Chapter Text
The final blade falls, the final cry or war, the final bed broken. This is it. It’s all or nothing.
Technoblade fights his hardest. It’s a game to him now; just another battle he can easily win.
He won’t admit it, but it’s getting old. His sword feels too familiar in his hand, the softness of the wool no longer comforting. It’s a chore, a burden he almost regrets taking. Almost.
He watches in silence his explosives rain, his arrows fall. The joy he once felt at winning is gone, replaced by an apathy and a tiredness he didn’t know he could feel.
His fist breaks another bed, sword cleaves another head. It’s such a mundane routine, at this point. But he’ll be damned if he’s going to give up now.
Finally, he meets his penultimate enemy. His allies are all dead, voidridden or killed by another enemy. It’s all blurred into one. He can’t tell who’s friend or foe, only that he needs to kill, he needs to survive.
The voices are but a quiet lull in his mind, drained out by the rush of battle, the thrill of adrenaline. He’s so close. So, so close.
His weapons rushes in a downward arc, his opponent not even standing a chance against his sheer strength. They try to run, but fail, not making it more than a few steps before Technoblade sends them off the edge. A better fate than the one that would have met him on Technoblade’s sword,
And there! he sees them - his last adversary. Clad in reddish-brown armour, wielding little more than a wooden sword and broken bow. He scoffs. Easy prey.
He can’t help but wish the poor boy presented more of a challenge.
He pearls over, startling him from a thin woollen bridge. He’s kind enough not to laugh, but not so kind that he tries to hide the grin from his face. The kid runs, but he catches up to him quick enough.
Technoblade’s sword meets the boy’s neck. He looks into the kid’s almond eyes and sees a hundred more behind it. He sees amber and blue and brown and grey and green and every colour under the sun. He sees every face he’s ever killed, every life he’s ever taken reflected back at him in the eyes of this one little boy. His final kill. His conclusion reached.
When he does it, there’s no dramatic music or loud announcement. It just happens, same as always, but with the voices screaming and his head reeling and his body aching, he knows.
One thousand wins. Was it worth it?
yes .