Chapter Text
Las Nevadas exploded, for the third time. Third. Fucking. Time. Well Prime fucking damn it, huh? Exactly like L’Manburg, the exact fucking thing that Quackity had been trying to evade like the plague. The first explosion, it was emotional, a traitor, Purpled. Taking Slimecicle with him. The Second explosion, the fucking Admin, taking the life of the the president with them. And third, and definitely, the last explosion, caused by Quackity himself, the saying sure says that the Captain sinks with their ship. And that was Quackity’s case. Third and definitely last explosion, caused by no one other than Quackity himself, sat in the throne built with lies, pain and so much mourn. With a pained smile, a solitary tear like the duck hybrid's soul. And everything went up in smoke.
And with it, Alexis Quackity's last life. And he expected... Many things. Many, many things! But definitely not to wake up again in that shithole of SpawnPoint, in the center of all the chaos but protected like a small refuge of trees and flowers. He cried, throat scratching and almost tearing, pulling at his sleeve and growling in frustration. He had lost his arms long ago, replaced by high-quality prosthetics made by none other than Sam, the one who had been his father figure. And the lack of an arm made it impossible for him to imagine how many more canon lives there were. Alive, but at what cost? Without friends, without family, without nation, without legacy. Who was he now? An easy target? Someone who, if Admin realized he was still alive, would not hesitate to arrest, lock in a cell, and torture him again and again, just as they had been tortured in Pandora's Vault...
Quackity doesn't know how much time has passed, minutes or hours, but his body complains from being in the same position for so long, lying against the mud and grass damp from the previous night's rain. The smell helps him relax a bit. The now former president stands up, struggling to find his balance, two artificial arms and a leg aren't for the weak. He takes a deep breath, looking up at the sky. It was dawn, he had to be quick before the other server’s members began to wake up. With sore and tired steps, Quackity walks away, unsure where to let his instinct, or stupidity, guide him. But it's far off the usual path. As if the wind takes him wherever it will, or rather, as Lady Prime, the Lady of Fate, had decided when she wrote about the foolish duck's life.
When he finally lifts his gaze, he sighs, looking up at the sky and wondering what he had done to deserve this? He could only have dropkicked a baby in his past life, or severely offended Lady Prime. Because his feet were treading on increasingly snow-covered ground, his shoes were not made for this, making each step heavier, slower. But Quackity kept going, already able to imagine where he was going, no longer knowing if it was the wind or his mind guiding him. But it didn't matter, not with more than half the day already gone, his mouth feeling glued shut, and there was no point in trying to lick his lips, they were dry from the cold wind.
The distance getting shorter and shorted with each step, making that cabin visible, those structures, surrounded by wooden fences, so fragile considering the fire and destruction power of every player that belonged to that Prime forsaken server. But it was obvious, that fence did not protect the ones inside it… Oh no. It protect the outsiders from the beast that lived within it. The creature that claimed those lands as his, the monster, the beast, The Blade. The Blood God.
Technoblade already knew who invaded the Actic, thanks to Philza and his crows, those who watched every entrance, exit, tunnel and cave from those deadly cold lands. But still, he waited, slowly reading one of his books, Frankenstein, because according to Philza, he needed to read more than just Art of War, Odyssey and Iliad over and over again. So why not?
But with the knowledge of who was approaching, his mind was everywhere but the yellowed pages of the book in his hands. Red eyes flying from the words that simply wouldn’t make sense to his brain, to the window, the door, the wolves pups lying on the carpet near the fireplace, and back to the pages. Over and over again.
A cycle that was already making Technoblade dizzy.
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Don’t do that
Gonna make me throw up…
what gotcha so worried bruh?
weird
weirdoooo
paranoic
e
STOP
Shaking his head to try and keep the voices away, the piglin finally stands up from his armchair, leaving the book behind, and directing himself towards the door, his instincts complaining about someone invading. So he told himself it was just to make sure he wasn’t going crazy.
When he finally opened the door, the cold wind greeted him with a gush against his face. Everything looked normal, snow everywhere, the wolves running from one side to the other to occupy themselves, Steve, Baba and Ed sleeping almost on top of each other near the stables. The wooden fence intact, the dark, closed and way too big forest of pine trees for kilometers unseen… And then, there was it, there was him. Just supporting himself in the fence, not trying to come in, not trying to invade, at least not at simple sight. But there was just some things that are… Odd.
SOME?
Bruh!
Is that Quackity?
man what the actual hell happened to him?
Big Q!
Quackity
Quack
Intruder?
e
e
STOP
Doesn’t look like
And the voices were… Mostly right, the man looked wrecked, clothes burned, broken, almost in shreds. It was possible to see his prosthetic leg almost falling apart trying to support his weight, the ones for his arms limp, his face impossible to see so far, but the whole feeling was… Depressing, that was not a threat.
For once, Quackity was not a threat.