Chapter Text
The clang of steel clashing against steel was a familiar thing. The metallic tang never quite left him, lingering in his nose long after each fight. It was always too loud or too quiet.
They always tossed him in after the first two fights. The crowd would roar the moment they saw the small, skinny child with white hair, streaked with blood.
Most children didn't make it as far as he did. They always died in the first few fights.
He did too.
The opponent this time was different—older, more skilled. He knew that much. He didn’t charge. He waited.
They lunged first. He deflected the blow.
But before he could bring his sword up again the opponent had struck.
He felt it slowly. The edge of the sword cutting his skin, halfway through his neck.
Everything stopped. Frozen. It was silent.
Then—
Blood for the blood god.
It was a chant ingrained into his head for as long as he could remember.
Blood
Blood
Blood—
And then he was back, waiting for the opponent to strike first. As if the sword wasn't about to lop his head off moments ago.
And he fought.
Steel against steel.
A foot planted into the dirt.
Blood dripped.
Blade pierced through skin.
He died twenty-two times before he killed the opponent.
And he had come back.
And now his sword was covered in blood while the opponent laid on the ground with a hole in their stomach.
The crowd was loud. The voices—
It was always too loud or too quiet.
And he preferred the quiet that came with the edge of death more.
—
The cell smelled of rot and metal. Damp and oppressive, it was a scent he’d carried all his life.
The guards shoved him inside. He didn’t resist. He didn’t touch the tray of food left outside his door—it was poisoned, as always. He wouldn't touch it until he was starving.
Footsteps, light ones. The door creaked.
That was different. No one came to him this early. No fight would take place until a few hours.
He didn't move from where he sat on the bed. Staring at his lap.
A man stepped inside. One he'd never seen in the arena. Messy brown hair, a cape draped over his shoulders, a strange mask hiding his face.
The man paused at his cell. Looking at him then looking around.
“Uhm… hey kid." the man said, voice a little nervous but cheerful.
He didn’t move.
“Okay… so, we should probably get this thing open,” he added, waving his hand toward the lock. It melted like wax, and the door swung open silently.
He tensed. Nothing in the pit should work like that.
The man crouched in front of him. "So… uh, what’s your name, buddy?”
"You're not from here," he said automatically.
The man tilted his head, eyebrows raised. “Huh? How’d you guess that?”
He doesn't know why he felt the need to reply. "They don't give us names here."
The man’s eyes widened a little. “Wait… you don’t have a name?”
He didn't answer.
At his silence the man sighed. He sat on the edge of the bed next to him.
“Well… I guess we can fix that! I saw you back there in the arena—you were really fast. Impressive, honestly.” He dug into his satchel and pulled something out.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Oh! This? It’s a communicator. Fancy little gadget. Super useful—helps you do things most of us can’t.” He tapped it, and a soft glow lit up.
“So… what do you think we should call you?” The man leaned back slightly, looking curious.
The Blade
They chanted,
Blade
Blade
Blade—
"Blade." He said quietly.
The man grinned. “Blade, huh? Not bad… but I think we can make it even cooler. How about…" he glanced at the communicator, "Technoblade? Yeah! That’s epic, right?”
“Technoblade.” He didn’t… dislike it.
“Well then!” the man said, smiling wide. “I’m CaptainSparkles! But you can just call me… Sparkles, if you want.”
“Sparkles,” he echoed.
“Yup! That’s me!”
A light flashed from the communicator.
"Ah, seems like I have to go. I'll be back—stay put yeah?"
He blinked as Sparkles flashed a smile as he fixed the door as if nothing happened. Waving as he left.
Technoblade. He didn't dislike it.
—
He woke blearily to a deep, crawling rumble.
The walls trembled. The bed shuddered beneath him. Heat crawled through the room, sharp and biting, while dust fell from the ceiling, choking his throat. The stench of burning metal drifted through the hallways.
Then came the sound — a violent roar that cut through the chaos like a blade, far louder than any crowd’s cheer. Like earth being crushed.
He scrambled to his feet, wincing at the bruises that hadn't healed yet.
Guards hurried past his cell, not a glance in his direction. He couldn’t find it in himself to pay attention to the shouted orders.
There was screaming—but different. He had heard all sorts of screaming before. But this was not the kind from the arena. This was more… raw. More terrified.
More like the panicked screams of some of his opponents when they realised he would kill them.
This was like that. But far more unsettling.
He felt something clawing at the bottom of his stomach. Not the hunger he was so familiar with. Something else—insistent, urging him to walk towards the bars of the door.
And then a guard was flung past him like a ragdoll. Two more stepped forward, only to be thrown back by some invisible force. Red and twinkling.
Before he could register the force that had thrown the guards aside, a familiar cape and visor appeared, moving impossibly fast.
The force that had thrown the guards radiated from him, bending the air itself. With a single pull, he ripped the cell door open as though it were paper.
“Kid, let’s go!” Sparklez shouted, grabbing Techno by the arm. The sudden pull made him flinch, but he found himself compelled to follow.
They ran through the halls. Sparklez knocked out anyone who tried to stop them, the strange force leaving them unconscious without a sound.
Sparklez—somehow—wasn’t just strong. He moved like the world bent around him, and for the first time, Techno wondered if anything in the Pit had been real before now because nothing in the Pit had ever looked like this.
He tried to keep up, his bruised body screaming in protest, but something inside him—curiosity, fear, instinct—kept him moving.
Suddenly there was that sound again. And now he could tell what it was. Explosions.
Smoke curled through the corridor, carrying the acrid tang of fire. The walls shook with each distant blast, dust falling from above. And yet, the pull at the bottom of his stomach wouldn’t let him stop.
Move forward.
Danger.
Survive.
Keep running.
Always keep running.
The voices cut through the chaos easily.
They stopped abruptly as they burst into the common grounds — the place where new fighters were brought in.
It wasn’t empty.
People filled the space. Strangers. Wearing strange clothes and masks not unlike Sparklez’s, moving through the smoke like figures from another world.
They were fighting the guards — not with swords, but with things he had never seen before.
One lifted a hand and the rubble at their feet rose with it, twisting in the air before slamming into a line of guards hard enough to crack stone.
Another flicked their wrist and sharp projectiles appeared out of nothing, slicing through armor as if it were paper.
“Sparklez, we’ve got it covered here!” the one controlling the rubble shouted over the chaos.
Sparks rained from the ceiling, cutting through the smoke. He ducked instinctively, coughing as the room shuddered beneath another explosion.
Sparklez didn’t slow as he dragged him past the fighters and into another corridor, boots pounding against stone. The path twisted sharply — left, right, left again — disorienting and endless.
Another blast thundered through the walls. A beam above them cracked with a sharp, splintering sound.
It fell.
He barely had time to register it before he was yanked backward, the beam crashing down where he had been a heartbeat earlier.
“Careful, Blade!” Sparklez shouted, ducking under the fallen debris. “Wouldn’t want you scraping that hair of yours!”
He frowned, confusion flickering through the haze of adrenaline. What was that supposed to mean? It wouldn’t be the first time something tried to crush him or scrape his hair.
Move.
The voices sliced cleanly through his thoughts.
Forward.
Don’t stop.
Not yet.
They ran again. Turn after turn, corridor after corridor, until his breath came in ragged gasps and his legs trembled beneath him.
Then, without warning, Sparklez stopped.
“Shit—” he muttered.
Debris blocked the path ahead — massive chunks of stone and twisted metal sealing the corridor completely. A dead end.
Another explosion boomed behind them, closer this time. Dust cascaded from the ceiling.
Sparklez turned sharply, hands gripping his shoulders.
“Listen to me,” he said, voice tight but steady. “I’m going to hold this up, and you’re going to run. You don’t stop. Not until you’re safe. Not until someone finds you. Got it?”
He struggled to breathe, lungs burning.
“But—”
“Kid, you need to get out of here,” Sparklez cut in, urgency bleeding through. “There’s no time. I’ll come back for you, okay? But you run. You don’t stop until it’s safe.”
He patted his cheek twice — quick taps that pulled him out of his haze. “You got that?”
He couldn’t speak. He nodded.
Another blast shook the corridor, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Sparklez reached into his belt and pulled free a dagger.
The blade was dark purple, gleaming even in the dim light. Gold traced the hilt in intricate swirls, winding around the handle like something alive. He slid it into its sheath, pressed it into Techno’s shaking hand, and closed his fingers around it.
“I’ll be back for you,” he said quietly. “Promise.”
He frowned. That word. 'Promise'. What was it? What did it mean? Why did it mean so much.
The word felt heavy. Important. Like something fragile he might break just by holding it.
He didn’t understand. But something in Sparklez’s voice made him want to believe.
Sparklez turned.
Red light flared around him, distorting the air like heat above a fire, humming with power as the debris ahead groaned and lifted, stone grinding against stone.
“GO!”
He looked up one last time. Through the visor, he could see Sparklez’s eyes — bright, fierce, and filled with something he couldn’t name.
Run.
Don't stop.
He turned and ran.
A small, skinny child with uneven white hair, crimson eyes, and blood dried across his skin — clutching a dagger far too fine for hands that shook this badly.
Exhaustion clawed at every step, but something deeper drove him forward. Something unnatural.
He ran.
He ran — lungs burning, legs shaking, the world narrowing to the pounding of his feet.
Pain blurred into nothing. Breath tore from his lungs. His legs should have given out.
He didn’t notice when it started hurting.
Or when it stopped.
Or when the ground beneath his feet changed.
Only when he stumbled and opened his eyes did he realize—
There was no ceiling.
No walls.
No fire.
No explosions.
No ringing in his ears.
He pushed himself upright slowly.
Green surrounded him. Plants — real ones, thick and wild, nothing like the brittle scraps that sometimes grew in the Pit. Nothing like what he'd seen before.
They brushed his skin, cool and damp. The air smelled… different.
There had never been plants like this below. There had barely been plants at all.
He tilted his head back, peering through the towering shapes above him.
Beyond them was an endless blackness, scattered with tiny distant lights — cold, unreachable things he had no name for.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
But he wasn’t dying.
The voices were silent too.
Then there was this one faint sound that remained — soft, distant, unfamiliar.
He looked down at the dagger in his hands. Why was he given it? The guards never let him keep a weapon. And this dagger seemed important. Why was he given it?
But Sparklez had fought the guard—so what did that mean? Would he take it back? He didn't understand.
For the first time in years… there were no walls.
And somehow, that felt worse than the damp cell ever had.
Because here, there was nowhere to hide.