Chapter Text
It’s snowing when they first meet.
A full moon overhead, with the forest branches thick with snow, the sound of crunching footsteps moving fast through the trees. Blood stains every step left behind, and the smell of it- sharp and bitter and fresh-- it’s too vivid for Techno’s head.
He can’t think straight. He can’t see. He’s damp in the blood of innocents, his jaw aching and his stomach eased, but he can’t be still, can’t feel satisfied in it, truly. Something in him wants to tear his newly formed claws into his own throat so he can scream, instead, free out some guttural cry that’ll soothe the restless energy pumping through his veins.
He chases after a prey that’s already dead. His ears strain to catch any whisper of a beating heart, any sign of something warm and living. Anything would do. An animal would be preferable, a deer, perhaps, with its ribs cracked open for the flesh inside.
A deer won’t really suffice, though. He knows that well, knows it in the hunger that’s quickly rising back up, hardly subdued despite the way his last meal still sits wet on his cheeks. Demons survive off of one thing alone, and that food source is scarce in this part of the forest.
There is a town, though. Somewhere. Techno knows there’s a town, remembers a vague echo of travelers telling him it would be somewhere past a certain road, but there’s no roads here, there’s only snow for miles, his own panting breaths, his fast beating heart that threatens to break apart within his chest.
He slows to a stop, eventually, not to exhaustion, exactly, but to his hunger. To the raw, aching feeling carving him out from the inside. It hurts. It hurts.
He is barefooted on the snow, his palms touched to it, and yet the cold is nothing but a mere murmur on his skin. There’s nothing but hunger.
There’s nothing except the faint creaking of a branch, snow plopping down to the ground.
Techno snaps his head up, eyes wide and alert, and he meets the gaze of someone standing on the higher branches of the tree, the moon illuminating their head from behind, their eyes glowing almost just as bright.
“Oh.” They say, eyes narrowing, their pupils thinly slit. Techno knows from before they’ve even spoken- they aren’t human. No human has a heart that beats like that. “I was wondering what all the ruckus was about. Didn’t realize this area was occupied.”
Techno snarls up at them as his reply, fangs bared. He gets a mirroring noise back, but it’s less threatening, more a mocking sort.
“Yes, yes, yes. You’re so scary.” They say, a sort of muttering of words, their attention straying away from Techno to instead stare down at the trail he’s left behind, the blood scattered around his footsteps. “Oh.” They say again. “You’re starving.”
Technoblade looks back with him, sitting back on his heels to stare at where he’s come from, as if being able to see the bloodshed he’s left behind in that little cabin, the polite strangers giving him a place to stay having been killed in a blink, by his own hands.
He didn’t mean to.
He really hadn’t meant to-- but there was no point in having intention. He was hungry. And then he wasn’t.
He’s hungry again.
He looks back up at the demon over him, a near questioning note in his stare, his newly colored hair falling over his right eye. The demon pays no mind to the weight of his gaze, and instead turns his head into an opposite direction, as if looking at something new. He hums over Techno, shifts his weight with a bit more snow falling off from the branch.
“Well, I’ve already had my fill.” He says. Meaningless conversation. Useless words. The sound of it slides right past Techno’s ears. “Uh. I suppose I could just…?”
He looks back down at Techno, something more considerate in it. Techno hasn’t even looked away, and he doesn’t flinch one bit at having the attention now returned. He stays staring, stays sitting still like a statue made of stone, the falling snow gathering on his head and on his shoulders, the red of his eyes burning like a dim fire refusing to be put out.
“Alright.” The demon whispers, some easy agreement to something Techno has no interest for. He leaps off from the branch he’s on, quickly leaves Techno’s view in a blur of movement that he can’t catch up to. Technoblade pushes himself to stand to try and follow, but the hunger is still persistent, without mercy, and he is weak, freshly reborn and fragile in this new state.
He collapses quickly and curls up in the snow, left to his pains of his body trying to adjust, angrily aching in every limb. He shivers, not to the cold, but to the discomfort of not being able to eat, not being able to ease the need that stabs through him without mercy.
Something drops down before him in the snow, heavy and lifeless.
Techno lifts his head. He smells it before he even truly sees it, tastes it in his teeth before he even truly realizes what it is. He eats through the flesh of it, crunches down on the warm bones of a headless corpse, and breathes at last for the first time all night.
He breathes, and eats, and stains himself further red with little care to how he’ll clean it off later. When he finishes off most of it, the scraps left torn between his claws, another body drops down, and he takes that one just the same, although with a slightly less fervent weight to it.
One last body drops down after that one, as well, and at the end of that meal, Techno’s hunger finally, finally abated, he sits back in the mess he’s made, the snow vivid red, shiny against the moonlight.
He breathes.
“There.” The demon says, and Techno slowly lifts his head up, eyelids drooping in a slow sort of blink. He sees a fanged smile looking down at him, brilliantly purple eyes squinted over the scrunch of a nose. “You’re lucky I felt so nice tonight. You’re going to have a very good headstart.”
Technoblade blinks again. Stares blearily as if he can’t make sense of the words being given, his hand coming up to wipe uselessly at his blood soaked mouth. His jaw opens up into a wide, silent yawn, freshly grown fangs shown clear as day, yet utterly unthreatening in the way his head drops down, looking at the snow as if now confused as to what’s going on.
The demon makes an amused little laugh. “Okay, then. If that’s all…” And then a creak of the branch, a blur of movement again.
He leaves, Technoblade left sitting alone in the snow.
The demon does not come back.
Technoblade stands to his own feet, and begins his walk through the snow.
---
Their second meeting is on a warmer night a handful of months later.
Techno’s settled comfortably into his new existence, in being a demon. He’s grown far, far beyond the naive eyed creature he was on that first night, covered in blood, ruled by hunger. He learns the rules, discovers his skill, figures out a routine of his own, for this new life given.
The first thing he’s ever understood is that the sun kills.
A demon cannot withstand the sun. Even the slightest ray of it will burn his skin down to bone. There is no immunity to build against it, no way to avoid death in its direct light. Sun is the end of any demon at all, no matter the strength, the age, the will. Every morning that comes, there is no choice except to hide away, stay in the safety of the dark, and wait for the night to return. That is the first step to his survival.
The following step is the matter of hunger. Hunting. Food is plentiful throughout the land, there’s towns ripe for picking in any direction Techno chooses to go to, but humans have never been ones to just die quietly. Technoblade has no problem with the normal, day-to-day civilians. They’re weak animals in comparison to him, frightened and skittish in seeing him come out from the shadows, unaware as to what he is, what he can do.
After enough deaths, though, there will come other humans willing to investigate, to avenge those deaths made by his hands. They come to slay him down with a sword across his neck, with anger in their eyes and a finely honed skill in their lungs. Strength built out of necessity, disgust lacing every word they shout to his ears. Warriors devoted to his total destruction.
Techno can’t say he’s terribly surprised. He’d have to be an idiot to assume that he could just get away with killing so many without consequence, as if humans wouldn’t eventually figure out some sort of way to fight back. He supposes he’s just more intrigued, if anything, by how organized they are. He’s never heard of the demon slayer corps. Not one whisper, throughout his whole human life, as muddled as his memories of that are.
Now, he can’t seem to shake himself free of them. They’re a threat the first time they come around, trained swordsmen rushing to bring him to his death, their bodies moving faster and stronger than any other human he’s yet killed.
He still kills them, though.
He comes away from the encounter with a missing arm and a neck torn halfway open, but he kills them. He heals. He gets stronger.
Strength is the last step of survival. Techno, thankfully enough, was both stronger and luckier than the first slayers he encountered. He has an edge, as is, being a demon, being able to heal his own wounds, being able to move faster without falter. He has no need for sleep. Has no true weakness outside of the sun and those burning swords that the demon slayers swing around. His senses are keener than any human could hope to be, and he can see through the dark with no strain. Hear his opponent coming. He can sense them, in a way. Feel them, the same way he used to feel the warmth of sunlight on his skin, gently warming, slightly burning. Humans are warm.
Or rather, their blood is.
Their hearts, perhaps?
He’s not too sure. He takes apart a few humans to try and figure it out. They are warm when his claws dig through them, and they go cold once dead for a while, but it’s not quite just body temperature alone that floats through his head. It’s more than just his hand grasping around the organs of a human itself, it’s the blood, he thinks.
He can feel their blood.
It takes a bit of practice to really focus down on it. It takes further practice to actually do anything with it, to grasp onto it with a true sense of control. He’s too weak to make it into something lethal, but with enough effort, he can make a slayer stop in their tracks, make their limbs lock up in place, just for a moment, a second, just long enough for him to have the chance to finish up the fight.
He does exactly that on that later warmer night, his hunger leading him past the town and into the forest instead, where a commotion of fighting and shouting sits beyond the trees.
It’s unwise to walk into any fight with any demon slayers at all, that’s just asking for the risk of losing his head. But the frantic fear in their voices, the snarling sound of another demon giving them trouble-- it’s been such a while since Techno’s encountered any other demon.
He’s curious at seeing another of his own kind, curious at seeing how they can fare, in a fight for their life.
He stays up in the trees at a distance, the shadows keeping him out of sight. There are two demon slayers below him, their attacks given in changing patterns towards their unfaltering opponent, a quick-footed demon that won’t dare stay still. It’s a constant back and forth, the three of them circling around the trees, in such a way that Techno finds it difficult to follow along, at times. He notes, after a few short minutes of watching the fight, that the slayers aren’t truly making any meaningful strikes, though. Yes, the demon is simply quick enough to avoid them, but it’s also that each swing of the sword is made a little too off center, poorly aimed. As if they’re not quite sure what they’re attacking at, exactly.
They are stumbling, Techno realizes. Of course. They’re human, he thinks, all the same, bound to fatigue eventually, but it’s not quite exhaustion that’s catching up to them, perhaps. Their heads turn frantically in every step, their voices pitch up in panic. There is an odd weight in the air, and a heavy fear in their blood.
“Where is it?!” One of them screams, their swing going wide, the demon stepping around a tree, twisting out of sight, there and gone and then there again, its eyes narrowing in a threat as they move. “Where is it!?” The slayer shrieks, and with the movement of their partner beside them, the fear in their blood, they don’t see clearly. They don’t think. They strike out desperately, instead, nearly hitting their own fellow demon slayer in the process.
“Dammit, focus!” The smarter of the two yell out, dodging away with a stumble. “It’s confusing you on purpose!” They settle their nerves with a whistling breath, and point their sword in the correct direction, towards the demon once more. Techno expects the attack to miss, as all the other attacks have missed, but this time, the slayer has grown lucky, because the sword makes contact.
The demon slows at last, hissing out with pain. He clutches at his bleeding shoulder, eyes narrowed tighter in anger, and-
And.
Technoblade’s hand jerks out in unthinking motion, and both the slayers freeze up in place, releasing mirroring cries of pain as all their limbs refuse to budge, their blood kept still within their veins. The demon looks up in shock as Techno jumps down, striking down the slayers in one smooth motion, their bodies falling to the ground, dead in a near instant.
Techno straightens up from his landing and stands above them, turning his head to face the injured demon.
The demon that he knows.
There’s no recognition in his eyes as he looks towards Techno. Only a muted sort of rage, some passing fear, his hand still kept over his bleeding shoulder, the wound slowly healing up. He bares his teeth like a warning, takes a few steps back with a growl. Techno mirrors the gesture, but then nods his head in silence, looking to the bodies at his feet.
He waves his arm out, as if offering. “Now we’re even.” He says, and abruptly, the growling stops.
They both pause, Techno waiting for a reaction, the demon having a moment of confusion.
Then the demon’s eyes go wide, a breath taken in. He glances over Techno again, realizing surely what he’s talking about, and he hisses out-
“No fucking way.”
It is twice as angry than before, the demon’s whole body now almost shaking with it, teeth gritted so hard it may crack one of his fangs.
Technoblade blinks in surprise.
Huh?
“You’re kidding me.” The demon hisses out, words pulled through his teeth. “You’re kidding me! How long ago was that!? Months!? In only months, you- You’re-?!”
Techno blinks again, brows furrowing a bit. What’s going on?
“That can’t be fair!” The demon cries out, stepping forward like a threat made, but Techno feels no ill intent. He probably should, considering the way the demon is spitting out his words, but it seems foolish to consider this a start to a fight. What reason do they even have to fight? They’re even, now. They’re fair. “How have you already grown this strong?! Tell me! You’re cheating somehow! You’re doing something! You killed those slayers like nothing!”
“Because I went for them head-on.” Techno points out, lifting out a claw towards him. “You just kept dodging.”
“Of course I did! If I stopped for even a second, my head- my life-!” The demon yells out a scream of frustration, his fists held up tightly before him, then held to the bottom of his jaw, as if holding his skull still. “Why did you even- Why did-?” He falters quickly, anger caught up in a confusion. “Why did you do that?” He asks, more quietly, now entirely subdued, too calm too quickly. “Wha-”
“We’re even now.” Technoblade says again, in a matching sort of calmness. “Like I said.”
“...Yes.” The demon agrees after a long minute, looking down over the bodies, a new considerate air about it.
His hands fall to his sides, his fury put aside. His shoulder sits fully healed, now. Some drifting wind blows through, the demon’s eyes seeming dimmer than before.
“I suppose that one moment of generosity did help out.” He mutters, a passing annoyance put over his face. He lifts his chin to Techno, the anger flashing back in an instant. “Tell me your name.” He demands.
“Tell me yours.” Techno replies, near instantly.
The demon’s eyes narrow into a glare. “Don’t be difficult. Just because you’re stronger doesn’t mean I’ll be intimidated.” He growls, lips twisted up in a cruel looking smile.
Techno raises his brows. “Am I being intimidating?” He asks, genuinely. The demon’s anger again, is quickly washed out, now replaced with a blank sort of stare. It’s almost a little helpless looking. “Am I?” Techno asks further, when he’s given no reply.
“What-” The demon takes a needless breath, as if needing to steady himself. “-is your name?”
“Technoblade.”
“Techno.” The demon repeats, cutting the name in half, sounding intrigued.
“Technoblade.” Techno corrects, wondering if he’s been misheard.
“I see.” The demon glances away, as if taking the name into his thoughts. He looks back and takes a single step forwards, a hand put to his chest. “My name is Wilbur, then.”
“Oh.” Techno puts the name to the face, and finds himself somewhat satisfied at being able to do that, at last. He’s thought of the demon from that night passingly throughout all these weeks, and now, in having an introduction, in seeing his face again, it makes him feel more real. More solid, not fuzzy and faint like the worst part of his head. “Did you want one of these, Wilbur?” He asks, pointing a finger down at the rapidly cooling bodies below him, their hearts still warm underneath their ribs.
Wilbur crosses his arms over his chest and frowns down at the food with something conflicted, as if trying to pick apart a stubborn thought.
“No.” He denies, much to Techno’s slight shock. “You struck them down. They’re yours.”
“They were fighting you first.” Technoblade argues. Then, on further thought, “I’m not starving.” This isn’t like that first night, Techno left to the mercy of his own hunger. There is no need for the same generosity, with them both on the same ground now.
Wilbur huffs, looking a little amused. He shakes his head and waves a hand, turning his back to jump up towards the trees.
“All yours, Techno.” He insists, and then he rushes off in a blur of movement, the same way he did that winter night.
“Technoblade.” Techno corrects, but it’s needless.
The word is lost to the quiet of the night.
Techno is left to eat alone.
---
From then on, Techno wants to say they go their separate ways, settling into their own routines, their own strategies of surviving night to night, but he isn’t so sure Wilbur’s actually left.
It could be nothing. Techno’s senses have always been a little odd, sometimes too bothered by the presence of humans, their beating hearts echoing too vividly into his ears. There is a sort of paranoia to be gained, from such a solitary life, no conversation made except for the shouting cries of demon slayers trying to swing for his head, if you could even count that as a conversation.
Techno kills and eats and travels along, and then kills and eats some more, and in the gentle noise of the wilderness, in the constant need to keep an eye out for any bothersome slayers trying to track his trail, he tends to see things in the shadows. Hears footsteps where there might not be.
He catches glimpses of eyes, sometimes. Brilliantly purple eyes, staring down at him from the branches, the same way they did on the day he was reborn.
Techno’s not entirely sure what to make of it. He’s half tempted to go chasing after, dragging out his hidden companion from the trees, but he doesn’t want to scare off the demon, if he truly is there. Even with the total silence, the quiet stares, someone almost not quite there-- it is nice to not be alone. To know he’s not the only one roaming around, hiding from the sun, eating his fill where he can have it.
He wonders why he hasn’t come across any other demons in his travels. Is it a matter of intimidation, like how Wilbur mentioned? The pull of survival is a strong thing, in his head. It dictates quite a lot of his choices, at times. He can imagine it's much the same for all the others. Why confront something stronger than you? Why not instead run away, keep your distance? Why risk the danger?
He doesn’t consider himself as danger, exactly, but how are they to know that? And how is he to confirm that, too? His meeting with Wilbur was something fleeting, but who’s to say Techno wouldn’t have found some matching fury, some need for a fight if they did linger long enough? As strong as he’s grown, his mind fully collected, he is still something other than human. There is still something in him that demands to kill. Demands to win. A quiet, stubborn spite, dug into the base of his heart.
Techno, on that line of thought, is somewhat glad for the silence, then. If Wilbur were to be more bold, he’d hate for it to end poorly, the two of them caught up in some display of power. Like this, it is easier. It is little, and it leaves much to be craved, but it is easier, for there is no risk at all.
At least, for a while.
Winter comes along again. Snow falls down into the trees with a freezing, sharp wind, and Techno feels nothing in the blizzard of it, finds only a near comforting sort of nostalgia to the sight of it, the sounds, the cold, dry taste. He wanders around the edge of a town for the better part of a week, staring at the glowing lights ahead with an almost hesitant type of mood. It would not be hard to snatch up something to eat, he knows it well. People step outside and get lost in the snow all the time. There would hardly even be a panic, just the usual mourning and weeping and then they’d go on.
Techno holds back, though. For a change in pace, for a lack of hunger, he can’t say why. But he turns his attention back to the forest and keeps himself in the snow, instead. Past the howling winds and the snow hitting the ground, it should be difficult to hear the ever so slight creaking of a branch high up above.
Technoblade still hears it, though.
He looks up, and sees Wilbur looking back, fully out in the open, clear as ever to see.
So Techno wasn’t hallucinating his presence. That’s good to know. Confirmation is always nice to have.
“Are you following me on purpose?” Techno gives as his greeting, stepping around in the snow to further face Wil, hand held up to keep the snow from flying towards his eyes.
“So what if I am?” Wilbur asks back. He has no hint of guilt in his voice, and frankly, Techno didn’t really expect any. Techno does tilt his head in a clear sort of confusion, though, squinting his eyes up at Wilbur.
“Why?”
Wilbur makes a passing hum, shoulders shrugging up high. He’s so purposefully casual in his tone, it’s nearly suspicious. “Maybe I’m just curious about you. Maybe I’m bored. Have you ever considered that?”
Techno opens his mouth to respond, but Wilbur quickly steps off from the branch before he can and moves off in a blur of movement, gone from sight in a blink. He returns a moment later from behind Techno, his footsteps barely even crunching in the snow, and a headless body slamming down onto the ground with a heavy thump.
Technoblade turns his head with surprise. He had felt the blood of some human, had smelt the scent of fresh wounds, but he’d just assumed Wilbur came back from a hunt from the town, not that he had a body he was carrying around. He looks up at Wil with a slight frown.
“What’s this?”
“It’s yours.” Wilbur explains, ever still in where he stands, his hands clasped behind him, his hair drifting up in the blizzard wind. “Your share.”
“I don’t need it.”
“But it would do you well to continue to get stronger, no?” Wilbur bargains, saying it like an indisputable point. “Consider it payment.” He adds on, and at Techno’s questioning look, “-for any future demon slayers I might toss your way.”
Ah. So it’s a trade of sorts. Protection for food. Techno hums in consideration, looking down at the meal before him. He supposes that’s not so bad of a setup. Having his meals brought to him, his effort put elsewhere. He does need to practice that skill of his. Work past just keeping the blood still. He’s been wondering, lately, if he would be able to pull the blood out from humans, while they’re still alive…
“Do you have a habit of coming across them?” Technoblade asks, kneeling down to grab the body by the arm, lifting it up from the snow. It’s frigid to the touch, but he’s never been too picky.
“They’ll always pop up, one way or another.” Wilbur says, a little sigh kept in his throat. “I can never be rid of them. It’s a tedious thing. But you never seem to have trouble with them, so…”
Technoblade makes no reply to that, but the way he cracks open the body for the heart inside is plenty of reply on its own. He has no protest to make, really. Demon slayers will come after him regardless, what’s the harm of letting Wilbur stand aside for those fights? He won’t have the burden of hunting anymore, he’ll have company to keep.
He will let it be. He will keep this.
Keep him.
---
They move on from the forest the same way they came, Techno staying to the ground while Wilbur lingers up in the branches, barely out of sight, barely out of earshot.
It’s a little easier to spot him now, but Techno can’t be sure if that’s because he’s aware of Wilbur actually being there now, or if because Wilbur now feels no need to stay completely hidden. Either way, it’s a consistent noise, in the back of his head. The weight of someone’s stare in the shadows, the shuffle of footsteps behind his trail.
They wander along through the area, never staying in one spot. Technoblade circles towns and cities, but never cares for going through them, the noise and the weight of it a little too much to bear. He keeps his distance, stays comfortably in the wilderness.
Wilbur’s the one who always goes to get their hunts, anyway.
Wilbur seems to enjoy the bustling crowds more than he does.
He likes humans, in an odd sort of way. He gives his comments about them occasionally, tells small stories of things he witnesses, people he watches. Techno doesn’t care too much about it, he’s never been one for people, even when he was a human, but he does like the sound of Wilbur’s voice against the silence, so it’s not all bad.
And the demon slayers do come, as they always do.
Technoblade kills them, as he always does.
They get easier to overpower, with time, Wilbur bringing him consistent meals. Techno adapts in using his blood demon art, the name of it provided by Wilbur, who explains and shows his own ability during one late night, when a slayer gets cornered into the edge of a cave beside a mountain.
Technoblade watches as Wilbur follows the slayer into the dark, and the shrill screams that come out from the human are nothing short of terrified, dazed and lost, nothing like the composed fighter they were when they first approached. Their sword swings out uselessly through the shadows, hitting at things that aren’t there. Wilbur himself stands a safe distance away, almost seeming smug when sharing a glance with Techno. As if saying ‘look, and I don’t even have to lift a finger.’
Techno isn’t very impressed in the moment. Driving a human mad does nothing in terms of killing them. And they get so insufferably noisy when afraid, too.
He finishes the slayer off that night with the pull of their blood, their limbs twisting out in ways they’re not meant to be. The move isn’t exactly a fully lethal one, but it does the trick for the most part, incapacitates them long enough so he can go for their heart.
He’s started to grow a sort of preference for hearts. He’s always been a bit focused on them, intrigued by the noise and warmth, the blood flowing through, but slowly but surely, as of late, it tends to be the thing he’ll eat first. Tends to be the only thing he’ll eat, when he gets into his moods.
He blames Wilbur for it, mostly. All the bodies he brings back come with the ribs already broken open, heart bared for the taking. Why wouldn’t he gain a habit, after having all his meals given like that?
He wonders if Wilbur has a preference for brains or something, though with how often he brings back the kills without a head.
He asks him about it at some point, one night, with the blood from his meal still wet underneath his claws, the passing hunger soothed.
“Well, no, not really.” Wilbur waves a hand as he denies it, not very intrigued, his attention kept elsewhere. “It’s just the easiest way to have them instantly dead, you know? Can’t go for the heart, since…” He trails off, legs swinging from where he sits up on his branch.
Techno leans back from where he sits on the ground, watching Wil turn his focus away from where he had been staring at the town up ahead, the glow of it all too bright in the dead of night. He looks down at Techno with a conceding shrug.
“I guess I like the eyes. It’s something like a treat.”
Techno scrunches his nose up, kept in a sudden disgust. “You can have them, then. I don’t want those.”
Wilbur blinks, taken aback, and then he laughs a little, fangs bared in a grin. It’s nearly soft. “You don’t want those?” He asks, almost mockingly.
“Absolutely not.”
“You draw the line at those?” Wilbur asks, teasingly. “They’re- what, too little for you?”
“No, they’re gross. It’s like- they’re looking at you.” Techno explains, unnerved by the thought, and then curious in wondering if he’s gotten so used to headless meals, now, that keeping their heads would put him off.
Wilbur laughs again, more fully now, his body leaning down with an exasperated expression written all over his face. “They’re eyes!” He says simply, and Techno cares little for that point. It doesn’t change anything.
“Euhg.” Techno gives as his eloquent answer, and Wil’s replying cackle is familiar and warm.
Like the weight of blood in a dying, beating heart.
---
Wilbur continues in bringing headless bodies.
He never says where exactly the heads are going, but it’s not Techno’s concern, so he never asks about it. They go on with their nights, Techno growing stronger still, Wilbur lingering close.
Nothing changes for a while, in their odd little routine. There is no reason for anything to change, and there is no reason for them to want change.
But one night, Techno goes hunting.
Techno goes hunting and brings a body to their place for the day, an old, abandoned home set up in the mountains, empty and forgotten but perfect for waiting out the sunlight. Wilbur sits by the open door, under the roof, in clear view with the moonlight hitting only the edge of his feet.
Techno knows he keeps his distance when the fights start, when the slayers come, and this is similar in that regard, Wil giving a wide space the moment Techno tells him he’s decided to go hunt. It’s an odd sort of wariness, something you could almost call caution.
There is something a little upset, in the way he watches Techno climb back up the hill to the house, his eyes set on the food laid over his shoulder, its head intact, its chest torn open. It’s a slight anger, but it’s also a slight fear, like the second time they met, the moment where Techno dropped down and killed those slayers in an instant. Some instinctual, knowing awareness of a possible threat or fight.
The anger, also like before, is wiped away into nothing very quickly, the second Techno drops the body down at Wil’s feet.
Like some sort of offering made, Technoblade makes no move to take it back, instead stepping past and kneeling down to sit down inside, behind the doorway, behind Wilbur’s back.
He sits, and huffs, as if some great effort has been made, and then he lays down on his back, staring up to the ceiling. His hands clasp over his stomach, fingers neatly interlocked. He sighs, and waits.
Wil slowly turns his head over his shoulder with a wide look.
He glances down at the meal brought, in a very obvious sort of way, like a silent question. Techno makes a resolute point to pretend he doesn’t see it. He instead diverts all his attention into squinting at a small hole in the roof which has been annoying him lately, the sunlight always slipping through during the day.
“Techno.” Wilbur calls. Techno makes a vague answering noise. “Are you not hungry?”
“It’s not mine.”
Wilbur makes another very obvious glance, a silent question made so loud Techno can almost hear it in his ears. “...Techno.”
“It’s not mine.” Technoblade repeats, his eyes closing to avoid any more staring at the hole in the roof and to avoid seeing Wilbur’s incredulous face. “It’s for you.”
Wilbur almost laughs, choking a little in his throat.
He scoots closer from his spot by the doorway, then moves away, as if thinking better of it. “Why? Are we trading roles, now? I can’t exactly fight off the slayers as well as you can.” When Techno gives no immediate reply, he looks to the body again, shifting himself to sit on the very edge of the doorway, hand grasping at the wall. “Frankly, it’s laughable you even think I-”
“I’m not asking you to fight anything.” Technoblade opens his eyes up, tilting his head towards Wilbur, if only to cement the message and ensure that none of that will start up. “Don’t start joining my fights.” He says, the tone made like a warning.
“Didn’t really want to.” Wilbur mutters, avoiding looking Techno in the eyes. Techno appreciates that as an answer, but it’s not really a proper one.
“Wilbur.”
“I’m not going to. Do you think I have a deathwish?” Wil snaps, turning his head away, twisting himself to face out into the forest again.
Techno just hums, satisfied in that answer, the noise in his throat rolling out into some odd, pleased note. He closes his eyes again, as if needing the rest.
Wilbur looks over his shoulder again, nails clicking down on the floorboards in a fidgeting sort of way. He shifts in place, closer, then farther, then farther still.
“Techno.” Wilbur whispers, before the quiet can truly settle, the conservation made over and done. “Why for me?”
“Consider it payment.” Technoblade mutters, mimicking Wilbur’s own words from that one night, in where their arrangement first began. He lifts a hand up and waves it lazily in the vague direction of the forest. “You can keep an eye out while I sleep. Wake me up if any slayers spontaneously appear, or something.”
Techno can hear the judging frown in Wil’s next words, an accusation sitting sharp.
“Demons don’t sleep, Techno.”
“I’m sleeping.” Technoblade says back spitefully, and he rolls over on his side, facing his back towards Wil.
Truly, he isn’t. There is no need for rest, as a demon. There is no point in it, other than maybe reminiscing or trying to force a sort of old routine again. Even with that, though, he keeps his eyes closed and lays motionless, mimicking the appearance of it, chasing the peace he knows it once brought.
There is something comforting about being able to just be still, at least. Not having to look at anything, not having to listen for anything. There are no threats in this moment. There is no reason for Techno to lift himself up and stay on alert, no hunger to soothe, no slayers to kill. He can just stay here in the cool air of the night and be further assured in the knowledge that even Wilbur has no worries for the moment, his own meal brought by Techno’s hands, his effort reserved for another night.
Technoblade lets himself drift into an unthinking type of silence, just for a little while, and then he’s abruptly brought out of it by the feeling of a hand touching him on the back of his shoulder.
He doesn’t startle, exactly, but he does flinch a little in the surprise of it, and then he raises his head and turns his neck with a quiet, confused noise, wondering when Wilbur got so close, and wondering why exactly he’s poking him. If it were for a cause of danger, it'd probably more urgent, so it’s not that. But there is still something.
Wilbur- is utterly frozen in where he sits over Techno. His hand still outstretched in where he touched him on the back, eyes wide as if he witnessed something unthinkable.
He’s almost fearful-looking, all of a sudden.
It tugs at something in the very back of Techno’s skull, and he quickly sits himself up in a more present sort of focus, shifting himself to face Wil. Wilbur jerks back, scooting away, bracing himself. Techno stops in place, listening for anything around, reaching out to see if they’re truly alone.
They are.
Nothing happens.
Technoblade blinks, now more confused than worried. There is nothing happening. There is no one here but them. But Wilbur keeps looking at him as if he’s the one who should be more baffled, and he keeps glancing at Techno’s hands, as if waiting for something.
“...What are you doing?” Technoblade eventually asks, and Wilbur’s face twists up as he makes a distressed sputter of words.
“What am I- What are you doing?” Wilbur pushes himself back, closer to the door. Techno notes that the food outside is still untouched. “What are you doing?!”
“I wasn’t actually sleeping, I’m just laying down.” Technoblade explains, assuming that Wilbur has thought he actually was asleep. Bit of a weird reaction to a demon sleeping, but Techno’s never seen Wilbur do the same, so maybe it really is unthinkable. Had he worried him? “I’m not- I felt like laying down, but I wasn’t actually tired.”
“But you turned away from me.” Wilbur says, holding a hand to his chest, his claws on full display.
Techno furrows his brows together, confused. He tilts his head. “Did you…want me to face you?”
Wilbur gives a wordless expression, mouth kept open. Techno readjusts himself in where he’s sitting. He tries to keep his voice casually light, a little mimicry of Wil’s own speech.
“Maybe I should, if you’re going to take it as an opportunity to sneak up on me and poke me, for some reason.”
“You didn’t hear me coming?” Wilbur whispers.
“I wasn’t really paying attention to whether or not you were.” Techno admits.
“You didn’t hear me coming.” Wilbur repeats, and the way he says it-- it's just a little more heavy. Concerning. His gaze falls away, avoiding Techno’s face, and he looks towards the food Techno brought, stares at it as if it’s become something else entirely. “You weren’t even-?”
“Wilbur.” Techno says, now fully worried.
“How- Why would you-” Wilbur starts, and he turns his attention back to Techno, shaking his head. “Why are you like this?” He asks. He backs away, crawling past the doorway, as if seconds away from bolting out into the forest and never coming back. “Why are you so-?”
Technoblade narrows his eyes and shifts himself to sit up a little more. If Wilbur’s running, he’s following.
Wilbur seems to sense it. He settles against the edge of the doorway like a gesture of defeat, and he looks at the body again.
“...Why did you bring me a body with a head on it?”
“Because you like the eyes.”
Wilbur looks at Techno with a doubtful scrunch of his nose, anger trying to flicker up. “Why did you bring me a body?”
Technoblade gives no reaction to the slight heat of Wil’s voice. He sees no reason to give a reaction, frankly. “You’re being kinda odd about this.” He tells Wilbur outright, and Wilbur’s expression goes vividly hostile, his eyes flashing in a mix of both terror and rage.
“I’M the odd one?!” Wilbur screams, Technoblade reeling back at the sudden shout, his hands raising up immediately as if giving surrender. Wilbur pays no mind to it, only continuing his tirade. “You’re insane! You make no sense! You, turning your back to me as if it’s-”
“I’ll face you the next time I sleep!”
“THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING POINT!” Wil shouts, slamming his hands down on the floor, the wood cracking underneath his knuckles. “You act as if this is nothing! You brought me food! For no reason!”
“You fed me.” Technoblade points out, his words made stern, stopping Wilbur in his tracks. “First when I was starving, and then throughout all the time we’ve been together. So I’ll feed you.” He narrows his eyes, the only hint of returning anger he’s given all night. “That’s only fair.”
Wilbur falters, shoulders falling down.
He leans back in where he’s sitting, and from there, the moonlight shines right on his back, drapes him in the blue color of the night. He’s looking up at Techno from where he is, ever so slightly lifting his head, the ground lower by the door than by where Techno is sitting.
He makes a hesitating move to turn away, and then he faces his back to Techno, reaching for the food left on the porch steps with a shaking hand, finally eating at last.
Techno huffs, his mind put at ease.
“I’m going back to sleep.” Technoblade decides, seeing this matter as now finished, Wilbur’s mood now calmed. “Stop poking me.” He says as he lays on his side again, faced towards Wil, eyes falling shut.
“...Sleep well, I suppose.” Wilbur murmurs to him, beside the sound of tearing flesh, the smell of stale blood drifting in the air.
Techno huffs again, a little endeared.
---
He still ends up feeling a tap of a claw against his head, a little while later, a bloodstain left on the spot over his left brow.
He chooses to ignore it, not daring to humor Wil, even if Wilbur is already seeming amused, judging by the little pleased hum he gives for when Techno scrunches his nose at being poked.
---
They don’t quite talk about that night from then on.
Techno does gain a habit of pretending to sleep, enjoying the comfort of lounging around. Wilbur gains a habit of trying to bother that comfort, taking more and more chances to mess with Technoblade, like some sort of game to see how close he can get before Techno opens his eyes and catches him in the act.
Techno wishes he could be fully bothered about it. Maybe then, he could tell Wilbur to quit it, but there is something kinda fun in hearing Wil trying to sneak around. Always coming a little closer, trying to stare, trying to pull Technoblade back into the present. More than once, Wil tries to stack rocks on his head, as if the feeling of a pebble on his forehead won’t go unnoticed.
Usually, Wilbur’s just trying to nudge at him, though, in any sort of way. An elbow to his arm, a fingertip to his spine, a tap of his foot to the back of his leg. By the time Techno lifts his head to give him a warning look, Wilbur’s already skittering off, gone into the wilderness, but not far enough to be considered away. It’s such an odd habit, really, and even odder in the way it’s popped up out of nowhere as a response to Techno’s naps, but it does feel like a good fit into their routine. Something more to pass their time. Technoblade finds it entertaining, if nothing else. Some days, he gives no warning and flings a rock into the trees as a sort of revenge, some effort in keeping Wil on his toes. He’ll shake the trees and pull at the branches, and Wilbur will hiss back in offense, but will never admit to his new habit, his lingering presence always seeming closer, these nights.
It’s a playful banter they carry together. Techno likes the way Wil’s anger forms now, never becoming honest anymore, never hinted with fear. It is warm and it is loud, but it is not true. Just familiar.
Wil still brings most of their hunts for the two of them. Brings back headless bodies with the hearts bared. Technoblade hunts for him, too, every now and then. A rare but repeating occasion.
They don’t eat together. They never have, but they’re both fed, both close, and for Techno, that’s enough.
For right now- it’s plenty.
---
“Do you remember any of your past life?” Wilbur asks him, one night, the question pulled out from nowhere.
The two of them stand by a moonlit lake, the water shimmering before their eyes. Wilbur stays crouching down by the waterline, eyes looking out at the ripples, his claws hovering over the rocks below his feet, as if tempted to gather one up into his palm and toss it out into the water.
Technoblade stands beside him, arms crossed over his chest, his attention more focused on the moon sitting high above, the light of it almost too bright.
“Very little.” Techno replies, trying to think of the before. It must’ve been unremarkable, judging by how sparingly his memories come to him. He can’t be sure if he had a family, had a home, had a true life before this. He thinks he had a cat, at some point. Maybe it says a lot if that’s the only thing he can remember in more clarity.
“I was an only child. I remember that very vividly.” Wilbur says, Techno turning his eyes away from the moon in an intrigued noise. Wilbur huffs, picking out a rock from under him, flipping it over in his hands. “I used to sit alone for the whole day, bored out of my mind, because I had no one to play with while my house sat empty, my parents away for work.”
He tosses the rock to the side, seemingly dissatisfied with it. He continues searching for another, digging through the dirt, picking a few out with his claws.
“Oh, how I wished for a sibling.” He sighs, grabbing a small pebble and flinging it to the water, the splash of it not even a splash, just an instant sinking fall. “Just one, so I could have someone to be with me, someone to share my meals with and listen to me talk.”
Technoblade wonders faintly if he’s ever had a brother. He cannot be sure of it, can’t quite name the feeling of being a brother, but imagines it would be very similar to this, to Wilbur.
Wilbur pushes himself to stand, having given up on the rocks. “My parents never did give me one, though. A shame.”
Technoblade tilts his head as Wil looks at him with something expectant, a hint of a smile on his lips. He tries to smile back, more a glimpse of his teeth than anything true, but it seems like enough. Wilbur huffs, looking suddenly fond, and he turns himself away from the lake.
“Do you want to go hunting together?” He asks, out of the blue.
Techno lifts his chin with sudden interest, eyes made wide. He knows what the offer is meant to be, knows it’s supposed to probably be a collaborative effort, an olive branch held out, but he can’t help the way his chest fills with some eager sort of warmth, a competitive pride taking root in his throat and making him ask-
“Like a race?”
Wilbur blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. Then his mood sours, and he scoffs, turning around to wander towards the trees. “You’d outrun me in a second.” He says, the fondness from before now gone.
“What if I give a headstart?” Techno offers, moving faster to be in front of Wilbur, to look him in the eyes with a keen look. “I could give you an advantage. Let you run ahead first.”
“Would you?” Wilbur asks dryly, continuing to walk, Techno moving backwards, staying with him and keeping his pace.
“It could be fun. We could see-” Techno starts to say, and then abruptly, he stops in where he is, Wilbur stopping with him with an intrigued look as Technoblade’s face goes into a conflicted frown. “On second thought, maybe not.”
Wilbur raises a brow.
“I think you’re faster than me, actually. That wouldn’t go well for me.” Technoblade mutters, hand held to his mouth in thought, his eyes averted to the floor.
“Oh, please.” Wilbur grins, the fondness returning, colored in annoyance. “You’re far stronger than me. You know this.” He reminds, almost exasperated in saying it.
“But speed isn’t strength.” Technoblade replies, very matter of fact. “And I know for a fact you’re fast.”
Wilbur’s frown lingers for a few seconds more, then it falls away as his face turns considerate, eyes widening as if catching onto something.
“Okay.” He says, suddenly grinning too wide, his expression eager.
“Okay?” Techno repeats, thrown off. He’s now a little worried, if anything. “Hey-”
“Let’s race, then. You and me, who’s faster? Let us find out.” Wilbur cuts him off, taking a few steps back, hopping slightly on his toes, as if now with too much energy to keep. He spins around back towards the lake, and draws out a circling path in the air with his finger. “Around the lake, just once. Just to see.”
“What do I get if I win?” Technoblade asks, and Wil gives him a deadpan look. “There has to be incentive, Wilbur.” He defends weakly, Wilbur still not impressed.
“Bragging rights.” Wil gives simply, and then Techno is the one returning the deadpan look, not nearly satisfied in that.
“That’s it?”
“You don’t want bragging rights?” Wilbur questions, and Techno immediately backtracks.
“No, no. Bragging rights are good. But…” He trails off, a quiet request made in it.
“Bragging rights and a heart.” Wilbur relents, and Techno’s eyes light up with something gleeful, Wil’s energy bleeding into him.
“A fresh heart.” He bargains, stepping closer to Wil.
“And you’ll get me fresh eyes, if I win.” Wilbur replies.
Techno scrunches his nose with an upset noise, but makes his agreeing nod. Wilbur laughs a little, endlessly amused by Techno’s odd distaste of eyes, and he turns himself in the direction of the waterline following down the lake, stretching an arm out.
“We go when I say, alright?” He asks, Techno turning to face himself in the right way.
“Alr-”
“Go!” Wilbur yells before Techno’s even finished agreeing, and he’s off before Techno can even think of putting his foot to the ground for a sprinting start.
“That’s not-! Wilbur!” Techno yells, chasing after, hearing Wil’s laugh echo around the edge of the lake as they both run along, their shouts and their presence seeming more like arguing children in the moment, rather than demons.
---
They run around for the entirety of the night, frantic and foolish.
Wilbur wins more often than not, in speed. Technoblade can go for a longer distance, that much is true, but Wil is faster, no doubts to it. It is something, and it is perfect, because Wilbur gets to reach their targets first before Techno can, and the frustrated sound that Technoblade makes every time he’s a few seconds late is better than any fresh meal Wilbur can have.
They hunt together, race together, arguing and laughing and fighting underneath the moon, and once they’ve tired themselves out, eaten their kills from the town, Wilbur is sated in more ways than one. For this night, just this night, he decides to follow Techno’s example.
He lays his head down beside Techno’s leg and lets himself rest.
He turns his back to Techno’s eyes, ignoring and killing the warning in the back of his head telling him not to. Turning your back to a demon is a surefire way of getting killed. Turning your attention away, inviting attack like this-- you’ll find claws in your spine, soon enough.
And surely enough, Techno takes the chance to seek his revenge that night.
He stacks rocks onto Wilbur’s head.
Wilbur supposes it’s a little less fun to be on the receiving end of being bothered during rest. He makes a solemn vow to be the bother, forevermore.
----
It’s raining on the night they come across another demon for the first time.
Wilbur’s made his theories about their isolated travel before, how no demons ever seem to cross their path, despite the two of them traveling so far. He tells Techno that he used to come across at least a few, when he was alone. With Techno, they don’t dare show themselves. They don’t want to risk their lives, most likely, being able to sense the sort of demon Technoblade is, being able to know that it isn’t a fight they will win.
Technoblade isn’t all that upset over not being able to witness more of their kind out in the wild. Wilbur says they’re all mostly horrible, too violent at first glance. Too much effort for the two of them to extend. Wilbur is plenty effort on his own, so Techno can’t imagine having to deal with anyone worse than him. It is for the better.
But then they wander too close, too far, right into a lower moon’s territory.
Demons are possessive of what they see as theirs. It’s the cause of most of their infighting, disputes over territory, over food, over their self-imposed ranks of power. Most demons see Technoblade when he approaches close, and see a threat they’ve never faced before. While they do not like him being in what they see as theirs, they know it is worse to try and force him out, because that brings the chance of losing everything. Better to not provoke him.
This demon they come across-- is not like that. Does not fear that. For they wear a symbol of power marked onto their eye, and they see themselves as stronger.
“It’s a lower moon.” Wilbur warns in a whisper, and when Techno gives no sign of hesitating at going forward, only a hint of intrigue in his eyes, Wil catches him by the back of the sleeve and holds him still. “It’s one of the demon king’s chosen.”
That makes Techno pause.
He knows of the demon king. That is knowledge that comes from his blood, his very existence made from that person alone. Their creator, their maker, the ruler of the demons. The demon king is a force beyond them all. Techno knows in his heart, in the depths of his cold veins and his racing mind, that in sheer gap in power, the demon king is akin to a god, when compared to himself.
Anyone considered directly under him would likely be similar. A true threat, at last.
A true challenge, maybe.
“Technoblade.” Wilbur calls in warning again, keeping behind him with a clear sort of caution, eyes wide to the darkness of the wilderness around them. Techno looks out and sees eyes staring back, and feels the danger sitting behind them, the cruel anger waiting to be unleashed.
Wil’s hand curls tighter from where it holds onto Techno’s sleeve, claws cutting into the fabric. He bares his teeth and snarls. The demon laughs back, the sound of it echoing around.
“Do you seek your death tonight?" They ask, hardly intimidated by the display. Overhead, thunder rolls like a warning made. “You approach me like this, with such little respect? Do you know who you’ve approached?”
Lower moon three, the left eye of the demon says. All in all, the demon king’s chosen consists of twelve different rankings. A lower moon, while not the worst they could encounter, is still something to fear. Wilbur knows his own chances are slim, against a demon like this. He’d die within minutes, torn to pieces like a plaything.
Technoblade is a different story, though.
“If you get on your knees and beg for mercy now, I may spare your life.” The demon says, and Wilbur twists his lip up in a scowl. He releases his hand from Techno’s sleeve, the gesture of it a silent signal. He does not like the idea of how this is going to play out, but frankly, they were too far in the second the lower moon even sensed their presence. As if Techno would ever walk away quietly now. As if the lower moon would let them.
“Keep your distance and spare your own.” He answers back in a shout, Techno’s expression beside him purposefully blank as he takes in the environment around them, head tilting up to stare at the storm overhead. He looks to the trees, to the muddy ground, and then back towards the demon as it laughs again at Wil’s words. He takes a needless breath.
“You dare to try-?”
It doesn’t matter whatever building threats the demon was going to say. They’re cut short in an instant as Techno lunges out into the dark of the trees, Wilbur fleeing up to the branches as the sound of cracking earth rumbles underneath, Techno hitting the demon hard.
There’s a screaming cry of shock and pain, the breaking sound of bone, and Wilbur dares to not look back as the pained cry morphs quickly into a thing of utter fury, the fight now starting up in full. Lighting flashes above with the rain pouring harder, a faint, high-pitched sound floating through. Wilbur stops and clings close to his branch with his claws dug in, looking around with confusion for the noise. Is that from the demon itself, or something else? It’s hard to catch, past the rest of the commotion, the strong scent of blood rising through the air.
He leaps to a different tree, trying to make distance, hearing the forest below him being torn apart, roots and wood pulled out from their place. Blood is splattering across the ground, across the jagged tree trunks and the dirt, the red of it instantly washed away by the heavy rain. Technoblade snarls in a way that’s more of a sharp shout, and in the corner of his eye, Wil sees a severed limb thrown to the side. He stops where he is, leaning close to see if it is Techno’s, but then he feels a rise of danger, the high pitched noise coming back, digging into his ears.
He tries to move away on instinct, but he’s too slow to react. A flash of lightning strikes again, only this time, it stretches down to the forest itself, the light blinding and the boom of it deafening. Wilbur is thrown back with the force of it, tossed from his spot on the trees, his body hitting the ground hard.
He struggles to gather his bearings for a second, knowing instantly that must’ve been the demon’s doing. This storm isn’t natural. It’s a defensive act, he’s sure, and then he wonders if that lighting was meant to hit Techno head on. Would Techno survive that?
He lifts his head, and finds himself hearing a terrible silence, the fight suddenly too quiet.
Everything in him tells him to not dare try it. Survival is in the other direction, up in the trees, out of the way. He did not get this far by being bold and brave. A demon does not last long if they do not know how to keep away from danger, knowing their place amongst their rest. He should not go.
But Technoblade-
Wilbur picks himself up from the ground and runs to him, going through the trees and finding quick relief in seeing Techno’s disoriented body in a crater on the ground, his clothes seeming burnt around the edges, his skin trying to heal open wounds. He’s missing an arm, he’s slowed to a stop, but he’s still alive, still trying to lift his head.
“How did you-?” The demon trails off as he stands over him, seeming surprised for Techno’s survival. It makes a scoffing sound, hand lifting up. “Well, you’re a bit more durable than the rest, aren’t you?”
Technoblade looks up with a grimacing scowl. He needs a chance for an opening. He needs a second to heal.
“Techno!” Wilbur yells. The lower moon turns its head with a surprised face, hand twisting out towards him, instead, the air carrying that high-pitched noise again. Wilbur moves, pushing himself towards the source of danger, following against all the screaming cries of his instincts. An explosion of light blooms at his heels, and he throws himself away from it, right towards the worst option, right at the demon.
He slams into them with no restraint, too fast for either of them to bear, and they both go tumbling across the ground, Wilbur kicked away and hitting hard against a tree. He grunts in the ache of his spine surely breaking upon impact, and then he screams in the sting of claws slamming down and grabbing onto his shoulder, dragging him up to a furious face, the sign of Upper Moon Three staring down at him.
This is something to be feared. This is something that is a threat. Wilbur bares his teeth and hisses in an automatic defense, his claws scratching out at the hand holding him, but he knows, he knows it’s utterly useless. He’s going to die. Every inch of him knows it, every part of him sees the futile effort in struggling. This is a demon who’s stronger than him, far, far stronger than him, and it wants him torn apart. It wants him to die.
But there is something worse behind it.
Technoblade is getting up.
Wilbur’s breath chokes up in his throat, and he looks up at the storming sky, seeing the flickering of the lightning gathering again. He hears the high-pitched noise, hears a roaring cry behind it, something sharper than the thunder, and the weight of the demon’s gaze lifts from him, Wilbur feeling the hand on his shoulder being torn away- then he’s falling back to the floor.
He lands on his back and gasps out at the impact, the pain an uncomfortable thing. It’s been so long since he’s been truly injured, he’s almost not sure how to swallow it anymore. He puts his energy to healing quickly, and in the effort of it, he nearly misses the sound of tearing flesh, a scream of terror rippling out. Wilbur looks up, and sees Techno’s hands wrapping around the demon’s neck, tightening and pulling up and-
The rain comes to an abrupt stop. The lack of it makes it a near silence, Wilbur shutting his eyes against the sound of the neck cracking apart, letting the head free. It falls somewhere in the mud, thrown aside in the next moment as Techno lets out another snarl for good measure, as if to show his distaste for the thing he just slaughtered.
Wilbur lets a held breath out, easing back the instinct telling him to run. There is no point in running. He’s not the one in danger. He’s not ever going to be the one at Techno’s mercy, he’s quite sure of that.
He opens his eyes, and tries settling in the feeling of victory, instead, but it’s a bit difficult has he’s left glaring down at the injury on his shoulder. The ground is wet and cold underneath him, his back aches in healing itself together, with the impact from earlier having seriously cracked something. It’s not a life ending thing, though, he supposes.
He’s alive.
Techno is alive.
Wilbur stares up in a new dawning realization, almost horrified for the weight of it draping down on him. Technoblade is walking up to him in slow, labored steps, and Wilbur looks up with his eyes wide, frantic words on the tip of his tongue. Techno killed a lower moon. He killed a lower moon. One of the demon king’s chosen.
And he barely even struggled for it!
Wilbur’s shock falters immediately at seeing Techno hold something out to him, a very clear discomfort written all over his face. It’s nothing of pain, nothing of the struggling effort of healing his wounds perfectly within minutes. His arm is already back, for fuck’s sake. So what is he-?
Wilbur looks down, and stares.
He’s holding an eyeball.
An eye for Wil, with the title of lower moon still written across the pupil of it.
Wilbur blinks, and he cannot help it- he bursts out into laughter. He slaps his hands to his face and laughs in sheer amusement, his body curling in on itself with the force of it. Techno’s disgust is soothed a little by the sound, his expression softening into a hint of a smile.
“Aw, you’re too kind.” Wilbur chokes out, giggling around the words, taking the eyeball from Techno’s palm. It’ll disintegrate in moments, but the feeling of it in his hand, his fingers closing around it and crushing it into nothing-- “More of a souvenir than a treat, I think.”
Technoblade shrugs, mouth opening to reply.
Then a chiming note of a string sings out from nowhere, and he disappears into nothing.