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The strategically placed platform below his feet began to take flight, guiding him right into the enemy’s arms. The closer he got, the more prominent the smell of death itself got. The smell didn’t even come close to the stacks of rotten flash harvested from zombies that he had at home, it was far worse. The air seemed to be strong enough to be toxic, although it wasn’t. The closest example to the smell he could think of is when he left buckets of milk out for weeks at a time. He kept his head low, and his axe hidden beneath the folds of his coat upon his back. This went against procedure, everything this prison stood for, but it had to be done. He had to get that book.
“Quackity?” A familiar voice bounced off the walls of his eardrums. A detached smile spread across his face, masking his true emotions. “Hey, man.” He responded quickly, eager to keep the prisoner engaged in the conversation.
Tilting his head up to make eye contact, he glanced around the tightly packed prison cell. His eyes landing on a darkened corner. But it wasn’t a change in lighting, it was stained.
He moved forward, stepping off the platform as it retracted. “Sorry, it’s just kinda strange seeing you here. I haven’t seen you for awhile, you know.” He spoke, failing to break the tension. The wall between him and Dream fell, giving them direct access to one another. The lava reformed around the cell, solidifying that they were alone. Which meant that no one would hear his screams, no one would come for help.
Quackity’s feet moved forward towards the stained corner. He kneeled down to examine it, “I heard what you did to Tommy.” The sound of lava filled the void of the silence that followed.
“What’d you hear?” Dream perked up, seeming to show interest in what he had to say.
Quackity glanced up from the blood-stained corner from where Tommy’s corpse once laid limp. The smell of his dead body was still unbelievably prominent. “Well, I don’t think I need to explain myself.” He responded, standing on his feet to face Dream.
“What did people think?” He asked eagerly, pushing for answers to his curiosity. Quackity didn’t respond, allowing the silence to speak for him.
“Did they think it was cool?” He followed up with another question, the look of curiosity sparkling in his twisted, cold eyes. Quackity looked down momentarily before continuing the conversation.
“It doesn’t matter what people think, what matters is the very concept of it.” He moved on, dismissing Dream’s eagerness to know what the world thought about his twisted magic trick,
“You have a book that can bring people back.”
“And now people will believe me!” Dream chimed in, providing yet another little outburst of the need for validation. Quackity nodded, allowing the conversation to flow.
A heavy silence followed, where the sound of the movement of lava was once again there to fill that void. He had enough, it was time to get to the point, and get out.
“I need that book, Dream. I’m not here to play games, honestly. I’m very busy.” He paused, the silence remained as the two held eye contact. He continued,
“I want that book, Dream.” Shaking his head momentarily, he fixed his sentence, “I don’t want it, I need that book.” This wasn’t old rivals budding heads anymore, this was new territory.
“Well, I burned the book.” Dream stuttered along his words, “I couldn’t bring a book in here. How do you think I revived Tommy?” He paused before continuing,
“I’m the book.”
A smile grew wide on Quackity’s face, and selfishness became the predominant motive instilled in him. “Then it’s simple. You’re gonna tell me what you know.” He smirked, knowing that Dream is powerless here, and this should be easy. He had already completely dismissed the dried blood stains in the corner, and what he did to Tommy. What had taken over Quackity was selfishness.
“Why would I do that?” Dream questioned, laughing at the mere thought of letting anyone else in on his little godly secret.
Completely dismissing the question, Quackity demanded, “ I’m just gonna say it again, and I’m asking this in the nicest way possible. I don’t wanna do anything to you, Dream, I just want you to give me your knowledge about the book, because I need it, Okay?”
He immediately reached for alternatives, pacing the prison cell, “Well- you can take me out, you can bring me outta here, and then I can help.” He was grasping for any solution to this situation that could benefit him.
This didn’t phase Quackity whatsoever, he knew how Dream operated. “Really? No, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I think what’s gonna happen is you’re gonna give me the knowledge about that book, and you’re gonna stay here.” He wasn’t asking anymore, he was demanding.
“Or what? You’re gonna put me in “double prison”?” Dream responded, trying to use his cockiness as leverage.
Quackity shook his head, a smile plastered on his face like a kid in a candy store. This was the moment he’s been waiting for. “I’m gonna do something else to you.” He paused, laughing to himself momentarily as he reached one hand up towards his scar-ridden eye before continuing, “..so, again, I’m asking the nice way.”
He let his coat fall to the prison floor, revealing the axe on his back. Dropping his hand from his scarred eye, he reached for said axe, and moved closer to Dream. This wasn’t just a request, or a demand, this was a threat.
“How did you?”
“I’m asking the nice way, Dream, and you didn’t wanna tell me.”
“You’re not gonna kill me.” A panicked wearniess wobbled his voice. He was fearful now.
“I’m not gonna kill you.” He laughed, “But I’m gonna make your last days in this fucking prison, Hell, Dream.”
“Sam!... SAM!” Dream shouted, a new fear instilled deep down in his chest rose to the top. It was the same fear that he made Tommy feel.
But, no one answered Tommy’s calls for help, and no one would answer his.
Sam watched from the cameras as he screamed for help, for his assistance. He couldn’t help but feel satisfaction; because in reality, he let Quackity into the prison with all those weapons on purpose. It wasn’t so he could get the resurrection book, although that was a nice addition. It was so someone could make Dream feel the same pain that he caused Tommy; so that Sam could hear Dream cry out for help the same way Tommy did. Revenge is what it was, but he wouldn’t tell anyone that.
He panicked as Quackity grew closer, the blade of the axe inching closer to his skin. Impulsively, Dream punched him across his jaw. His animalistic reactions kicked in; he was
afraid.
“Don’t do that. Don’t fucking touch me.” Quackity responded, an eerie smile wiped across his face. He grew closer, axe in hand.
“It’s simple, Dream, you’re gonna tell me all the knowledge you have on that fucking book, or I’m gonna come here every single fucking day to make your life hell. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. And I’m gonna fucking stick to it, until you give me knowledge on that fucking book.” A promise is what Quackity had made. Not a threat, or a demand; a promise.
“I’m not gonna tell you anything.” Dream spoke briskly, panic fueled his every move. This was the first time in a long time Dream has ever felt fear. In reality, he didn’t know if he could resurrect himself, he didn’t even know if Tommy’s resurrection was gonna work. This was life or death, and by the way Tommy described it, he didn’t want to see what was behind death’s doors.
Quackity laughed, this was everything he’s ever wanted. His enemy at his lowest, bending to his will. Dream’s life in his hands, and no one to stop him. But, death was a satisfaction Quackity wasn’t willing to give.
“SAM!” He yelled, pacing around the cell like spotted prey. There was no escape.
“You can call for Sam all you want, Dream.”
No one was coming to the rescue.
No one rescues the villain.
Quackity had enough, this was wasting his time. He had a business to run, things to do. “Alright. There’s been enough talking. You’re gonna tell me, or we’re gonna do this the hard way, for as long as I have to fucking do it.”
Dream couldn’t let anyone know what he knew. Death is meaningless when resurrection can be done by the masses. This was a power no one else could ever harness. So, he refused. “Over my dead body.” He snapped back, confident that Quackity wouldn’t do anything.
Tragic, how he was wrong about that.
He laughed in a way that brought Dream back down from his sudden burst of cockiness. It was a laugh that reminded Dream of his own; filled with confidence and power.
“You asked for it.” Quackity smiled, backing him into the same blood-stained corner.