Chapter Text
He looked like any ordinary man at first. A lot taller than most, with sharp, angled features and a startling cascade of pink hair. But otherwise, a normal man- until he turned, and you caught sight of the cacophony of fury circling around red irises… until you saw the tusks jutting out of the sides of his mouth, golden rings hanging from them as hard-won trinkets. Until you saw the scar that cut through his cheek and ended just below the corner of his eye; and another mark that seemed similar, trailing over the bridge of his nose. Until you saw the death angled cruelly in each step, the danger in his poise, his blood-red cape whipping in the wind.
And Wilbur should have been scared to approach this man. Should have, if his common sense was still intact. Would have, if he weren’t desperate. Could have, if only he hadn’t seen the man peacefully reading a book just the night before. Sometimes normalcy undermined danger, and Wilbur seemed to grab onto that normalcy like a lifeline.
Fear had ingrained itself into Wilbur’s bones- not fear of this strange man, but a familiar fear he was well acquittanced with. The fear of the trumpet that called in order to assemble the troops, to warn them that the opposing army was approaching.
He could hear them at a distance- the other army. They marched, getting closer, and the troops responded. Wilbur was in the tents at the time, strumming lightly on an old guitar, when the sudden blast of the trumpet drove him to his feet.
“The other army,” one of his fellow soldiers shouted, “They’re here!” he was young- barely old enough to be in an army. Although, Wilbur was just as young when he joined Pogtopia's troops. But that was then, and this is now, and Wilbur knew that the army they were going to fight tonight was too big. Too powerful. And as a crowd of soldiers pushed past him, grasping for their swords and their armor, Wilbur felt a truth so palpable he could taste it in the air.
He was going to die tonight.
Not without a fight.
And not the fight he was trained for. He’d been in two dozen separate battles in the past four years he had served the army, and he didn’t intend to repeat. They were bloody, brutal, and everything in him wanted to scrape the memories of them out of his skull.
Wilbur stood, barely checking for his sword and bow before running from the tent.
He was going to be an abandoner- a traitor, worthy of treason. And he would have felt guilty for it, if the army hadn’t dragged him from his home as he fought tooth and claw, threatening to set his home on fire with his family in it if he didn’t cooperate.
He had cooperated for four years. Not anymore.
Maybe it was because the first two battles had driven him insane, or maybe because the next dozen had stained his hands with blood. Or maybe it was the letter he had received in the mail just a few days ago, sent from his mother. Or maybe it was because of the chance that his plan could actually work.
Whatever it was, Wilbur almost abandoned his plan when he saw the hybrid.
The Hybrid. One of the last hybrids that roamed the earth. Wilbur had seen the Hybrid before, but now, in the light of day… it loomed over the world. He should’ve been a normal man, but pink hair draped over a red cape, tusks jutted out of his mouth, his eyes gleamed red. And he should’ve been a powerful sight to see- and to a point, he was. But chains were wrapped around every limb, his neck, and his torso, two men on the end of each metal rope. They were dragging him to the front lines.
Technoblade.
He was the only reason their side hadn’t lost the war. Severely outnumbered, many were still asking the same question; why isn’t this war over?
It was because of Technoblade. Wilbur had seen the Hybrid from a distance during the last battle; watched him mercilessly kill dozens without a second thought. As though he were hacking down weeds. It had come effortlessly for him, each movement deadly and graceful and oh-so calibrated. He was more than just a soldier, more than just a hybrid. He was death for the opposing army. He was a red-hot weapon that Wilbur’s side used without remorse.
And Wilbur knew everyone hated being a weapon.
He just hoped that this hybrid was just as much of a man as he appeared.
There were stories of hybrids… old tales that had run their way into Wilbur’s rural home. Almost two decades ago, when Wilbur was only eight, the war had driven each hybrid to its own death, but people still sought to remember them. Not in an honoring way, though. The tales told that these things were more beast than man, that the few that could talk were callous and stupid. They said that the hybrids could kill a hundred men in a moment flat, that they were like a pack of wolves ready to devour. But even with all these tales…
It was yesterday night, the dirt-filled puddles reflecting the moon, the wind howling sorrowfully over the hills. Wilbur had snuck out because of that letter his mother had sent him, because he had to check, he had to know-
So Wilbur had snuck out, wary of the officers posted outside, wary of every sound he made. He weaved through the tents, barely taking a breath before reaching the edge of the bivouac shelter. The Hybrid was kept in an isolated tent, a good 20-yard radius of empty space between his tent and the rest of the army. Soldiers armed with long-ranged sedatives and swords were posted all around, although most were asleep. The Hybrid was dangerous, but apparently, these soldiers didn’t care.
Wilbur had snuck in easily, finding himself crouched behind the tent. He remembered his blood feeling electric, his breath coming out in short puffs, fighting to stay quiet. He was quiet- nearly silent, but he couldn’t help but wish his heart didn’t beat quite so loud.
He lifted the edge of the tent, lowering his face to look beneath the coarse fabric-
“-I can see you,” a deep, monotone voice. If it weren’t for paralyzing fear, Wilbur would’ve run.
It took his eyes a second to transition to the soft, candle-light lighting. Then it took his brain a moment to believe what his eyes were telling him.
The Hybrid- one of the last in the world. He should’ve been regal, except for the chains that wrapped around his body and nailed him to the ground. He should’ve been regal, except for the blood and dirt that stained his clothes. Except for the scars that were etched deeply into his skin, except for how knotted and greasy his hair was. The only thing that was out of place was a ring of gold around each tusk. Otherwise, Techno looked less like their most powerful soldier and more like a prisoner.
“You’re-” Wilbur hesitated, feeling the blood-red gaze of the Hybrid piercing him. Blood-red. His eyes were literally red. It was a bit too much to compute, at the moment. He swallowed, gathering his courage, “You’re reading a book.”
“Mhm,” and suddenly Wilbur’s fear dissipated- probably because the Hybrid was wearing glasses, or maybe because the Hybrid seemed increasingly awkward, his foot rubbing his calf and his fingers tightening on the cover of his book, “You’re watching me read a book,”
And Wilbur smiled, taking the Hybrid’s comment as an invitation and sliding the rest of the way into the tent. And maybe he stayed out of reach of the Hybrid, but neither of them seemed to care enough to point it out, “I’m Wilbur,” the soldier said, holding out a hand.
The Hybrid ignored it (maybe because he couldn’t reach it if he tried), raising an eyebrow, “Technoblade,”
Technoblade? Wilbur opened his mouth to say just what he thought, but- “Don’t you dare,” the Hybrid warned, “I don’t care what you think about the name.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t care that you don’t care,” Wilbur shot back, blushing a bit because- oh, that sounded childish- but the Hybrid (Technoblade, Wilbur reminded himself) just smiled.
“You’re awfully young to be in the army,”
“I’m twenty-two,” Wilbur said dumbly, because twenty-two wasn’t young. And Techno seemed to agree.
“Oh- well, you look a lot younger,”
“Maybe you’re just old,”
“I’m the same age,” Techno sniffed, looking insulted, and Wilbur paused.
This thing was only twenty-two?
Suddenly twenty-two was a lot younger than Wilbur would’ve liked to admit. Especially for what skill Techno massacred hundreds.
Wilbur hesitated, then forced himself to smile, “Well, you look like an old grandpa.”
Techno rolled his eyes, and Wilbur relaxed. Because, yeah, his eyes were bloody red… but that gesture was so human. So uncannily full of all that human emotion and understanding, it was almost like Techno wasn’t an animal at all.
He wasn’t.
And it was like Wilbur’s understanding had been thrown right out from under him, like a table cloth ripped so neatly from a table that not a single glass fell. So he was surprised, and also vaguely regretful that he had thought so poorly of the Hybrid before he had even met him. Especially because of the letter, which told Wilbur just how stupid he was.
And Techno seemed to sense it, because his eyes fell back onto his book and he stiffened, aware that the soldier in front of him was shocked. Not shocked by Techno’s beast-like appearance, but shocked at his human-like behavior.
And Wilbur felt bloody guilty because of it, “The scouts are warning that another army will be here tomorrow,” the soldier eventually said, feeling that old twinge of fear. Because he could always count on being a coward, at least, “They say it’s bigger than any we’ve ever faced.” They say we’re going to lose, but that remained unspoken, because why say it when both of them already knew it?
“You’ll be fighting?” Techno said- needlessly, because of course he was fighting, but it was nice to keep up the conversation.
“Yeah. And you?”
Techno snorted, and Wilbur suddenly remembered that this Hybrid was known as the Blood god. His eyes swam with such a loathing that Wilbur almost wanted to back away, “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Wilbur hesitated. Because he already knew that Techno was forced to fight (the chains holding him to the ground clued him in), but also because he could relate, “No,” Wilbur agreed, “Neither of us really have a choice.”
And then Techno was looking at Wilbur with renewed interest, “You aren’t here by choice?” and he looked so genuinely surprised that Wilbur almost laughed.
“I was drafted four years ago,” Wilbur said, and the words tasted bitter in his mouth. Techno narrowed his eyes.
“They’re drafting?”
“They have been for a while- you didn’t know?”
“How long have they been drafting?” Techno ignored Wilbur’s question, and Wilbur hesitated.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “almost a decade, now.”
“A decade,” Techno breathed, slumping back in his chair, “I thought our army was small because no one wanted to fight.”
“Our army’s small because people keep dying,” and when Techno didn’t answer, Wilbur found himself thinking for a second. How did Techno not know about the drafting? That’s been common knowledge for… well, since it started, “How long-” Wilbur fiddled with the edge of his shirt, pausing for a second, “How long have you been here?”
Techno looked up, his gaze flashing, “I was eight when the war started,” his voice was still monotone, but something like fury tore at the edges, “They don’t care how old hybrids are. We’re animals to them.”
Wilbur didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. But something about Techno reminded Wilbur painfully of himself- and maybe the similarities weren’t anything good. Maybe Wilbur saw his own pain reflected in Techno’s whole life, and maybe the familiar hurt wasn’t something to revel in, but-
“I had been meaning to run for a while now,” Wilbur lowered his voice, “Away. I don’t care about this kingdom, I don’t care about this war.” He wasn’t here by choice and, as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t have anything left to fight for.
Not since he got that letter in the mail.
Techno looked at Wilbur with eyes like sharp flint. Doubtful and suspicious, but also interested, “You want to take me with?”
“I can’t escape without you.” It was true. The army was watched carefully by superior officers, and traitors were almost always caught and hanged. Wilbur had been pondering betrayal for a while now, but he needed help.
Techno paused- one moment, two… then, “Alright.”
Now, in the light of day, with the troops shouting and assembling and the trumpets announcing the battle’s arrival… Wilbur was less sure it would work.
But he had to try.
He stopped at the edge of the field, watching a dozen men wrestle with Techno’s chains, watching the powerful Hybrid hold back the strength of twelve soldiers, watching as Techno was being led like a wild animal into a slaughter. It took a second to find courage, because once the plan started, he couldn’t turn back.
But he felt the letter in his pocket, the message sent by his mother a couple of days ago. It weighed like the world on his shoulders, and Wilbur felt hatred burn just thinking about it.
He let out a low whistle.
Techno’s head snapped up, his blood-red eyes meeting Wilbur’s. The Hybrid grinned, and Wilbur’s stomach dropped with how insane Techno suddenly looked. But he couldn’t help but mirror the smile, because this was it.
They were about to escape.
The war between L’manberg and Pogtopia has lasted for more than a decade, and it was because of some stupid fight for territory. Wilbur had never cared about his kingdom, he never felt any sort of loyalty. Especially after soldiers had stormed his home, taking him by the arms and dragging him into their army. Especially after dozens of battles fought and barely won. Especially after he received that letter.
So Wilbur obeyed when Techno sent a vague signal in his direction, ducking behind a tent and shakily pulling out a blow dart. It wasn’t a real sedative, but it would fool the dozen men who were pulling Techno into a massacre- or, at least, Wilbur hoped it would.
It took a second for Wilbur to stop trembling- and another second to find a moment when Techno was standing still, wrestling against his chains- but Wilbur put the weapon to his mouth and fired the dart, watching as the fake poison lodged itself in the side of Techno’s neck.
Techno was a good actor, Wilbur had to give him that.
He hesitated a moment before falling, his large frame landing heavily and causing all dozen men to start panicking. Wilbur threw the blowdart to the ground and ran, forcing confidence in his step.
The men were yelling incoherently, one of them was sure that an assassin had murdered their greatest weapon, and another was certain that the Hybrid had just had a heart attack. Then Wilbur ran forward, ignoring the yelling of the other men, and kneeled by Techno’s side.
“I’m a doctor,” Wilbur insisted when one of the soldiers tried to pull him away, “We need this hybrid to win this battle, you’d better let me work or you’ll be the cause of this whole bloody massacre!” And suddenly a dozen men backed up and let Wilbur pretend to scan Techno’s body.
“A blowdart,” Wilbur finally said, pulling it out of Techno’s neck. He brought the tip close to his face, staring at the edge closely then sniffing it, “A sedative.” was his final verdict, and one of the men noticeably panicked.
“But we need this bloody pig to win this bloody war,” one of them said gruffly, stepping forward to grab at Wilbur. Wilbur glared and pushed down a sudden surge of fear.
“I can get him awake,” he said, “but you’ve got to get him back to the tent. And unchain him- he’s asleep anyway,” he added when one of the men protested, “And it’s the only way this can work. This hybrid can’t fight if he’s napping.”
It took longer than Wilbur wanted- and Wilbur himself was trying to fight off fear the whole time, waiting for the opposing army to appear along the crest of the hill. But armies were slow, and the warning had been given early, so it wasn’t until Techno was fully inside the tent and all his chains were removed did L’manberg’s army show up.
Wilbur ducked into the tent, barking at five of the men to guard the entrance before jostling a bunch of bottles. He had to wait until the battle started, otherwise someone would hear the commotion that was about to erupt.
Another conch horn, a few screams, and then-
-the battle began. Even if Wilbur couldn’t see it, he could hear the sudden cacophony of pain. His side would lose, it was inevitable. Even if Wilbur were there- heck, even if Technoblade had been part of the battle- Pogtopia was severely outnumbered, and even one of the last hybrids in the world couldn’t change that fact.
Wilbur ducked by Techo’s head, unscrewing one of the bottles before bending down and whispering, “Now.”
Techno didn’t hesitate.
It was strange thinking that this Hybrid- this weapon of death and destruction- was the same age as Wilbur. Born in the same year, in the same kingdom. His life held no more time than Wilbur’s, and yet Techno had found a way to take death by the reins and bridle it for his own use. Wilbur fell backward at Techno’s sudden movements, watching with horror mixed with awe as seven men landed dead on the ground, barely giving Techno much more than a few cuts and bruises. And then five more men entered the tent, and they ended up dead, as well.
“Easy,” the hybrid glanced down at his wrists, which were now free from their earlier chains. Seeming to forget for a moment where he was, he moved his gaze quickly to Wilbur, who was already getting back to his feet, “What now?”
“Now we run,” and the thought was exhilarating. Because it could actually work. It was going to work.
Techno didn’t seem quite as convinced, because Wilbur had to explain a bit further before the hybrid moved, “I stole horses, don’t worry,” Wilbur finally said, “We don’t have time to argue, let’s go.” And then Techno was moving, pushing out of the tent. Wilbur glanced down at one of the dead soldiers before following, a sudden wave of icy doubt running through his blood.
He couldn’t stop now.
Wilbur followed Techno’s lead, shouting at the Hybrid to get to the nearby forest. Last night he had risked his skin to get those animals, if only for the more ensured method of travel, and he desperately hoped no wolf had gotten to them.
They hadn’t. It took a few, heart-wrenchingly slow minutes to reach the forest, but Wilbur found the horses untouched. Panicked and clearly disoriented from the sound of battle below them, but otherwise perfect for escape.
Techno didn’t waste time. He chose the bigger stallion, a simply-colored beast with eyes like coal. Wilbur felt his bones shake as he mounted the other horse, resisting the urge to look behind him.
Turns out Wilbur didn’t have to look, because Techno had stopped and stared at the battle instead. He looked so utterly lost that Wilbur turned as well, and what he saw he didn’t quite understand.
“Is that-”
“Another hybrid,” Techno whispered, staring at the scene. It was a man- a normal man. Except for the inky-black wings that stretched behind him as though he had brought the night sky with his presence. His hair was gold and his clothes were green, and he was obviously on Lmanberg’s side. And he was obviously better treated than Techno was, because it looked as though he was in charge. Hovering over the battle, using a trident to massacre Wilbur’s fellow troops. It was downright savage, and Wilbur couldn't help but think it was also beautiful.
“We’ve got to go,” Techno sounded frantic, his monotone voice momentarily broken and forgotten. It broke Wilbur cruelly from his trance, and he turned to look at the hybrid in confusion.
“It could help us,” Wilbur said, barely thinking it through, and Techno fixed him with a hard, panicked glare.
“It’s the Angel of Death,” Technoblade growled, “It’s here to kill us.”