Vent writing + listening to Hollow by Cloudeater = this au apparently?

Trigger warnings for this chapter: Self-harm, suicidal thoughts/ideations, self-loathing, hurt no comfort (open ending)

Please proceed with caution

I stay empty, I feel the hunger
So simple when I was younger

The voices share his pain.

They always have. Crying out his anger, weeping his despair, burning with the fire of his vengeance - bright and alive inside his mind. They have fueled the vile parts of him with pleasure at decay, and he allowed them to feed the flames with no thought for the consequences.

So perhaps it's only right that they share in his self-punishment too.

When Technoblade takes the knife and drags it across his wrist, a thousand voices shriek in mutual agony. And then they quiet down, allowing the pain to blossom while whispering their proud axiom into his veins.

Not enough, they exhale. It exhales, speaking to him directly. The Blood God brought forth by its namesake being spilled. Do you think this is enough to atone?

The cut is sharp and quick, but deep enough as to allow red to well up on the surface. He watches it and finds he has to agree with them, he knows it won't compare to the dull aching of his chest. He craves for it to hurt and drown out all the rest, but it can't.

Technoblade can not feel anything except this all-encompassing guilt.

Another cut. Deeper.

For Wilbur, who he failed to stand beside in any meaningful way. Who was allowed to tear himself apart on ambition and paranoia, while Techno was blinded by his desire to measure up.

Another cut. Deeper.

For Tommy, who was too young for war yet too bold for peace. Who needed the ground to stay steady below his feet, while Techno tore it up with the detonations of his resentment.

Another cut. Deeper.

For Phil, who deserves so much more than what Techno could ever be.

The pain filters through then, finally, barely. Small trickles through the haze. Not nearly enough. He wants to tear himself apart. He wants to bare his bones and grind them down to dust and maybe then he can find some part of himself worthwhile enough to keep left in the rubble.

Any tiny part of himself he doesn't hate.

Technoblade is so tired of feeling like this.

I awaken with the thunder
A bold statement to end my slumber

It smiles within him. Barbered wire for teeth. Pits for eyes. A beating heart where its brain matter should be. And it soothes him with the knowledge that he is exactly what he should be for them. A brave little soldier to wage their bloody wars, an obedient tool.

The weapon of divinity they crafted him into all along.

Maybe they can tell. Maybe that is why they treat you like this. Maybe it's all you are or ever will be.

And what – Techno asks of it – if that is not all that he longs to be? The question is foolish, but needs to be asked. He needs to know the truth.

Techno wonders to them, what if he longs to be deserving of their love?

You could be if you tried, it promises him. Have you tried?

He has, he has tried so damn much it hurts. To be good enough, to be strong enough, to be enough.

And did it work? Are you deserving?

No. Technoblade knows he isn't.

See? We would never lie to you, conduit.

And this feeling has got a window
'Til I am numb, 'til I am blissful

What if I don't want to anymore? he asks of them. What if I'm exhausted and can't continue?

They hold him as if he was small again, afraid and trembling in the Nether. Scared to die and frightened to continue living, in pain, lonely, abandoned. They had embraced him sweetly and offered him to become theirs, forever. Promised they would remain at his side if he did through a contract signed in immortality.

They would stay with him and give them strength. All he had to do was repay them with blood.

Then we take care of it. For you, we will take care of it. Allow us, and you will never feel this guilt again. Allow us, and you will never feel this sorrow again.

It is a deal of a double-edged sword. It is a point of no return. Techno knows it is a bad offer.

Allow us, and you will feel none of this pain ever again.

Signing a contract with the divine is generally ill-advised. Technoblade stares at the cuts along his arms, the old scars that run beneath it. Each time he has broken inches of himself for not being who he wants to be. Good enough for the people he cares about.

And each a reminder that he never will be.

"I'm done." Speaking the words out loud gives them power. Makes them real. "I don't want to feel like this anymore. I give up."

It laughs, alone at first - then joined together with a chorus of millions. Techno is sick with it, all dizzy and decaying. He feels how it takes hold of him and slips the tethers on his mind, undoes his control to replace it with their own. His body is left no more than a puppet, a husk for them to use.

'Til the sum outweighs the mental
'Til the blood of both is my limbo

It's not as scary as he thought it would be, giving up his body, thoughts, everything. It feels more like falling asleep. Like being tucked in under a blanket that is a tad too heavy for safety, too constricting for comfort. Smothered in nothingness. But all else slowly fades when his emotions are erased along with his control.

Numb and empty, a void made real. Eaten up by the hunger of Gods.

Technoblade finally closes his eyes and rests without guilt.

And I'm hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow