𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐑, dreamnoblade oneshots

𝐢𝐱 | you say the word (i'll go anywhere)

you say the word (i'll go anywhere)
- sucker, jonas brothers

3,272 words !

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THE server loves him. He misses it at first, not catching the dozens of warning signs appearing around him. How could he, so wholly absorbed in the mere act of surviving?

If only he knew that all he needed to do was ask, and the server would give him everything.

He misses it, though, as he builds himself a home in the solitude of the tundra.

It'd be easier if he'd settled in the forest. The server yearns to bestow gifts upon the warrior, but it's difficult. So little can survive in the icy wasteland; that's why Technoblade picked it.

Like everything else there, Technoblade is a survivor.

For years, the server watches the warrior—no, the god. Technoblade is a god, isn't he? No mortal could live so long without aging.

Technoblade is a god, or something too similar to be separated.

And that makes him infinitely more interesting.

The server makes itself known in small ways. Drought never befalls Technoblade's lands, and it never rains too long. Thunderstorms are infrequent, hardly ever causing damage. Blizzards are nonexistent in the region.

However, the god doesn't realize he's not alone until decades after he settles in.

The server's first true gift comes in the form of a buck.

Winter is always difficult in the north, but this one is unlike the others. It's frigid and windy, and entirely beyond the server's control.

There aren't enough crops stored. Prey is few and far between.

Technoblade's movements are slower. He sleeps longer hours. There's not as much force behind the swing of his axe; it takes longer to chop down a tree than it did last week.

Gods don't die easily, but this one may.

There's more than food that sustains a god. They need worshippers and a steady source of their element to keep them alive.

The server knows nothing of Technoblade's godhood, but there's something terrifyingly mortal in the way he's succumbing to starvation.

Technoblade is hunting today. In the past, he's caught hares, but there are none to be found.

Technoblade is not a god of luck.

The server watches, biding its time. Interfering with citizens of its land—mortal or otherwise—is forbidden.

For this god, though, that it's slowly fallen in love with, the server will risk punishment.

A large buck is standing across the clearing from Technoblade.

The god doesn't hesitate to kill it, crossbow already in hand.

If the server had a mouth, it would smile.

Good, it thinks. He lives.

Technoblade thinks nothing of the buck that appeared almost out of thin air. He waves it off as pure luck. He's entirely alone in these lands.

Everyone knows servers don't interfere with the lives of their citizens. Most agree that, for servers, the punishment is worse than dying.

(Death herself is much, much kinder than dying. People say her embrace is as loving as Life's.)