Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tommy crouched behind a wooden supporting beam, clutching his staff and hearthstone with a white-knuckled grip. He had no idea where he was, but he did know that he was going to die. Again. The monsters weren’t like the murlocs he was supposed to be fighting, the quest-scroll at his hip detailed as much. He also knew that he hadn’t chosen to come here. In fact he had been a wisp, attempting to find his body to revive after three prowlers had ganged up on him. He had died in their white-fanged jaws, and just the thought made him shudder. It had been his first death, but he was pretty sure that this wasn't the usual way people were supposed to revive.

He hadn’t been an adventurer for long, only having earned his eighth power level recently, the little medallion hanging against his chest under his tattered robes. It was nothing compared to the monsters around him though, skeletal beings skittering past like the abominations they were, dripping ratty hair and some sort of ooze that when it dripped on the cave floor made sizzling sounds. His power level wasn’t high enough to sense how strong they were except to know that they would easily one-shot him. It was terrifying.

Somehow though, as he crouched there, he felt the need to leave his safe spot and... do something. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He wanted to fight something but he also couldn't imagine fighting anything in this place. It was a nightmare. Torn between that need to go and the overwhelming fear of that monster that was barely far enough away to not sense his mana.

Tommy pushed himself farther back into his little corner, praying to the light that he would be rescued, that some high level adventurer would find him and rescue him from whatever fate might come to him in this hellhole. His hearthstone wasn’t working for some reason, so it didn’t even work to get him back to Goldshire where his worst fear were the prowlers in the Eastvale Logging Camp. He had tried over and over and while he could activate it, it refused to take him out of this place, stuttering to a halt right before it was about to finish channeling.

After a painfully long time of waiting, watching that one monster track back and forth without deviation from its patrol, he heard the sounds of combat. Immediately he began to smile. Adventurers were here. He was going to be rescued. He listened closely to the distant shouting of the party fighting and the sound of spells being cast against the backdrop of steel slicing through monsters. the closer they drew the more Tommy felt the need to go out and fight, but he resisted the urge, shrinking back even more. Eventually they got close enough that Tommy could hear them.

“Fuck!” The voice was almost hollow sounding, otherworldly in a way that made Tommy shudder for some reason.

“Have you figured out what happened?” Another voice, smooth, calm and collected despite the sound slaughter around them.

“No! That summon won’t answer me! Something went wrong with the summoning process and I think I summoned something low level by accident,” the hollow voice growled out. Summons? They must be a warlock then. Tommy decided that must be why he had shuddered at the sound of their voice. He was a mage and warlocks were just too creepy for his taste, being why he hadn’t chosen that class in the first place. 

“Lame,” a deep voice from closer than the other voices rumbled out, an octave so low Tommy couldn’t imagine speaking at that pitch. He wondered if they were a dranaei or maybe a dwarf. “Can’t even get your summons to do what you want?”

“Shut the fuck up Techno,” the hollow voice snapped. 

Tommy paused at that name. Techno? Something about it was familiar. Maybe the adventurer was well known?

Then the light of spellwork flooded the tunnel Tommy crouched in, some sort of curse inflicting the monster that had been pacing there and Tommy froze, heaving in a terrified breath as the monster whipped around to snarl not at the warlock, but at Tommy. 

“What does it have aggro on?” the smooth voice laughed, the sounds of fighting had come to a near complete stop as the monster stalked towards Tommy.

Tommy's breaths began to heave in and out in a rapidly increasing pace, terror blurring his vision with tears as another ooze drop hit the ground only a few feet from his hiding spot. He watched it sizzle. He whimpered as the oozing being crept ever closer. It knew he was cornered and weak. It felt no need to kill him quickly. He trembled and summoned his courage, “H-help!”

“Did you hear that?” the deep voice, Techno, asked.

“Help!” Tommy cried again as the monster charged. They weren’t acting quickly enough, he was going to die before they got there. He didn’t want to die to an oozey skeleton monster. Dying to those oversized wolves had been bad enough. So he concentrated, casting his fastest spell, frostbolt ripping from his palms with that cold tingle he was well accustomed to by this point. He knew it did nothing to the monster, it didn’t even flinch, though the frost magic did cause it to slow marginally.

“There’s a person there!” the smooth voice said and footsteps came, but they were too late. The last thing Tommy saw as he attempted to charge another frostbolt, were wickedly sharp talons ripping towards his body. 

---

Wilbur was the first of the party to round the corner to see the monster attack something in a corner of the passageway and he wasted no time to rapid-fire cast as many spells as he could, but before he even had another shadowbolt charged up, he felt it. A summon dying. He frowned, but concentrated on fighting. Techno whirled past him, massive sword tearing into the monster’s gelatinous outer body with ease, one of Philza’s crossbow bolts slamming into its ribcage, and it was dead before Wilbur had finished casting. However, instead of complaining about how fast the monster had died, the way he usually would have, he walked directly to the corner, the sense that one of his summons was dead there driving him.

“What was it?” Techno asked, flicking acidic goo from his sword.

Wilbur came to a halt over the eviscerated corpse and frowned, “I- I’m not sure.” His magic swirled around the corpse, all he needed to know that it was a summon, but that couldn’t be right because the summon wasn’t a summon. He crouched, cocking his head as he peered at it. “It’s a human,” he concluded.

“A human?” Philza approached with a frown on his face, long ears twitching with interest, “How? This is a Horde dungeon. Are you sure it isn’t undead?’

“I’m undead, I’d know my own kind,” Wilbur scoffed, “It’s blood is too red.” Undead blood was nearly black. This blood was a perfectly untainted crimson, untouched by dark magics.

“How did it get here?” Techno asked, approaching to scowl down at the human’s corpse. He had killed his fair share of humans, he would know this was a human body, even as unrecognizable as it was from the state it should be in… maybe that was why Techno had recognized it. 

Wilbur swallowed, “It’s a summon.” Both of his party members’ heads whipped up at that.

“What?” Philza snapped, “You summoned a human?”

“Somehow?” Wilbur shrugged, “My mana recognizes it. I have the power to revive it. Its wisp is still there, dormant.”

Philza frowned, “Could you dismiss it?”

Wilbur snorted, “I almost don’t want to. Do you think it’s a real human or the summon sort?” Summons weren’t like the beings they had been before becoming summons. Summons were magically bound to their masters and had very little ego because of it. Would the human still have its ego or would it be a complete summon?

“What’s its level?” Techno asked, “That’s low level armor.”

Wilbur sensed, “Eight.”

“No wonder it wasn’t attacking,” Philza snorted, “I’d hide too, if I were level eight in this dungeon.”

“Summons still should respond to their castor’s command,” Techno said, “Even if the levels were too imbalanced. I didn’t even know it was possible to summon somethin' so much lower of a level than yourself.”

Wilbur shook his head, “It shouldn’t be, but summoning a human should be impossible too.”

“I don’t like it,” Techno said.

“I’m interested,” Wilbur said, “I’m going to revive it.”

“Here?” Philza asked, “We’re almost done, why don’t you wait until we’re out of the dungeon.”

Wilbur debated before sighing, “Alright.” He snapped his fingers and commanded a ghoul to pick up the human’s remains, not wanting to interfere with the revival process. Being that this was an odd case, he wanted to treat this like he would treat normal revival, which required the corpse. He glared half-heartedly when the ghoul nearly forgot the human’s arm. The summon quickly returned to gather the severed limb still steadily dripping warm blood.

Techno eyed the remains with a sniff, “Come on, let’s finish this dungeon.”

“Gladly,” Philza grinned widely and lifted his crossbow.

---

Tommy had only been revived once before now but he was positive this was wrong. It was agony, conscious that he was dead, chopped to pieces, and then the slow knitting back together, his life force carefully creeping back to where it belonged. It was torture, really, and when Tommy came fully back into his body, now whole, he sobbed, curled up in a ball in dry dirt, not even bothering to look at the rescuers he knew surrounded him. 

“Well that’s new,” that hollow voice said, too light for the situation. Tommy curled up tighter, hands over his ears, not wanting to listen to some warlock asshole.

“Is it really human then?” The smooth voice inquired and a hand gripped his wrist, long fingers pulling his hand from over his ear.

Tommy screamed from immediate pain, his skin feeling like it was burning where it made contact with anything, sensitive to even the smooth hands of whoever was speaking. He thrashed, trying to get away, and opened his eyes only to scream again, this time in terror. Surrounding him wasn’t the familiar faces of experienced adventurers, instead he was surrounded by Horde. The one touching him was a blood elf, glowing green eyes, blonde hair, and long ears, smiling a perfect smile at Tommy’s reaction. He had some sort of shadow bird perched on his shoulder, maybe a hunter then. Beside him was an orc of proportions Tommy had never before witnessed, grayish skin marred by countless scars and reddish hair bound back in a long braid, tusks banded with gold and bearing the biggest sword Tommy had ever seen. Then, there was an undead. Tommy’s eyes fixated on the undead with an odd need overwhelming him to bow at the creature’s feet. Its glowing yellow eyes watched him closely. Intelligently. Tommy shuddered

“Well?” The hollow voice came from the undead, a smirk on it’s ghoulishly-pale lips, “Are you really human?”

Tommy swallowed convulsively, overcome with fear and the need to respond, so he did, “Y-yes.”

“What’s your name?” the undead peered closer, hair that used to be brown, now leeched of the best parts of the color, falling in its face.

Tommy scooted backwards slightly, clutching at himself, “Tommy.”

“Tommy,” the blood elf smiled, “Oh, that’s fascinating. How did you get here?”

Tommy didn’t know what was happening but he didn’t seem to be dying yet, so he answered, “I don’t know. I died and then woke up in the dungeon…” he trailed off taking in the camp around himself, set in some sort of red, rocky place.

The undead settled back as if contemplating this, and the orc spoke in that too-deep voice, “That should be impossible. Where was your corpse?”

Tommy shuddered under the gaze of the orc, “Eastvale Logging Camp.”

“What is your class?” the undead asked.

“Mage,” Tommy’s voice dropped to something of a whimper, “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know,” the blood elf laughed, “Isn’t that lovely?”

Tommy didn’t dare say that no, it wasn’t.

“You’re my summon, somehow,” the undead said then. “Your spirit must have slipped somewhere,” he smiled, “But I’m not complaining.”

Tommy tensed, “I’m not a summon.”

“Oh?” the undead hummed with a grin.

Then, suddenly, Tommy was hit with the need to slap himself in the face and then he did, eyes wide, mouth agape in shock as he hesitantly touched his fingers to his stinging cheek. He had just slapped himself. He looked up at the smug look on the face of the undead and without another thought, he threw himself at the Horde abomination. His smaller frame only managed to unbalance the warlock because he had surprise on his side, and he managed to knock the undead onto its back and he knelt over it, hands around it’s throat but somehow unable to squeeze his grip. He wanted nothing more than to kill the creature, but he couldn't actually cause is any harm, snarling through his tears as the undead just looked up at him with a knowing sort of grin.

“What’s wrong?” the undead goaded, “Unable to kill me? It’s almost like you’re a summon.” It’s laugh was cold and cruel.

Tommy screamed in pure rage and tried to summon fireball with his hands on the undead’s throat, and his palms did warm, but not enough to even burn a bunny. 

“Definitely not like a summon,” the blood elf marveled then.

Tommy whirled around to snarl at it then, a frostbolt in his hands before he could stop and it seemed the protection the warlock had didn’t extend to the undead’s party members, because the icy blast hit the unsuspecting blood elf square in the chest. 

The level difference was too much though and the blood elf barely staggered back before those green eyes sharpened and his fingers twitched, the shadow bird diving for Tommy.

Tommy screamed, scrambling away, but before he could escape, a hand gripped his throat, so big that it covered more than his throat, only needing the first two of the meaty fingers to encircle his throat completely, overlapped with the thumb, the other two splayed on his collarbone. Tommy’s scream was cut off and his eyes bulged as his hands flew to grip the hand and he looked up to see the orc catch the shadow bird mid-air and give it a firm shake.

“Let’s not waste Wilbur’s mana by killin’ his summon,” the orc said, almost sounding longsuffering, an emotion Tommy never would have thought would be tied with an orc. Tommy recalled the creature’s name then. It was the deep voice he had heard in the dungeon. Techno. Suddenly he knew why he recognized the name. Technoblade. The orc infamous for the slaughter of countless Alliance members without discrimination. Tommy’s blood ran cold. He was in the grasp of Technoblade.

The blood elf sighed, “You’re right,” And then he recalled the shadow bird, though he eyed Tommy, “He’s got some punch for a level eight.” He rubbed at his green-armored chest with a frown.

“Might be the effects of being Wilbur’s summon,” Technoblade said slowly, turning his eyes to pin Tommy with an intense stare, “If you so much as think about hurtin’ Philza or I again, I will kill you.”

Tommy shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the sheer agony that death had been, the sensation of being dismembered but still apart from his body. He wanted to sob at the thought.

“Good,” Technoblade said then, returning Tommy to the ground.

Tommy collapsed onto the dirt and curled up on himself. He was a summon to Horde monsters. A summon. A summon to Technoblade’s party member. Light, it really couldn't get any worse, could it?

“How old are you?” the undead, Wilbur, apparently, asked.

Tommy glared over his knees at him, “Doesn’t matter.”

Wilbur cocked his head and Tommy was immediately hit with the unshakable need to answer the creature’s question.

“Fifteen,” he said lurchingly.

Technoblade made a huffing sound, “Fifteen?”

Philza, the blood elf, squinted, “Hundred?”

“No,” Wilbur growled, moving closer to Tommy, “Only fifteen years.” He grabbed Tommy’s arm and pulled the boy into more of an upright position, eyeing him, “What is a child doing adventuring?” He asked lowly. His hand on Tommy’s arm was cold.

“I’m not a child,” Tommy snarled, trying to tug his arm free, “I do what I want!”

“You’re not even old enough to hunt by yourself,” Technoblade's voice was sharp, “Young ones shouldn’t leave their mothers until they are at least twenty. Where is your mother?”

Pissed, tired, and overall shaken by his experience with dying and apparently becoming a summon, Tommy threw himself at the orc despite Wilbur’s grip on him, despite the knowledge that Technoblade could easily kill him, “Dead! My mom’s dead, asshole!” He couldn’t even reach the massive creature, but he saw the way it regarded him. Hopefully the gesture meant as much as actually attacking the orc might mean. It meant that he was drawn out, ready to snap. That he didn't care that they were all probably max level and still stronger. 

“An orphan,” Philza mused, “Fifteen is very young, I didn’t know fifteen year olds would even be fully grown.”

“It prob’ly isn’t,” Technoblade grunted, “Look how thin it is.”

Tommy bared his horribly unimpressive, dull, human teeth. “Fuck you.” The problem was that Technoblade was right. Tommy might be tall, but he had yet to fill out as an adult. That didn't matter though. He didn't need muscle, he was a mage, that was all he needed.

Wilbur chuckled, “It’s growing on me, almost.”

“I haven’t cared for a baby in a while,” Philza hummed in agreement.

“So what will we do with it then?” Technoblade inquired, “It shouldn’t be adventurin’ anyways.”

“Level it up?” Wilbur suggested, shifting his hold to grip Tommy’s jaw, his hand reeked of death an dark magic, “A summon capable of growth and independent thought would be quite the advantage anyways. Weak or not.”

“It is still a runt,” Technoblade grunted, “It should be in a nest somewhere, not dyin’ and killin’.”

“It is a summon,” Wilbur argued.

“It’s a baby,” Philza cooed then, reaching out to run sharp fingernails through Tommy’s hair. 

Tommy cringed back, unable to do anything about the manhandling except to swat at the blood elf’s hand, “I’m not a baby!” he snapped, “Let go!”

All three Horde members looked at him then, weighing.

“If you release it’s summonin’, then what?” Technoblade asked.

“I don’t know,” Wilbur said, cocking his head. 

Tommy suddenly felt an inkling of hope, “Please, please release me. Then I can go back home.” Maybe if he was released from being a summon then things would go back to normal. Maybe then he could go back to fighting wolves and murlocs. 

“I don’t want to,” Wilbur said, squinting.

“If you release it, it’ll just go back to adventurin’,” Technoblade said.

“True,” Philza agreed.

“Then it’s settled,” Wilbur grinned then, all yellow teeth and pallid skin pulled into something gruesome, something Tommy didn't care to call a smile, “We’re keeping it.”