Ranboo had just enough time to see they had horribly misjudged the danger they were in before pain stole all further rational thought from him.

His wrist throbbed – suffering a hit that had cut deep to the bone and forced him to drop his weapon, blood streaming down his arm in torrents. The blond man's fingers curled against his scalp again, dragging his neck back until his shoulders strained, their other arm braced against his spine to keep him still. A metallic taste sticking to his tongue, flooding back into his throat from a split lip. Not an inch of his body that didn't hurt some way or another.

And still, Ranboo's eyes stayed wide and searching, looking for Techno on the ground. Sword aimed at his chest and defenseless, nothing between himself and the sharp edge of death.

Ranboo barely heard the man restraining him laughing, mocking with their cruel promises. It all sounded like static to him. Flashing metal closing in on his eye.

He kicked, spat, threw his leg out. The man cursed when Ranboo got them in the shin. Their arm slipped and drew a white hot line across Ranboo's cheek, down to his jaw. He hadn't lost an eye – barely, but he hadn't.

They grappled to renew their grip, thumb pressing into his throat. It cut off his air and Ranboo gasped desperately. His arm jerked, and that's when he felt the hilt of Mel's knife sticking from the back of his pants. As if by some miracle – divine intervention – it hadn't been dropped in the mayhem. Ranboo reached for it.

When the man tried to bring his sword up a second time, tried to scoop his eye straight out of its socket, Ranboo thrust the knife through their arm.

With the force he put behind it, it sliced clean through. The tip stuck out the other end – the point peeking out from the skin – while the man blinked at it in silent horror. Then they screamed.

Already, Ranboo could see the others moving. Could see them about to step in. He'd only have a split second. He pulled the knife out before adjusting himself, their loosened hold on him allowing Ranboo to turn a little. Violently, he plunged it into their chest.

What had started as a clear shriek devolved into something ugly and gurgling. Ranboo fell onto his feet when they let go of him, nearly crumbling due to his ruined ankle. Adrenaline and willpower alone kept him from falling to his knees. He spun around, the knife still in his hand because he never let go of the handle. With a growl, Ranboo practically jumped the guy standing over Technoblade.

They did not get the time to react before the knife sunk into the side of their throat, effortlessly severing every artery it came across. Ranboo grabbed their shoulder and pushed them, tossed them out of the way. They hit the ground shoulder first and didn't get back up again.

Techno shifted – probably in an attempt to get up or help. He didn't accomplish more than a short twinge of his leg, chest heaving with the surplus of effort it took to even do that much. His shoulders shook, cheek pressed into dirt and blood pooling beneath him but he was grinning.

"This would be where you run," Techno said. It was almost a joke, almost humor. Ranboo wanted to laugh and cry.

Six men were facing him down, not taking the blond man still writhing on the ground into account. They were armed and Ranboo didn't have anything aside from the small knife held in his quivering hands. Fingers shaking around the handle, eyes narrowed.

And every fiber of the waning self-preservation he possessed was screaming out for Ranboo to tuck tail and run. For him to do the logical, sensical thing if he wanted to be free: to get out of there. But it would take leaving Technoblade to die.

Ranboo was done with leaving things he cared about behind.

"One more step and you're dead." His own voice sounded foreign to his ears, inhuman. "I won't let you touch him."

The warning wasn't taken seriously. The man directly opposite him laughed, one to the side of him sagged their shoulders to show the spectacle didn't inspire any fear in them. They were advancing. They were going to hurt them both – to kill them both.

They were going to kill a person he wanted to protect.

Ranboo blacked out sometimes. It was scary, frightening. To be aware one moment and then the next felt like waking up from a dream with no idea what you were doing, or how you got there. With no memory of what happened, but knowing you were doing something. Sleepwalking with a purpose. This started with a similar sensation. Light and airy, loosely connected. Embracing some unrestrained knowledge that made it easier to let go of his worry, his panic.

Made it easy to act without second-guessing.

He didn't slip untethered completely. Vaguely, as if staring at himself through somebody else's eyes, he was seeing the scene unfold before him. A movie composed of still photographs and not fluid imagery. His pulse the barest thrumming in his ears, all other sound and sight blocked out to patches of sensation. And he snarled – teeth digging into flesh, claws tearing through defenses.

How long it lasted would not be more than a minute, not more than the space between a handful of heartbeats. Blood on his hands, on his face. More of it, more, more.

Until all was quiet.

Ranboo had fallen to the ground, his ankle finally giving out. He was shaking more, vibrating out of his skin. Nobody was getting back up, not anymore. They were all dead because he had killed them.

Then there was a rustling of something alive amongst the treetops above him and Ranboo gripped the knife tighter, prepared to fight again.

But what descended on him with such urgency it felt more like it was falling on top of him was not an enemy. Ranboo's arms slackened, too tired to be held up any long against this man. Phil's flurry of black wings embraced him, brushed against him so softly Ranboo was certain he would start crying for real this time.

He dropped the knife.

"-uck, I thought we were too late. Did they get you, are you hurt?" Phil's fingers touched his face, his forehead. Their tenderness and warmth felt like they could break Ranboo with kindness if they wanted to.

"We... I ca-" All ability to form words had abandoned him. Niki emerged from the tree-line next, her pale face streaked with concern. It eased as soon as she noticed Phil fuzzing over Ranboo, checking if any of the blood was due to an injury.

Phil moved aside, hurrying over to Techno and Niki took his place to help Ranboo get up. She pushed a glass bottle into his hands, lifting his elbow to encourage him to drink from it and Ranboo hadn't seen what it was but he obeyed. The taste was sweet, cloying. A health potion, probably.

He tried to crane his neck around to look at Phil, despite every movement hurting. "Is Techno...?"

"He's fine," Phil said quickly. "Out cold but that's not the worst thing to be." He was being careful while tending to the piglin, but Ranboo could tell he wasn't lying. "Will be even better once we get you both home safe and sound."

And if that didn't just sound like the most appealing thing in the world, Ranboo didn't know what would.

"Can't get there quick enough," he said.

"We'd have come sooner but-" Niki started, then shook her head as if deciding against it. "It's a long story. We're just glad you're okay."

They were. It was over and they were fine, or they would be soon. Ranboo couldn't quite wrap his head around that, not after weeks of living at the coliseum. It all felt too unreal to be true.

But perhaps, he decided while feeling tiredness and relief pull at him simultaneously, that would be the kind of thing for him to process and deal with after he'd taken the world's longest nap.