pov fundy gets fucking murdered by the dreamon

yuh... (naenaes

Clawed hands grip his chin through pierced leather gloves, carefully out of reach of the fox hybrid's fanged teeth, turning his head back and forth to examine him like a scientist does their specimen.

"You're so, so funny..." The Dreamon whispers in Dream's voice- Because it's not Dream, not really, but that god-forsaken mask is still on his face, and he's still wearing that gaudy hooded cloak, and that's definitely his enchanted Netherite axe... But it's not Dream. It's not Dream. It's not. Fundy has to keep reminding himself of that fact. He's so close to forgetting, he can feel the knowledge playing with the edges of his mind, moments from slipping away.

"To steal from me is to beg for death," It says as it releases Fundy's jaw. Fundy stumbles backwards as fast as he can, heart thumping, fur puffing up in some belated biological attempt to appear stronger than he is. The thievery isn't even the big deal, really; The Dreamon had long since gotten its items back. This was something more.

"I'm-" He tries to choke out some kind of response. The Dreamon cuts him off with a whirl of its hand, now around his throat, not squeezing but clearly threatening to. Fundy's breath hitches as his back slams against the glass of Purpled's water elevator.

The air hisses as the axe is withdrawn from its holster, the runes etched into the hellish blade thrumming with bloodlust. Scalding hot metal presses against Fundy's throat as the hand leaves its position to brush against the cork of an instant damage potion. The detached bit of Fundy's brain wonders if that's one that he made, or if the Dreamon made it itself.

"You will speak only when spoken to, beast," The Dreamon mutters lowly. Fundy can see narrowed grey eyes through the slits of the mask. Dream's skin has never looked this pale.

Despite himself, Fundy can't help but bark out a humorless laugh at the demand. "Me, the beast?" He sneers, muzzle drawn up in a snarl despite the pangs of hurt the words bring to his heart, "That's rich coming from you."

The Dreamon does not rise to the bait, unsurprisingly, simply stepping closer and digging the ax in a bit deeper. Fundy can't tell if the scent that wafts up after the pain in his throat appears is blood or the blade. He hopes Tubbo comes back soon. He doesn't know how long he can stall for.

...Is Tubbo even going to come back?

Did Tubbo just up and leave him to die on his own?

He knows the thought is a mistake as soon as it's coherent. Dreamons feed on negative emotions and thoughts, Fundy! Try to filter yourself as much as possible! A little voice chirps from the depths of his memories, sounding awfully like the 16-year-old he's currently waiting on.

The Dreamon's stance shifts into something more taunting, something a little more loose than normal. Fundy, in any other circumstance, would have called it over-confidence. This time, though, he knew it wasn't overdone; The Dreamon was the one in power here, and they both knew it.

"Missing your little friend, kit?" It cooes, grabbing the instant damage pot to let Fundy watch the wine red magic swirl around inside, "Scared he's not coming back?"

Fundy didn't answer. It took that as a cue to continue.

"Dream is too, y'know."

Fundy suddenly can't breathe again, but not for the weapon at his throat. "...Dream's still...?" He whispers. He's not sure what he wants to ask. He's not sure if he wants the answer, either.

The Dreamon laughs. It's not Dream's laugh. Dream is wheezing and breathy, inviting you to join in; This was nothing but sharp edges and stinging wounds, pushing all the wrong buttons on you. "Yep!" It raps its knuckles against its own head a few times, grinning wildly enough that Fundy can see the edges peeking out from under the porcelain mask, "Ol' Dreamie's still rattling around in here! A strong one, isn't he? Most people just disappear once I take over! This one, though... Motherfucker almost took control again when I tossed his ring into the ocean! Fancy that!"

Fundy's eyes burned at that. That was their ring, dammit, he had given that to Dream, it was supposed to be a place-holder at the Thai Tanic until he could get something better, but Dream had said it was perfect as is and that Fundy should hold off on the extravagance until the actual event-

"I took care of that problem rather easily, though," Purred the Dreamon. It swung the axe off of Fundy's neck and returned it to its place on its hip. The potion continued to slosh around in its round-bottomed bottle. Fundy's heart was pounding again. He could barely hear anything over the sound. The Dreamon paid him no heed. "All I had to do was-"

Dream's hair looked like a golden halo in the setting sunlight. It framed his face like a wreath of pure energy, drawing everything to him, burning up almost anything that got too close. It was anything but a halo at this moment, Fundy thought as he lunged forwards, tackling the body of his fiancé from the waist to the ground. He could hear a click in his ears- The sound of Tubbo's communicator coming back into close enough range to connect back together.

The Dreamon let out a furious snarl, limbs jerking out in aborted movements to attempt to throw Fundy off. It very quickly succeeded, and the fox hybrid went flying, spine slamming against the edge of the glass. He was screaming, he thought, but he couldn't be sure. All he could feel was the pain from the impact.

He wasn't done, though. He'd rather die than let this continue on, and, well... It didn't look like the Dreamon would be leaving any time soon.

"Fundy!" Someone screamed, raw and pained. He couldn't tell who it was. Could've been anyone, at this point.

With a feral noise, he jerked upright. He could barely feel his legs, at this point, but it didn't matter- None of it did. He was expendable. Dream was not. He hurled himself forwards once again, claws digging into the Dreamon's thigh, dragging it back down to the hard dirt once again.

"Mangy fuck!" The Dreamon barked out at him, fury making Dream's limbs tremble. Fundy was kicked in the side by netherite boots and sent tumbling away once again. He tried to get up, but it didn't work. His arms feebly pressed against the dirt, but the rest of his body felt too heavy to move.

The Dreamon was standing over him, now. Its head was outlined by the sun once again. It... It didn't look like a halo this time. It looked like hellfire. It looked like eternal flames, fed by rage and grief and sorrow, it looked like bombs rumbling the ground beneath fleeing feet, it looked like forests turning to ash just outside towering black walls, it looked like exhilaration as the twanging of crossbows filled the air.

It looked like everything a Dreamon stood for. It looked like everything Dream hated.

There was a sharp pain across his throat, a scream of pure agony, and then there was nothing.