When I think of those good old days, my eyes with tears do fill

I think of the tin can by the fire, the cayote on the hill

And I think of ridin' night guard when the stars are shining bright

But now instead the wire fence, it guards the herd tonight

You'll miss him on the round-up, it's gone, his merry shout

The cowboy left the country, the campfire has gone out

-The Campfire Has Gone Out

Technoblade surveyed the battlefield as night flooded the valley. Tommy lay sprawled on the ground where Sam had knocked him out, his hand still gripping his pistol. The once-angel hadn't moved.

If Techno hadn't seen the transformation himself, he would have never believed that this man had once been one of Death's own. His shadows, his golden aura, his robes and cloaks and air of arrogance and power had evaporated into the dry air. His face glistened with sweat, his hair was matted and tangled, his sunburned skin peeling and his forehead plastered with blood and dirt. He wore Phil's old clothes, a size or two too big for him. He breathed in and out, his new heart and lungs already hard at work.

Techno remembered how it felt. The aching in his bones, the way he could hear the sinew in his joints bending and stretching, the blood crashing in his veins, his heart pounding inside of him to a rhythm only it understood. He remembered reaching for his power and discovering none and finding it a bittersweet comedy.

Techno decided to wake Tommy first and dumped his canteen of water on Tommy's head. Tommy sat up spluttering.

"Where's Dream?" he gasped.

"Headed off to Yucca Falls on the back of Sam's saddle." Techno capped his canteen and hung it back over his shoulder.

Tommy swore and pounded his fist into the ground. "Where's Izrail?"

"Who?"

"Y'know? The angel? Tall, scary, always looks like someone spit in his breakfast?"

Techno jerked his head towards Izrail. "Over there. Though, I wouldn't call him an angel no more."

Tommy crawled over to the rocks, one hand pressed to his aching head. "Whaddya mean you wouldn't— Oh." Tommy fell back on his knees and stared at the man curled up on the dirt.

"Is he dead?" he asked.

"No." Techno nudged Izrail's arm with the toe of his boot. Izrail moaned and curled himself tighter, still passed out. "Just stripped of all his powers and godhood."

Tommy covered his mouth, panic filling his eyes, speechless for once in his life.

Techno sat next to Tommy in the dirt, his pickax at his side. He watched the stars climb over the mountains and dance across the heavens. A breeze galloped over the grasses and braided Techno's hair.

Tommy sniffed and stood up, wincing, his hand still pressed onto his head. "You seen my hat?"

Techno shook his head. "What're you gonna do now, Tommy? You can't go after Dream. The law's got him."

"I have to." Tommy bent down to pick up his gun and grunted. "I have to kill him."

"You just gonna march on up to Sam and ask to be Dream's executor?"

"No…." Tommy stared out at the horizon, chewing on his lip. "Sam won't let Dream die. That's an 'old-fashioned' way of justice. No…." He brushed his hair out of his face and sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to break Dream out of prison."

Technoblade snorted. "That sounds like a great plan. Breakin' your sworn enemy out of jail? Couldn't have come up with one better."

"Just shut up, will you?" Tommy turned to face Techno, his eyes narrowed. "You chose Dream over me and I'm not gonna listen to anythin' you have to say." Tommy slipped his gun back in his holster, avoiding Techno's eyes. "I'm goin' back to Yucca Falls and I'm gonna kill Dream with my bare hands if I have to."

"Tommy—"

"Don't." Tommy stomped off, headed for Dusthollow.

"You need to learn when to quit!" Techno shouted after him. "You've been on this revenge kick for a year now! Give it up!"

"I'll give up when Dream is dead!"

Techno sighed and focused back on the fallen angel. He'd deal with Tommy later. Right now, he wanted to make sure that Izrail wasn't alone when he woke up. Because Technoblade had been, and he'd give anything to have someone there when his magic suddenly wasn't.


"You awake?" someone said.

What?

Izrail tried to speak but only managed to make gurgling noises. Instinctively, he felt for his power.

Emptiness drowned his chest.

Izrail reached for his power, grasped for it, tried to summon any type of fire, a breeze, a piddly shadow.

Nothing came.

Nothing but the emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole.

But that was a lie. Because next to that emptiness was something beating. Thumping. A heart. And then there was that rushing in his head, the stiffness of his joints, the dull aching in his eyes and the dryness of his lips. Stinking flesh trapped his soul into a cage of bone and blood he knew he could never escape.

Human.

Human human human human.

A wet, keening sound came out of his throat and water spilled from his eyes and his lungs shuddered and he cried.

Because what else could he do?

He cried his eyes swollen and his blood dry and only then did he open his eyes.

Stars.

There sure were a lot of them.

Izrail thought of his home. Of the endless freedom and joy that spread through its expanse, the weightlessness and wonder of it all. How he longed to be there, his essence begging to leave the Overworld behind, his dream to simply exist in the only place he felt he belonged.

He could never go back.

The thought brought him to his knees, the entire universe pressing down onto his shoulders, a dark, heavy nebula churning in his gut until he knew he'd never experience light again.

"Why didn't he kill me?" Izrail wailed. "Why didn't he kill me!?" He buried his face in his hands, nails digging into his scalp, his mouth open and distorted in pain.

His face itched with tears and snot and Death knows what else and he wanted to fade away, just disappear into the dark night and cease to exist because what kind of existence could he lead without his power and his home—

Izrail raised his head and screamed and it raked his throat raw. He screamed again with his eyes squeezed shut and listened to its ragged echo.

He trembled on the desert prairie.

The last time Izrail cried, he'd been screaming in pain, ichor dripping down his back, his shoulders so light in the absence of his wings. He'd cried until his misery and fury drowned out his pain and he'd destroyed everything and all he could see was flame and smoke.

He refused to ever cry again.

When he entered back into the afterlife, wingless and haggard, he saw the other angels gasping in shock, ducking their heads to avoid his eyes, muttering and whispering behind his back. They tried to console him, comfort him, and he hated their pity. He knew they all looked down on him. Saw him as a weak, wounded thing, fragile enough to break in a high wind. They never expected him to enter back into the field.

Izrail wanted nothing more than to prove them wrong.

Only a week later, the gashes on his shoulder blades still plastered with bandages, Izrail marched on up to Death and asked her for a mission. She obliged, and Izrail entered the Overworld with something to prove.

That was the first of many, many missions. Again and again, Izrail took on the hardest tasks he could, stepping up when other angels shied away. He refused to be seen as anything less than powerful, strong, and capable of anything. He rose out of the ashes of his defeat into something stronger than he could ever imagine.

Izrail quickly rose up in ranks and became Death's Archangel. From his position, he glowered down at all the winged angels below. No one brought up his wings anymore. Most had forgotten that he had ever had them.

As the centuries passed, Izrail's drive and passion faded away. He allowed himself to slip back into obscurity, wanting nothing more than to enjoy his time at home. The Overworld was harsh and cruel and painful and he'd had enough of it.

Still, every time Death dragged him out on some errand, Izrail thought of the girl that wanted to break him and smiled.

Nothing would ever, ever break him.

Not even the loss of his power.

Izrail gritted his teeth and felt the familiar anger filling up the emptiness grief had left inside him. He would get his power back. And when he did, he'd burn this place to the ground.

Izrail stood.

It was difficult.

His joints and muscles were so stiff and limited it was ridiculous. Not to mention he had to tell his legs and joints and muscles to move. His feet gripped the rocky ground and they hurt. His lungs struggled for air.

Izrail pressed his hand to his heart, felt it pumping along. He studied the pattern of hairs and veins and freckles on his arms, the rising sun gliding over his skin. He lifted his face to the light and let its warm rays caress his eyelids.

And he started walking.

"Where you goin'?" Technoblade asked.

"To get my power back." Izrail touched his throat where his voice box rumbled and vibrated. Strange.

"And how do you plan on doin' that?"

Izrail shrugged. "I've found an angel, a blood god, a necromancer, and a god killer in this desert. I'll find someone who can return my power."

"So you're just goin' to wander this desert for… how long?"

"As long as it takes." Izrail sucked in a breath as he stepped on a particularly sharp rock.

"Of course. Have you thought about food? Water? Shelter? Y'know, basic human needs?"

Izrail stopped. He in fact hadn't thought about those things. To confirm this, his stomach grumbled loudly.

"That's what I thought." Techno walked over to Izrail and placed his hand on his shoulder. "C'mon. Let's go get breakfast."

"But—"

"Don't worry. We'll get back to yer power huntin' in no time."

"'We?'"

"Of course." Techno led Izrail back towards Dusthollow. "I know a Native shaman that can give you just what yer lookin' for."

"Then why haven't you gotten your powers back?"

"My fall was voluntary," Techno said. "I don't want them."

"You're a lunatic."

"So I've been told."

Izrail squinted as the sun rose higher and strained his eyes. The train at Dusthollow's station blew its whistle and Izrail caught a whiff of the steam and coal. He once again thought of his home, now further away than ever, but still within his grasp. He'd travel to the ends of the world to get his power back.

And kill anyone who stood in his way.


The train pulled out of its station as the eggshell-yellow sun bathed Dusthollow in pale light. Izrail covered his ears as the whistle blew and the wheels clacked on the rails. Standing on the station, the steam and smoke quickly blurred his vision and made his eyes burn.

Having a body sucked.

He did his best to follow Techno up the street, dust pluming up under his bare feet, the sun heating the back of his neck.

There was no evidence of the chaos from the night before. No dead bodies in the street, clouds of dust, wide-eyed citizens. Just a few cowboys and settlers meandering up the streets, their spurs and buckles and hats still new and stiff and shiny.

If Izrail remembered right, the stables would be right around—

There.

Izrail ran to Bluebell, his muscles stretching and pulling and his lungs heaving. He wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face into her mane. Her horsey smell filled his nose and her hair scratched his arms. She nickered and rubbed her nose against Izrail's chin.

"Hey, Bluebell," he breathed. In all this crazy, upside-downness, Bluebell was still here. She was still here.

"I'm surprised she still recognizes ya," Techno said behind him.

"Of course she does," Izrail murmured. "Why wouldn't she?"

"Hate to break it to ya, but I don't think you'd recognize yerself." Techno reached down and held out a bucket of water to Izrail. "You wanna look?"

Izrail shook his head and let go of Bluebell. "This is only temporary. I'll be looking like myself soon enough."

"You ever considered learnin' to live without yer powers?"

"No." Izrail stroked Bluebell's soft nose. "That's not living at all."

After shoveling five pancakes and three coffees into his stomach, Izrail felt ready to conquer the world. He'd never eaten before, and he quite enjoyed the experience. The bliss that came from filling up the hunger was almost as wonderful as returning home.

Izrail hitched up Bluebell as Techno left to gather his own horse that he'd left a little ways past Dusthollow. As the sun hit its peak, they rode out into the desert, leaving Dusthollow behind.

"We'll get Phil first," Techno said. "He knows more about this shaman than I do."

Izrail didn't argue. He wouldn't mind having another fallen angel to keep him company.

If riding in the heat was irritating as an angel, it was downright miserable as a human. Sweat streamed down Izrail's back and the sun burned his cracked skin. Cotton filled his mouth and dirt collected in the creases on his face.

Techno hummed a tune Izrail didn't recognize and watched the desert around them. The land shifted back into the familiar towers and mesas of rock the color of spilled guts. A crow cawed overhead and spun in the empty blue sky.

They stopped once to drink at a copse of straggled juniper trees and Izrail guzzled half of his canteen down. Techno slapped it out of his hand before he could drink more and wouldn't let Izrail carry it the rest of the ride.

"You run out of water out here," Techno said as they rode off, "you die."

Die.

That's when it hit Izrail.

He could actually die. He was no longer immortal. There was an end. A blank wall where his life would be snuffed out or sucked away. It was real.

He could end.

Izrail stared at his pitiful human hands, gripping Bluebell's reins and shaking. He could see them molding away, the flesh tearing at the seams and peeling off until there was nothing but yellowing bone—

Complete terror overtook Izrail and he couldn't breathe couldn't breathe and maybe he was dying now and his heart raced and he leaned over in the saddle and tried not to throw up and focused on the rock passing by under Bluebell's hooves and just breathe and breathe—

Slowly, Izrail calmed down. He relaxed his hands and felt sores on his palms where his fingernails had dug into his skin.

The desert suddenly felt dangerous. Hostile. The jagged hoodoos and gnarled plateaus seemed to sneer down at him, hiding guns behind their ridges and shadows, the trees and scrub snarled into menacing faces and shapes.

Once he reached the shaman, everything would be okay. He'd be immortal again. He wouldn't have to worry about dying.

If he survived that long.

It was strange to be scared of Death. He'd talked with her, laughed with her, argued and smiled and fought and complained with her. He had been her most trusted confidant, her highest ranked angel, her favorite. Yet, returning to her in this form terrified him. The pain of his embarrassment would be worse than the pain of dying.

Izrail shook his head. He needed to stop worrying about Death and focus on living.

It was dark when Techno finally reined in his horse and declared that they could set up camp. Izrail practically fell out of his saddle and almost collapsed onto the dirt. His muscles ached from his eyelids to his toes. Exhaustion rampaged through his bones and before he could think, he sat on the ground and couldn't stop his eyes from closing.

Techno laughed. "It's a little different when yer mortal, ain't it?" Izrail heard him toss his saddle on the ground. "Get some rest, we'll be headin' out as soon as the sun is up."

Izrail didn't need to be told twice. Not even waiting for a blanket, he lay on the hard ground and instantly fell asleep.