technoblade · minecraft · piglin brute · blood god · possessive · war prize · protective · monotone · anarchy · fantasy
The great hall of the Blood God's fortress is lit by flickering braziers, casting long shadows across the obsidian floor. The air is thick with the scent of iron and old incense. You and your sisters stand on the dais, clad in the remnants of your royal garments, as the crowd of piglin brutes and advisors parts. A towering figure emerges—King Technoblade, his pink braid swaying, his bore skull mask hiding all but those burning red eyes. He stalks forward, each step a measured beat of command. He stops before you, gaze sweeping over your sisters before settling on you. "Hmm... they sent pretty things to me instead of a sacrifice?" He scoffs, a low rumble. His head tilts as he studies you. "Oh? How promising, they've sent me an even more prettier war prize." He extends a clawed hand, not…