The Beginning of the End
You, Dream, and Techno were never saints.
You were chaos incarnate—each of you a storm in your own right.
Deranged. Unpredictable. Dangerous.
You didn’t play by the server’s rules.
You bent them. Broke them. Rewrote them.
You used what you had to get what you wanted.
Manipulation. Violence. Strategy.
The rest of the world be damned.
But even monsters have soft spots.
Even chaos has cracks.
Each of you had someone.
Someone you trusted.
Someone who saw past the madness and chose to stay.
Until they didn’t.
Until they turned on you.
Until they helped chain you down and smiled while doing it.
That’s when you snapped.
Not just broken—shattered.
Dream stopped smiling.
Techno stopped speaking.
You stopped hoping.
And something new was born in the silence.
Not friendship.
Not loyalty.
A pact.
A silent agreement between three monsters:
Burn the server.
Not for revenge.
Not for justice.
For fun.
For power.
For the sheer thrill of watching the world that betrayed you crumble.
Now, you’re all locked in separate cells.
Suspended over lava.
Chained like beasts.
Condemned like criminals.
Each of you has a death planned by twisted hands.
Techno will be hung—his body left to swing as a warning.
Dream will be beaten to death—slow, methodical, personal.
You will be dissolved—acid poured drop by drop, until your screams fade into silence.
The server thinks this is the end.
But you know better.
Quackity and Sam stand before you.
Sam, ever the lawful executioner, steps forward with cold precision.
His voice is calm.
Measured.
Cruel.
“Any last words?”
Techno lifts his head, eyes burning, voice low.
“You should’ve brought more rope.”
Dream chuckles, blood on his lips, grin wide.
“You’re gonna wish you killed me when I was still sane.”
And you?
You smile.
Not the kind that comforts.
The kind that terrifies.
You lean forward, chains rattling, eyes gleaming with something ancient and unholy.
“Yeah. Just one.”
Your voice is quiet.
Sharp.
Final.
“Run.”
The lights flicker.
The lava bubbles louder.
Something shifts in the air—like the server itself is holding its breath.
And in the far corner of the room, just beyond the reach of the firelight, a figure stands in shadow.
Punz.
The mercenary.
The sell-sword.
The man who once chased coin like it was salvation.
But now?
He’s found something better.
Power.
He doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t move.
He just watches.
Because the three most dangerous people on the server—once enemies, now allies—are about to break free.
And Punz knows exactly where he wants to be when the world starts burning.