Requested by Otaku_Nyakumon. This turned into an entire au accidentally whoops

"Stay behind me," Phil told his companions as they approached the overgrown building.

He trusted their source to provide credible information, Pete had never led them wrong before. But he also knew the value in townsfolk gossip and when he went to the tavern in the nearest village the locals were more than eager to talk his ear off after they had downed a few ales paid for by Phil's coin.

And their word was that while the castle had been abandoned decades ago, stone walls and parapets left to decay under nature's influence, it did not lay entirely uninhabited. Maybe by other humans – yes – but there were more frightening things spoken of in this area. A horrifying beast with ferocity unmatched and eyes that spoke of bloodlust, said to live inside the castle still and feast on the flesh of unlucky passerby's.

In these parts, children were told not to play in the ruins if they wanted to return home again in the evening. Strangers were warned against roaming around at night, let alone venturing anywhere near the old castle grounds. When Phil told them the reason for his inquiry, the joviality fleeted from their tone like snow stricken by the noon sun, dark shadows cast on their faces.

"Do not go there if your own life and that of your friends has any meaning to you," they told him. "What lives in those castle walls now is much more frightening than the lord that has deserted it."

Now Phil was not usually one to ignore grave warnings. But coin had to be made if it wanted to be spent, his purse was becoming worrisomely light these days. If it were just himself alone on the road, Phil would not have cared to go some days without food, or sleep on the forest floor without a proper bed. He could deal with a beggar's circumstances.

He was not by himself, however. He had both Wilbur and Tommy with him – to look out for, no matter how much they'd insist they were capable enough to do it themselves. Phil wanted to give them the best chances he could offer, regardless of how paltry his attempts seemed to most. Which meant taking up the occasional gig with risks attached.

"Man, how old is this place?" Wilbur asked when they stepped over the bent iron that would once have been a gate meant to keep people out. If this was any indication, others had come to loot these ruins before. Yet the one offering the job had assured them the item they were interested in acquiring would still be there.

"Old," Phil answer. "Like... old old. It was abandoned during the age of blood."

Tommy kicked at a stone, watching it careen off into the distance and land in a soggy pit of earth where a pond used to be. For all the grandeur this place had possessed, it looked abysmal now. "Why's it called that?"

Phil laughed while Wilbur shot the younger a glare. "Take a fucking guess, Tommy."

The wars that had ravaged the land back then were horrible, spurred on by greedy nobles seeking for wealth in every manner they could think of, money and soil divided up like trinkets with no regard for the peasants who died in the warfare. When the commoners finally had enough, they had risen up to push back against an aristocracy that had always treated them as pawns, taking advantage of the way prolonged war had weakened their lord's positions. Most of them had been executed or – if they were lucky such as the owner of this estate had been – they had fled far away before the riots could get to them.

The chapped wooden door creaked open with a single push, Phil peering into the inky black darkness before retrieving a torch and lighting it. The flame cast a flickering light on the castle's interior, dusty and destroyed. Embroidered tapestries had been torn off the wall haphazardly, murals in vibrant colors had faded into pastel hues with time. The click of his boots on the stone floor echoed off the silence.

"This never gets any less eerie, does it?" Tommy muttered from behind him, retrieving the dagger from his belt. Phil was starting to regret giving it to him as a coming-of-age present three weeks ago, but it'd be better than the boy trying to defend himself bare handed.

"Why did you want to come if you're just going to complain about being scared?" Phil sighed.

"I'm not complaining," Tommy countered. "And I'm definitely not scared."

"What are we looking for anyway?" Wilbur cut in, probably to keep Tommy from starting an argument. They hadn't been inside for more than a minute and there was already debris stuck in his curls. Phil reached out to brush it away.

"A sword." Noticing the confused look on their faces he shrugged. "Apparently it's an important weapon of value left behind here ages ago, but the client assured me that it wouldn't have been taken by pillagers. He also didn't detail what it looked like, but said we would know it when we saw it."

Wilbur shook his head. "That's... weirdly vague."

"Not the strangest job we've had," Phil pointed out. "Remember the mass rabbit escape-"

"We're not talking about that," Tommy interrupted quickly, embarrassed. Phil knew how much he hated having that story brought up. "Let's just look for this sword thing and get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

They explored the winding passageways slowly, Phil making sure to always stay up front with his hand resting loosely on his sheath in case there was any truth to the rumors. After they had been walking around for close to twenty minutes and still hadn't heard or seen anything unusual, he was starting to doubt them. Perhaps this was a sign he should stop relying on hearsay to gather information.

That was until a crash disturbed the silence.

It was a heavy thud. Not the accidental shifting of stone or the setting of the castle's foundations, but sudden and manmade. Tommy spun on his heels and ran towards it, Phil needing a moment to process what was happening. He cursed under his breath and sprinted after, Wilbur hot on his heels. He saw Tommy disappear behind the hallway's corner, before letting out a surprised scream which was cut off into a strangled yelp. Phil didn't spend much time on thought as he rounded the corner himself, immediately slamming his shoulder into whatever it was that had pinned Tommy to the ground.

The beast reared back, snarling and clawing, landing on its side. That's when Phil realized it was not a beast at all, but merely a man – though one that looked rather intimidating. They seemed to be of a similar age to Wilbur, though in appearance they could not be further apart. A curtain of long pink hair framed sharp features, not human at a glance if the dangerous tusks and maroon eyes were any indications. While their body had the bearings of a warrior – lean muscles rippling beneath heavily scarred skin – the image was distorted by malnutrition, leaving bones to be visibly poking through. Their clothes were disgusting and torn, stained with dried blood, and they weren't wearing any shoes.

Around their throat was a golden collar.

"What the-" Wilbur breathed in surprise while Tommy was already scrambling away. The man was still crouching as he backed up, one arm wrapped around himself protectively, which Phil could instantly tell was due to some injury. A particular patch of blood on their shirt was fresh and leaking onto the floor. When Phil's eyes flicked over to it the man growled.

"Go away! Leave!"

His voice was raw and heavy. Phil could imagine any lesser warrior running away at the sound of it, tail tucked between their legs. Speaking of tails, the mysterious man had one – stiff and raised in a clear sign of aggression.

Phil stood his ground and didn't act except to raise his hands, palms out to show he wasn't a threat. "Calm down, mate. We mean you no harm."

That fiery gaze shifted over him slowly, assessing. But no movement to let down his guard was made.

"I'm Phil," he said, pressing against his own chest before gesturing at the other two. "This is Wilbur and the kid that spooked you is Tommy. What's your name?"

A blank look was his only response. Then a shaky exhale. "I have no name. The master did not give me one."

Nausea filled Phil at those words, the pieces gradually starting to fit together in his mind. Desperately – bitterly – he wanted to be wrong about this. But he had to ask. "What did they call you when they needed you, then?"

The man's voice held no emotion as he answered. "The Blade."

He had been waiting for his master to return for a long time.

He did not know how long, for there was no way to tell the turning from days into weeks into years aside from how the castle fell apart around him. But he knew it did not look anything like it used to and that meant they must have left an unbearable long time ago. The servants would not have allowed his master's possessions to become this undignified.

In his vaguest memories he remembered being in awe when he was brought here, stumbling and small, the chain still attached to his collar and curled around the master's fist because he hadn't learned how to behave yet. He had been somewhere else way before that – somewhere filled with red stones and molten rock, fire and ash. But he had been taken and brought to the cage, taught to fight in the arena.

Humans with wide grins would praise him for how good he was at it. Deadly with a sword, quick on his feet and agile, brutal with no mercy. They would tell him to step out on the sandy circle and kill whoever faced him while others sat in the stands and screamed for blood, exchanging gold between them whenever he won. Then the master had come and looked at him, inspected him like you'd expect an exotic animal. They nodded in approval, handing over the largest pile of gold he had ever seen.

They had taken him and brought him to this castle.

He had been in awe because it was a building larger and more lavish than anything he'd ever seen, larger than the coliseum. Many humans worked there – who sneered at him as they passed him by. But he was told that he belonged to the master now. He was their perfect weapon, their Blade.

And as any good Blade should, he followed them into war.

Countless foes fell at his hands, perished with his sword in their throat or his claws raking down their backs. The master was happy and admired him, fed him their own scraps of delicious meals in reward whenever he had done particularly well. The chain was eventually taken away as a sign of trust, a sign of belonging, though he got to keep to collar since it was gold and he liked it. He only tried to run away once.

He'd been dragged back kicking and screaming and punished worse than he'd ever been for anything else. Worse than when he allowed to let an enemy commander slip away in battle and reconvene with their allies, turning the tide of battle to their disadvantage. Worse than when he had accidentally gotten one of the master's favorite horses hurt because of his carelessness.

Worse than when he had asked if he could have a bed, so he didn't need to sleep on the cold, hard ground anymore.

(People have beds. Weapons do not. The master had told him it was that simple)

After that, he never tried to escape again and learned that if he didn't want to be punished he shouldn't do that which warranted punishment. They didn't need to hurt him if he was good.

When the night became filled with fire and screams – when a crowd of people larger than he had ever seen was trying to break down the castle gates, the master left. they had run around like a man possessed, had collected up all their precious jewelry and fancy clothes. All that they could fit on the back of their horse without breaking it. And they had ridden off under the cover of darkness, forgetting entirely about their treasured Blade. The gate was torn down not much later, the mob ravenous with rage and vindictiveness both. Many of the servants were slain simply for the sin of being exploited by a man of greed, the castle was destroyed.

A young woman that worked in the kitchen and who had a soft spot for him helped him hide. She told him to stay still and not move, not come out until the sun had risen again at least twice. And he was very good at following orders. He knelt in that crate until his knees ached and peeked through a small crack in the wood to watch the woman pushed down and slain. She always used to sneak him cookies whenever she baked some for the master.

When he crawled out, the castle had been emptied of any other living being, leaving nothing but corpses and blood. Like a good Blade, he stayed and waited for his master to return.

Others came instead. They came to steal his master's belongings, so he did everything he could to protect them. Sometimes he killed them, other times he merely scared them away. He was only allowed to eat when the master told him to, but whenever he grew too hungry he would take a small ration from the castle pantry. When those ran out and all the vegetables had gone moldy and foul, he ventured just far enough into the forest to pick berries or hunt.

Sometimes the thought struck him that he could leave. Walk into the woods and keep walking without looking back, maybe try to find the cages again where people screamed for his victory. Or better yet - he could find his way back to the world of red which he barely remembered, where he felt warm and safe. But then what would the master do when they came back? They would be angry, and disappointed, and without their Blade to defend them.

And they would punish him worse than they ever had before. No, he had to wait for them.

Three people came to the castle. He watched them approach with weary eyes from atop a little spot he'd found on the inner wall. The day before he had gone to the river to drink and a human had seen him. They had pulled out a bow to shoot at him, one arrow which managed to burry itself into his lower side before he could kill them. At the moment, he had pulled the arrow out and washed the wound with the cold trickling water of the brook, but it still smarted. And he had barely slept due to the pain.

But the strangers needed to be dealt with.

He tracked them as they moved throughout the castle and bickered, determining he could leave them be if they did not take anything. There was not much left to take either way, perhaps they were just curious explorers. Travelers who had stumbled upon a ruin and let their inquisitiveness get the better of them. If he was lucky, they would simply leave again.

Instead, they had wandered and he had tried to follow without being spotted, moving across the wooden beams set in the ceiling to remain out of sight. The wound bothered him though, and when he tried to rip off part of his sleeve to wrap the wound and elevate it some, he had stupidly slipped and fallen.

He heard footsteps heading in his direction and then one of the strangers came around the corner to meet him, blue eyes wide in confusion. There was a dagger in their hand, the glint of it barely noticeable in the dark. He sprung on them, pinning them to the ground with a stifled scream.

Pinching at their wrist to make them drop the dagger worked, but then a great weight knocked into him and his entire side flared hotly with fresh pain. Driven by instinct, he reeled back and curled up. The person who had barreled into him had pulled the younger back to their side quickly, out of reach. The last intruder had arrived too, but they kept their distance.

He growled at them to leave him alone but he went cruelly ignored.

"Calm down, mate. We mean you no harm." They spoke to him informally, careless. As if the baring of his teeth meant nothing to them. The younger two seemed scared of him, but the older one with golden-spun hair and lines along his face was oddly composed.

"I'm Phil," they said, indicating themselfs. "This is Wilbur and the kid that spooked you is Tommy. What's your name?"

A small breath of silence passed between them. He wanted to run, but didn't think the injury would allow it. They would be able to chase him down and kill him easily. "I have no name. The master did not give me one."

A wave of emotion passed over the oldest – Phil's – face in slow motion as he came to a realization. His eyebrows pinched together worriedly. "What did they call you when they needed you, then?"

"The Blade."

Phil's face became even more grave. He wondered if he had said something wrong, though he couldn't find it inside himself to care. The only one whose opinion mattered had always been the master.

"Wait-" the other one named Wilbur spoke up, adjusting his long brown coat, pulling it closer to himself. "How long have you been here?"

Lying didn't cross his mind. He wasn't allowed to lie to people. "I don't know. I don't remember."

The three of them exchanged quick glances that made his skin crawl. He pressed his hand more firmly against the wound, feeling blood seep out around his fingers. Phil's gaze wandered towards it again, making him draw back his shoulders and hiss.

"You're injured. We can help."

He didn't need any help. He needed to wait for his master to come back. When Phil reached out he flinched. "Leave me alone!" Scampering backward, he almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to get up and away. He didn't know what to do with this, had never listened to anybody except the master. Certainly never had anyone speak to him with the same kindness as these strangers did.

All of it was too confusing to deal with.

He could hear them try to chase him, but his suddenness had taken them off guard, costing them the few precious seconds they'd need to catch up. And he knew every nook and cranny of the castle. There were tiny little corridors hidden between walls and more doors than anyone could reasonably count. It didn't take him long to lose them in the labyrinth of his home.

When he was sure they could not find him, he pressed against the wall and heaved, catching his breath. His side burnt painfully, his head too. For a little while, he could hear them still, roaming the halls and searching.

When night started to fall they gave up, and he watched from the same spot he had when they arrived as the three of them disappeared into the forest again, ignoring the smallest part of his heart aching to go with them.

But he had been told to always wait for his master no matter how long it would take, so that's what the Blade would do.

Spoiler alert: they come back the next few days and slowly coax Techno into trusting them like a particularly skittish stray cat, then they kidnap him and force him into their found family. If I ever write the full story of this, that is...

I'll probably do some drabbles on my Tumblr tho ;) Anarchy-and-piglins there too