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Technoblade grew up in a long line of aristocratic piglins. He spent his earliest years with other children who were born of similar wealth and stature. They spent time playing together, out in the courtyards and acres of land that their parents owned. Techno never got close to any of them, though, as this way of life wasn’t for him. He spent a lot of days getting ready for different celebrations, weddings, and even funerals. He hated having to dress up for them.

“Do…do we really have to do this?”

“Come now, he was a great friend to our family. He gave you many of your toys, though, I’m sure you don’t remember…”

“Okay, okay, I just feel like we’ve done this a lot lately!”

Out of everyone in his family, Techno was the youngest. It was his older siblings and cousins that often spoke for him, though they did tease him occasionally. They had dared him, once, to steal candy from the candy shops. Techno had never ran so fast in his life. They pressured him to take from the homeless, as well. He struggled to do so, having seen the homeless man beg a few minutes earlier.

“It’s all fun and games!”

“It runs within our family!”

“Oh, come on! Just do it!”

These “games” and “dares” eventually made Techno stand clear of his own family. He hid away, during the parties, to be with his father, whom he cared about deeply. It was with him that he learned many things about the world they lived in. 

Instead of gathering around at the long dinner table every night, Techno would occasionally be taken outside by his father. They’d watch the fish in the lake or stare at the stars in the sky. It was comforting for both of them. Despite the many gifts seeming to have been graciously bestowed upon their family, Techno was truly humbled.

“A long time ago, decades before we were given the wealth we have now, our family started out growing potatoes, living in a small cottage. Everyday, everyone in the family would wake up and start working. It was a tiring life, sure, but it was necessary for survival.”

“I…I didn’t know that. Did potato farming make us rich?”

“No, it wasn’t. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what did, it’s something our family isn’t proud of.”

He grew an appreciation for farming out in their backlawn, in the fields typically managed by the workers they employed. His siblings watched, most of the time, though eventually did join in.

He was even taught techniques and tips about sword fighting, admittedly, to the dismay of his mother. The two practiced in their estate’s courtyard, slowly upgrading from simple sticks.

It was said that such a skill was natural to the family, though Technoblade found it incredibly challenging. His father often maneuvered in such a way that left him confused and frozen in place. Though, at least his father tried to hold back. Techno’s brother was ruthless, during the only time the two practiced.

“Stop, stop! That’s enough!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

“You went way too hard on him…”

“I know! I’m sorry, alright? Are- are you okay?”

He never took it to heart. The experience only made him determined to someday beat his brother in a duel. His sister, a taunting middle child, poked fun at his pitiful attempts. She often laughed at him from her window that overlooked the courtyard, but Techno never took it to heart, either. If she ever took up swordfighting, he would just beat her in a fight as well.

And so the occasional party, wedding, or funeral became a lot more exciting for Technoblade. His father would try his hardest to go out and do something with him, even if it was talking at a great fireplace. The playful cheers from Techno’s cousins didn’t bother them, even if it sounded tempting. He was living his best life.

Technoblade never met his great grandfather. He wasn’t told much about him, either. His siblings spoke of a great historic figure, known for their businesses and control over the government. Though, Techno’s father explained a filthy, rotten person who used any tactic to stay on top. Manipulative businesses and corruption in the government. Despite his trust for his father, Techno didn’t know who to believe.

It was an early morning, in late Autumn, when it was requested that all great grandchildren go meet their great grandfather. The family was surprised, to say the least, but didn’t dare defy the order. It took a day-long ride in a horse carriage for Techno and his siblings to finally arrive. They gathered with the rest of their cousins in front of the family’s largest, most grand, estate.

An army of butlers and other servants ushered them inside, instructing them to wait in the ballroom until it was their turn to meet with their great grandfather. It was explained that, one at a time, by order of age, the children would meet individually with him. 

It felt like days for Techno, as he sat in his chair. The rest of the children were playing as their parents stood awkwardly in the corner. 

“It’s- it’s not a stupid hat!”

“Why don’t you ever take it off?”

“It- it’s important!”

The parents’ conversations were much less playful. Though, instead of holding drinks and laughing, they were worryingly whispering.

“He has a plan, right? He always has a plan.”

“I never counted on him. None of us should. The times where he flourished are gone now, and it is up to us to save ourselves…”

One at a time, each of the great grandchildren had an audience with the head of the family. First, it was Techno’s older brother. Then, some of his cousins. Then, his sister and second cousin. Finally, only after the sky had turned orange, Techno was told it was his turn. He had to wait a little while longer in front of the bedroom door, giving one last glance at his parents before stepping inside.

His great grandfather was clearly decaying, dying, and on his last breaths when Technoblade entered. The old piglin was seated in a red-cushioned chair, hooked up to multiple medical devices that kept him alive. His most trusted butler stood silently beside him, holding up a silver platter that held a single glass.

Techno sat on the small wooden chair opposite his great grandfather. It took a few seconds for anyone to begin speaking. Every time he was spoken to, the hissing sound of air emitted from a bag that hung from a stand. It was hard for Techno to say anything back.

Sir Billiam the Third.

One of the most infamous members of the aristocratic society, within the nation and its government. It was said that he pulled almost every string, even the ones that fought against each other. He held massive parties, masquerades that were days long, and owned a catalog of precious items sourced from the deserts out west to the cold arctic up north. “Billiam the Third”, the most feared name out of the bloodline. “Billiam the Third,” a name of controversy and rumor. “Billiam the Third”, the now dying man that requested an audience with his great grandchildren, in what seemed to be his last move.

He always took an interest in those neglected. Those overlooked by society, whenever it gave a glimpse at the world around itself. He had done so years before, with the multiple orphans that now served as his staff. And he was doing so now, as he sat across from the youngest of his great grandchildren.

“Technoblade…”

He had heard about the young piglin many times before. He had watched him stumble around, like an injured calf, as a baby. His grandson had raised him to respect the world, Billiam the Third knew, which was something he appreciated. It took the whole evening for him to tell Techno countless stories, tales, advice, and even warnings.

“Tell your parents…my grandchildren…to escape this place. You…..and your family….are not safe here anymore….”

“W-why…?”

“….you’ve noticed how long…it’s been since your last party….? Since you last….saw anyone….outside of this family….?”

“Y-yes….”

“I….have done things….that seem to be what will…….tear this family apart……”

“What- what do you mean?”

“…”

“…”

“You’ve heard the stories.”

Sir Billiam the Third found himself under fire, recently, by the press and local government. Judicial systems around the continent declared him guilty for the murders of multiple members of aristocratic society. “Lord Sebastian”, ”Lady Lyaria” and “Oliver Smichalist”, to name a few. The public had always assumed that he was the culprit. That Billiam the Third was a mastermind, maybe even an evil spirit. A “Dreamon”, some had even dared to suggest.

The rest of Billiam the Third’s family found themselves discriminated against and isolated, even by ones they once thought of as friends. A group of angry rioters had burned down their summer home along the coast. Protestors threatened that their winter lodge would be next.

It was the government that fueled this hate. The police force as well as the local guardsmen ordered for Billiam the Third’s arrest and capture. Though, that wasn’t enough. It was never enough for this band of torch-bearing beasts. The government themselves ordered for the capture or execution of Billiam the Third’s entire family. Even his great grandchildren.

“You must….take…this…….”

“What…?”

“…take…it……..the locket enshrined by blood vines…..”

“But- but why?”

“Our family heirloom…….the key….to all of our madness….”

After Technoblade finally left Billiam the Third’s bedroom, the parents were invited next to speak. The great grandchildren heard the argument that transpired within those walls. There were no fun chases, dares, or games to be played. Not even an army of servants could get the children riled up.

None of them wanted to do anything else but listen to their relatives, who were verbally pointing at each other with knives.

“-what you’ve done! What are we supposed to tell them? We’ve brought them into a life of prosperity, and that’s what they’ll rightfully expect!”

“You were a fool then! An idiot, thinking for yourself!”

“It was….the choice……of parliament….to enact-“

“Based on your braindead actions!”

“Parliament……they….decided to-“

“You killed those people! I was told that you didn’t, that you were framed! We were-“

“Let him speak.”

It went on until midnight. By that point, everyone’s voices had grown as raspy and tired as the old piglin himself. Techno’s parents marched out of the room, forcefully taking him and his siblings out of the estate. They hastily entered the carriages and took off without a word. Techno swore that, for one last time, he saw Billiam the Third staring at him from the window. He slept with the locket that night, and watched the vines protruding off of it.

“The key to his family’s madness”, something he would soon come to understand.

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His parents thought he had grown sick. Something caught from the trees they rode by last night. Technoblade spent the entire day in his bed, sometimes thrashing about whilst clinging to his head. Reluctantly, his family couldn’t wait for him to get any better. They had to get moving now, using the advice given to them by Billiam the Third. Techno’s older sister packed for him, stuffing toys and clothing into a small bag.

Their servants accompanied them in their hurry. They packaged food, rushing it into wooden crates that they then stacked in piles. One of them occasionally checked on little Technoblade, who was still suffering from something they’d never come to understand. His father would check on him the most, sitting beside his bed, stroking his head.

“What is wrong?”

“Wh…. what…?”

“You’ve been worrying us all day. Do you think you’re well enough to stand up…?”

“What? I- I can’t- I can’t hear you….”

He couldn’t. For the rest of the evening, he could never hear anything being said to him. His mind was cluttered and crumbling, barely able to hear his own thoughts. It’s just that they’d never shut up. The voices in his head.

They acted like a dozen inner monologues, rambling in such a way that jumbled up anything the others were saying. Some of the voices whispered, telling him secrets about the area. Others warned of the dangers Billiam the Third had foretold.

“They are preparing. In the dozens, in the hundreds. They seek out your family!”

“Blood. Blood slowly dripped from the ceiling, only a decade ago. Your uncle has many things to hide.”

Most of it didn’t make sense. A garbled talk of rants. Techno spent the entire day in his head. Everything seemed to go by fast, because of it. The sun danced past his window before settling beyond the trees. The sounds of kitchen drawers and opening doors grew silent as it did.

When the manor finally grew quiet, his mother entered. She carefully lifted Techno out of his bed, carrying him downstairs and out the front door. He saw the small line of wagons that his side of the family had readied. Slowly but surely, he was taken into the back of the first wagon and was laid onto the blanketed wooden bench. His siblings watched him, also unsure of what was going on.

Technoblade could just barely see from out the back, as his father waved off their servants. Some of the servants had spent days upon days, caring for him. He remembers being taught basic skills by a housekeeper. Being told mannerisms by his butler. But none of them did as little as wave as they walked off. His father moved toward the front of the wagon, grabbing the reins to its horses.

They left their estate, taking a small path through the woods. Techno tried to sleep his way through the journey, but the voices kept him awake. He resorted to watching the trees they passed by through the white cloth that covered their wagon. It seemed to go on forever, this endless forest. 

“They search your estate! They tear apart your bedroom, throwing your clothes and toys about!”

“They plan to set it ablaze! For they have not found you! Take to the forests, they will! It’s not long!”

Whenever the voices became understandable, they became haunting and horrifying. It terrified Techno, who shrunk further into his seat. Though there were no stars to stare at for comfort.

 It was at midnight when he remembered the locket. He took it off his neck and stared at it, while his siblings and mother slept. It only made sense that it was the key to this madness. This never-ending insanity. And it only made sense to toss it through the open hole in the back. He didn’t even see it land on the dirt before he closed his eyes.

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Techno woke up the next morning, in a place he did not recognize. The trees grew taller than the oak he was used to, and the flowers bloomed into shapes that mesmerized him. His sister sat next to him along a wooden log, and the rest of the wagon entourage had gathered at the mouth of a river.

“What’s been going on with you…?”

“...?”

“You- you were sick all day yesterday”

“Well…. I…. I’ve been hearing these…. voices….in my head…”

“I thought everyone has. There’re people hunting for us now, you know. They’ve probably stuffed themselves in bushes, too, talking loudly.”

“No- no…. not like that……”

“......well…. I hope you’ll get better then.”

They were much quieter today, the voices. Hushed talk of rumors and ideas, that Techno was luckily able to mostly ignore. The rest of the little group they had went back into the wagons, seeming to have corroborated a new plan. His brother informed Techno and his sister that they’d travel up toward the mountains up north, where a distant family friend lived far from the rest of society. It sounded incredibly depressing, compared to the life they once lived.

“Will we ever return to normal?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Are we ever- going to go back home?”

“N-no…. I- we heard from a wandering trader that-”

“That…?”

“That it was burned down by an angry mob.”

Nobody knew what to think. Despite visiting and residing in multiple estates, this news still hurt them. Thinking of memories only added salt to it.

“Why are we being attacked like this?”

“It’s because of the government. They want us dead, that’s why.”

“What for- I don’t- what did we even do?”

“Nothing.”

Technoblade never had an interest in government, or politics for that matter. He was told that he did go with his father into the parliament building, as the people inside discussed new laws and problems, but that was a long time ago. From what little he knew then, and from what he knew now, the “government,” was evil. Tyrannical, almost. Tainting the innocent skies they once played under.

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It was an uneventful week in the wagons. The parents tried their best to at least entertain their children. Pointing and awing at the sights they passed by. The crooked trees and the flowing streams. It was somewhat interesting to Techno, but every now and then, the voices would get louder.

“Do you see the small river out there? Oh, it looks so peaceful and warm. I’m afraid glow squids are asleep this time of year, however. We probably could’ve seen some of them.”

“I- I have a headache….right now….”

His mother directed him to a bag on the floor that had small canteens of water. While he drank, the sightseeing kept going.

“Look at those rounded mountains!”

“Oh, you should see the leaves that fly!”

“And the-”

The sudden silence made everyone actually look this time. Techno’s eyes dragged over to a wooden post dug into the ground. A wanted poster was nailed to it, which had a pig’s face clearly stamped on it. Everyone knew what it meant, and everyone knew what the sounds of their father stopping the wagon meant. He audibly marched toward the post, his boots digging into the ground, and ripped the poster off with ease. The rest of the wagon ride was quiet after that.

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It was dark out; the wagons had stopped at a small clearing in the forest. Their little group had set up camp, consisting of a few tents, mattresses, and a campfire. The air smelled of roasting meat. Technoblade and his siblings gathered at the edge of the clearing, staring into the trees.

“They could strike at any moment! You need to be careful!”

“Run! Run! Run!”

The voices were getting louder again. It advised him to run, but nothing ever came. They were just paranoid.

“It’s dangerous! It’s a trap!”

Though, it did put Techno on edge. He made every one of his steps careful, it took him a while to even walk over. The water he drank, the food he ate, everything was suspicious to the voices. It was even more worrying to consider the fact that maybe they’d be right, at some point.

“How are those voices?”

“Huh…?”

His brother was speaking to him now, just barely audible. 

“The voices you keep talking about. Our mother thinks you’re going insane.”

“I- well-“

“You said it was because of our great grandfather? Billiam the Third?”

“Yes…..”

“Do these voices say anything in particular?”

“They’re always talking…I can’t hear you guys sometimes…”

“Well. Do you want to be distracted for a bit? I have a stick here.”

“Y-yes…that…yes…”

The two grabbed small branches he had found in a forest, temporary blades, and prepared to fight each other. Just as they had done months earlier in the courtyard. Techno was determined now, however, to finally claim his own victory. They both struck hard, whenever their thin sticks actually hit. It seemed rather close, but Techno thought he had the upper hand. He hit harder, and harder, until snap! There were four sticks on the ground now. 

“Oh my god, I swear I could’ve won that!”

“Haha, maybe, just maybe. Don’t get ahead of yourself, though, I was going easy to make you feel better.”

“Both of you suck. You were flailing around for a good while before you even hit each other.”

Their sister casually stood, a short distance away, watching with a blank expression. Techno would’ve said something back, maybe a witty little line, but his father suddenly called for them. All three children saw that waving hand over the fire. They hastily returned, only to see drained faces and cold eyes. Their father weakly waited in front of the fire, holding what was clearly a newspaper.

“What is it…?”

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Sir Billiam the Third was dead.

The bold font was the largest thing on the page, presumably taking up a lot of ink. An accompanying picture displayed a crowd of torchbearers, marching onto Billiam the Third’s great estate.

There were many stories as to what happened inside the mansion. Some details remained consistent throughout testimonies, however. All the servants either scurried off or were killed in the crossfire. Techno’s grandfather and grandmother were found dead by their own means in a closet. The rioters and police did start a fire, as they did with the other houses, but it was reportedly stopped by the butlers.

And then there were the tales that surrounded Billiam’s own end. Witnesses talked of a brave standoff. One where Billiam the Third’s trusted butler bravely put himself between the attackers, wielding nothing but a sharp sword of enchanted iron. Others told of a grand final stand, in which Billiam the Third stood up from his chair, firing shots from a revolver painted gold.

Neither of these were true. In reality, the “butchers” burst into his bedroom, finding him still sitting in his chair with his butler. Just as Techno had seen him a week ago. The old piglin did nothing as they closed in. Neither did the butler. Billiam’s times of cruel plans and evil games were gone now. He didn’t have one last laugh, as he was barely able to breathe air. Billiam the Third died in his seat, sagging over like a sack of dirt. 

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The news left the entire family in dismay. From the wagon entourage to the cousins that had fled south. It was as if their lives were now truly in danger, and that escape was getting impossible.

“We need to keep moving now. It’s not safe here, they must be close! We must keep moving!”

“No, we all need to rest. In the morning, we could probably power through as much of this trip as we can.”

All the adults were arguing amongst themselves, trying to figure out a plan. Techno and his siblings remained silent again, watching the words get thrown around like trash. Their mother could only cry.

“The government did this.”

The voices reminded Techno, this time in somewhat unison. His mind had to blame something, to put a reason on a situation he couldn’t understand. It made it easier to process and made someplace where he could turn his distraughtness into anger. 

“Fine! If you thi nk they’re that smart and capable! Able to stalk us at this very moment! If you truly think that then we’ll start packing up now! You’re paranoid, that’s what you are!”

His uncle stood up, taking out a canteen to pour most of its contents onto the fire, which sizzled. Next was his father, who marched off angrily to tend to the horses. His mother moved toward the tents, which left Techno and his siblings alone.

Everything had to be a nightmare at this point. The voices, the chaos, and the risk their lives were in, like a mouse nesting in a den of snakes. He could only stare at the stars in the sky, as if his life was still peaceful.

“Are you two okay?”

Techno’s brother spoke up now, his voice was obviously weak. 

“Are yo u okay?”

“No…nobody is. Stop trying to make us feel better.”

“I’m just looking out for- I-“

“…”

Technoblade kept quiet as his siblings talked, back and forth.

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It was still dark.

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A wolf howling was the only thing that broke the night sky’s silence.

The rest of the family, besides Techno’s father, who steered one of the two wagons they kept, were asleep.

There were no stars anymore. The sky was a blank canvas, but there was no creativity to fill it.

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The father had seen a wooden post sticking from the ground.

He had only given a small glance of it, just to see what the paper said.

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Though figures in the dark noticed the entourage. They lit their glowstone lamps and made their way over. There wasn’t anything Techno’s father could do to get away.

It was a hunting party, out for the bounties placed over the piglin’s heads.

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Techno was desperately trying to force himself awake during the ordeal that followed. He trampled over bags and crates, trying to get out of the wagon.

He saw a glimpse of the chaos unfolding outside. There was a small crowd of people, and another group that clearly consisted of his family. Both sides were shouting at each other.

“Stay back! Stay the hell b ack right now!”

“Dirty piglin! Damned superchatter!”

The voices in Techno’s head were louder than ever now. Though they didn’t say warnings or advice. They were simply crying out in anger.

“No! No! This can’t be happening!”

“Please!”

A gun fired from within the crowd, a single shot made of iron flew out of a simple flintlock pistol. Techno almost barreled his way out of the wagon, but it was the hand of his father that pulled him back.

“Kill them!”

The standoff had ended, and the angry mob were charging at the separated group of relatives. 

“Go! Go!”

Techno’s father moved back toward the front of the wagon, urging the horses to keep moving. The mob chased his remaining relatives into the trees, and that’s when Techno noticed the body laying on the ground. A piglin, he could tell by the ears. He couldn’t make it out who it was, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Is his sister dead?”

“Was that his brother?”

It was one of his siblings currently laying on the dirt, the voices attempted to deduce. Techno just, for the life of him, couldn’t see who. And that fact was soul-crushing. 

His father had finally gotten the horses moving again, and the wagon lurched forward. The voices kept mourning and crying out as Techno kept staring at the body. He didn’t know what to think, or what he should be thinking at all. Nothing was making sense; he was still waking up. Suddenly, the voices started a new cry.

“Blood! Blood! Blood!”

It was desperate, spoken in a sorrowing way.

“Blood. Blood . Blood.”

It became more and more assertive, as if they were demanding it. Techno still didn’t understand what they were, or where exactly they came from in that locket. He didn’t understand a lot of things that had been happening so quickly so recently, like lightning. 

As they got further and further away from the chaos, Techno’s mind focused solely on the voices. The demands they seemed to be making. 

It almost seemed encouraging, the chants and cheers of insanity.

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The ride was quiet. Nothing but the taps of horseshoes and the whispers of cold air. They were nearing the mountains to the north, tall mounds of rock that could be seen for miles. It’s as if the clouds understood the sorrow being brought along in the wagon, as they had covered the sky in a gray haze.

Technoblade, his father, and his mother were the only ones left in this journey. Everyone else had disappeared into the forest the previous night, having been chased by an angry mob. Nobody said a word. Nobody needed to, as everyone knew what could be said. Techno hung his head over the back of the wagon. He endlessly stared at the dirt below, not sure what to think or do. 

After an hour or so, he tried consulting the voices directly. Techno whispered countless questions and spoke his mind. It seemed as though the voices were trying their hardest to listen.

“Blood. Blood.”

“Blood!”

They still demanded blood, continuously chanting ever since the shot was fired from that wretched pistol. The weapon that had killed one of Techno’s siblings.

“Nobody’s fit to govern over a set amount of people. They wouldn’t be able to tend to everyone’s needs simultaneously or make choices to satisfy all.”

“It was the government that did this.”

This mindset and idea was the only thing that made sense to Techno. He wasn’t aware of anything his family had done prior to his birth, though the voices were quick to inform him.

“They are left in ruin. The children of Lord Sebastian are without the head of their family, as are you.”

“Your uncle bribed a merchant 10 years go. He took them to a shed and left their body up in the rafters.”

“She stole from the marketplace many times. She didn’t need any of the sea lanterns, but took them anyway.”

At the same time, other voices said otherwise. Techno himself didn’t kill or steal, he can’t be blamed for any of it. The voices continued arguing with themselves pointlessly. It was useless to justify the actions of the government or defend Technoblade. Of course, he didn’t know that. He kept on listening.

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“Are…you alright?”

“…”

His father sat next to him in front of the campfire.

“We’ve been trying to learn anything we can about everyone else. It’s still likely that-“

“Please stop…”

“…okay. Just- well- you-“

He couldn’t seem to find the words or the courage to say anything else. He wanted to say something reassuring. Something wise or calming. A distraction, maybe. Just something that would stick with Techno for the rest of his life. But he slowly realized that he, too, needed to hear something similar. And so he sat.

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The more he listened, the more he wanted to listen. More facts, more knowledge, more concepts and ideas Techno wouldn’t grasp for another few years. More burdens, more mental baggage. More hard-hitting truths. More harsh realities, as if he hadn’t already faced enough.

With freetime as plentiful as the nice, oak trees they rode by, Techno kept going. It was as if he had his own, personal library right in his own head! Such a wonderful thing for someone as curious as Technoblade. Someone as bored as Technoblade. Not bored, no. He wanted a distraction, and here it was.

“Your family tree was split 30 years ago, when your aunt married a government-loving fool. Their child is your age.”

“The masquerades were always his favorite. He would always trick his nieces and nephews by pretending to be their father. He loved mocking his brother.”

Occasionally, however, they drifted into territory Techno purposely came to the voices to ignore. They’d mention his brother. Or his sister. Both, if he was especially unlucky.

“Your sister was conflicted. Jealous in that she wanted to join you and your brother, but reserved in that she knew what she truly needed to focus on.”

“He had grown a perfectionist; the perfect oldest child. A shining example that attempted to translate the same over to you, as to not let your parents become overbearing.”

Techno didn’t want to hear it. He covered his ears, though the voices came directly from his mind. They could still talk to him, no matter how much he hid up there. This was far from what he needed. He wanted to go back to useless facts. Random, fun trivia that made him the least bit happy.

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He asked the voices to stop.

For once, they appeared to. Barely, albeit. A part of them felt bad, almost.

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Soon, they got quiet again, forcing Techno to think with a free head. It wasn’t long before he clouded it again; this time, with the sights outside the wagon that he convinced himself were interesting. He couldn’t bring himself to think about the horrible situation he was in. It made him feel just as horrible, which he couldn’t have whatsoever.

“Blood.”

“Blood.”

The voices were back, making their request again from earlier. Blood. Blood. It only took a few of them to start doing it for the entire hivemind to begin chanting. 

A part of Technoblade wished he hadn’t thrown that locket out. As far as he was concerned, they had given him these voices, and throwing it out sure hadn’t removed them. Maybe it had answers, or an explanation as to what they were.

“Blood.”

“Blood.”

That was still something the voices refused to explain: their origin. The locket was a mystery that, as far as Techno was aware, he wouldn’t get answers to anytime soon now that it was gone. The person that gave it to him was also gone, too.

His great grandfather- his dead great grandfather- had entrusted it to him and only him. Not any of the older children. Not to his grandchildren. Not even to his own children. What kind of descendant was Techno to just- throw it out like he had? Something about it was clearly important…

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The voices seemed to be listening in on his woes. They were quick to give him the answer he wanted.

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“Silence!” Sir Billiam the III shouted, his voice ringing loudly as those gathered around the table quickly shushed themselves. They waited patiently, hoods over their heads as the figure they listened to stood proudly. He idled smugly, a look of accomplishment tainting his pig face.

“It’s good to see you all gathered here…” he began.

There had to have been dozens of them; all the same. Black cloaks, piercing eyes, bated breath. All sitting so disorderly in their chairs, like children, in a way, as Sir Billiam the III began his speech. Nameless. Lifeless. Husks.

A glass was raised into the air. “For the celebration of our progress…and work!” Sir Billiam cheered, eliciting an immediate applause from his audience. They clapped and clapped, soon raising their glasses in tandem. A low murmur was spoken among them, not brave enough to speak fully.

The room they were in was a red-glowing chamber. Something about it seemed painfully uneasy- the attendees pretended not to feel it. Blood vines strangled the walls and floor, piling up disgustingly in corners like the infestation it truly was. Red pockets of crimson liquid seeped from small cracks, dripping down like the blood spilt on them. 

“This is not the end of our efforts, or The Egg. This is not where we part ways and live out the rest of our lives…”

Sir Billiam the III spoke wisely, as he had many times before. Besides his parties, he was known for his words. His demeanor. The way he would speak infiltrated the minds of all those who listened; like an enchanting spell, capturing their minds. Compared to his contemporaries, Sir Billiam the III was still a young man- the result of a dying aristocrat who’s money fell right into his hands. Compared to his contemporaries, he had already done much more than they could ever dream of doing. 

“This is the beginning of…our true devotion! Our true pledge of allegiance to The Egg, and the beginning of its next step! The step in a long staircase our enemies have yet to see the top of!”

The longtable was a mess. Besides the growths and vines, there were plates and cutlery scattered about as if they were all just children. Paying attention to their teacher, their leader, their guardian patiently as they sat in their seats with curious eyes. 

“ The Egg seeks to spread further! It seeks to reach the furthest corners of the SMP, a task it cannot do alone! A task it cannot do here! A task that we are about to embark on…now…in the spot of our Last Banquet!”

Sir Billiam the III’s trusted butler- a young man no older than a teenager- arrived at a hurried pace, the platter he held seeming to shine in the red light of The Egg’s vines. He decased it silently, his expression as cliff-faced as always as Sir Billiam the III smiled at what was inside.

“Here!” he shouted, delicately taking a handful of the lockets. He replaced the raised glass with them, holding them high so the rest of his followers could see. Lockets, enshrined by bloodvines. “For each and every one of you…”

The lockets. That chanted and cheered insanity.

“To take with you as we take on this task…”

He placed them back on the platter, allowing the butler to do the work for him. He circled the table, allowing each and every one of the cloaked followers to grab one for themself. 

“Within it, is but a single seed! Ones that can rebirth The Egg throughout the SMP! Ones that’ll spread it to its furthest corners! Ones that’ll satisfy its last demands!”

The followers donned them quickly, letting their lockets hang from their necks as they continued to listen. Upon serving them, the butler returned to Sir Billiam the III’s side, letting him take what was left. The last locket. His own locket. The one Sir Billiam the III would be tasked with planting.

“I hope to see you all toward the ends of our lives! Whether it be in the fruits of our labor or in the afterlife for our actions! Whether it be by gravestone or by signed letter! I hope to see you all return here once it has been done! Once The Egg has been properly satisfied and once its grasp on the word has been deemed undeniable!”

“Even if you find no chance! Even if they stamp you out! These lockets are what truly contain the key to The Egg’s sucess- not ourselves! For the next opportunity for its planting will be revealed within our own! The descendants from this banquet will carry on, their necks wrapped with these keys and despite our potential passings!”

“ The Egg will be satisfied! We shall ensure this!”

The table erupted with an even louder applause. Their cheers mimicked those of the lockets. Their expressions mimicked that of Sir Billiam the III. Their lockets were the ones to now wait patiently, swinging idly as their owners clapped.

Sir Billiam the III grasped his own one carefully, soon draping it over his head. His smile beamed with success and pride, his eyes closing as he basked in the moment. His locket remained carefully under his neck.

His locket.

One that he kept with him safely.

One that he would hatch himself in the darkest depths of his cellars.

One that he would later pass on on the eve of his death.

One that he purposely gave to Technoblade.

One that gave Technoblade the voices.

One that Technoblade threw away.

….

The voices gave him the answer he wanted. He was unsure how to take it, unsure if he even understood it. What did it mean? Who were those people? What did they do? Why did…what happened…?

Technoblade found himself amidst a plan long ago set in action. One that, he would soon come to realize after info from the voices, placed a target right on his family’s head. 

It was a plan he didn’t understand, and in his eyes, one that he never would.

Whatever life was at this point was getting annoyingly complicated. It was confusing. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t do things the way Techno wanted things to do.

The idea of not being able to return to what once was was haunting.

The idea of not being able to see someone you once cared about was scarring.

Techno was lost, experiencing what he could only assume was an honest and true depression. There was a moment he never considered to even exist after someone’s death. One where it is too early to move on, yet too late and tiring to keep crying. One where, and he hated to think it, he was bored. Painfully bored. What was he to do now? What was he supposed to do? 

It was clear his parents didn’t know any of those answers either. They didn’t know what to do as well.

With this revelation, and unrelenting depressive mood, Techno sat silently.

…

…