Felt like writing some Techno fanfiction because why not.

(We're gonna ignore the fact that I have so many unfinished fanfics that I was planning on writing-)

Enjoy!

They called him The Blade.

The name itself had come from the mountains of dead bodies slain by his sword.

Some called him a god of blood. Some called him unkillable. But, amongst all the stories and rumors and heresy, there was one thing that was a constant.

That thing is not human.

He was dehumanized to the point where people thought of him more a monster than man. If you called him a monster to his face, he certainly wouldn't argue with you. But that didn't make it true.

He was just a man.

He had been manipulated by many who tried to use him as a means to their end. A weapon of mass destruction. That's all he was. That's all he knew. That's all he could be.

Until someone came along who treated him like a person. The first person he would call a friend.

The stories of how Philza first met Technoblade vary depending on who you ask. They'd been friends for so long it felt like they'd always known each other. It was many years ago, before the murder of Tommy, before the imprisonment of Dream, before the rise and fall of L'Manburg.

Philza had been wandering through the icy plains of the north. Gliding over frosted pine trees and glistening snow, he felt peace. He was on a trip away from home, and though he longed to see his sons again, the wanderlust in his veins was strong. Avians are known for being travelers, unable to stay in one place for long.

He spotted a patch of red from afar, like an open wound on the earth. It easily stood out from the glaring white snow. Red, he knew from experience, usually meant trouble. However, it also meant that someone was likely hurt-or worse. His curiosity and compassion inevitably got the better of him, and he swooped down to investigate.

Silently hovering above, Phil saw an odd sight. A child, with pink hair and pointed ears, standing over a pile of unmoving bodies. The child was covered in blood, but not bleeding. He was shaking.

Phil lowered himself to the ground, his feet crunching on the snow. The child whirled around, eyes wild and angry and filled with terror. Now that he was closer, Phil noticed more things about the child. Like how he was covered in scars, and wearing clothes so worn they could've been mistaken for rags, and he had tusks on his face like a piglin's. He wasn't exactly a child either, appearing to be about 15 years old, but he still looked young. Phil's heart filled with pity.

The kid attacked after a moment of hesitation, lunging at Phil with his nails- claws? Phil easily deflected him. The boy was vicious and fast, but Phil had far, far more combat experience from his many years of traveling and training. Phil raised his hands up as a sign of peace, trying to look as amiable as possible.

The child looked confused, maybe unsettled. Perhaps he hadn't come across anyone who wasn't afraid of him before. He clawed at Phil again, and was once again deflected. He backed off, backing several feet away and putting some distance between them. He looked uncertain.

"Chill out mate," Phil soothed as calmly as possible. "I'm not gonna hurt ya." He put his hands in the air again to show that he wasn't going to attack. The kid didn't respond, analyzing him like he was trying to figure out the best way to kill him.

Phil frowned, and then gave the kid a small smile. He was attempting to show him that there wasn't anything to be afraid of, that he wouldn't harm him, but that would prove to be a challenge. Looking at the kid's thin-possibly starved-frame, he got an idea.

Slowly, without making sudden movements that might startle him, Phil reached into his bag. The kid tensed, his eyes going back and forth between Phil and the satchel he was carrying.

"Don't worry," Phil assured him, "I'm just getting something for you to eat." He pulled out some potatoes wrapped in a napkin. Setting it down on a nearby rock that was flat enough to use as a table, he gestured to it, silently telling the kid to eat.

The kid must've been hungrier than he thought, because as soon as he set it down, he scrambled over to it, all caution tossed aside by his starvation. He wolfed down the potatoes ravenously as though they were the best thing he'd ever tasted. He was trembling so hard it was a miracle he didn't drop any. Phil worried that the boy might puke.

"Jeez, mate," Philza chuckled, watching him gobble the food up. There was underlying worry in his voice. "When was the last time you ate?"

The kid merely shrugged, too busy stuffing his face to answer. After he'd inhaled the food, he licked his fingers and looked back at Phil with pleading eyes. Without hesitation, Phil gave him some bread that was in his bag. He ate that too.

Upon closer inspection, the kid seemed to be in a worse condition than Phil originally thought. His skin was littered with scars, old and new, and he wasn't wearing any shoes. He must've been freezing in the snow. It was a miracle that he was moving at all. He must've had some notable endurance.

When the kid inevitably ate the last of the food, he collapsed into a shivering heap on the ground. Phil was swiftly at his side, wrapping him in his cloak and scooping him up in one motion. The boy tried to fight him, but he was too weak and shaky to do much. Phil looked at him sympathetically.

"Sorry, you probably don't want strangers picking you up, huh?" He lowered him gently back onto the ground, still swathed in the cloak like it was a blanket. The kid pulled it closer around him.

Phil squatted down in front of him. "Let's start over," he offered, "My name's Phil. What's yours, mate?"

The kid glared at him suspiciously before replying, "T-Technoblade." His teeth chattered as he spoke.

"You got anywhere to go, Techno?" Phil asked.

"..."

"Tell you what, kid, how about you come with me? I'll give you a place to stay for as long as you need it." Phil hoped he would take his offer.

"...What's the catch?" Technoblade sounded dubious.

Phil chuckled, "You gotta help out on the farm." He outstretched his hand, "What do you say?"

Techno, albeit warily, took his hand. His nails were caked with dried blood. I'll have to help him clean them, Phil thought.

Picking him up again, this time with less resistance, Phil carried the boy away from the bloody carnage left behind and took him home.