a series of sbi oneshots

blood son

tommys mom dies and techno takes care of him

or

softnoblade

Gods are not born, or created. They simply Are. One moment they aren’t, and the next they Are, and they go forth to fulfill their duties. 

Technoblade is a god of warfare and death. The Blood God. There was another god of warfare before him, but she was killed by Philza for challenging his Lady. 

Technoblade is not an old god. He only Became a short while ago, but he has been down to the mortal plane. He has partaken of his offerings, he has aided the humans in their endless battles. 

He is sitting now, in the victory camp in the middle of what was once a village. It is a place of hollow houses now, all empty. 

Or he thought they were. 

Then there's a sound out in the darkness. A strange reedy wail, and the men around him sober a bit, looking at one of the nearby houses. Technoblade looks at them, confused why they have stopped their revelry. 

“Why do you fear?” he asks, “you have won your battle. Whatever creature that is surely will not challenge you.” 

“We aren’t frightened my lord,” one of them has the courage to pipe up and say. “We’re--that isn’t a creature. Its a baby.” 

One of the soldiers ducks into a house and returns with a squalling lump. It is restrained in a strange cocoon, so that only its head is free. It is small, small enough that the soldier can cradle it in his arms, which he does in a strangely careful fashion. 

“Its a boy,” he says softly. “Can’t be very old.” 

The humans sober even further. 

“What is its purpose?” Technoblade asks. He knows that humans keep other animals for food or wool and they tend to be upset when they are killed. 

The humans look at him as though they are confused. “My lord…” one of them says, “its…a baby. Its--its a baby.”  

Technoblade frowns, growing annoyed with this mortal. “So you have said,” he says, “but I did not ask what it was I asked its purpose. Why do you all act like this around it?” 

“It--it isn’t an animal,” the soldier holding the baby says, “it will grow and be a person.” 

Technoblade blinks, taken aback. “What do you mean?” 

“I--do gods not have children?” The soldier asks. 

“They must,” another replies, “the Siren is the son of the Angel!” 

“But he doesn’t know what a baby is!” another cries incredulously. 

“Gods appear fully formed and ready to take up our duties,” Technoblade says, unsure why he is telling the humans this. The..baby is still crying in the arms of the soldier. Helpless and feeble. “Is it not the same for humans?” 

The baby…looks sort of like a human. It has arms and legs, hands rather than paws. But it does not speak, it only cries. Perhaps it is too upset, perhaps it assumes they mean to harm it. 

The soldiers fall silent. “No,” one of them eventually answers. “We are born like, well, like that.” She motions to the baby. “And we grow until we’re old enough to take care of ourselves, and we have children, and they grow, and on and on.” 

“Until you can take care of yourselves?” Technoblade asks. 

“Well, yes,” the human replies, “babies can’t walk, or talk, or get themselves food. They can only cry.”