[~Prelude: The Embers Of Death~]
A wild blaze scorched the earthy plains of a nearby kingdom as a man overlooked his hard work. His second pair of ears—that of a pig—twitched as he breathed out hot air. Embers flew past him as the screams of his victims begged for mercy, a mercy they would never obtain. It was music to his ears, earning the cries of the doomed and the damned. He watched with a hungry look in his eyes as the lives of his enemies were snuffed out.
And how filling it was, to witness such carnage. Such bloodshed. There was nothing more gratifying in the whole world than watching the blood of his enemies spill from their lifeless bodies. To see their faces contort into pained visages of their once battle-hardened faces. To see them fall to his blade and his alone.
Was he a monster for doing this? For ending the lives of so many? Many would think so. But this was his life. No one else's. He decided how he lived, and this was how he wanted to exist. As a messenger of Chaos and Anarchy. He simply spurred the revolution and bloodshed. All he had to do was begin the assault, and everyone else followed suit.
As the flames burned, and as the screams and shouts slowly began to die down, he felt a hand clasp down on his shoulder. The man looked over his shoulder as his long pink hair shifted with the movement of his head.
His crimson-red eyes bore holes into the man who placed a hand on his shoulder. His face was obscured by the pig mask he was wearing which had covered half of his head, only making his red glowing eyes seem more menacing than they had any right to be.
The person who placed the hand on his shoulder was a man wearing a brown trenchcoat. It dragged across the floor, and the ends were stained in the crimson life fluid of his enemies. The man was wearing a black beanie and his hair was a starch black. He had a scar going over his right eye and he wore a weary smile.
The mystery man had a dark look in his eyes, yet despite that the warrior cracked a grin. Despite the change, the warrior knew exactly who this person was. The man's chocolate brown eyes stared into the crimson eyes of the warrior, who turned around and placed both hands on his shoulders.
"Brother. It's been too long," the warrior said as the man smirked.
"That it has, Techno," the man said as Techno nodded, letting go of his brother's shoulders. The man walked up beside Techno and stared out at the burning castle town where Techno had spurred the revolution. The man frowned, crossing his arms, glancing over to Techno with a raised eyebrow.
"I thought you threw this life away, brother. What changed?" The man asked as Techno shrugged.
"The Voices, brother. They demanded blood. So I gave them blood. It keeps them quiet," Techno replied in earnest as the man sighed, nodding in solace. The brother looked over Techno and shuttered. He was coated in thick layers of ichor and mess. His regal outfit looked wrong coated in it. It made the man shiver at just the thought of how many people he had killed.
Was it a hundred, or was it ten thousand? He was fairly certain Techno stopped counting once it got to the thousands. Techno's white blouse looked like something ripped out of the late 1800s—which it probably was, all things considered. The same thing could be said for the leather trousers and red and white king's cape he was adorned in.
The white blouse had an ascot sewn into the collar, with a blue diamond-like gem in the center of the fabric, the calm blue rock contrasting heavily with Techno's crimson and attentive eyes. The blouse was dowsed in blood, changing the white to a sickly red. The white fur of the cape had been dyed red in the same blood, and the pants were equally as stained.
The man ignored the combat boots that Techno was wearing and particularly ignored the part where he had skull fragments and flesh surrounding that, which was connected to a neck and the body of a man dressed in peasant wear. The black combat boots were just as stained with blood as the rest of his outfit, and the less the man talked about the sword in his right hand, the more peace of mind that the man would have.
The sword was long, about 2 feet long. It was made entirely out of a black material called Netherite, a rare metal found in the Nether, a realm that connected to every other realm of the known multiverse. It was what Techno used to travel the world and enact his anarchic takeovers and massacres. In fact, it was how the man had found Techno.
"So… what do you plan to do now, brother?" The man asked as Techno frowned.
"Head home. Unless, of course, you need me for something, that is?" Techno said as the man bit his lip, crossing his arms. He struck a contemplative look, overlooking the hellscape that was caused by Technoblade.
Was he willing to condemn those of Manburg to such a fate? The screams, the blood, the fires, the agony? Was such a place worth that amount of death? Would Wilbur be able to sleep at night knowing what he would subject his former citizens to? It was no secret just how terrifying his adoptive brother was when he was serious about something….
But to defeat Schlatt, and to take back his home, he would do anything. He would simply deal with the consequences afterward.
"Actually… yes, I do need your help, Brother," Wilbur said, sparing a glance at the madman he called a brother. Sheathing his blade, Technoblade looked over at Wilbur and nodded.
"Then what is it you require, brother o' mine," Technoblade asked as Wilbur sucked in a breath. This was his last chance to turn back. To spare his friends from the destruction that would plague their world. It was bad enough that Dream was causing trouble, driving a wedge between people and doing so with a large grin on his face. If his brother joined in on that chaos…
"Am I going to do this? Am I really going to allow this to happen?" He hesitantly glanced over at Technoblade, before closing his eyes and exhaling. "Yes… Yes, I am."
"I need your help… I need you to spur a revolution back home. A dictator has taken over my home, and I need him gone. Do you think you can help me?"
A wild smile spread itself across Technoblade's face as the part piglin, part demon, and part human man gained a viscous, predatory gleam in his eyes. His hand reached for his Netherite Blade, gripping the hilt with enough strength to rumble the ground around him.
Wilbur knew just how excited Technoblade got at the prospect of killing politicians. But dictators were a special treat. He got violently happy, and he would usually go off more than usual. Wilbur felt death wash over him, as the madman's smile that spread itself across Technoblade's blood-soaked body made him look like a deranged serial killer.
And then, he spoke. And Wilbur's soul was physically shaken at hearing the downright demonic voice that poured out of his "brother's" mouth.
"Oh, Wilbur… you shouldn't have. Let's go, I cannot wait~!"
