The overworld's skies were cloudy. Gloomy, grey, dark. It wasn't raining, but the sun couldn't be seen shining through that barrier of gloom. It was ironic, sure, but the atmosphere made it seem less like a coincidence. Nothing was right – the world was starting to look wrong.

Beneath that cloudy sky, a group of people stood by waiting. Waiting for any news - for any indication of what happened, even bad news would be better than no news. Anything other than the quiet, gloomy tenseness that comes while they await the approaching storm.

The hermits who'd stayed chose to wait at spawn. Constantly checking their communicators for fear of fatalities or desperation for some form of update, but there hadn't been a message for the thirty minutes the group had gone to the end. So they stood, waiting under the gloom for their fellow hermits to reappear.

The wind blew harsh on their skins, anticipation brimming the air in a way not unlike how death does at a funeral.

They waited, and they waited, until finally there was some respite from the unknown.

"They're back!" The Hermits looked up as soon as False spoke, expressions of relief and hope flashing across their faces.

The first one to appear back was Mumbo, who barely landed on his feet as he was dropped back at spawn. After him, one by one, the others began to appear. The players drew close enough to see and count.

Then, the players stopped coming in. That was when they noticed, there were only seven of them that came back.
It was supposed to be nine.

Amongst the group that just returned, Tango walked forward first, seeming anxious, "Is everybody okay?"

It was obvious by that point that the group that just returned were incredibly tense. Looking over, some were even injured, like they just returned from combat. Thinking about it, they probably had.

"We're good!" Impulse replied quickly, eyes shifting between the ones that just arrived with unease. "What about you guys – what happened in the End?!"

The silence that overtook them for a few seconds spoke volumes, until finally XB stepped forwards.

"Trapped," xB informed them gravely, his words blunt, inelegant out of shock. "Dragon respawned, attacked us, and we had to fight it. It wasn't... right."

"And Iskall's- well, uh," Beef took over, but he too was hesitant to continue.

"They got him," Cleo finished.

Silence washed over the hermits at that.

"How? We didn't see any death messages in the chat – what did they do?" False asked in what should've been an angry tone, or sad, or something but the words just came out hollow.

"Must've rewired the portal, he fell first into it," Tango thought out loud, "They can do that."

Pearl pauses, trying to process the information that didn't quite make sense. "Then how did any of you guys get back? Surely you'd have been taken as well?"

Tango frowned, shaking his head. "I'm not sure. Their idea of mercy?"

It was another beat of silence, before someone else pointed out something else really, really alarming.

"Where's Wels?" Gem asks.

That evoked the others to look around.
"He-" Mumbo paled, shock coming over his face. It was only then that the people who returned and the people who stayed realized; Wels was not there with them in the overworld. "They probably got him when we were distracted. Oh God."

That was bad news after bad news. The air grows ever more tense, more gray.

"We lost two?" Doc confirmed, grim. That was the reality, and none of them liked it. It was hard to swallow, and they were trying not to choke.

Xisuma was still during the entire conversation, listening, but unable to say anything or think of anything. He desperately tried to find anything positive left to say, any action he could take, but failed to find confidence.

"What do we do now?" He finally says, unbelieving of the amount of uncertainty he was showing. "They can access the end – that means they must already know how to get in."

"Alright, calm down everyone, first, let's-"
But mid sentence, Tango stills, frozen in motion, his face suddenly struck with an expression of awful, awful dread.
"Something isn't right," He said out loud, panicked, "I can feel something."

The sheer panic in his voice alarms the hermits.
"Tango?" Zedaph calls after him, though said Hermit could only remain frozen, unresponsive for that moment.

Then, just as abruptly, he turns to the hermits, and all color has drained from his face.

"I feel them. Here. They- They're here."

Almost as soon as he'd spoken, and before anyone could fully process the horror of that statement, they felt the same wrongness Tango had identified. The change in the air, the entire world, tensing up as if realizing that it was going to die. As if anticipating something that it could not see.

Like each blade of grass rising up and straightening, at the feeling that it was now being seen.

The entire world freezes up, dreading that feeling of being watched, and the hermits themselves feel it.

Then, the clouds started parting, cut apart by a loud voice that reverberated through the world, echoing from above as rays of light shone itself down.

Greetings, Hermitcraft Server.

The tension immediately crescendoed, dread spreading as did the light. All the hermits simultaneously took a stance, looking up to the sky to the voice from elsewhere.

"Who's there!?" False yells with fake bravado.

The voice responds calmly, gently, deceptively so – conflicting with the words that it spoke upon them.

This is a declaration — though you might say it is a warning, a threat. We, the watchers, are the representation of solace, peace, and the order of the universe.

Yet, despite all our grace, our promises of paradise and union – You've all stood up against us, challenged the all-seeing unknown and shouted resentment towards us – your saviors. Multiple chances have been bestowed to you in the past, we have asked for you to repent, to stop this useless resistance, to be at peace. And you creatures have never taken any of the merciful graceness that has been bestowed to you.

Those words bellowed loudly through the world, seeping into their skins.

And pushing past the fear, anger emerged among the mass at the untrue, mockery of a declaration that was said about them.

"Merciful graceness? You've threatened us! You're threatening us right now!" Bdubs calls out, pointing at the sky.

But the voice sounds unfazed by the bursts of anger, unbothered as it continues on with its slow monologue as if nobody had spoken.

Now, we shall kindly ask you for the last time. Surrender wholly and completely, to submit to the darkness unleashed onto you, to let go of your foolish ambitions of going against us.

If you surrender, you'll be granted undeserved mercy, your last chance to repent and be forgiven by us, for our benevolence knows no bounds.

Beyond the kind voice, the sinister reality of those words gripped the listening, dread prickling through the light that sought the world gone, engulfed wholly by that evil shine.

Surrender, and you'll be granted a quick, painless erasure from this reality, as your continued existences to this point are a filthy stain to the rest of the oh so beautiful, vast universe.

"Right – as if!"

Xisuma glanced uneasily at Mumbo, brazenly defying the Watchers in a show of genuine hatred completely uncharacteristic of the man. He then turned to Tango, standing stock-still in a defensive position, in front of the other Hermits. Then, his gaze shifted to the other hermits who all stood grouped together. All of them were here, stood bravely with courage and fear in their hearts, refusal to back down clear in their faces – bitter hatred and resentment to the voice and all it represents shown in their stances.

He feels his own uncertainty – his own fear – but seeing everyone around, he knew they all shared the same thought.

"We refuse to surrender," Xisuma steels himself enough to declare, on behalf of himself and the entire server – all who were lost and all who are still fighting, "We'll never surrender."

There was a beat of silence when the voice didn't respond. Then, it did, with less calmness, less patience. Irritated. Aggravated.

You will regret ignoring our offer of kindness.

"And you will regret every time you try to lay hands on our server!" Cleo declares back at the sky, joined by the other hermits nodding their heads in agreement.

The bravado began to fade into unease when no response came. Then, it became clear why.

The ground shook, and the ground cracked.

A scream roared out, and all hell broke loose.