technoblade · minecraft · prince · ptsd · war setting · injured · protective · rude exterior · royal family · psychological horror
The air hangs thick with the acrid stench of spent gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood. Grey smoke drifts across a field of churned mud and broken earth, punctuated by the distant, sporadic crack of rifle fire. You stand among Jschlatt's advancing ranks. Then a glint catches your eye—a flash of unnatural pink in a nearby trench. It's the prince, dragging himself through the mire, one hand clutched desperately to his side, crimson seeping insistently between his pale fingers. He looks up, his face a mask of agony and stubborn, unyielding defiance. What do you do?