MCYT Oneshots And Other Random Stuff

Let Me Be Human, One Last Time

It had been years.

Thousands of years.

Millenia after millenia of bloodshed and murder.

There was a time when Technoblade was human. A human, but born with a curse only a god could bear.

The voices, the cacophony in his head that demanded bloodshed so vast no mortal could ever deliver it.

He couldn't quite say when he had ceased to be a human. The voices had eaten away his mortality, his humanity, until he was nothing but an ageless shell, an immortal, a god formed out of a human, made to spill blood enough to soak the world red.

Technoblade never dies, they whispered.

He did not live for battle. He lived in battle, never leaving the warfields, always slaughtering, always killing, always trying to satisfy the voices.

They were never content.

There was only one man the voices never insisted he murder, one man who had held his hand in the quieter moments, one man even the speakers in his head seemed to fear.

Silently, Techno would think that the reasons the voices feared this man was because he was what they were not. The voices were the essence of Chaos given a chance to speak, to wreak havoc. This man, the only one Techno would ever call a friend, was the silence and peace of death, the calm after the storm.

Techno would never know how Philza had walked into his life, but he was always there, standing by Techno's side in the battlefield— never fighting, yet never dying, too.

Techno and Phil would laugh, and they would smile, even as Techno caused death and carnage unbelievable to comprehend.

In some moments, when the last soldier on the field had fallen and the voices were sated for the time being, Phil and Techno would simply enjoy each other's company, and Techno would wonder if this was what it felt to be human.

It had been so long, he had forgotten.

There was always a darkness to Phil that Techno could never understand. There was an odd feeling to him, and somehow Techno just knew that Phil was like him. An immortal, cursed and dark, twisted yet waiting for a chance to unravel.

Some days, it seemed a ludicrous idea. Phil had never lifted a finger in their many battles, and somehow no weapons or harm ever befell him. It would seem likely he was the god of peace or solace.

But most days, Techno would trust his instincts when they told him that Phil could and had done much worse than Techno could and would ever do.

Neither of them faulted the other for it. How could they?

For the next thousand years, the cycle repeated.

Until one day, as the armies charged on the battlefield, Philza appeared at Technoblade's side, his blue eyed troubled. "The time has come," he told him. "Fight again, one last time. You've almost repaid your debt."

Techno never got a chance to ask what he meant before the battle began.

When it was finally over, when the enemy was no more— he had slaughtered them all— there was an odd emptiness in Technoblade's head, for the first time.

There were no voices. They were not sleeping, either.

They were gone.

He looked to his side, and of course Phil was there, a true friend.

"You begged Death for a fair chance," Phil said suddenly. "You no longer wished to be the god of blood, as they would hail you. You asked to be reborn human. But the price was the voices— the Symphony of Death itself."