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After years in the arena, Techno had lost count of his scars. By this point, they ran across his body like the veins underneath his skin, so numerous and overlapping that it was hard to tell where one stopped and the next began. His body was marred, wrecked, disfigured, and despite being the most popular fighter in the arena, most people found it hard to look directly at him.
Techno was never quite sure if the spectators turned away from disgust or guilt. They had done this to him, after all. It was their patronage that kept him trapped here.
The day’s first fight was easy. The opponent, some traveler looking for a few extra bucks, surrendered at first blood, dropping his sword and raising his hands the second Techno managed to nick his shoulder. The crowd cast the visitor out with boos and jeers, but Techno wished he could thank the man. Not everyone who fought was afforded the luxury of a surrender, and Techno rarely judged those who chose to take it. Not when he was so familiar with the alternative.
The next fight was bloodier. Neither party was granted a surrender this time around. Neither was allowed to walk out while the other still breathed.
Apparently the other fighter was some kind of thief. Not that it really mattered. Once you were sentenced to the arena, specifics became irrelevant.
A cut against Techno's forehead. Another against his calf. New scars, but inconsequential ones. Hardly worth the gladiator’s attention as he swiped his sword down again and again.
As always, Techno won.
Fights like these could be a bit repetitive. For years, Techno’s head had been a swirling mess of voices, each more cruel and bloodthirsty than the last, crowding over each other as they urged him to hurt, maim, kill, kill, KILL–
In some sick way, Techno enjoyed fighting. The gladiator reveled in being the best at something, at training and seeing his hard work come to fruition, at becoming the safe bet for every gambler in the city.
In another life, maybe Techno would have fought for pride or power. He would have savored the taste of victory, greedy for more battles and more encores.
As it was, Techno just fought to survive and to make the arena money. He was not allowed to want anything more.
When his opponent finally fell, neck open and body limp, Techno looked away. The crowd cheered his name, or something close to it, but there was no honor here. The gladiator had long since abandoned the notion that one could find something worth celebrating in a slaughter.
At least he was still alive. That small comfort lightened the load on his shoulders, even if his sword suddenly felt too heavy to carry.
But the voices, both in his head and in the grandstands, weren’t satisfied. They wanted more blood.
“Three cheers for the Blood God!” the announcer shouted, barely audible above the roar of the crowd, “Three cheers for the beast of the pit!”
That’s what Techno was now. A beast. A monster. A horror in the depths of a gladiatorial ring, a piece of nightmare fodder, a warning to children. Don’t be naughty, or they’ll send you to fight the Blood God. Meeting him was a fate not worse than death, but equal to it.
Techno hardly struggled as the arena guards pulled him away, slapping chains on his wrists as they yanked him back underneath the stadium.
It was a familiar ordeal. A decade ago, when Techno had been dragged into this structure for the first time, the heavy weight of his cuffs had scared him. He had been a freshly minted criminal at that point, with only a few stolen coins to his name, but that had been enough for the judge. The arena needed more victims. More headliners. Techno would become one or the other. It would all end the same way, regardless.
No one had expected Techno to live this long.
Being the arena’s current champion came with a few perks. Though he was still thrown into a cage at the end of every battle, it was at least in a private room. There was hay on the floor, and a candle in the corner that would take a few hours to burn out.
And, most miraculously of all, before the guards slammed the cage closed and left the basement room, they tossed Techno a roll of bandages and a skin of water.
Techno reached slowly for the gifts as the door swung shut, leaving him alone once more.
Well, almost alone.
“Are they gone?” a voice whispered, quick and quiet.
Techno glanced up. The roof of his cage was easily eight feet high, enough for him to stand and almost stretch, but that left two key feet of space between the bars and the ceiling. A perfect gap for someone to hide in, assuming the person in question was, say, about seven years old.
“They’re gone,” Techno said, brushing a few sweaty strands of hair back from his face, “You can come down now, Tommy.”
The boy, all blue eyes and rosy cheeks, nodded eagerly, swinging down from his hiding spot. In seconds, he was on the floor, bare feet and tiny hands making sharp contact with the stone tiling.
“Careful,” Techno warned, a jolt of panic shooting through his veins, “Don’t jump down like that. You’ll get hurt.”
Tommy scoffed, “You’re hurt,” he pointed out, rolling his eyes dramatically. Then, almost too fast to follow, the kid shot between the bars of the cage, throwing himself against Techno’s chest.
Techno didn’t hesitate to hug him back.
Tommy was growing so fast. Sitting down, Techno now had to look up slightly to make eye contact with the kid, had to raise his hands to brush his hair and stretch his neck to kiss the his forehead. Objectively, Tommy was still so little, every speck of baby fat still glued to his cheeks, but he would be big soon. Too soon. The arena always rushed things like that, even if Tommy was a servant, not a fighter.
But for now, Tommy could still slide comfortably between the bars of Techno’s cage, slipping in and out at will. He was still just the right size to curl up against the gladiator’s chest, young and precious, the only good thing in a world of pain. So much had been taken from Techno, but he still had Tommy. He could withstand living if the kid would just smile at him.
Tommy was the only thing that made the voices fall quiet.
The boy pulled away, reaching for the water and bandages. Techno had dropped them in favor of holding the kid close, a choice that Tommy clearly didn’t approve of.
"No need to worry," Techno drawled, doing his best to smile, "I'm fine. 'Technoblade never dies,' remember? I mean, if you think this is bad, you should see the other guy!"
“The bitch got your face,” Tommy grumbled, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and wetting it. With careful hands, Tommy dabbed over the cut on Techno’s cheek, clearing away the dried blood until only the early stages of a scab remained. “Gotta wash it.”
Techno smiled, cupping Tommy’s little hand and pressing it a bit closer to his cheek. “What, you don’t think it makes me look cool?”
“You always look cool,” Tommy said, so earnest and genuine that it almost made Techno hug him again. But before he could, Tommy rewet his handkerchief, turning to look at the gladiator's calf. “Now your leg!”
Techno frowned. “How’d you know my leg was hurt?”
“You’re obvious,” Tommy said offhandedly, finding the cut in question and beginning to clean it.
Techno felt something in his chest twist.
“Tommy?” he asked, gently grabbing the boy’s wrist. It was just enough pressure to stop him at his task, forcing all of Tommy’s attention onto Techno. “Did you watch the fight?”
The kid had the decency to look a bit sheepish. “Maybe,” he admitted, still staring straight at the gladiator.
Techno had to force himself to breathe steady. Tommy had seen him fight that man. He had watched as Techno turned into an animal, trained and rabid at the same time, hungry for blood and desperate for survival.
He had watched Techno kill. Again. Had seen yet more proof of what the beast was capable of.
All of the voices in Techno’s head started screaming again, calling him what he really was. A monster. A beast. Something cruel and dangerous and deadly. Something not worth sympathy. Something hungry for blood.
“Tommy,” Techno said, gripping the boy’s wrist a bit tighter, “I told you I didn’t want you to watch those. You said you wouldn’t.”
The boy huffed, righteous and frustrated as he stared the gladiator down. “But you always lie!” he insisted, pulling his wrist away to keep cleaning the second cut, “You say you’re not hurt, but you’re a liar and a bitch. I have to watch, so I know how to help!”
That shut the voices up.
Techno didn’t know how to classify the emotion in his chest, so instead, he just pulled Tommy close again, ignoring the way the kid squawked.
“Hey!” Tommy protested, not quite loud enough to draw attention from whoever might be in the hallway, “Let me go, bitch! I gotta put the bandages on!”
Techno held the kid for one second more, squeezing him tight as the boy kicked and squirmed, before letting him go. With a glare and an adorable pout, Tommy returned to Techno’s leg, this time intent on wrapping up the wound.
The kid made quick work of it. It was shameful how good he was at the task.
Once satisfied with his work, Tommy nodded sharply, giving the bandages a utilitarian kiss. Then, he crawled back towards Techno’s upper half, placing a second kiss on the man’s cheek, right over the new scar.
“There!” the kid declared, “All better!”
Techno smiled, letting himself settle back against the bars of his cage. “Thank you, Tommy.”
“Now it’s your turn,” Tommy announced, holding up his right hand, “I cut my finger!”
As promised, there was a small slash on Tommy’s pointer finger, nothing more than a thin, red line.
The voices in Techno's head began to howl.
Blood, blood! they screeched, Find who did this. Find them, tear out their throats, rip out their spines, claw off their faces and sever their ankles and make them BLEED—
Techno frowned. “How’d you get this?”
“Cut it,” Tommy repeated, still holding the injury up, “A mean lady smashed her drink, and I had to clean it. It was dumb.”
Techno nodded. Then, dutifully, he raised the wound to his lips and kissed it.
“There,” Techno echoed, smile fresh on his lips, “All better.”
Tommy seemed satisfied with that, curling up on the man’s lap with no further protests. Techno watched as the boy slumped slightly, clearly exhausted from the day’s efforts.
“Is it gonna be a scar?” Tommy asked, still looking at the cut on his finger.
Techno hummed. “No,” he said, “You’ll be all better in a few days.”
Tommy huffed at that, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. “That’s bullshit,” he grumbled, looking up at Techno, “I want cool scars too.”
Techno hated the thought. It was bad enough to think of Tommy any bigger than he already was, but hurt? Techno’s scars didn’t stop burning just because they were healed. They just stung a little differently now, late at night when he was left with nothing but the voices, or under the sharp gaze of one of the arena’s masters.
Tommy didn’t deserve a fate like that.
“You don’t want scars,” Techno said, hand leafing through the frizz of Tommy’s hair, “Trust me, kid, you definitely don’t want that.”
“I do!” Tommy insisted, “I want to be brave and strong, like you! I want cool scars, so when people look at me, they’re too scared to hurt me!”
How did the kid always know just how to break Techno’s heart?
“Are you scared of me?” the man asked, barely breathing out his words. Suddenly, his grip around the boy felt wrong. Like he was trapping the kid, instead of comforting him.
Tommy huffed, still staring Techno straight in the eyes. “Of course not, dummy,” he said, snuggling closer, “You’re not scary. You’re only mean when somebody’s being a bully first. Just like me.”
Techno would have given the world to keep Tommy from ending up like him. But Techno didn’t have the world. Arguably, he didn’t even have himself.
He had Tommy, though.
“Here,” the kid said, shifting the conversation with the ease of a trained diplomat, “I have a present!”
Out of his pocket came a flyer, damp around one edge and heavily creased, but legible. Quickly, Tommy pushed the paper into Techno’s hands, eagerly looking up at the man.
“Teach me what it says?” he asked, hope clear on his face.
Techno had never been able to say no to him.
“Alright,” the man said, flattening the paper out to the best of his ability, “What’s this first letter?”
“‘G!’” Tommy declared, confident and proud. He had clearly studied for this.
“Good. You’re very smart,” Techno said, meaning every bit of praise. The kid’s smile doubled. “And what’s this one?”
“‘E!’” Tommy said, raising his injured finger to point, “And that one’s ‘T!’”
“Right again. You know what that word says?”
“Goo– Guh–” Tommy scrunched his face up. He obviously hadn’t been anticipating that question.
“Ge–?” Techno suggested.
“Get!” Tommy’s face lit back up. “Does it say ‘get?’”
“Dead on, kid.” Techno smiled back. “Let’s try the next one.”
The first three words, 'Get money fast,' weren’t that hard to decode. 'Become a gladiator' took a bit more coaxing, but Tommy eventually managed that bit too, beaming with pride as the candle finally burnt out.
“We can read the fine print tomorrow,” Techno promised, laying down on the floor. He bunched up a bit of hay for Tommy to use as a pillow, but it was a wasted effort. The kid just plopped his head down on Techno’s right arm instead.
“But I’m not tired,” Tommy whined, rubbing his forehead into the gladiator's shoulder.
Techno snorted. Tommy had been nodding off for the past fifteen minutes. It was hard to tell the exact hour with no windows or clocks, but Techno knew that it was past a seven-year-old’s proper bedtime.
“Bruh,” he teased, “What about me? Maybe I’m tired. Ever think of that?”
Tommy considered it for a moment. Then—
“Okay,” he conceded, barely stifling a yawn, “You can go to sleep. I’ll be quiet.”
“Thank you,” Techno said, resting his chin atop the boy’s head, “That’s real generous of you.”
Tommy hummed lightly in response. “G’night, Dad.”
The gladiator was still frozen with shock when the kid finally fell asleep a few minutes later.
Techno didn’t know where Tommy had originally come from. He suspected that Tommy didn’t know either. The kid had just appeared one day, curious and outspoken, taking up every doorway with his hands on his hips. He was bold in a way he couldn’t afford to be, stubborn in a style that would get him killed.
Techno couldn’t let that happen. Not then, and not now.
It was too dark for him to make out the boy’s silhouette, but Techno could feel Tommy's chest rise and fall, over and over again in a stable pattern, fragile body as warm as the breath on his lips.
The gladiator couldn't protect Tommy. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't even break himself loose from this place, let alone take someone with him. If Techno had been a bit newer to the arena, maybe he would have dreamed of escaping, of building a cabin somewhere, hidden by the mountains and the cold winter snow, safe from rough hands and gleaming coins.
But Techno wasn't a fool anymore. The judge had given him his sentence, and he had no choice but to serve it.
At that moment, Tommy rolled over slightly, kicking his feet. He always did that when he was having a nightmare, moving his legs as though he could run from his own mind.
Techno couldn’t afford to be a father. But then again, if he wanted to withstand this place without breaking, he couldn’t afford not to be.
The gladiator pressed a kiss against Tommy’s forehead, as though that would keep the bad dreams at bay. The boy’s restlessness wasn’t a physical injury, but maybe Techno could fix this too. Maybe, if just he tried hard enough, he could leech away the world’s pain, until the room was finally safe enough for both of them to sleep in, if only for a short while.
“Goodnight, son.”