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It's an accident, really. He kicks the chest and it cracks, a hole kicked in. Even when the guardian given weakness, he kicks and pries and manages to pry a rather sharp chunk out. The splinters cut into tender, burn scarred fingers. Focusing on the sting he slips his hand to his side. In his otherhand he held the book. A bait. A trap.
And beneath his mask he felt a grin form. He was weaker, slower now. But he was Dream defiance and bared teeth. Because he was still too useful to die. And by the gods he wasn't going to end like this. Weak and fragile would not be his falling. And even if it fails it would be fighting . He refused to be afraid. Cowed and weak. He would be free in a way.
And maybe he would be with Technoblade. Free and safe. And it's hope.
The redstone clicks. He's bleeding slightly from where the wood digs in and he steps forward, briefly swiping the wood in the lava. It burns. And even if the fire dies out it will still be hot. It's a bit dumb, he realizes, but it's a chance. A reminder of his defiance. That he won't be a dog. Dream won't give in easily.
Sam pearls across. He sees the book, stepping forward. And Dream lunges, swinging upward with the wood. The Warden is taller, but the sharp point plunges into his throat. He choked and gags, and Dream frees the piece, backing up as the taller falls on one knee, hand going to his throat, trying to stem the bleeding. Falling over Dream grabs into the belt and as luck would have it there's another enderpearl.
The prisoner throws it, gasping as he lands on the other side, stumbling at the sudden vertigo. He didn't have much time before Sam either died or recovered. His memory is faint, but he knows enough to get through, stumbling and weak but shaking in trepidation. He isn't quite sure how he made it to an enderchest, but the spare armor and weapons are a blessing.
But the armor is too heavy and the weapons send a panic so deep and intrinsic he manages to just barely throw them into his inventory before he falls into panic or dissociation. Choking down a golden apple he stumbles out.
"Dream?" Standing in front of him is Technoblade. In full armor and standing proud. "This makes it a bit easier, but we better go, pal."
And Dream laughs. Going to step forward, and then
An enderpearl shatters
There's a thunk
A clank
A horrible, terrible squelch.
There's blue-green barbed prongs protruding from his torso, going down from his chest to his stomach in a near perfect line stained red and threads from his shirt. Dream chokes and pants. There's sound and lights and there's blood in his lungs and mouth and he is dying. The metal pulls free. The barbed prongs ripping more and they're pulled back the way they came. He falls. There's a blur.
He chokes.
There's
Blood.
Oh
This is how it ends? His defiance killing him? But he died fighting?
He didn't want to die. He waved to live in the arctic and help Techno feed his animals. He wanted to be free and run again. He waved to make better friends like the piglin recommended. It wasn't fair. He was so close.
He was so close.
There's a distant clatter and a dying yell. The sound of inventory hitting the ground.
.
.
.
.
.
.
It doesn't hurt when he wakes up. It's softer than anything he's felt in months. Was this some hallucination? Squeezing his eyes closed tighter he bunched (no longer aching) hands in the smooth, soft material. (And wasn't that odd, even before Quackity he often had some sort of pain or stiffness in his body. An ever present chronic pain or achiness he'd learned to manage. One Sam refused to let him care for. One he was called a-). For the first time in months he breathes easier. It's some sort of trick right? He sits up.
The soft material is a simple white bed. The walls are wooden, there's a rug on the ground. Strange. He swings his legs over the side of the bed. Standing up, his legs buckle slightly, catching himself on the bedside table. Breathe. And on steady feet, the ex-prisoner makes it to the door. It makes no noise as it opens, just leading to a dark hallway.
Strange.
The floor is cool as he scoops a lantern off a stand, holding the warmth to his chest and exiting the room he woke up in. The walls are dimly lit by the lantern. But there's no other doors. The runner slinks out, quiet and hoping whoever owns this home isn't an enemy.
Who are his enemies again?
Who is out to hurt him?
He wants to go outside.
He's been trapped in walls long enough.
The walls are stone now. There's items on the wall. He didn't recognize them. He knows they're well loved.
There's some paintings. Some pictures.
There's a mirror. He doesn't have a reflection.
Oh.
He's dead.
Is this limbo?
He's alone.
In a strange never ending hallway. He doesn't know anything on the walls.
.
.
.
.
.
Who is he?