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Summary
The voices were restless, mumbling loudly in his ears. He knew something was coming, and right when he was starting to settle down too. Oh well, it would be their funeral. He grabbed his axe and exited his home, heading over to cut wood while he waited for whatever trouble was coming his way.
His best guess was another bounty hunter, coming to try and claim the large price hung over his head. They’d fail, of course, like all did. He wasn’t called The Blade for nothing. But it was getting old, killing people all the time. He mostly did it to appease the voices these days, no longer taking the pleasure in it that he used to.
Techno sighed, wincing slightly as an arrow flew by and nicked him on the cheek. He turned to face his new enemy, axe gripped tightly in hand. He was met with the sight of a tall, lanky stranger hidden within the depths of their bloodstained cloak. Sheaths for knives, a belt full of potions and other items, a well used scabbard holding an obsidian blade within. Worst of all, was a familiar porcelain mask, inky black smile boring into his eyes.
Or,
Dream is a cursed mask that controls whoever wears it
Series
- Part 19 of Teeth's DSMP Fanfiction
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