God of Blood, God of Death

Fear

The laughter of a child echoes through the clearing, stilling Technoblades movements. How could there be a child here? Why would there be a child here? He rubs his eyes, trying to clear his mind. Perhaps it was a figment of his imagination.

When he hears it again, he knows for sure that it is not something his mind has chosen to make up. This was real.

A child had no business being so close to a warzone, especially not with how close battlefields have gotten to the mountain range. He did not know much about children, as the less he knew about certain things, the easier it was to release their souls. The easier on him it was to find them dead. So, hearing this, froze the god in his tracks.

Then it sounds again. This time it was two voices together, giggling off in the distance.

His heart tightens in his chest. Were they unsupervised? What would happen if they saw him? Would they fear - no. No. No. They can't see him. They mustn't. He's not meant to be here, whatever this place is, he wasn't meant to find it.

He turns quickly, racing back to the bridge. He flees the ruins, running back into the forest. Hiding away. Children should not see the god of death. None should see the god of death. Not even the dead themselves.

It's a rhythmic thumping in his chest that reminds him he still exists. It shakes through his body as he runs, his hooves hitting the ground, pushing the dirt up as he rapidly moves forwards. This goes on for miles, his sole focus being on leaving. On putting as much distance as he could between whatever he'd heard, and himself.

He runs for so long, that he forgets where he is. He finds himself in a forest completely new to him. Untouched by paths or gunfire, war or destruction. Left alone in the heart of the mountain range.

He finds himself standing next to a massive redwood tree. It towers over him, it's base large and welcoming. Carefully, he steps inside, staring upwards. The roots meet together, high above his head even when considering his height. The trunk is large enough that the roots have curved upwards, creating a ledge to rest on out of sight.

He takes out his axe, whispering a small apology to the tree before he climbs up to the ledge. He senses the tree's acceptance of his apology as he settles down once more. This time, crosslegged on the ledge.

With a deep breath, he lets the fear roll off his body, and out through his snout. He closes his eyes, focusing on the energy of the world around him, and letting his own thoughts go, the voices quiet down.

As he does so, he hears the faintest voice. It's old and baritone, coming from all around him:

"Rest as long as you would like, young one."

He smiles.

"Thank you. I have yet to have the pleasure of talking to an elder, such as yourself."

"Not many do. It is quite peaceful here. Tucked away from prying eyes."

"Do you mind if I say here? At least for the season?"

"I would not mind the company. Perhaps I can teach you a few lessons if you allow yourself to listen."

"I would be honoured," Technoblade says in response, allowing for the universe to take his spirit into its sleeping phase.

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For the next few months, Technoblade resides in the forest. He learns a great many things. The redwoods are happy to teach him the ways to survive in the mortal world. Ones that he'd yet to learn or figure out. How to hunt properly, and to restore one's energy by properly preparing it. For even gods, required food.