barbarism (dreamnoblade)

chapter one ig.

Okay so before this starts keep in mind that this book will reference to blood, torture, cults, noncon, manipulation- so if any of this is too much don't read. I WILL PUT WARNING WHEN THE NONCON REFERENCES HAPPEN!
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Footsteps bounce off the walls in silent echoes, short and sharp pants of a small child desperately staying as quiet as possible rings down the hallways. They dive behind another corner and collapse onto their knees, hands clasped around their mouth to muffle their heavy breathing.

Down the hallway loud running thunders throughout the building, loud noises screeching out until the child has to bury their head into their knees to drown it out. Their chest rose and fell violently as shivers of fear rush deep inside their body in the form of adrenaline, trying to force the kid to start running again.

The footsteps briefly pause, soft murmurs ring out against blocked ears.

Please help me God please! Someone, anyone!

The pinkette prays inside their mind as they tighten further into a trembling ball. They felt like they were going to explode from all the swirling emotions building up inside. He could feel the fright along his brain, in his veins, under his skin.

He begins to scratch frantically at his flesh in an attempt to scrape away all the emotions.

Please!

The footsteps got louder and louder, the murmurs close in. The voices hum at the back of his head and creep outward, he shakes his head but they won't go away. The fog thickens and his head fills with cotton.

Suddenly a hand lands on his shoulder and he jerks himself away, only to see black and white surrounding him. Red pours down pale hands, bones rattle on chains. Then all the noises dissolve.

|||Technoblade POV|||

His hands rake through the soft soil attempting to pluck out any lone roots that had remained after his harvest. He normally waited until after the rain had passed so the soil would be perfect for replanting his potatoes, it was these days of idle farming that had helped him feel a sense of tranquillity in his life.

Groaning he leans up from his crouching position and wipes his brow with his bare arm, white sleeves drew back like curtains to reveal a vast array of scars and other various battle wounds littering his skin. Technoblade had grown used to seeing them every day since the sun shone heavily in his part of the farmlands beyond the cities and kingdoms.

Sometimes the scars were harrowing to see, jagged pale marks crudely etched into his flesh, like chinks in a blade. The memories they brought upon him were not pleasant ones. They were memories that stuck to the back of his mind like droplets on a cobweb, woven deep into his conscious.

Technoblade glances up at the sky to locate the sun, breathing in the musky smell of damp dirt and water. The forest ahead of him was silently calling to him, it hummed a tune of little critters and dancing trees, but he couldn't let himself get distracted now.

He could sense something was amiss. He wasn't sure what it was or why he felt that way, it was a tingle of trepidation that kept him on his guard every day. It kept his axe glued to his waist morning and night, and his bow dangling from his back. Technoblade knew that his battles would never end, but he had seized control over his life and that was what mattered to him most: self-control.

Throwing a sack of potatoes over his shoulder, he leaves the fields to store the food for later use. Gazing absentmindedly to his left, back in the direction of the forest he scans the treeline for any suspicious activity. Although it was empty as usual the feeling remains a thorn in his side.