The Arctic Reaper |Dream SMP Fanfic

~-Chapter 8 - Caught?-~

Just a random Queen Elizabeth rose-

*cough cough* Wanted to have a little fun ;)

[Also sorry for not updating over the weekend. :\ ]

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BACK TO THE CHAPTER.

Nishia POV

"The Tale of the Arctic Reaper."

A layer of dust coated the brown, worn-out cover. Beneath the dust was a collection that could only ever have been brought together by an artistic heart. The dust told a story of patient time, of the stories allowing their ageing leather to be hidden until the time of waiting was over.

I blew the dust off. It swirled in magnificent circles, mixing the air with its molecules. Opening the book, in cursive, wrote, "This is the only copy of my discoveries."

I flipped to the second page, the deliberately, fancy writing makes its appearance once again, "The Grim Reaper that haunts the world."

Turning the old-ridden page, the book finally begins.

:P

~-Technoblade POV-~

I arrived at the arena, dust lying on the floor, my competitors standing around, probably waiting for others to arrive. A huge audience was lined up, probably waiting for the tournament to begin. The crowd cheered upon my arrival, my name of Blood God carrying throughout the land.

I adjusted my royal cape around my shoulders, the red, woven-out cloth nearly touching the floor. I held my trustworthy sword by my side, ready to attack anyone who wanted to surprise me. My glare crossed the room, challenging any opponents, trying to differentiate between the strong and the weak.

Standing across from me was a 16-year-old, his tan hair shining off in the sunlight, his purple hoodie contrasting his tan-ish skin. It wasn't even close to tan, it was the color of the sand on a perfect beach, golden. He resembled an acrobat, nimble, but his strength nor skill level didn't seem very high.

Another man, leaning against the wall, was a white hoodie dude. What was with men and hoodies? Come to think of it, there was another man, he seemed to draw a portion of the audience's attention, but how could anyone take him seriously? He wore a mask with a sloppy, smiley face drawn in black marker. But he radiated danger. It provoked me to laugh, how could a man with terrible attire act so menacing?

But, a scary amount of the audience showed affection or some reaction to this man, so I should be careful.

The man, the myth, the guy who called us all here, yelled through a megaphone, "ARE YOU READY? TO SEE EIGHT PEOPLE FROM AROUND THE WORLD, TO BATTLE FOR THE AGES, TO SEE WHO WILL BE KNOWN AS TOP ONE, THE GREATEST, THE MOST GLORIOUS, MAN OF THE COUNTRY!!!!!!"

Bruhhhhhhh, this man was yelling at the top of his lungs. My ears...Well, who needed them anyway? Not me apparently, or anyone else in this room.

The competition was a peculiar thing. Although it was a fun game, the majority of the time, it drew many people apart. Now, I didn't mind this, but how it affected our civilization as a whole was interesting.

The success of the human-animal is all built on cooperation and the formation of complex societies with individuals taking on different specialisms to benefit the group. Thus cooperation is the only path to a good future, one of abundance and technology, one of peace. But we're dumb, we'll never follow that path. Well, we might.

One once said, "An enemy of an enemy is my friend." It was an ancient saying, one that was derived from Sanskrit. It led most people to choose out of two evils, but in optimistic scenarios, it would be in your greatest interest to create a third. An option many don't consider.

I zoned back into the loud, annoying, aggravating speaker.

"THIS TOURNAMENT WILL LAST AROUND SEVEN WEEKS! ONCE A WEEKS, TWO PEOPLE WILL BATTLE EACH OTHER! EACH TIME YOU WIN, YOU WILL PROGRESS INTO THE NEXT STEP OF THE TOURNAMENT!"

He takes a second to catch his breath.

"IN THE FIRST ROUND, WE HAVE, TECHNOBLADE VS. PURPLED!!! IN THE SECOND ROUND, WE HAVE PUNZ VS. TAPL!!! IN THE THIRD ROUND, WE HAVE DREAM VS. FRUIT BERRIES!!! AND IN THE LAST OF THE FIRST LEVEL, WE HAVE ILLUMINA VS. A-DUDE!!!"

(Don't ask about the last guy.)

"WE SHALL HAVE THE BATTLE AT DAWN TOMORROW! HAVE A GOOD DAY!"

~-Nishia POV-~

ITALICS EQUAL BOOK READING :) OR LIKE THE DUDE'S WRITING

There was a myth, a legend, a story, a tale, about a man who would enter tournaments and then kill them. He would do anything you could ever ask for, as long as you paid him a decent amount of money. He was known as the assassin of the night, able to cross vast amounts of land only in a couple of hours. He was a killer, a murderer, everyone was scared of him.

He was the masked ninja.

And he was always known as the Arctic Reaper.

He would leave a cold, distasteful feeling after every murder in a tournament, entering as a man, then killing when no one was looking.

After years of secretive searching, I finally found him.

The one and only man.

If you see him, run. Leave. Hope to never encounter him. Or pray.

He would harm others at true greed. Being paid to do such a sin, so blood was on his hands. He would attack once a year, the strike of the assassin. Not many people know, they think it's a myth, one that the government created to avoid panic and mistrust.

The next page, however, wasn't in such neat handwriting. Instead, it was messy, rushed, filled with panic.

HE KNOWS, HE KNOWS. I'll be dead by midnight. Please take this book to heart. Beware of him.

The name, his identity, is...

Illumina.

F*ck.