Things That Need To Pass (passerine!Technoblade x OC) {COMPLETED}

Clash Of The Gods

(3rd person POV)

He was supposed to be dead. As Technoblade drove him against the dirt with enough force to crack it, he knew the man should have died the first time around. But he didn't. Instead, he merely grinned up at Technoblade with bloody teeth, his face drawn in cold and—much to Techno's chagrin—completely earned arrogance.

"Ah. I see," Techno said with his hand around the man's throat. "What's a god of war doing in a place like this?" "I would state the obvious," the man said calmly, gesturing to the bloodbath around them. "But this is a purely personal affair."

He kicked up, landing a hit on Techno's gut that launched him backwards. Techno's braced himself against the dirt, unwilling to give the war god anymore ground. Tommy and Wilbur were somewhere behind him, and that was all the reason Techno needed to pick up his trident again.

The war god got unsteadily to his feet, then seemed to merely shake himself out of the experience of having his head cracked against the ground with the force of twenty rampaging bulls. He cracked the tension out of his neck and simply picked up his sword again.

"Now that we're properly acquainted," the war god said, "let's take this more seriously, shall we?"

He moved quick, quicker than Techno expected. Techno barely managed to parry a blow aimed directly at his heart. Techno thrust out with his trident in retaliation, but the war god simply danced out of the way before returning again in full force. 

Techno took one of the knives from his bandolier and stabbed out, managing to nick the other god—just barely—before they clashed weapons gain. Blow for blow, hit for hit. They could have gone on like that for forever. 

A god of war and a god of blood. In another life, they might have been allies.

Techno tried in vain to remember which of the many people he'd felled over the centuries had belonged to this man, but there were too many—a long line of ghosts he would spend the rest of his immortal life atoning for.

Atoning? the voices laughed. What is there to atone for? Does a lion atone for killing the gazelle? Does the fire atone for burning?  

Techno jumped backwards and threw his knife, which the war god deflected easily with his sword. He threw another, which the war god dodged. Another, which stuck harmlessly into the earth. Techno reached for another, and found his bandolier empty.

"This is futile," the war god said. "Just put down your weapons, and maybe—maybe—I'll give you the merciful death you never gave them. You fight and you struggle, but we both know how this ends. Mortals and their bloody games... there can only be one outcome, right?"

"The war isn't over yet," Technoblade replied. The god of war smiled, his eyes drifting to something over Techno's shoulder. "Are you sure about that?"

Techno looked behind him, his eyes finding Tommy and Wilbur first, crouched underneath a rock, Eryn beside them. Techno could not bring himself to linger on the look of fear on Tommy's face as he stared back at him, and so he continued searching the horizon for what had caught the war god's attention.

His heart—what remained of it—sunk, as he took in the thousands of enemy reinforcements flooding into the Blue Valley.

Tubbo stood in the knee-depth waters of the river that cut through the valley. Once clear, it now ran red with blood. Friend or foe, it didn't seem to matter—they all bled the same.

The river's current was tugging at him. It's alright, it seemed to say, you can let go now.

And Tubbo wanted to. By gods, he wanted to, more than anything. His quiver was empty of arrows. He'd lost his bow and sword in the chaos. All he had now was a dagger, its blade no longer than his hands and just as frail. His body felt like it had been fighting for weeks, but a glance at the sun high overhead told him it had only been hours.

Hours of senselessly slaughtering his way through the fray. It was better when he still had arrows—when he could stand and shoot at distant enemies without thinking of them as people. When he'd resorted to using a sword, when he'd gotten close enough to see the fear in their eyes as his blade pierced through cloth and skin, when the blood had colored him crimson, it was suddenly, frighteningly real.

Once, he had wanted to see their enemies burn. Now, he just wanted it to be over.

Tubbo looked up at the sound of shouting. Before him, enemies were running through the wall of flames, cutting through the fire like one after the other in an unending tide. The words reinforcements and too many and retreat echoed in Tubbo's ears as the breath was knocked out of him.

He tightened his grip on his dagger as the enemy reinforcements advanced, cutting down people who were too weak, too inexperienced, too tired, to fight. People like Tubbo.

They drew closer. An infinite army.

Tubbo felt bile rise in his throat. Too many, too many, too many. He felt hot tears slipping down his cheeks. Too many, too many. He felt his fear and dread like a physical weight, almost driving him to his knees. Too many.

In the end, Tubbo was not a hero. But he raised his dagger anyway.

a/n

yasssss boiii

okay okay 

sorry if the chaps are sooo short im so sorry yall-

have a good day, afternoon or night wherever you are!

byeeee mah bootyful muffins!!