❦𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫❦【 DreamSMP // Technoblade 】

❦One Hundred Fifteen❦

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"Fingers interlace and hands overlap, souls intertwined like long forgotten thread. Inconsolable and untouchable by a human hand, far from perfect yet everything they need to be and will ever become.

Who defines perfect and who has the audacity to say we are anything but it? As love is fire and crackling sparks, warm and comforting but dangerous and untamable.

If I am a fire you are parched timber my love, ready to burst into flames and leave me scorching your skin and everything you have left to claim. You accept me with open arms and I the same to you, for when my last spark fizzles out we will be nothing but charcoal. Potential gone untapped and happily one all the same.

We can await the day we once again cause the familiar simmer and chaos of unbridled love, but until then we can cherish the moments of content rest.

Maybe next time you will be the flame to start our fire, dear.

I await that moment with open arms just as I know you enact the same.
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There is a flock of crows scattered among roof and treetops, talons digging into wood and leaving pinpricked indents. Loud squawks sounding as they takeoff seemingly in unison, drawing eyes of a nearby villager walking the streets of his formally quiet town. Stopping in his tracks upon cobbled roads as he glances up, seeing black midnight wings cover the blue and cloudless skies.

He is blissfully unaware of where they lead. Where they end up.

Technoblade is trekking through tall grasses. And as the crows sweep above and through, as if saying hello, he is un-faltered in his journey. What most would see as an omen of death, he sees as something akin to love. He learned that long ago.

An omen of death is something held close to Technoblade's heart.

Omens of death mean family.

Technoblade had been keeping track of the omens like one would target and stalk prey. Counting hours or days between each one, the severity of it as he journeyed alone. It was common enough to him that it was second hand nature, akin to a well seasoned hunter.

He wasn't quite sure if the omens were coincidences until he saw a village up ahead.

The sun was clawing it's way down the mountains, the bright blue skies slowly becoming painted in oranges and reds. A beautiful flurry of colors. The village has stretches of tall wheats and grasses surrounding, and even as the aforementioned crows swept over, Technoblade was tempted to shove that hopefulness down his throat once more.

But it was undeniable once he looked down, almost stumbling over a corpse. Nobody comes into these tall grasses often, he knew that much from how unkempt they were despite being so close to this tiny village, so it was shocking to find an apparently murdered-

Ah.

The final omen.

It was an unmarred corpse. As if untouched by the human hand. Eyes whited out as if ghostly, and jaw dropped open as if having seen great terrors. Fingertips purpled, that being the only color left in the body. Everything else paled.  Technoblade was unfazed.

He was in fact even smiling at the sight, watching as a lone crow swooped down by his feet suddenly. Something that would at least make the average person flinch. He had grown comfortable with death long ago, no longer flinching, she was quite a nice woman after all. The crow landed on the face of the dead man, looking up at the Blood God with black beaded eyes. Tilting its head.

The body at his feet was slowly shrouded with darkness, as if being consumed by void. The sun creeping below spanning hills and swallowing villages.

Technoblade spoke, as if speaking to the skies. "If you've returned you didn't need to make a show of it." He spoke simply, and not even having to turn around he already knew the form now at his back. The air behind him had grown cold for a moment, a shift in the atmosphere, keying him in that something had changed. The fabric of the mortal world bending as if to accommodate something familiar yet new all the same.