Concordia: Dreamnoblade Oneshots and Songfics

Machine Gun

Techno doesn't exactly have a lot of free time. Between the Potato War and the never-ending climb to the top of the Bedwars leaderboards, all his breaks are used to further his own skills through harsh training. Even when the former had ended and when he had mostly resorted to casual matches for the latter, he still spent his time being productive one way or another. There was always something to learn, always some potential untapped and some skill to master. Most people don't understand, but they don't have to. What Techno does with his time is solely for himself, all his endeavors are all for his own satisfaction and sense of fulfillment.

Techno doesn't exactly have a lot of free time, and he certainly doesn't spend it watching his rival. But there are first times for everything, right?

Let's get a little bit dirty,

A little bit nasty,

A little bit gross

He doesn't even know what made him slip into the growing crowd around the large display screens in the Main Hub. On a regular day, he wouldn't ever be caught dead willingly going into an area with thousands of people all uncomfortably close around him, but then again he had already established that this wasn't exactly a regular day. Perhaps it had been curiosity, or just boredom. Perhaps it had been his growing sense of loneliness, or the sheer monotony of his routine inevitably getting to him. Either way, he found himself staring up like everyone else and watching Dream on the live feedback of his new manhunt.

Come on, it's never too early,

I need the kick badly,

I'm ready to go

Techno is suddenly stricken with the notion that despite Dream being his so-called rival, he only really knows of him on the battlefield. He knows of Dream intimately, in the swings of his axe and the wall of his shield and the heels of his feet scraping against the ground of the arena as they exchange blow for blow in a close duel. He knows of Dream intimately, in the way his fingers tremble in anticipation before the first strike he always seems to take, in the way his movements speed up when backed up into a corner, in the way his confidence sizzles into impatience only to end up as his downfall. He knows of Dream intimately, of what his manner of fighting implies for his character, of the man behind the overarching elegant strikes of his blade, of his deeply rooted impulsiveness and intellect and fixations on his goals.

Can't help it, guess it's a habit,

Guess it's for fun,

It's just what I do

He knows of Dream, on the equal grounds they've been forced onto, on the flat lands of the arena where they can't place or break blocks and had been given armor and weapons and left to fight. He doesn't know of Dream in his element, in the environment of manhunts that he had so clearly mastered. He doesn't know of Dream's prowess in open terrain, in navigating far jumps and open chasms and tall treetops. He doesn't know of Dream's clever traps and exploits, of his countless methods of deception to lose the hunters so desperately trying to keep on his trail. He doesn't know of Dream with the zephyr running its hands through his golden hair, of Dream with the orange glow of lava illuminating his masked face as he dangles precariously over it, of Dream with the beads of sweat running down his skin as he scales obsidian obelisks to destroy volatile purple crystals that hold the ender dragon's life force.

Perhaps that's why he had decided to watch this time, though he would never admit that, not even to himself.

Come on now, don't you get nervous