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Whispers in the camp tell him that they haven’t got long. The war has been going for three years now, and they’ve been losing for over half of it. It’s a miracle that they still have men to throw into battle. With the recent loss at the battle of Manburg, Prime’s Kingdom is on the verge of surrendering.
Tommy hardly cares which side wins anymore.
He was born in Antarctica. Although he doesn’t remember much, he does remember occasional flashes of a distant past. Of the docks that he grew up in, and the foster home. Of other hybrids like him.
He ended up in Prime’s Kingdom by accident. At eight years old, Tommy had found employment with a sailor who needed a small crew member to climb into tight spaces. He worked in the cargo hold, securing barrels of fish and spices and rum. When the ship sunk during a storm, Tommy had been picked up by a ship from Prime, carrying a noble and his men.
From there, Tommy had been indebted to the house of Exdee. It was the entire reason he was lying on his back in his tent, nursing bruises that stained his skin the colour of the murky blue sky above them. He was brought to fight for a Kingdom he had lived in for only six years.
His tent is thrown open, freezing air filling it as a stern face looks in.
‘Get up, kid. The Blood God’s been spotted.’
It’s not the first time they’ve had that warning. They’ve been retreating for weeks, being chased down by the infamous Blood God, Commander of Antarctica’s armies. Wherever he goes, blood follows, and so Tommy rolls out of his bed and puts his armour on.
He’s running out of underlayers. They’ve been soaked in blood countless times, but he doesn’t have the luxury of time, nor the ability, to clean them. All the armour he owns are parts that he’s collected from the house of Exdee, meaning they don’t fit properly.
With his boots on, Tommy scrambles out of the tent.
The first thing he notices is how quiet it is. There are other soldiers hovering around, scanning the treeline in the distance like they suspect something might be approaching. While they hesitate, Tommy doesn’t.
He packs his tent up sharply, shoving it back into his pack and swinging it onto his back, before checking his sword is strapped to his side. With that done, he turns to locate his group.
A scream echoes out over the camp. Tommy’s ears flick under his matted hair, trying to pinpoint the person who made the sound.
It isn’t difficult to find them. There’s a sword sticking out of their chest, with a beast of a man standing behind him.
Tommy’s first look at the Blood God leaves him terrified. He stands around a foot taller than Tommy, with shoulder so broad that Tommy could hide entirely behind him and never be seen. A boar mask hides his face, but the glowing red eyes under it search the landscape in front. As the man withdraws his sword and takes a step forward, the cloak around his shoulders billows out.
‘Fight! Pick up your swords, men! Protect the Crown!’
Antarctic soldiers flood the scene. They come from every angle, ambushing one of the last strongholds of Prime’s power. Tommy can do nothing but obey, abandoning his pack and drawing his sword.
His mission is simple. Protect the Crown that’s seated in the central tent. He fights his way to the tent, cold and tired and already bruised from the last battle. Blood stains his tongue, although he isn’t sure if it’s from biting his own lip, or from the people he fells to try and reach his destination.
The tent has been abandoned by most. Prime’s soldiers are fleeing, leaving their position to try and avoid the Blood God’s wrath.
If Tommy flees, Exdee will kill him. If he doesn’t flee, the Blood God will strike him down.
He stands in front of the tent and bares his sword, listening to the sickening sound of his companions being struck down. It takes only a few minutes for the camp to fall silent, and for Tommy to watch as Antarctic soldiers round the corner towards the main tent.
The Blood God is with them. Boots crunch in the early morning frost, leaving bloody footprints that Tommy stares at, before finally looking up at the Commander.
He raises his sword, hands trembling.
‘Stand aside,’ the Blood God rumbles, sword sheathed. Tommy isn’t even considered a threat to the man in front. He speaks it in Prime’s language, which is a surprise.
‘No,’ Tommy replies, arms protesting at the strain of holding his sword up.
‘Are all of Prime’s soldiers this stubborn?’ the Blood God mutters, in the native language of Antarctica.
‘You’ll have to kill me,’ Tommy says, copying the language switch. The Blood God’s eyes widen fractionally, before he tilts his head to the side.
He takes a step closer, and Tommy flinches, before reminding himself that he is about to fight the Commander.
‘You speak the Northern language,’ the Blood God says, frowning. ‘Why?’
‘Get on with it,’ Tommy snarls. He doesn’t care about the language, or the momentary stab of hope that comes with the Blood God’s intrigue. If Tommy is interesting, maybe he won’t be cut down where he stands.
It’s a pointless thing to hope for.
‘You cannot beat me,’ the man says, taking another step. ‘Lower your sword.’
‘I will die either way,’ Tommy points out, imagining the displeasure of his house if he returned, ‘I would rather it be in battle.’
The Blood God snorts. ‘This is no battle, child. This is a loss.’
With that, the man moves so quickly that Tommy has no hope of stopping him. He slams the sword out of the way, twisting the metal in his gloved hand so that Tommy has no choice but to drop it. Still, Tommy lunges right back at the man, pulling a knife from his belt as he lunges.
The red-eyed man wasn’t expecting it. Tommy, in a rush of adrenaline, manages to stab the Blood God.
The knife sticks out of the man’s arm. Behind them, he vaguely hears some of the Antarctic soldiers inhale.
The Blood God freezes, still gripping Tommy’s sword-arm, looking down at the knife in his arm. ‘You stabbed me.’
‘Fucking prick, dickhead, just fucking kill me and—’
A hand clasps over his mouth, Tommy scowling as he’s held still. He tries kicking the man instead, but the Blood God is far too agile for his own good. When Tommy finally stops squirming, he looks up to find the Blood God studying him.
‘Have the child taken back to my tent. I want him washed and fed.’
Torture. They’re going to torture him for information, and Tommy doesn’t even know anything. He screeches, trying to bite the hand over his mouth and thrashing in the Commander’s hold.
‘Are you sure?’ asks a woman with white hair, frowning over at him. ‘He’s trying to bite you.’
‘Gag him, then.’
She does. A cloth is shoved into his mouth, before his hands are bound behind his back and he’s dragged away from the Crown he was supposed to protect. They walk away from the bloody remains of Prime’s last outpost, and back into the trees. He doesn’t fight too much, considering he’s surrounded by Antarctic soldiers, but he does scowl at anyone who looks his way.
A couple of miles later, they reach a camp. It’s busier than his own, with soldiers bustling around. They give him strange looks as he’s lead through, so Tommy responds by snarling at them.
‘Can you behave?’ his captor asks, gently guiding him to duck his head as they enter a tent.
He responds by cursing her out from behind the gag. If she understands any of his colourful insults, she doesn’t show it.
The tent they walk into is impressive. A large feasting table sits in the centre, with a bed in the far corner that has furs piled on top. Maps and papers are spread out over the countertop, with a half-eaten apple by the side of them.
‘Niki, can you fetch some warm water for the tub?’
One of the soldiers that had accompanied them vanishes, and Tommy is tugged closer to a metal tub. It’s three times his size, designed for someone far bigger than him.
‘If I untie you, are you going to try and run?’
Tommy shoots her a deadpan stare, and she snorts. She cuts his bindings, before gesturing for him to remove the gag.
He does so carefully, and then stares at her. ‘Trying to drown me?’ he questions, darting a look to the tub.
‘The Commander wants you clean. Once the bath’s full, I’ll leave you to wash and get dressed.’
It doesn’t explain what he’s doing here, but Tommy isn’t going to decline the offer. With the white-haired woman gone, and the bath filled by the other lady, Tommy bathes. He scrubs at his skin till it’s prickled red, and tries his best to comb out his hair with his fingers. By the time the blood and dirt has been removed from his skin, the water is brown.
He dressed, being careful to keep his tail tucked close and he shoves the trousers over it. The shirt and jacket they’ve given him doesn’t cover the patches of fur on his neck, but he supposes it hardly matters. They’re not going to care that he’s a hybrid.
The woman walks back in once he’s done. She wrinkles her nose at the water, before her eyes narrow in on his fur. ‘You’re a piglin.’
He tenses, lips curling up to reveal tiny tusks. ‘Is that a problem with you, dickhead?’
‘A piglin that speaks our language. You’re from Antarctica?’
He doesn’t reply. She walks up to the table, and it’s only then that he realises she’s holding something.
A potion. A healing potion. The purple liquid swirls inside, a luxury just out of his reach.
‘It’s for you,’ she offers, placing it down. ‘You’re injured.’
He huffs, then growls slightly when she turns too quickly towards him.
‘I’m Puffy. Captain of the first battalion.’
She gives him space to approach the table, picking up the potion and sniffing at it.
‘Do you have a name?’
‘What’s it to you, bitch?’ Tommy snaps back, before raising the potion and gulping it down as quickly as he can. He almost chokes on the heavy taste, before forcing it to stay down.
Puffy just watches him. ‘Hybrids aren’t common in Prime. You’re from our kingdom.’
‘I ain’t from nowhere.’
‘You stabbed the Commander.’
‘I’ll stab him again, if I get the chance,’ Tommy threatens quickly, smug.
His smugness fades when someone clears their throat. He turns to look at the entrance to the tent, and tenses when the boar mask stares back at him.
‘You’ll stab me—piglin?’
Puffy hums in affirmative. ‘Apparently so.’
The Commander takes a step towards Tommy. In response, he wields the bottle with every intention of throwing it straight at the man’s head.
‘Not a common hybrid,’ the Blood God grunts, studying Tommy for a moment.
‘I’m anything but common, arsehole. I’m priceless.’
‘Do you always swear this much? You’re giving me a headache,’ the man mutters, and Tommy grins.
‘I think that’ll encourage him,’ Puffy offers to her Commander, who grimaces and walks further into the tent. His cape is unclipped, and hung up over one of the chairs. Then he reaches for his mask, pulling it away.
Tommy hasn’t met another piglin before.
The Blood God looks different to him. His tusks are more pronounced, and his ears are now revealed as he tucks the pink wisps of his hair behind them. They’re laden with gold, which makes some part of Tommy jealous. Pink fur sneaks out from under the man’s shirt, and Tommy suspects the red eyes might also be because of his piglin nature. More features than Tommy has, certainly.
‘Get the kid something to eat.’
‘Who are you calling a kid, you—’
‘Anything in particular?’
The Blood God shrugs. ‘Nutritious. The runt’s underfed.’
Tommy bristles, glaring at Puffy as she walks out.
The other piglin takes a seat, swinging his legs up onto the table and leaning back in his chair.
The stalemate is awkward.
‘Do you have a name?’
‘Do you?’
‘Technoblade. You can call me Techno.’
‘Fucking weird name,’ Tommy retorts, still holding the potion bottle.
‘It’s a piglin name.’
‘I’m Tommy,’ he offers, ears twitching under his messy curls. The movement draws Techno’s attention; pupils dilating when they focus on Tommy’s hair.
He gets it. If he looks in a mirror and sees his golden hair, he sometimes forgets that it isn’t actually gold.
‘Where are you from, Tommy?’
He stares at the Commander for a moment, before shrugging. ‘Antarctica, originally. Then Prime.’
‘From the house of Exdee,’ Techno drawls, staring at one of Tommy’s pieces of armour on the floor. The symbol of the house remains etched into it.
‘Yes,’ Tommy says, chin up in pride.
Techno glances back at him. ‘Exdee isn’t fond of hybrids.’
It’s a truthful statement. Tommy was only allowed because he was in perfect control of the more animalistic tendencies of his other half.
When Tommy doesn’t say anything, Techno sighs. ‘You’ll accompany me back to the Palace.’
His heart speeds up. ‘Torture?’ he bluntly asks, trying not to sound too terrified.
Techno snorts. ‘No, kid. You’re too young to be fighting for Prime, regardless of your house.’
‘I’m fifteen,’ Tommy protests, scowling at the Commander.
The man winces. ‘Fuck, Phil’s going to snatch you up.’
‘I’m not being snatched by anyone!’
Puffy opens the tent, frowning when she finds Tommy screeching at the Commander. ‘Did I miss something?’
‘The kid’s driving me insane, Puffy. Does he have an off switch?’
When Tommy lunges at the Commander with the potion bottle in hand, he’s rather surprised that the Captain only laughs. Even Techno doesn’t protest, snatching it out of his grip and pinning Tommy down before he can think about sinking tusks into the man’s neck.
He’s being kidnapped. Or man-napped, because he certainly isn’t a kid.
For now, he obliges. The offer of fresh food is nice, and Tommy can upset them by using his fingers to tear apart the food and gulp it down, uncaring that he doesn’t shut his mouth when he chews.
If they truly think that bringing him back to the centre of Antarctica is a good idea, Tommy isn’t going to stop them.