Inferno // dreamnotfound

p r o l o g u e

TW: homophobia

Dream awoke to the sound of yelling Keepers and scrambling of other children. They had all been soundly asleep, dreaming of whatever children dreamed, but it had been broken by the early morning training session. During the day, they had school and had to keep up an appearance. But when night fell and it seemed as though the last light of London had flickered out, silhouettes of all sizes clambered out of bed and tumbled down the stairs to the basement.

Arrays of weapons: knives, axes, and even guns surrounded them, standing proudly on the walls as the children ogled at them every night without fail, a thrill of excitement scaring away any tiredness.
Dream wasn't old enough to use many weapons yet; only ten years old. Most of his training consisted of combat and occasionally learning how to use a baton for stick fighting. Nothing sharp until he was thirteen.

He was a natural: throwing and landing every punch, and always getting opponents helpless on the floor some way on another. Success against every other ten year old meant Dream started fighting the much taller, older, bulkier kids. They were not as easy to beat and Dream found himself on the floor more times than he ever had before.

School positively (or negatively) dragged. It looked over Dream every day with its monotony and meaningless chatter amongst meaningless people. He did well at the information part though, and stayed away from people. He didn't mind being alone, for his family were always waiting at the orphanage for him after.

He did mind though, that as he grew older, bored teen boys started to take more notice of the kid who was lonesome constantly, and got good grades. Although he was buff, they didn't seem to think about it when they crowded round him at lunches and asked him invasive questions, all the while smirking at each other intimidatingly. Dream was never intimidated because he knew he could physically overpower every one of them within a minute, but even as they emptied his belongings out of his bag and onto the floor, he did nothing.
They couldn't actually use what they knew in public or it would endanger the entire operation, unless they would be in more danger not to fight back.

When Dream's thirteenth birthday came around he eyed the sharp edges coating the walls with more elation than usual. They were still sunning to him. Blinding glints of the liquid metal swirling out from the beautifully crafted leather handles.

I'm not surprised but guess what! He immediately felt at home with the blades between his fingers as he threw the various sharp objects at a target and rarely missed. Even in combat, using the blades only made him more unbeatable and more trainees succumbed to his power.

After assessing the situation he was in, suddenly sixteen years old, Dream decided against absolutely obliterating the rag that was spitting in his face.
"I don't know what you're playing at you little..." his eyes flitted over Dream's body which was not by any means little. "Pervert!" He fumed, Dream now up against the wall at the hands of this filth.
Dream had deliberately flirted with him in front of his friends while they jeered at him to rile him up. Usually he knew better but he couldn't stand it anymore.
"Oh, you're getting a little close. Sure you don't want a kiss?" Dream winked calmly, watching it blow smoke out of its ears. And then swiftly sock Dream in the stomach quite lightly in his opinion.
"Fucking fag," he muttered as he turned to storm off. There was not much that really got to Dream but that certain word made him flinch every time he heard it.
Without thinking, Dream kicked the back of the boy's knees so that he doubled over. He then collided his ready fist into his cheek and watched as he made squealing sounds on the floor. Dream just rolled his eyes and sauntered off feeling uplifted to say the least.

(675 words)