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Summary
“Alright, sure, I’ll fight a ghost,” Techno drawled, and this time Phil really laughed, leftover adrenaline finally receding the tiniest bit. “That’s fine, I’ve trained for that. We’ve got the ocean, so we’ve got salt, and, uh, scriptures, I can write some of those. God Emperor Technoblade, it’s got a nice ring to it. Truly classic. You and me, Phil, Antarctic popes. We’re starting our own religion.”
Phil’s mittens reeked of spilled fuel, pungent and sharp. His head ached, whiplash from the hard landing settling into a pounding behind his eyes, and he was numb and shivering, each frigid inhale scraping his lungs, but those sensations could probably keep him awake, as long he didn’t slip from shivering into hypothermia. Survival instincts, those were good to activate. He’d been in the air over twenty-four hours before he’d been shot down, he needed all the alertness he could scavenge.
“Yeah? What are we worshiping, slowly starving to death?”
“Chaos,” Techno informed him. “Chaos and frostbite. Speaking of frostbite, how’s the navigation going?”
Series
- Part 63 of dream smp fic my beloved
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Bookmark Notes:
Snow-it keeps you cold [Cold - Oh Hellos]
And starlight.
Antarctic Empire, planes, barricade
Also Techno just woke up as a piglin ehehejeje
Knowledge acquired: navigation (sextant and math)
Eden -
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smp earth in 2025.
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Bookmark Notes:
Plane Fic!