Chapter 28

136. (inspired by Mikiri_M)

Technoblade was. . . well not scared, exactly. Technoblade never got scared - not for himself, at least. But he was feeling a certain amount of anxiety. Why?

Because there was something under his floorboards.

Now normally, Technoblade would have no problem dealing with a pest or two. For Prime's sake, he lived in a world with mobs. If he could stab his way through a horde of zombies, he could handle a couple mice.

Problem was, though, that the thing under his floorboards wasn't a mouse. He'd checked, and promptly slammed the blocks back into place with a loud "NOPE" when the. . . creature, which resembled a raccoon if raccoons were the size of grown men, lunged at him. Chat had laughed at him for twenty minutes straight afterward, but it was a small price to pay to avoid a fight with the mutated trash panda.

. . . Unfortunately, said mutated trash panda had somehow broken out of his basement, climbed up the ladder, and was now sitting in his living room with half of his gapple stash in its greasy paws. Technoblade stared at it. It took a bite of a gapple and stared back.

"Why," Technoblade said flatly.

The menace chittered at him. Two of the gapples balanced precariously on top the pile in its arms wobbled, fell to the floor, and rolled away. Chat began cackling in the back of his skull.

Technoblade sighed. "Get out of my house," he ordered. The raccoon took another bite out of its gapple and did not move. Technoblade drew his sword.

The creature instantly melted into a ball of fluff and pity. Its beady eyes blinked up at him, folded in a pleading expression.

Technoblade was not affected. He wasn't. It wasn't cute. It was just. . . attacking this thing would feel like kicking a puppy. And while Technoblade might joke about murdering orphans, he wasn't a puppy-kicker.

He lowered his sword. The menace instantly sprang back up, chittered happily, and tossed a golden apple at Technoblade before booking it out of the house - breaking his front doors in the process. Technoblade stared at the shattered wood in dismay, then down at the gapple he'd caught on reflex.

It was drenched in some unidentifiable substance - either water or raccoon drool. Technoblade dropped it like a hot potato and spun on his heel, hurrying towards the cabinet where he kept his bleach.

Fixing the door could wait. He needed to clean his hand first.

~~~

Technoblade opened the door, then promptly slammed it shut when a giant, furry face beamed down at him. "No," he said.

A whine sounded from outside. Emotional support raccoon, Chat suggested. Emotional support mutated trash panda.

"No," he said louder.

A low huff. Something poked at the door hard enough to make it tremble.

"Leave," he ordered.

A pause. Snow crunched under a heavy weight outside, and then the raccoon's furry face appeared in his window. It blinked innocently at him.

Technoblade narrowed his eyes. "Go away. Shoo. I don't have food for you."

The raccoon tilted its head, and then proceeded to pull those puppy eyes on him. Technoblade wasn't going to fall for that trick again.

"No," he snapped. "Leave me alone."

The raccoon's ears drooped. It looked, somehow, impossibly sadder. Technoblade wavered, then steeled himself. He wasn't going to give in. He was a warrior, a giant raccoon was not going to defeat him in a battle of wills--

"Look, will you leave if I give you a golden apple?"

Prime damnit.

The raccoon perked up, baring its teeth in a hopeful grin. Technoblade groaned, but a promise was a promise. He retrieved a gapple from his inventory, pulled the window open and tossed it to the waiting raccoon, who caught it and scampered away, ostensibly to gnaw at it in the safety of its den.

"Good riddance," Technoblade huffed, and ignored Chat's wailing about missing a chance to pet the thing. It didn't matter how fluffy it looked. It probably had rabies, and Technoblade wasn't going to risk his life just to satisfy Chat's love for cute animals.

~~~

This was bad. This was really bad.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! Chat howled.

"Not now," he snapped back.

"Drop your weapons," Quackity snarled, his axe inching closer to Carl's neck. A bead of sweat rolled down Technoblade's jaw. Slowly, he loosened his grip on his sword.

A high, chittering cry rose from the forest. Quackity turned towards the disturbance, and was promptly bowled over by two hundred pounds of fur and muscle. The giant raccoon proceeded to hoist the screaming man over his head and hurl him at Fundy, who didn't dodge fast enough. The two went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and cursing. Ranboo made the smart decision and ran for the hills. Tubbo tried to follow, but the raccoon snagged him by the back of his netherite armor, tossed him on the pile, and proceeded to lie down on all three humans like they were pillows. Technoblade was treated to the dubiously enjoyable sight of watching his enemies get crushed by a 200-pound trash panda. What even was his life now?

"MERCY!" Fundy shrieked, clawing at the snow and trying to struggle out from underneath Quackity. "FUCK-- MERCY!"

The raccoon purred. Technoblade didn't even know raccoons could purr.

"Uh," he started. The purring grew louder as the raccoon twisted its head to peer at him. "Looks. . . looks like you have it covered?"

The raccoon stopped purring long enough to chitter what sounded like an affirmative (which was ridiculous, because raccoons weren't that smart) before it tossed Fundy and Quackity onto its back, picked Tubbo up by the scruff of his shirt, and bounded off into the forest on all fours. The only sign of the carnage that had occurred was the trampled snow.

Technoblade would have stood there for a good hour if something hadn't nudged him in the back. He whipped around, expecting an attack, only to see Carl waiting patiently. "Oh," he mumbled. "Right. Uh. Carl. Let's uh, get you back to the stables, yeah? I might have to rebuild those, make 'em more secure so they won't get you again."

Carl nudged him again. Technoblade shoved the raccoon into the back of his mind. He had a new stable to build, and it wasn't like he'd see the raccoon again anyway.

~~~

The raccoon came back.

And proceeded to consume half his gapple stash. Technoblade let him do what he wanted. He owed him, after all, for saving him from the Butcher Army.

No, Chat. He wasn't getting attached.

~~~

". . . Huh," Technoblade said.

Steve glanced at him, then laid his head back down again. The large raccoon curled into his side snuggled a bit closer.

"Huh," Technoblade repeated. "Steve, you're adoptin' this guy?"

The polar bear grunted.

Emotional support raccoon, Chat chanted. Emotional support raccoon!

Technoblade took a deep breath, stared at the two animals for a while, then sighed. "Fine," he grumbled. "Fine, Chat. We'll keep the giant mutated raccoon."

Chat cheered. The raccoon's head jerked up, earning a displeased rumble from Steve. He blinked at Technoblade, then grinned from ear to ear.

Technoblade groaned. "Look Chat, he's gonna be insufferable now. Our gapple supply is going to be destroyed. Is this what you wanted?"

Mhm. Yup. Emotional support raccoon? HUGGABLE emotional support raccoon? I see this as an absolute win. WAIT WE NEED TO NAME HIM. OH PRIME GUYS WE FORGOT A NAME. NAME IDEAS GO! Potato! Hahaha funny but also: no. Does Techno have any ideas? YES TECHNO BESTOW A NAME UPON THE RACCOON.

"Menace," Technoblade said flatly, "on account of all of you being absolute menaces."

Aww he's breaking out the nicknames! Soft Techno! Technosoft? Technosoft. Technosoft!

Technoblade looked up at the sky and wondered what he'd done to deserve this.

~~~

Philza was Done With This Shit™.

Seriously. The dogs, he could understand. The polar bear, he could accept.

A fucking human sized raccoon, however, was too much. Seriously. Where the fuck had Techno gotten it?

"Where did you even come from?" he wondered aloud. "The sewers? A lab?"

The raccoon bared its fangs in an angry hiss. Philza took a large step back in case the raccoon tried to claw his face off.

"This is Menace," Technoblade said. "He showed up in my basement, I fed him, and he never left."

Menace sniffed and poked him with a blunted claw. Technoblade rolled his eyes.

"Right, right, he fed himself."

"Ah," Philza said. "I. . . see."

If Technoblade noticed the bewilderment in his voice, he didn't comment on it. "He's pretty well-behaved, as long as I give him gapples. Here, watch this." He retrieved a golden apple, opened the door, and hurled it into the distance. Menace dove after it in a streak of gray fur.

Technoblade shut the door, locked it, and covered it with stone. Philza blinked. ". . . Techno?"

Technoblade shrugged. "So. Phil. How've you been?"

"Good. . .?"

"Good, good." At that moment, a loud thud shook the house. The stone blocks over the door shuddered. Technoblade ignored it. "I don't suppose you've had any luck with the diamonds? I've been lookin' for some."

Philza glanced at the door. "I-- I've got a few?" The door rattled again. "Shouldn't you let him in?"

"Naaah. Shut up, Chat. He'll track snow inside again, and you know it."

~~~

Technoblade stared. Blinked. Stared again.

Menace was sitting on top of the gapple chest. The gapple chest, which Technoblade had specifically put in the basement and raccoon-proofed with a stone wall.

"How did you--?" Technoblade shook his head. "Menace. Come here."

The giant raccoon chittered and didn't budge a single inch.

"You can't just-- take my things. Get your own gapples."

Menace seemed to consider this for a second. Then he gave a very un-raccoon-like shrug, hefted the chest over his head, and bolted.

"Menace!"

137. (credit to Airon and Scribbles)

"What the fuck is this?"

Dream shrugged, poking one glitter-dusted flower with his foot. "Looks like glitter."

"I can see that," George grumbled. "But why is it everywhere?"

Dream looked at the rest of the glitter-dusted field, thought for a moment, then offered, "Allergy season?"

George didn't dignify that with a reply.

~~~

"Tommy?"

Tommy looked up from where he'd been sorting through a chest. "Hm? Oh hey, boob boy."

"Ranboo," Ranboo corrected automatically. "What's with the glitter?"

Tommy reached up and brushed a hand over his glitter-dusted hair. "Oh, this? Don't worry about it." He went back to sorting through his chest, humming happily.

Ranboo eyed him, his tail twining nervously around one leg. "Oo. . . kay," he murmured. "I was, uh, wondering if you happened to have any. . . any oak?"

Tommy popped out of the chest, face now dusted with glitter as well. "Oak? Yeah, I think I got some of that, hold on. . ."

He shuffled over to another chest, rummaged around, and came up with a single block of oak - which was completely covered in glitter. He shoved it in Ranboo's direction. "Here you go, boob boy."

". . . Thanks?" Ranboo took it, grimacing at the gritty texture on his palms. "Why is this covered in glitter?"

Tommy stared at him. A chill ran down Ranboo's spine. There was something. . . unsettling about his expression, but he couldn't put his finger on it. When he spoke, his voice was monotone and measured, nothing like how he usually sounded. "Because glitter is the best. The greatest thing in existence. Everything must be covered in glitter."

Then he blinked and shook his head. "That's all the oak I have. Get the rest yourself, boob boy."

With that, he turned back to the chest and began digging through it again. Ranboo offered him a nervous goodbye and fled as fast as he could.

~~~

"Dream?"

"Bwuh--" Dream shot off from where he'd dozed off in the grass, nearly headbutting Niki. The baker hastily backed out of bruising range. "Oh-- hey, Niki."

"Hi," Niki returned. "Are you busy right now?"

Dream patted the indent his head had left in the grass. "Nope. Is something wrong?"

"Well, um, you know the glitter?"

"The glitter fields?"

"Yeah, um. I think they're spreading."

Dream pushed his mask aside so he could squint up at her. ". . . Spreading?"

"Well, er, the forest is glittery too now."

Dream opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I. . . okay. I'll look into it."

Niki smiled, relieved. "Thank you."

~~~

Quackity narrowed his eyes at the figure standing motionless on the Prime Path. He was covered in glitter from head to toe, and seemed to be completely spaced out. ". . . Tommy?"

Tommy whipped around. "Quackity!" he cried, an unsettling light shining in his eyes. "What brings you here? Do you want to learn about the glitter?"

"The glitter?" Quackity asked. Tommy's smile widened. In a flash, he clamped an iron grip around Quackity's wrist and yanked him forward.

"What the fuck, man?!" Quackity demanded, but Tommy ignored his protests and began sprinkling glitter on Quackity's head. Quackity tried to pull away, but Tommy's grip just tightened. What the fuck was this kid eating? Steroids?

Abruptly, Tommy released Quackity. "You must love the glitter," he hissed. Quackity, mildly terrified, just nodded frantically.

"Yeah. Sure. I love glitter."

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, spun on his heel, and marched away. The moment he was out of sight, Quackity frantically began scrubbing the glitter off of his beanie.

~~~

"Huh," Dream said, staring at what had once been the Community House.

"Huh," Sapnap echoed, then, "What the fuck."

Dream nudged the edge of the glitter pile with his toe. "Well, at least you can still see the. . . general structure?"

"Dream. It's buried in glitter. I can't see the fucking floor."

"General structure," Dream repeated. ". . . I think this glitter thing might be a problem."

"You think?!"

~~~

"You must love the glitter."

Tubbo nodded, taking the bucket of glitter Tommy presented him. "Yeah. Glitter is awesome."

Ranboo, hidden in a few bushes several feet away, paled and reached for his communicator.

Group Chat: sic semper ANOTHER CULT

: bad news

: they got tubbo

: OH NO

: shit

: which one?

: glitter

: less OH NO then

: don't celebrate yet. we haven't found a counter for the glitter

Ranboo started to type out his next reply, only to be interrupted by a voice above him.

"Now what do we have here?"

Ranboo looked up at a glitter-covered Tommy, shrieked, and spontaneously learned how to teleport.

~~~

Group Chat: sic semper ANOTHER CULT

: New intel

: the egg cult's gone

: wait the glitter got tubbo?

: L

: the egg cults gone???

: apparently

: how do you know?

: Halo is standing at my door right now expositing the wonders of glitter

: .

: what.

: don't worry, the door's locked

: aaaand there go my wolves

: rip

: so youre telling me

: that the glitter cult took over the egg cult

: that's what it looks like, yes.

: so the glitter is more powerful than the egg????

: very likely so

: fuck.

~~~

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Wilbur shrieked, leveling his crossbow at Tommy's face. "I'LL SHOOT-- I'LL FUCKING SHOOT--"

"Wilbyyyyy," Tommy sang. "Don't you wanna join the glitter cult and be happy forever?"

"NO, FUCK OFF."

"We have cookies," Tubbo offered.

Wilbur hesitated, crossbow dipping. Then he brought it up again. "You can't fool me," he hissed. "We have Niki on our side. She makes better cookies than anyone on this server."

Tubbo shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"Wait," Antfrost cut in. "Who's 'we'?"

"ATTACK!"

Fighters swarmed upon the glitter cult, surrounding them in a matter of seconds. Sam led the charge, face grim as he pointed his sword at Tommy. "Surrender," he ordered.

In reply, Tommy threw a glitter bomb at them. The fighters dove out of the way like they were avoiding the plague.

"JUST KEEP THROWING GLITTER," Tommy hollered at the rest of his team. Tubbo obeyed with glee, cackling as he tossed bomb after bomb. Their opponents were forced back, dodging around the blast zones with the desperation of dying men.

"What the heck is going on here?!"

The battle stopped in its tracks. Dream stood at the edge of the clearing, decked out in full netherite. He scowled at them. "I leave for one week--"

Tommy threw a glitter bomb at him. Dream flung himself backwards, but it was too late. When the smoke cleared, he was dusted with a fine layer of glitter.

". . . Huh," he said.

"Dream?" Sam called warily. Dream looked up at them. Slowly, he reached up and pushed his mask to the side, revealing the feral grin on his face.

"Run."

With that warning, Dream summoned a handful of glitter and charged.

138. (credit to curry_powder)

"--and when I've reduced the rest of this pathetic country to ashes, I'll line your friends up, and kill them in front of you, one by one, until you're the only one left. But I won't kill you. Oh, no, I'll let you live, knowing that you were responsible for their deaths, all because you just. Wouldn't. Listen." Dream tilted his head, his relaxed posture and mild tone at odds with the threats he'd just spouted. "So I'll ask again. Tubbo. Will you exile Tommy?"

Tommy, whose eyes had glazed over about five minutes into the monologue, blinked out of his fugue. He glanced at Tubbo, Fundy, and Quackity, who were gaping at Dream with undisguised horror.

"I-I--" Tubbo started, apparently at a loss for words. "I don't--"

Dream hummed. "How about this, then. Tommy, come with me, or I'll destroy L'Manberg."

Tommy steeled himself, took a deep breath, and declared, "No."

"No?" Dream echoed.

"No."

Dream stared at him for a long, tense moment. Quackity took a step forward, preparing to draw his sword.

And then Dream shrugged. "Understandable, have a nice day."

The baffled L'Manberg cabinet watched as the man who had threatened to raze their country to bedrock stuck his hands into his pockets and strolled away, whistling a cheerful tune.

"What the fuck," was Fundy's comment. Tommy collapsed into uncontrollable cackling.

139. the adventures of dreaxter, pt. 8

Dream was calm. Very calm. He'd already talked to Quackity as a ghost. There was no reason to get worked up over this, so if he could stop flickering like a glitchy TV screen, that would be great.

Unfortunately, there was a big difference between talking to Quackity in broad daylight while he covered every inch of Las Nevadas in edible glitter, and talking to Quackity in a dark entrance hall, surrounded by blackstone on three sides and Quackity standing in the exit. The orange sunset wasn't helping.

Tommy sidled a step closer, positioning himself between Dream and Quackity. Probably for both of their benefits. If Dream lost control, Tommy would have to stop him.

He forced himself to remain still as Quackity's gaze slid to him. The man's eyes sharpened. "Oh. Dreaxter."

"Qua--" Dream cleared his throat, his voice crackling like static. He could feel his hoodie fizzling, dangerously close to another transformation. "Quackity. H-hi."

Quackity stared at him for a long, tense moment, then brushed past him. "Ant, Bad, George," he greeted. ". . . Sapnap."

"Quackity," Sapnap returned. "Why are you here?"

Quackity shrugged, stalking up to the unlit portal. "I could ask the same for you. Sam!"

There was no reply.

"He won't let any of us in," Sapnap said. Quackity huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Of course he won't," he grumbled. "OI! Sam, I know you can hear me! I'm here to grab my stuff, and then I'll be out of your hair!"

Ant straightened, a wary glint in his eye. "Your 'stuff'?"

"None of your business," Quackity snapped.

Dream swayed, dimly aware of the spiderweb cracks worming their way through his mask. Quackity's tools. That's what he'd left in the prison. It had to be. Why did he want them back?

"Dream," Tommy whispered. "Dream, you have to calm down."

"C-can't," the ghost hissed. His form glitched, slipping into a prison jumpsuit. Bad whipped around with a startled shout, eyes widening when he caught sight of Dream. Dream clamped down on his emotions, shoving them into a corner. The hoodie reappeared.

"What do you want to do?" Tommy murmured under his breath. By now, the others were turning to them, attention drawn by Bad's shout. "This is a chance."

"I. . ."

"Bad?" Antfrost glanced at his fellow guard, eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

Bad swallowed. "I. . . I thought I saw--" he gestured at Dream, his clawed fingers trembling. "Th-that."

"Saw wha--" George went still. "Oh."

Dream looked down and realized that his fingers were stained with green. He tried to breathe through it, but the flickering only got worse.

Well, shit.

"I don't have time for this," Quackity growled, but his frustration was laced with alarm. "SAM! I swear to fucking Prime, open this portal!"

Dream took an unneeded breath, watching with detached curiosity as viridian bloomed across his sleeve. Tommy was talking, but the sound of his voice was drowned out behind the roaring in Dream's ears. He couldn't stay here. He had to get out. He had to escape.

Without another word, he turned tail and fled.

~~~

Well. On a scale of "everything is a-ok" to "FUBAR", Tommy would rate this a solid "Shit Has Hit The Fan". Their usual fatalistic humor wasn't gonna cover this one. Dream was going to need therapy after this. Again.

"That's it," Sapnap snarled, storming over to a stunned Bad and grabbing him by the front of his collar. "Give me your keycard. Now."

Bad blinked down at him, then looked in the direction where Dream had disappeared. He produced his keycard and handed it to Sapnap. "Bad--" Antfrost started, but Bad just shook his head.

"Dream. . . Dream is dead now. There's no point trying to protect the prison." Bad took a step back as Sapnap released him. "And. . . I want to know what happened. You-- you heard him screaming, Ant. I know you did."

"Screaming?" George echoed. Bad winced.

"Screaming," he confirmed. "I passed by his cell sometimes, and. . ."

Sapnap, eyes alight with cold fury, stalked past Quackity and shoved Bad's keycard into the slot. The portal rumbled to life.

"Wait--" Quackity started, but Sapnap wasn't listening. He plunged into the portal, George hot on his heels. Quackity cursed and hurried after them, face twisting into an agitated scowl.

Tommy was left standing in the entrance hall with the two guards. They glanced at each other, then looked at him. "Are you. . .?" Antfrost asked, gesturing towards the portal.

On one hand, following the others would prove entertaining - and he'd be able to report back to Dream about everything that happened. On the other hand, Dream definitely shouldn't be alone right now. They'd figured out a while ago that being a ghost wasn't exactly the best for their mental stability, and with how long Dream had been dead this loop, plus the number of emotionally-charged confrontations he'd had. . .

Tommy made his decision. "Nah, I don't really care how he died. I'll just go. . . check on Dreaxter, yeah? Good luck with. . . whatever shit you're doing."

Antfrost opened his mouth to answer, but Tommy was already hurrying away, following the fading trail of green ectoplasm spotting the ground.

Hopefully, he'd find Dream before he did something drastic.

~~~

Sapnap stepped out of the portal to find the lobby of the prison was devoid of life. He made a beeline for the next card slot, only to stop short when he realized how many there were.

"Bad," he snapped. "Which one gets to the main cell fastest?"

"Uh-- this one," Bad said. He took the keycard and slid it into a slot, then flipped the lever. Part of the wall slid away to reveal a passageway.

The two guards took the lead, escorting them up a staircase that ended in another locked door. If he were any less focused, Sapnap would have stopped to admire the sheer grandeur of the prison, built by one man. As it was, he was currently too angry at everything this prison represented to feel any appreciation.

The next series of hallways opened into a row of lockers. Sapnap swept his gaze across the room, but as with all the previous areas, the Warden was absent. He shrugged off his disappointment and hurried after Bad and Ant. At last, their group came to a fork in the paths. Bad gestured to the door on the left. "That one goes to the security room - Sam's probably in there. The cell is the other way. Do you. . .?"

Sapnap glanced at George. George wordlessly pointed to the door on the right.

Together, they proceeded down the hall. The walk was fairly short, and within half a minute, they were in front of the main cell. The sea of lava had been drained away, but the cell itself was still too far and dimly lit for Sapnap to see the inside.

Antfrost slipped his keycard in and flipped the levers. "I'll stay here," he told them. The only response he got was Bad's nod.

The platform rumbled to life, and the three of them stepped on. Sapnap noted in the back of his mind that Quackity had disappeared somewhere between the locker room and the main cell, but he pushed that thought aside. He had bigger fish to fry.

The platform ground to a stop. Sapnap kept his gaze on his feet as the three of them stepped off, unwilling to look just yet. He heard the netherite bars slide down as Antfrost recalled the platform.

"Oh," George choked out. Bad inhaled sharply before he turned away, dry-heaving.

Sapnap grit his teeth, steeled himself, and raised his head.

Dream's body had already begun to decompose - the humidity and the heat had not been kind to him. The floor of the cell was stained with coppery brown. When Sapnap breathed in, the scent of rotting flesh, underscored with ghast tears and iron, filled his lungs.

Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it and closed his eyes, forcefully shoving his analytical mind to the forefront. He was here for a reason. He had to figure out what happened.

Sapnap took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and looked.

The corpse was propped up against the back wall of the cell, one hand thrown haphazardly over the gash in the front of its bloodied jumpsuit. The cloth itself was almost completely effused with reddish-brown, and when compounded with the bloodstains on the floor around it, the cause of death had likely been blood loss--

("I was cold, and tired. Really tired.")

--but that didn't explain the sickly-sweet smell. Someone must have used a regeneration potion in here at some point - likely Sam. Maybe Sam had discovered that the prisoner was dying and rushed in, trying to save him. Then when he failed, he locked himself up in the prison and refused to talk to anyone. It seemed like a reasonable explanation.

But then why weren't Dream's wounds healed? Why did Dream have those wounds in the first place? There were no weapons in this cell, nothing Dream could have harmed himself with - which meant that someone else had been here.

"Blades," George said beside him. Sapnap jerked, wheeling around to look at him. George didn't meet his gaze, instead staring intently at the corpse. "The wounds were made by a blade. Smaller than an axe or a sword, bigger than a scalpel. I'd say about the size of a kitchen knife."

". . . No intent to kill," Sapnap added. He shuffled closer to the corpse and squatted next to it. Something wailed in the back of his mind, but he ruthlessly shoved it down. He'd have time for a breakdown afterwards. "The wounds are too shallow. There's a chunk missing, too, right across the shoulder. It's uneven in the middle. . ."

George hummed, his voice monotone. "Two blades."

"Scissors?"

"Too small. Wool shears."

Sapnap pulled up a mental comparison and came to the conclusion that the weapon had indeed been shears. He glanced down. ". . . broken fingers."

"Deliberately broken," George added. "Missing teeth. Cuts along the arms, with the same knife." He nudged the corpse's ankle with the toe of his sneaker. "Slashed Achilles tendons, lacerated soles. Prevents running."

"Bad heard screaming."

"He heard it 'sometimes'. Multiple times."

"Ghast tears, Regeneration. . ."

"Damage to the jumpsuit with no matching wounds."

Sapnap looked up at George, something fiery and hateful seething in his chest. George looked back, his eyes colder than ice.

"Torture," they concluded at the same time.

Sapnap rose to his feet. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the platform. George fell into step a moment later. Bad made no move to calm them, instead glancing around the cell one last time before following.

The Warden had a lot to answer for.

140.

Karl shut the book and pushed it off his lap, watching as it flopped to the floor. It dissolved in a swirl of black magic before it touched the ground, reappearing on the shelf opposite him. Inbetween & Other Side - Updated Theory #6 was the last piece he'd needed to complete the puzzle. Whoever had written the book had been on the right track, but they'd disappeared before they could reach the conclusion.

So Karl finished it for them. He'd figured it out. He'd finally figured out what the Inbetween was.

It wasn't just a place. No, it was a being, a sentient, malicious entity split across multiple timelines that reached out to tempii who wandered too close and dragged them in. It bound them to a single path and twisted their abilities so they could move backwards and forwards along it - but not sideways. Tempii were not meant to move through time. They walked across paths, not on them.

Karl remembered his terror when he'd first tried to leave this world, only to find his powers on the fritz. The energy he used for timeline-hopping suddenly ran against him, tearing portals through the fabric and sending him backwards. When he was dumped back into 'present time', he'd passed out from the shock and remained bedridden for nearly a week, fading in and out of consciousness.

To make things worse, he'd been squished into a human form. Being human sucked. Even though his body was more durable than a normal human's, he was much shorter than what he was used to. He bled red. He was practically blind. Human senses were so limited.

(He missed colors so, so much.)

There was hope, though. One tempus had claimed that with time and a lot of travelling, they had wrangled their powers back under their own control. It wasn't enough to break the ties of the Inbetween, but they'd been able to hop outside of the Timeline - if only for a few moments. Their last journal entry had claimed that they would be trying to break the hated white strings, at which point they presumably either lost access to the Other Side or died. Either way, Karl was willing to take the risk - because the alternative was far worse.

The Inbetween was a parasite. It would consume memories, the lifeblood of the tempii, until they became nothing more than a husk, bound to wander through the Inbetween as empty shells until they wasted away. Karl could remember the corpses, dangling like marionettes from the tree. The white strings wrapped around their limbs remained eerily still, despite the breeze rustling the leaves around them. The illusions of the Inbetween had kept Karl from seeing them up until the very end, when he'd made the conscious choice to enter the Other Side.

Karl figured that the Other Side served as a sort of convergence point for the different versions of the Inbetween. The few tempii that managed to find it had used it as an archive, filling it with records of their own experiences to warn future tempii that found their way in. Karl himself had already left several volumes of notes on what he'd observed.

And now he needed to write his theory. Hopefully, the next tempus trapped here would find it useful.

Shaking out his hands, he crawled to his feet and staggered over to the chest against the wall and pried it open. After retrieving a blank journal and a pen, he sat back and scrawled Inbetween & Other Side - Updated Theory #7 on the cover. After a considering pause, he flipped the front cover open and added, if you discover anything new, create a new book.

Taking a deep breath, Karl shook his pen and began to write.

~~~

When he shut the book, his hand was aching. He slid the book onto the shelf, right beside Inbetween & Other Side - Updated Theory #6, then pulled an extra copy of his updated version of the theory - this one titled Inbetween & Other Side - ᚴᚨᚱᛚ's Theory - and Journal #31 from his inventory. Plodding through the long rows of shelves, he stopped beside his current slot and stuffed the two books into their place at the end. They glowed briefly, signifying that the archives had recognized and cataloged them. Karl stared at them for a long moment, then turned on his heel and trudged away.

Time to go home. Time to do it all over again.

He exited the library, shivering as fog swirled around him and sank into his skin. The lack of visibility hardly deterred him - he was long used to navigating the Other Side by now, and while he couldn't walk through it with his eyes closed, he could do it with five feet of vision. So he followed the familiar paths, the soles of his sneakers cracking against slick marble. A right turn, another right, then straight ahead and up the stairs to the portal.

He reached the top of the steps and froze in his tracks.

The portal was empty. There was no swirling purple and green, only an obsidian portal frame.

He stared at it, something cold sinking in his chest. "No," he whispered. He reached out and touched the portal frame, then gripped it, running his hands over the inside of the portal, praying for it to relight. "No, no, no, no--"

Something flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped around to see a tulip, sitting innocently in a pot. Deja vu washed over him, memories of a time when something similar had happened in another place. In the Inbetween.

The invisible strings around his wrists seemed to tighten. He scratched at them, trying not to hyperventilate. He was supposed to be safe here. He thought he would be safe here.

When he blinked, a trail of yellow tulips had appeared. "I'm not following you," he choked out.

The Other Side rumbled apologetically, but the portal did not relight. Karl stood his ground, hands fisted in his hoodie.

"I'm not following you," he repeated. "I want to go home. Let me go home."

More tulips sprang up, wriggling through the cracks between the stones. It was a statement. Either he could wait here, trapped in permanent stasis, or he could follow the Other Side and see what it wanted.

Karl let himself hesitate for ten seconds more. And then he followed.

~~~

The tulips led him along a path he'd traversed before, around corners and through corridors. He was moving towards a separate library he'd only been in once or twice; this building housed records of the first tempii who'd found their way here. Half of them weren't in any language Karl understood, and the remaining half were mostly filled with observations he'd already made, so he didn't come here often.

The trail of tulips didn't lead him into the archives, though. Rather, they ended at a dead-end wall. He crouched down next to the last one, plucking it from the pot. "What do you want?" he whispered, twirling it between his fingers. "What do you want to show me?"

The building trembled around him. The lantern light glinted off an uneven tile in the floor. Karl squinted, realizing that it was a trigger of some kind.

"You want me to press it?"

The wind hummed an affirmative through the arches. Karl reached out and pressed the tile, watching it sink down. The wall before him rumbled, sliding back to reveal a section of the library that he'd never seen before.

"What. . ." he croaked, rising to his feet. The room was pitch-dark, save for the bubble of light spilling in from the lanterns behind him. Hesitantly, he pulled one off the wall and held it high, revealing rows and rows of bookshelves. They seemed endless, retreating into the darkness.

He moved closer, raising the lantern to the first row of books. They were the same color as his own journals, words scrawled along the brown covers in black ink.

Journal #1. Journal #2. Journal #3. Journal #4. Journal #5.

A chill crawled down his spine. He ran the lantern across the shelf, pacing down the row until he reached the end.

There. Right after Journal #42, the last book was Inbetween & Other Side - ᚴᚨᚱᛚ's Theory.

He raised the lantern a bit higher. The row above the one he had been examining was filled with the exact same books, except Inbetween & Other Side - ᚴᚨᚱᛚ's Theory was sandwiched between Journal #36 and Journal #37.

He raised the lantern higher, revealing an empty shelf. He moved back to the left. This row ended at Journal #12.

The next row. He moved along until he found Journal #95, then circled around and headed deeper into the gloom. The lantern splashed light across shelves as he passed. He picked a random aisle and slid in, whipping the lantern up to read the spines.

More Journals. More copies of books he had written already.

And with them, more copies of books he hadn't written. He'd only traveled thirty-one times - he was sure of it. His latest journal had been Journal #31. He wanted to believe that Journal #95 and Journal #42 and all the other books had been written by some other tempus, a long, long, time ago, but--

--but every single one of the books in this library was labeled in familiar handwriting. His handwriting.

"What the honk is this?"

Loop Notes

136. Tommy's on his Turning Red arc. Yes, he is as fluffy as the red pandas in the movie.

137. The Eggpire was cleansed with holy water and bribed to go along with it. Tubbo, on the other hand, didn't need a bribe. The chaos was enough for him.

138. This was entirely improvised. Except for the monologue. Dream practiced that bit in front of a mirror.