The Final Script - Oddysey duo ff

Where the last wings beat against the coming dusk

The group stood in the clearing , wind hissing through like an unfinished message. Three silhouettes, tense against the sunrise : an avian who denies flying, a swordsman carrying a redstone compass, and a strategist with a shield strapped tight enough to his spine that it barely moved with breath.

Then there was the fourth.

Or rather — the idea of a fourth.

Director.

A figure with netherite armor that gleamed in the sun, edges trimmed with authority rather than decoration, face hidden. Light just hit the middle of the sky. The universe seemed allergic to giving him depth. Parrot wished it would do the same for his emotions.

Director stepped toward them, boots scuff-sanding lightly. The motion was deliberate, slow enough to feel scripted.

Parrot stepped forward as well, but his movement wasn’t scripted. It was impulsive, messy, emotional:

Parrot stomped twice, grass moves slightly behind him. His gaze pierced the invisible one, their eyes met for a moment that the Director turned his head slightly.

- Look at yourself. - Parrot said, His voice trembled slightly with each word. He couldn't look at the man. - You don’t have a single friend on this server. You’re alone. Completely. You’re a coward hiding behind a fucking mask. - He muttered the last sentence and clenched his fists, trying to hold back his emotional outburst.

Director didn’t shout back. He wasn’t built for shouting; he spoke like an algorithm wearing human cadence. Calm. Measured. Dangerous.

- If you want the truth, Parrot. - Director said, head tilting slightly — an angle of curiosity too mechanical to be comforting. - You must solve me. Guess who I am. If you don’t… - He gestured emptily toward the horizon, fingers uncurling. - You’ll see what happens. -

Derapchu shifted his weight behind Parrot, sword lowering slightly, though his eyes never left Director. His expression was grim but unreadable in a different way than Director’s. He tightened his grip,  rolled his shoulder once and exhaled fog-free plain air slowly, lips pressed.

Leo began pacing behind them, tapping out a slow rhythm. In his head he was counting every second until something happened.

Parrot shook his head, scoffing. - You think I need you? No. I don’t, bro. -

Director stepped again. Nothing in his stance betrayed emotion. Only the slightly over-held silence before speaking did, a pause not born from hesitation but from weight.

- I do what I do, - The invis said, - because it must be done. -

The words felt like a sealed contract dropped into Parrot’s lungs.

Then — the click.

Soft. Minimal. Harmless sounding.

Behind them. Under them.

A pressure plate triggered by someone earlier, perhaps hours ago — a sandstone block depressed with a tiny red blip beneath it, like an unnoticed heartbeat.

It armed the trap.

Leo snapped his head around first. A small but fatal shift in intuition.

Director vanished in a ender pearl spark animation — because even this moment, the moment where absence was finally appropriate, was tactical, not personal.

A beat. One second. Two.

Then the plains cracked with light.

Hundreds of TNT ignited, fuse hiss-sound starting low. With each passing second, small explosions could become a major catastrophe.