe would whisper small comforts.

He learned to love and embrace his creativity,his creations,and his mistakes. His mistakes were held fondly in his heart. He'd look at them with pride.

But even in the greatest things,icks would still be there.

His beautiful towns and creations would fall victim to cruel dictators,harsh wars in the blood-soaked hand of tyranny. The creations would revert back to the pile of ashes and soot. It was foolish to think you'd be able to bring a god down with you,after all.

Though through all of this,he was told by the universe to create until he couldn't anymore, create until his hands bled and the iron running through him would cease.

And he did just that. He found himself in the Artic Tundra,harsh winds caressing his face as the hands of the universe.

He wasn't alone.

Miles and miles away were 2 twins,trapped in the twisting vines and lush leaves of the great forest. Forest spirits that the universe took form in were there to comfort them,to help them find solace in the midst of their plauged minds.

The eldest of the two's godhood was much more appereant from a younger age,voices begging and screaming for blood.

Hurt the ones who've done you wrong.
Blood for the blood god.
E.
Blood.

Eventually the eldest would give in to the immortality. His vision would be plauged with red,the only thing he could hear being the screaming voices in the form of shadows around him and possibly the agonized cries of the unfortunate passer-byer.

He'd get a fair share of wounds and agony aswell in his times. The universe would stitch him up with golden thread,bless his scars,and kiss his bruises in the dead of night.

Their warrior. Technoblade.

Though the universe wouldn't bless one without blessing the other.

The youngest was lanky,he had sharp teeth and crazed golden eyes. Ichor dribbling down his chin and landing on his shirt which would be wiped by the universes gentle hands.

He knew he wasn't like the others when parents and their children would share uneasy glances of warning,words of warnings.

The voices he had were different than his brothers. Four uneasy shadows of maniacal laughter and manic shouts of impulse. The puppeteers,and he was their puppet. Their little play-thing. Nobody else could see the shadows that covered the forest, or the way they harm those around it. But he could,he found Solace in them.

Late at night when the voices got to be to much for the two kids to handle the universe would shoot them away and comfort the two kids until they fell asleep. They thought the universe would be the only one to come to love them. That is until Phil got to them.

Then,they were showered in love,taught to control. Technoblade found control in slaughtering countless mobs along the barren wastelands across the country,Wilbur found control in the form of a wooden guitar. Melodies and symphonies and chords filling his mind temporarily,replacing the voices.

Technoblade,the blood god. And Wilbur,the god of madness and music.

There was another among them.

One alike the 3,a child. Who was born from fire and destruction. He was surely a force to be reckoned with.

The young child would giggle at the Sparks shooting from his hands,from the steam coming from his small horns. The sting on his lips from where his sharp K-nines would prick.

He'd stand in the middle of villages,mostly ones that fell victim to his urges. He'd run through them,setting them ablaze and admiring his art.

Though that didn't stop him from curling in on himself at night,sobs wracking through his body and shaking him to his core from the guilt. He'd mourn the innocent lives taken and the poor people's creation and homes.

Though the universe would cradle him,and assure him it would be alright. The lives lost roamed the clouds,they are in a better place.

The universe would pluck trees out of the ground,churning them and carving them into small figurines just to hear the small god laugh.

He thought the universe would be the only one to love him as their own,until he met the other gods.

They would teach him to control,to cope,to love,to cry,to lose. They'd feed him better chaos. Wilbur would howl at the moon with him at midnight,scream and yell songs as the sun slowly rises.

Technoblade would take part in the small play fights that would break out. He'd participate in fights in the middle of the dining room and among the castle walls. Shrieks and laughs would bounce off the walls.

Phil would give him wood to burn his art and creations in. He would listen to him ramble and laugh,he loved it. He savored all the moments he had with this god,the god of chaos.

He'd tell him to keep his fire aflame. That he would need the spark along his journeys.

Tommy,the god of chaos
Technoblade,the blood god
Wilbur,the god of madness and melodies.
Phil,the god of creation.

But,all good things are bound to come to an end.

Around 1010 words lol

Sorry if grammar is bad-

Eat today if you haven't :)