Chapter Text
The world loaded in wrong.
For one, there were too many colours in the sky, not blocky gradients or soft pixel haze, but wild strokes of crimson and gold blending across the clouds like someone had gone crazy with the shaders. The second clue was the screaming. Mobs didn’t scream like that.
Techno crouched, in a crater that hadn’t been there five seconds ago, the air thick with smoke and something iron-sweet that clung familiar in the back of his throat. “Blood? Blood? Blood. Blood! blood blood bloodbloodblood. Eeee”
His first instinct was to check his inventory, the muscle memory quickly stalling as he tried to access it, finding nothing but the familiar weight of Orphan Obliterator pressed to his side, and a bow spread across his back. The rest was gone. No gapples, no potions, no stack of suspiciously convenient golden carrots.
“Phil,” he muttered, voice dry, “I don’t think we’re in the SMP anymore.”
There was a rustle above him, as Philza dropped into view, wings snapping out just in time to cushion the fall. They were tattered at the edges, as though someone had tried to render an elytra from memory and only got halfway through. He turned back to the view in front of him, eyes flickering across the field, widening at the sight of the chaos unfolding below. Hundreds of robed figures clashing across the valley, swords flying without being held, clashing steel, crackling energy, and the dull thud of bodies hitting dirt.
“Well,” Philza hummed, tone dangerously calm, “That’s new.”
“Yeah. Looks like someone left the PvP toggle on.”
Above, a burst of red light arched through the sky, a talisman igniting mid-spell, its glow scattering through the mist. The force of it rippled across the battlefield, and Techno could feel the power humming in his chest. “Not experience. Not mana. Not energy. older. Older. Something older. Cultivation” The energy was something that called to the part of him that had always known war, like an old friend. Phil’s gaze sharpened.
“They’re using... cultivation? Qi techniques?”
“You know it?”
“They’re old techniques. Near ancient. She would talk about it sometimes.”
“Fancy word for magic, huh?” Techno’s smirk was all teeth and teasing. “I guess we’re modded now.” A huffed laugh met his statement.
“Something like that”
A Cultivator, hair half-loosened, robes stained with blood, stumbled backward near their crater. An insignia on the man’s sleeve, styled after the sun, glowed in the light. Turning to them with his sword raised, he didn’t have time to scream before Techno’s sword left its sheath. It sang through the air as the man collapsed to the ground, dead.
Philza landed beside him, a grimace on his face.
“Bloody hell, Techno.”
“What?” he stepped over the corpse, already scanning the area, as though he’d spawned there a thousand times before, “He looked aggressive.”
“Currently, everyone here looks aggressive.”
“Good,” Techno replied as he adjusted his grip. The faint hum of spiritual energy flickering around his fingers, coiling like red smoke. “That means I won’t get bored.”
Techno stepped forward, toward the edge of the battle before them, surveying the push and pull of the battle. Something flickered in the distance, a row of white robes moving in unison, sunlight catching on their sword hilts. They weren’t the same as the men coated in red suns. Too clean, too disciplined, too annoyingly synchronised. 'Lan? Lan Clan. The Lans. *Fight? Fight with! Blood!'
“Hmm,” Phil murmured, nodding towards them. “Those fellas look like they actually bathe.” Techno squinted.
“White robes, matching forehead ribbons. What are they, a boyband?” Philza sighed at the comment.
“You want to get involved, don’t you?” The blonde shrugs his cape over his wings, covering them in the thick, dark green material, both the hood and his hat pulled low to shade his eyes. His bow peeked out from underneath, arrow already notched.
“Obviously,” A swing of his sword punctuates the statement, as Techno pushed the edge across the throat of another red-themed cultivator that attempted to attack him. 'Wen. wen clan. kill them. kill. blood. kill kill kill. ' “How else will I get to enjoy a good fight?”
A chuckle echoes back at him, as they both push onto the battlefield. Arrows flying into the chest of another Wen, as Techno flicked the blood off the end of his sword. Not bothering to hesitate, He cut through two more soldiers as they made feeble attempts to kill him.
“Is it just me or do these guys die easily?” Techno muttered at Philza, mild incredulity coating his words.
“Power scaling?” Philza replied, “I suppose that we are stronger than the people here? These men at least.”
“Voices say Wens” Techno smirked slightly, sword clashing against another as he pushes another attacker away from them both. “Yes. Yes, Wens. Kill. Kill them. Death. Blood. Blood for the Blood God!”
"You," A man in white robes called out, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “State your sect and your purpose." Techno tilted his head, hand shifting its grip on his sword, relaxing his stance as he looked at the caller.
“Uh, heh. Fighting.” The man frowned, clearly trying to decide whether that was a provocation or a statement. Philza could only sigh.
“We’re travellers,” he offered, wings twitching slightly underneath his cloak. “Got lost in the middle of your war, apparently.”
The man’s eyes flashed, but before he could retort, another explosion sounded from the western ridge. Both Phil and Techno turned instinctively, years of fighting having hardwired them for the sound of trouble. A red banner was rising there, Wen soldiers flooding down the slope like ants. The white-robed Cultivators, the Lans, hesitating at the odds.
“Guess that’s our cue,” Techno smiles, hand tightening on the hilt of Orphan Obliterator, “Let’s have some fun.” He launched himself forward, the world blurring around him as spiritual energy flared in his veins. The battlefield roaring to life again, shouts, sword-light, the metallic scent of violence. Phil’s cape flared behind him as he followed, cursing softly but fighting just as hard. The both of them cutting through the battlefield with precision and speed that came from years of experience. By the time the smoke settled, the cultivators were staring at them like they’d just watched legends crawl out of the dirt. The tall one approached slowly, disbelief plain in his eyes.
“No one survives a Wen strike that strong.”
Techno rolled his shoulders, half-smile tugging at his mouth.
“I get that a lot.”