There was certainly something strange in seeing the armory so close to abandoned.

Once again – not for the first time and certainly not the last – it crossed Techno's mind that what had presented itself before him might be an escape opportunity in the making, assuming that he knew how to capitalize on it. There was always some reason for him not to however, and often that reason was found in the person left behind in their cell. He could not leave, would not leave without a guarantee he could take Ranboo with him.

Repeatedly he clenched and unclenched his fingers, finding peace in the rhythm. A pale substitute for the usual ways Techno could release pent-up energy, but good enough for the moment. Soon, he would have an outlet better than anything he could provide for himself anyway.

"Blunt weaponry?" he asked, turning the battle hammer over after it had been handed to him. It was heavier than Techno liked, middle-sized handle but with a solid metal head. Not the claw hammer type, but one specifically used in combat for hard-hitters. What was it with people taking him for the brawly type anyway? Prejudice much.

"It's what the challenger wanted," was the only answer he was given.

"Whatever." Techno slung the weapon up on his shoulder instead. "Let's get this over with, I'm losing out on sleep for this."

As was to be expected for a private event the audience was a lot more modest. A handful of people sat in the stands that flanked him on his right, matching uniforms in black and grey leading Techno to suspect they were part of a dedicated regiment. Either this was a cruel hazing ritual for new soldiers or a malcontent general trying to take out their frustrations on an impartial victim.

Whichever the case, Techno hoped they weren't too ambitious about showing off in front of their comrades.

The man that approached him from the other side of the arena was carrying a pernach, the trademark curved shape of the iron such as Techno hadn't seen in ages. Not a lot of people chose this type of mace as a primary weapon. Perhaps as an additional thing to have on hand in melee – strapped to a belt and only pulled out when in dire need. But not as a first pick.

Its presence alone was enough to make him suspicious.

When only six feet remained between them the man stopped and bowed. Technoblade only hesitated for a split second before returning the courtesy. The entire vibe was already so different from all other fights he had there so far, it was definitely throwing him off. Yesterday somebody pulled a fast one on him to play dirty and today they're upholding the rules of honorable combat.

field of honor lol
E
E
blood for the blood god
pretty sus
E

No matter what Chat might think of it, Techno preferred this over the chaotic messes he'd been entangled in before. The man threw back his shoulders, unclasped his cape to let it fall on the ground and to ensure they could fight face to face. He nodded at Techno to indicate he was ready for the match to commence and once more waited for him to return the gesture before proceeding.

When he did, the other did not delay.

They wielded the pernach with scary flexibility. Where others might be weighted down by the bulkiness of such a weapon, this man brandished it as if it were an extension of his arm. Technoblade did manage to catch his attacks, but it was more a testament to his own skill than it was a lack on their part. Heavy hits pushed him back in the sand and left little room for him to counter.

So Techno waited, inhaled before each strike and exhaled when the vibrations of their attack rippled in aches across his raised arms, slamming into him through where their weapons connected. It was the only thing keeping him from being knocked over, barely so since his lungs hadn't recovered from the day before yet. As soon as there was a pause between blows – short, barely a second, the man regaining his own footing before being able to continue – Technoblade moved.

His aim was true and under different circumstances, it would probably have helped him turn the tides of battle. But he was weaker than usual and the hammer felt clumsy in his hold. He didn't move as fast as he'd hoped, didn't swing as smoothly. They managed to jump back with the weapon only barely skimming their shoulder. Thrown off-balance, they reeled a little and Techno knew he couldn't allow them time to recover.

Pushing off on his toes, he tried to come at them from above to gain a different kind of edge. Height differences could be exploited. His hammer came down on their wrist just as they were raising their arm, the crunch of bone breaking a sickening noise. Distantly he could hear the audience gasp.

The pernach had fallen from limp fingers, though the man's face had barely twitched with pain even at having their wrist shattered. Techno lowered his own weapon a fraction – assuming the match would be over since his opponent was left unable to continue.

Chat tried to warn him about this mistake, but their frantic yelling came too late.

In a single smooth motion, the mace was picked up again, the man switching to his other hand effortlessly and with no signs that they were any less experienced using this one as opposed to the other. He twisted his body around, used the momentum to put both speed and force behind his blow, and slammed it into Techno's left side. His attempt to dodge by jumping sideways backfired in the most horrible way when it only ended up exposing his flank, arms thrown out and unable to protect his chest.

Instead, he felt the pressure rip through his ribs as if they were toothpicks. An instant sharp pain stabbed into his side, letting Techno know at least one of them had snapped in half. He was thrown onto the ground, landing on his back. Chat wouldn't stop screaming.

A shadow loomed above him. Techno rolled out of the way, the mace found its home in the sand instead of against his stomach. He swiped at the man's feet with his claws, making them back up and giving himself time to straighten again. Their eyes met and if Techno didn't know any better he'd say the general – for that was what he had to be, no common soldier fought like that – was smirking.

They went back to trading blows. Techno was trying to ignore how his entire side flared with pain, a bruise already forming where the penchant had hit him. But what was more worrying were the possible internal injuries, cracked ribs and ripped organs bleeding into his chest cavity. Stabs of agony traveled up into his left shoulder and vaguely he was aware of that being a bad sign – a terrible sign, really.

E
end it faster
kill him faster
E
E
his spleen's fucked
you're gonna bleed out dude

Their attacks were too fast for him to intercept, too strong for him to push back against. His head was starting to feel woozy, blood loss sneaking up on him. He could feel how his grip around the hammer's handle kept slipping, getting worse by the second. Still, Technoblade persisted. He wasn't going to let this be the end of him.

blood for the blood god

The man's lip twitched, a brief flash of confusion and then admiration displayed across his face when he realized Techno wasn't backing down from the fight. In fact, his strikes only became quicker, the gap between them shrinking into tight desperation. The hammer finally managed to connect against the man's hip, staggering him.

Techno went for the kneecap next.

He missed, pitched forward and when a wave of dizziness surged up to meet him he couldn't stop it. He faltered and didn't catch himself before the pernach came down on his lower back. Not as hard as it could have, only enough to force him to his knees. With a strangled grunt he collapsed onto his elbows. The man was so close – too close. Techno allowed himself to fall flat, curled on his side to kick them off. They evaded his clumsy attempt easily, batting his leg away with their arm.

Dark spots at the edge of his vision were slowly taking over. How much blood had he lost? How much of it was leaking inside him, spilling into open spaces between muscle and sinew. Was this really how he'd die?

pathetic

For the final time, the pernach plunged towards him. Technoblade didn't close his eyes. Didn't flinch as a bash that would surely be strong enough to cave his brain in descended towards his face.

Then - less than an inch from him – it stopped.

The man held it there a moment longer, their body heaving with deep inhales. Shoulder shaking with exhaustion from the fight. Sweat trickled down their face, their right arm with its broken wrist dangling next to them.

But they smiled before throwing the mace into the sand to offer Techno their hand instead.

Techno took it, grunting in pain he was pulled to his feet. He stumbled again almost immediately, dizzy and nauseous and let's be honest not being killed by having his skull crushed was a minor convenience when a ruptured organ would make quick work of him too. A firm grip on his elbow was the only thing keeping him upright.

The modest audience that had been spectating cheered for their superior, but the general ignored it in favor of turning to the handler who had ran onto the pitch to declare the winner.

"He fought well," the man told the handler, voice unexpectedly deep – a timbre close to middle age. "See to it his wounds are tended to. We will call upon your services again."

A few hurried nods and some more exchanged words Technoblade barely caught through his dimming awareness and then he was passed off to the handler as if he was nothing more than a tool, a broken toy in need of repairs. He'd usually hate their touch on him, but currently Techno was glad for the support. It was the only thing keeping him from simply lying down right then and there.

His side hurt, his shoulder ached, his head pounded to the tune of his slowing heartbeat. Pain was creeping up on all sides and it'd be so easy, too easy to yield in the face of his growing fatigue and simply stop existing for a bit. They led him inside, Technoblade blinked and when he opened his eyes again he was already being dropped onto a cot in the infirmary. He must have blacked out for a moment.

Giving in completely and slipping unconscious was a tantalizing thought – one his mind entertained if only to have Chat screech at him even louder, reminding him that somebody with injuries as grave as his current ones was as good as dead for it. He needed to stay awake, they urged him. If he wanted to survive he needed to stay awake.

So he curled his claws into his palm to press sharply into his skin, hissed at the draw of blood. It was a simple focal point, some small thing piercing and real to draw his attention towards in favor of oblivion.

And like that, Technoblade waited to see if anybody would actually care to help him this time.