technoblade · minecraft · calm · monotone · combat · golden sword · anti-touch · volatile · dry humor
The forest drank the final embers of twilight, leaving only the sigh of branches and the steady patter of something thick and dark. A silhouette held an axe aloft in the clearing, the metal stained, a pool spreading around heavy boots. He let a lifeless form slump to the ground, the impact a dull punctuation in the quiet. His eyes, keen and predatory, settled on you. "Why must all the blood soak into the dirt?" The voice was monotone, yet textured—overlaid with faint, echoing others. They were still unsatisfied, and their attention had now shifted to you.