The King Of Las Nevada's And His Prince (Quackbur)

°•° Convicted °•°

Smoke billowed heavily into the thick and fog capitated air, a heavy grey aura blowing with the wind as Wilbur coughed through shuddered breaths, his sword gripped firmly in his scarred hands. A familiar and dark figure emerged from the shadows. He had raven coloured hair that was settled down nicely with a black beanie, a dark brown eye and the other painted a ghostly white that pierced unknowingly into his skull, and a large scar of damaged tissue cut from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth, and when he smirked cruelly, his lips barely covered the glint of a set of clean gold teeth.

The mystifying man also held a sword in his hands, but his grip didn't waver like Wilbur's, and his stature certainly was more firm; a posture that held confidence and power. Wilbur blew a stray strand of hair from his eyes, the large cracked frames of his glasses dismounted his eyesight into three different sections. Wilbur scoffed.

"You wouldn't want to do this," Wilbur started. The cruel look in the other man's eyes didn't falter, instead, it seemed to grow stronger.

"Good to see you too, Soot," he replied. His tone was dark and disheveled. It reminded Wilbur of their last fight. The fight of blood and broken bones. The other man smirked. "And oh, but I do want to do this. You'd make a great meal."

"I'm nothing but a little flesh and chequered bones," Wilbur said, and carefully took a step back. "I wouldn't taste any different to a chick, Quackity."

Quackity chuckled darkly, the sound deep and rough. "Oh, but you should be prepared properly. You and your beautiful nation served on a silver platter and all."

That made Wilbur growl and draw his sword, pointing the tip of the blade directly at Quackity's throat when the other man took a daring step forward. "Take another step and I'll slit your throat."

"Alright, alright." Quackity raised his hand, the palm faced outwards. He still held the sword in his other hand. "You know your threats are nothing to me."

"I've got the TNT spread across Las Nevada's. I'm not afraid of you." Wilbur reached into his pocket and produced his flint and steel, the silver glint catching the foreign light. "Don't test me."

Quackity snickered. "Who says I haven't already lit my batch?"

Wilbur approached until his nose was almost touching Quackity's. Wilbur could feel Quackity's breath ghost over his lips as he glared into Quackity's heartless eyes, a game Wilbur needed to win. "You would have to kill me before you blow my nation into smithereens," he snarled, and Quackity chuckled again, sighing mercilessly. His breath tickled Wilbur's lips.

"Then so be it.”

***

That memory quickly became a blur, being locked in a cold and dimly lit cell in a stone dungeon for the past few weeks had that effect on Wilbur. His muscles ached from the lack of movement and his head hurt from staring into the dark for so long. There were no windows, only a toilet that barely flushed, a sink, and a bed that smelt of parasites and rarely washed bed sheets. It smelt horrible and Wilbur was sure that he looked horrible, too. He sat on the floor, knees held up to his chest as he stared down at the wall, mindlessly scraping a rock he had found against the stone ground with bounded wrists, shivering. He wished he had won and saved his nation. He wished he had protected his people. And he wished he hadn't been locked up in this cage... He hoped that Tommy and that Tubbo kid had made it out of there alive.

The thought of his brother and his brother's friend as corpse's rotting into the soil and soon dissipating into nothing but bones on the land he had once been able to call his own had his stomach churn. He threw his scraped and bloody hand over his mouth. No Wilbur, he thought to himself, they made it out alive, pull yourself together, you're a prince, not a wimp. The thought and horrid images still buried itself in the back of his head, discarded for now, but he knew they would return later in his nightmares with much more rigour and violence. He couldn't bear to think of that right now. He wanted to wash his face to get rid of those filthy thoughts, but when he turned the tap, nothing but a droplet of water dropped from the faucet. He sighed and sat back down.