Inception {Dreamnotfound}

19 | Unwelcome Returns | 19

⚠️ I think you all know where this is going.
You'll be fine with the actual thing if you've read this far in the series, but it has a pretty nasty build up mentally, so I've marked it with the usual '⚠️⚠️⚠️' either side just in case.
Enjoy. Love ya <3    ~ Owl

~~~

-Zak's POV-

"Alright, then put on the band."

The leader returns my glare, eyes no more than tiny specks beneath that mask. I couldn't depict their colour if I tried, too obscured by black and grey. My own most likely look just as strange though, one bright yellow and the other dark brown.

Tubbo's look at least vaguely similar, but mine are unmistakably different, even from afar.

I mumble a question to Tubbo under my breath, sighing in relief when he pulls my band out of his pocket. No longer in pieces, I notice, what once was a pile of tiny fragments now once again whole. But the tiny cracks littering the entire band make it clear to me it's still extremely fragile, on the verge of shattering into something nobody will be able to fix.

One hand lingers on the other band, and there's still an uncertain look in his eyes when he tugs at it, snapping the band to reveal the black centre. It's like nothing I've ever seen before, and I have half a mind to question him about it now, but decide The Deception don't deserve to overhear the information.

Tubbo holds the band flat in his palm, tears building in the corners of his eyes as he shakily extends his hand towards me. It takes me a few seconds to realise what he's expecting, and I shake my head, cupping his hand in mine only to push it back towards him.

"Didn't you hear me?" I question quietly, trying my hardest to stay calm for his benefit despite the fire burning in my stomach because of the people behind me. "I keep my band, you keep yours. Okay?"

Tubbo's eyes light up suddenly, both deep blue until he connects the band back around his wrist. He hisses in pain, scrunching up his eyes briefly before opening both again.

"Sorry about the eye, I know it's a little weird..." Tubbo mumbles under his breath at the look on my face. He trails off at the end self-consciously, and I immediately feel awful for staring, remembering the strange looks I received for the same reason.

"Hey, you aren't the only one with strange eyes," I remind him, signalling to my yellow one. We both giggle, a forced sound, but strangely sweet, nonetheless.

"It's alright, we do crazy things for the people we care about."

Tubbo nods in shy agreement, and I feel a little lighter when he's smiling more certainly. Because if he can here, I certainly can too, even if what I'm about to do is the exact thing that frequents my nightmares. "Speaking of, you probably don't want to see this."

"Not again," Tubbo mutters before looking away, and my thoughts linger on 'again' as he walks back into the main room. I'm left staring at my band, brushing my thumb over the tiny cracks as if it'll fix them.

Truthfully, I'm scared this might not even work. That my band will shatter as soon as I try to wear it again, then I'm forced to face the wrath of these people again. I know that Tubbo's fate relies on this working too, as well as my own sanity.

I can't be responsible for this. That would be enough to break me.

⚠️⚠️⚠️

Yet I'm about to be responsible for another murder, trading one death for another. Though this one feels more justified, necessary, backed up by the confirmation ingrained into my head that yes, I'm allowed to do this.

'Murder' feels a little harsh when I know that every adult is allowed to kill one person, and this is my person. It's fair and it's simple, but that never stopped it from feeling so wrong.

Or at least, that's how most people have described it. As an assassin, or ex-assassin, I suppose, my experience with this is of course pretty different. I've done this several times before in far worse situations, with people who are often conscious.

People who scream or cry or try to reason with me, explaining that they can't be revived again, or that their soulmate is already dead. It used to make me feel awful, sick to my stomach whenever I was forced to show no mercy.

I'm not sure if I've become more used to it over the years or more blind to it, drowning out desperate pleas until I feel numb. An uncommon and small part of my job, but easily the worst part, nonetheless. It's not enough to make me faint or actually be sick anymore, but it often still leads to a sleepless night or two, dwelling on the larger impact I had. Maybe it's like a punishment, paying the price of what I've inevitably caused for someone else.

Thankfully, this kill feels easier. Easier until I catch myself staring at the unconscious body slumped against the wall, thinking about the life attached to it. Who they are, their soulmate, their family.

It only gets worse the longer I leave it, so I refuse to any longer.

One of The Deception offer me a dagger, which I contemplate taking for a few seconds before deciding against it. I instead reach for one of my own weapons, bitterly realising that the one I have to hand is the axe I was gifted when I joined the Elite Assassins. The same axe I've used in a situation similar to this one what feels like a million times before.

Eventually, I take a step forward, mutter the same "sorry, but you'll be in a better place soon" I do to everyone else despite the fact they can't even hear me before screwing my eyes up as tightly as I can. "Put the band on," someone distantly reminds me, and I force myself to keep my eyes closed while I do it, just to make sure I can't see the Devotion that's about to form beside me.

This feels like poison, and I feel like I've fallen victim to it, resulting in something I never wished to happen. Facing Darryl as a Devotion seemed hard enough, but this, this feels so much worse. Worse again when I allow myself one last look at the scene before me, steal one more glance at the black band and let the sound of someone distantly screaming my name fill my head when I grip my axe tighter, pull it backwards and swing forward.

⚠️⚠️⚠️

Then it's over.

Quiet, I realise, when I cut off the shrill sound of screaming with what I've done. I stare at the ceiling in favour of forgetting what happened, not wanting to see the aftermath of that person. Not when I'm nervously anticipating the arrival of another, someone I've failed to realise is actually already here due to the silence still filling the room.

"Zak?" they ask cautiously at last, and I know, I know it's him. As soon as my heart starts racing, aching to meet the eyes of the person I love so dearly yet resisting to be sick at the very idea of it.

"Welcome back," I greet with a sigh, feeling nothing, nothing at all as I stare at the bloodied ceiling, only a small portion of the mess I've created.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, Darryl."

"Or should I call you Bad?"