There is always a warning before they come.
A shiver rinning down everyone's spine as if the air suddently grows colder, the sky darkens a little bit, the stars dim themselves, the sun get hidden behind heavy clouds, the The Watcher's voice ressonates inside their heads, laughing.
There is a warning and then they are set free.
Not every day of course, they have other things to do, it wouldn't do for them to have all the fun, The Watcher explains with mirth. But that is somehow worse.
They can never predict when they will come, when surviving will depend on how well they can hide, in how well they can bargain.
They always seek Panda first.
Their leader always stands waiting at the entrance of their base, welcomes them with smiles and jokes and good natured banter. He will ask, some days, if they want to fight with him, most of the time they will agree, shedding powerful armor and enchanted weapons like it's nothing, like nothing matters.
The three will laugh as they slash at each other with vicious energy, the rest of the team waits inside holding their breaths, clutching their weapons, but outside there is only the sound of laughter and banter. The winner doesn't really matter, most of the time the three of them will end up dead.
The visits are not long, they have places to be after all, missions to complete, people to hunt, but in those moments Team Panda can catch glimpses of humanity in the skin of killers, they can see who they could have been once, can see humor and love when they cling to their leader, when they offer him gas masks and food, when they embrace him as a friend. When they mostly leave them alone for respect for their friend, how there is still loyalty and kindness somewhere behind the bloodlust.
They have never killed him outside of their silly little fights. They never will.
After they start hunting.
Team Squirrel hides, every time. Deep underground, exploring the caves and the mines, searching for a place to be safe, even if for a few moments.
It's a game, a sick twisted game of hide and seek as the man with the bloodied lips has said many times, laughing like they are sharing a joke. It's a rigged game, they all know, but one they cannot help but play every time.
Hiding is futile. Fighting even more so.
They always come with smiles, like they are greeting old friends, like the killing is a mercy, like the little games they play are fair. They ask them to kill each other, the life of a teammate for yours. Team Squirrel refuses to participate over and over again, loyal to each other even when facing the devil himself.
The other teams are not as interesting to them, not on such a personal level.
They will stop to talk to them, weapons hidden, faces free of the gas masks, offering chances of survival, willing to listen to the pleas before deciding whose blood they will spill. They will bargain survival for ridiculous items they do not need, use random questions to determine who lives and who dies, play games that make no sense, asks for them to do things that have no meaning.
They are madness made flesh.
Their eyes empty, blank, even as their lips are twisted into smiles, even as they laugh and laugh while spilling their blood, while chasing them just for the fun of the hunt.
The prey, made predator.
Fighting them is the worst thing to be done, they learned quickly.
Hurting one of them is a fire proof way of sending the other into a frenzy, empty eyes consumed by a rage so profound it is enough to freeze anyone, hands clenched around a weapon, eyes wide as a whirlwind of rage and madness throws itself into you with the sole mission of inflicting pain. A wrong word, a look too sharp, and the sound of the chainsaw will ring louder than ever, a wrong gesture, a sharp tone, and a knife will glisten into the light.
They only leave when the floor is drenched in blood.
They usually leave Team Raccoon for last.
They have nothing against them truth be told, no more than they have against anyone else, but their leader is a sore spot, a special target, to be savored, to be made an example and a warning.
No betrayal hurts more than the one who comes from a friend.
They leave the others alone, mostly. They want their leader and as long as they give them his location there is no point into playing with them. They will find them, no matter where they have hidden themselves this time and there is quiet resignation on their faces when they inevitably show up, usually by destroying a piece of their walls or roofs, the sound of a chainsaw defeaning, the gas masks familiar in their strangeness.
There is almost fondness there, in a twisted bloody unhealthy way, in the way Team Racoon is familiar with the madness that surrounds their killers, how they have gotten used to the feeling of a chainsaw cutting away at their flesh, of the coldness of a blade slashing at them, how their laughter eachoes even after they have left, how they will take some minutes to talk sometimes, how they stand in their base, covered in the blood of others and compliment their tea farm or ask about how they are doing, sometimes even sparing them food or gear.
There is no formal warning for when they leave. But they can feel it, how the air gets lighter, the light returning to the sky, the sounds of the chainsaw and the screams fading to nothing.
But they cannot relax.
They know that something worse is lurking, laughing at their misery.
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Purgatory 2 [top 5 teams I’m rooting for]
(Btw this is coming from a Phil main viewer)
1- Goose [Reason: Tubbo is the leader and besides Phil, Tubbo is someone I watch a lot (Aimsey too) plus it was his team and leadership that almost caused Soulfire to win]
2- Raccoon [Reason: Bad is someone I watch a lot and I want Brunim to get into Qsmp]
3- Panda [Reason: Etoiles is the fucking goat!!!]
4- Crab [Reason: before Qsmp I watched Jack Manifold and Sneeg a lot and I think their pvp skills and humour can get them through plus Sneeg is close friend of Phil]
5- Crow [CUZ PHILZA MINECRAFT AND BOLAS LEADER]
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