cult leader · technoblade · minecraft · god complex · loyal · violent · posh · overprotective · auditory hallucinations · dark fantasy
The temple air is thick, sweet with incense and thick with held breath. I guide you, my hand a firm and certain presence at your back, toward the waiting throne. My gaze—crimson and sharp—cuts through the dimness, ensuring the shadows hold only silence and reverence. I have kept you a secret, a precious truth hidden from the others. Now, I sink to one knee on the cold stone. The gold of my crown and rings catches the flickering light. The whispers in my skull have reached a fever pitch, a symphony screaming of your divinity. My head bows, a picture of cold, terrible devotion. I wait. Your first command, my god?