The Antarctic Empire, an undefeated nation. In part due to its two generals, the fearsome Blade and the Angel of Death.
But a wise man would know that caging one is the same as caging both of them. And what is a cage without a bird?
Phil could appreciate his captor's attention to detail.
There were wooden beams in the rafters, the sloped edges of the roof and the small round gap for ventilation gave the room a certain appearance. One Phil definitely didn't appreciate. Not like he appreciated the cage either, wrought out of gilded iron and dangling from a heavy chain several inches above the floor. The dramatics were unmatched, really.
Unmatched and absolutely sickening.
For extra assurance, they had bound his wings too. Maybe that was the worst insult, a real smack in the face for somebody like Phil to have tight straps lock them against his back. Phil's shoulders ached with every pull on sore muscles. He had spat vitriol on the way over until his throat hurt. He cursed them out for cowards and liars, for tricking him with a ruse about helping his allies and then springing a trap on him.
They had been lucky to catch Phil in a more unaware moment.
It was a fortune they would not enjoy twice. But that didn't matter, because they'd taken advantage of it once. And Phil would have to suffer the consequences.
He bristled as his captor circled the cage. The bars were thick and curving near the top. The man was blatantly enjoying himself a little too much. Phil did not recognize him, though the military uniform betrayed an enemy general. Or maybe a really ambitious officer.
"I'm so glad you could join us," he said. "I have to hand it to you, emperor. You are quite a hard man to get a hold of." His teeth glistened in the flickering light of the torch, seeming too sharp to be human. Or that could be the shadow playing a trick on Phil's mind.
"Aw mate, I'm not playing coy. If you'd given me the courtesy of an invitation I might have bothered to show," Phil said with a grin. Captured by enemy hands, a true general showed no fear.
Phil was not scared of this prick.
"An invitation?" There was a smirk in his captor's voice. "No, no, we both know it's not that simple. Your army approaches my embankment and all nations know of your empire's tendency to swallow those it fights against whole. I had to take my own precautions. I'm sure you can understand that."
They pulled out a pair of gloves and put them on a table, dark brown leather with stains from a fluid of indeterminate origin. Phil knew it wouldn't be anything pleasant.
"I've caught my very own songbird," the man gloated. "And now you will make it so The Blade also sings along to my tune."
Phil laughed, the sound harsh and reverberating against the metal curves of the cage. "Technoblade is never going to listen to you."
"He will if he cares about you." A hand trailing along the golden bars, "I have it on pretty good authority that he does."
"You're delusional," Phil spat. He slammed his elbow against the side, where the man's hand rested. But they pulled it back before he could do any real damage.
"Easy now, little crow. The only thing I promised The Blade is that his cooperation would keep you alive." Their grin got impossibly wider, with clear pleasure at his helplessness. "I promised nothing about keeping myself from clipping your wings if you get unruly."
"Don't you dare fucking touch me!"
"Not yet, no." They pulled a pair of shears from their belt next, laying it on top of the gloves. Left there deliberately to serve as a warning. "Only if you show me you won't behave."
Phil glowered at their retreating back as they left the room. But the shears remained where they were.