DreamSMP Oneshots

Prison

WC: 881
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"It's dangerous."

Philza glanced down at his age-old friend, a small crease forming between his perspiring brows. He paused for a moment, trying to gather his racing thoughts.

"They've locked him up for a reason." Phil spoke slowly, his gruff voice filling the empty silence of the barren lands. "And... after what happened at the last few visits... Techno, I don't think you should go."

Technoblade laughed lightly, a carefree smirk already spreading across his face. He shook his head, easily pushing the warning aside.

"Come on, what's the worst that could happen? I'll be fine."

But would he? Doubts had surfaced over the past few days, sharp and prodding, but Techno ignored them just like always. After all, the Blade shouldn't be scared. The Blade was—is— one of the most powerful fighters in the land.

So Techno smiled. It was a sly grin, a cocky grin. A smile to cover his own shifting fears.

"I'll be fine," he repeated, an air of confidence decorating his reassuring words. "There's no need to worry."

Phil sighed, a long breath full of defeat. The tired lines covering his face were accentuated by the shimmering rays of sunlight glinting off vast fields of ice. His fingers danced anxiously on his weathered green cape. He shouldn't leave. The crow's voices clamored in his mind, insisting that he should protect Techno. He shouldn't leave. Keep him here. Any other day, Phil would have listened. He would have forced Techno to retreat, to stay home and stay safe. But today was not any other day. Today was a day that held danger in its voice.

For weeks, Phil had felt a slumbering presence shift. For weeks, a shadowy darkness had stirred.

I'm sorry, Friend.

Phil glanced up and held Technoblade's unwavering, stony gaze.

"Be safe," the Crow Father said, reaching a comforting arm out to the Blade. "Be safe."

Phil nodded once toward Techno, then spun around on his heel, disappearing into the snowy wilderness.

And Techno was left alone with the voices in his head. Blood, blood, blood, blood. They chanted relentlessly, driving Techno into thoughtless action.
A few rabbits killed along the way? Nothing. Even so, the voices were satisfied, if only for a small while.

The voices. He frowned. When had they begun? When would they end? Perhaps, he thought suddenly. Perhaps it was only one voice. Maybe... maybe the voices were him.

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Phil had never been quite so scared in his life. During ravaging battles, through losing Wilbur. He had been terrified then. Oh, how petrified he'd been all those months ago. But knowing that he had been there with the power to save Techno, that he could convince him to stay, was too much this time. He had the power, yet he let Techno go.

"What can I do? Gods, how do I save him?"

He stared blankly into the sparkling white snow, his eyes moving slowly across the dark pine trees surrounding the secluded area. He and Techno had been together for months, growing closer and closer: fom acquaintances to friends to... to family. Even so, Phil was too scared to make a move to protect Techno from the cruelty of the outside world. It wasn't quite that Techno was weak; in fact, he was the most skilled fighter that Phil had ever laid eyes on. But Philza couldn't help but wish he had shown Techno his loyalty. He could see through the lies, the sugar-coated, saccharine words that convinced Techno to leave. He knew that the prison could only bring trouble.

Phil ran to the base under his tiny pond and slid down the ladder. He paused for a moment and stared at his battle room, his thoughts whirring restlessly. For practice, they had said. The battle room was just to make them stronger, to make them more prepared. There was no other purpose for it than protection.

But, Phil thought suddenly, blaring alarms ringing in the back of his mind. Was it really built for that reason? Or did he build it because, deep down, some part of him craved violence?

No. He couldn't believe that—he wouldn't believe that.

"If we can control the impulses," Phil muttered softly to himself. "Then we'll be fine."

Oh, if only he knew. Just like the Blade, the Crow Father ignored the crude warnings, the relentless alarms in his head begging him to reconsider and retreat. He pushed them aside in favor of wishing and waiting; pointless attempts to run from his fears.

Instead, he crouched to the ground, a steady hand drawing nefarious plans into the soil.

Revenge, he wrote. Revenge and death.

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Technoblade wasn't scared. His heart told him to run, but his mind fought the doubt in his head.

I'm ready, he told himself. So he moved slowly and gracefully through the frosty woods, a pale slice of moonlight illuminating his craggy features.

The Prison, he thought, his mind locking on the impossible idea, is mine.

———————-

In the end, who draws the lines? Who decides who lives and who dies? Some say fate or destiny. But I rely on these powerful words of wisdom: "Technoblade Never Dies."

And in a way, so did the Crow Father.

He wished.

He hoped.

And he fought.

Technoblade Never Dies