Chapter Text
Gods were things of beauty, and of passion. Beings who tended to grace the earth below them with gifts of creation itself. Imbued with power and ichor itself. Things of hate and spite and entirely too mortal at the same time.
Fickle and vengeful. Angry and burning.
Well, at least Tommy was.
Tommy was a God. A God standing at the edge between the world of immortal and mortal men, a line so thin that he never crossed.
He was faced with a choice. It wasn’t a fair choice. It was never fair when Dream was involved.
He was tipping, losing his sunkissed footing.
Dream’s grip was loosening.
The ultimatum slipped like the fabric of his sleeve.
Join them or fall from graces like those failed Gods before him. Tommy knew the tragic fates of those who don’t meet the standards. Bodies falling from the heavens, Gods doomed to die.
Gods don’t survive the fall from Olimbos.
His shoulder stung, ichor dripping out as bright as his sunshine as the arrow dug itself deeper. The flint head was driven between joints and muscles, aching and twisting further as Tommy’s grip fumbled.
Join the crusade, a righteous and just cause against the other Gods that didn’t meet the Moon’s standards.
The Moon was a bitch.
“I’d rather die .” The Sun spat back.
And then he was falling.
Falling, Falling, Falling.
His wings snagged in the air, his eyes locked on the crowd that watched. The Stars wept, pleading as the Moon ignored them, the Storms and Sea screamed together.
They were screaming and Tommy was screaming with them.
Screaming, Screaming, Screaming.
There were no immortal hands to catch him. Only a simple mortal farmer and his sons.
Philza Minecraft was many things.
He was a warrior, a father, an old man.
But he had retired from bloodshed many years ago. Hung up his sword on the mantle and taken up a simple life.
His hands grazed across the twine, tightening the bundle of hay before stringing it up onto the cart he so often used.
The bright pink of his son’s hair was shielded by his hat, dirt smudged along his cheek. Grasped in Technoblade’s fingers were his latest potato harvest, a great addition to this week's produce.
But Phil still didn’t know if it would be enough for this month.
His son shifted from the dirt, resting his hoe against the cart as he heaved another sack of potatoes onto his shoulders. “Need a hand, old man?”
“Old? Do I look old to you, mate?” Phil scoffed, clawed feet scraping against the ground as he bent down to pick up a full sack.
Philza was anything but old .
His body, however, creaked and protested as he strained to lift the sack up. His son huffed, an air of ‘ I told you so ’ in his tone.
“Do I have to get Fundy to dig up that cane you keep hiding, again?”
“Oh fuck off, mate.”
And then things changed, like a thunderbolt during a summer storm. Like the clash of instruments as chaos descended from the skies.
The weather in turn changed, rain pelting hard against the men, splattering mud and soaking them to the bone. The wind also blew, Phil’s hat catching the breeze as the man tried to hold onto it.
“There’s not supposed to be a storm, is there?” Phil spun on his heels towards Techno, the water blurring his vision slightly.
Something crashed with a deafening sound, splitting the cart and causing a tornado of hay to fly as Phil raised his wings to protect himself.
And just like that, the storm stilled. The Sun shifted above them, setting far earlier than was normally possible.
The sunset ebbed and flowed, disappearing behind the horizon.
Philza’s breath caught in his throat, throbbing as it pushed against his vocal cords.
There was a child in the cart now.
There was a child and he was bleeding the colour of sunshine.
Techno jerked to his feet, eyes wide as his fingers gripped tightly to his hoe. He stood there, almost defensively so.
“Is that a-?” He whispered, almost fearful.
“A God.”
Techno scrunched his face together, his grip so strong, his knuckles became white.
The Fates had always been whispering at the back of his mind, like waves crashing against a cliff face. It was always whether the waves reached high enough to pull Techno back down with them.
And when they did, Phil tended to drown with him.
A lifeline for his son. A thing in which he could cling onto as the haunting voices tried to drag him deeper and deeper.
Philza had seen it enough times when the frothy chaos had dragged his son under, smothering them and tugging him ways so wrong it was almost as if Phil himself was being stuffed with cotton.
And as they stared at the God that had so suddenly landed, Phil knew the Fates were whispering in his son’s ears.
Ichor, the blood of the Gods, was staining the hay, slipping between the grain of the wood.
Phil slowly moved forward, every step carefully calculated.
Gods were fickle things to mortal men. They were a thing of worship and prayer. Of creation and of destruction.
But at that moment, all Philza saw was a child, clutching his chest so tightly as he bled sunshine.
With careful hands, Phil brushed the straw aside, silent words exchanged between him and Techno as the younger also moved forward.
They lifted him carefully from the cart, his body so light it was like carrying the clouds themself.
“Gods,” Techno whispered. They were both so quiet in this moment, almost as if speaking any louder would invoke the little God’s wrath. “Gods, he’s small.”
“Careful. Be real careful, Tech.” Phil hissed as they moved through their fields, passing seedlings and crops as their feet scraped against the earth.
The farmhouse door was slammed open so suddenly.
Fundy looked so frazzled but just as confused, his earthy red hair sitting under an askew hat, fox ears flattened against his head. It was almost as if he had frantically grabbed it on the way out, his untied boots striking the ground.
His figure moved across the field with long strides. “This that-?”
“A God. Yes, get the door, Fundy.” Techno huffed, red eyes staring at him.
The young man let loose a strangled noise, possibly one of disbelief as he held the oaken door open.
And that’s how a God ended up in their lives, strewn across their spare bed as the three mortal men scrambled to patch his wounds.
“He’s a child .” Fundy had whispered softly, dipping the sunshine stained cloth back into the basin of water.
“He’s a God .” Techno scoffed, leaning against a wall nearby. “He’s anything but a child.”
“God, child, whatever. He needs our help, so we help.”
A lesser man would help for the sake of this child being a God. A lesser man would do it for the glory, or for the favour so many Gods had.
An even lesser man would have left him to die.
But Philza was a gentle and kind man. He had buried his demons like his fellow man.
He was anything but a lesser man.
Phil’s hands worked quickly as a craftsman. He had seen many injuries in his time, some so horrible they haunted his dreams like the Fates would Techno.
A needle and thread in hand, he worked.
Phil tugged the arrow out of the boy with a grimace. Whatever had happened to this young God, that would be a question for another day.
The arrow was no ordinary flint head arrow. It glistened with ichor and the power of the Gods themselves.
Whatever had happened in the Kingdom of Gods above, this young God had been the target of something .
They just had to wait for the child to wake to get their answers.