The Tale | Dream SMP

I - Chapter Twenty-Five

Tommy coughed and waved a hand in front of his face, trying to get the smoke out of his face, but it was pretty much useless. He had inhaled so much already that he wouldn't be surprised if he collapsed on the spot.

All the smoke... it was coming from around them. The trees were burning. All of them, a fiery ring around L'Manberg, were sending up toxic vapor up into the air and towards them, pressing forward, trying to wiggle its way into their insides.

If this was the way that he was going to die, he would be very, very ticked off.

"Those--- those---" Wilbur spluttered, choking as well. "Dream! I will come for you, you hear me? I will---"

He doubled over in another coughing fit, his body shaking as it tried to expel the toxic fumes he had inhaled. The air around them was dark, filled with smoke. Tommy's eyes burned. His throat itched. Everything was horrible.

Those three words seemed to sum up his current existence pretty well.

Tubbo stumbled over to him, his eyes screwed shut and his arms held out before him in a desperate attempt to navigate his surroundings blind. "T-Tommy?"

Tommy grabbed his wrists and pulled his friend towards him and Wilbur. "I'm here, and so is Wilbur. Where is everyone else?"

"Niki... in her bakery," Wilbur managed to get out. "Jack is---"

He was cut off abruptly by a sword speeding towards his face, which he just barely managed to avoid. Tommy pulled Tubbo out of the way as a second sword swiped at them. "Attacked!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from the amount of coughing he had been doing. "R-run!"

They sprinted towards the exit of L'Manberg, trying not to breathe too deeply. Because of the fog, they couldn't even see their attackers. It was like a vicious game of cat and mouse, and they were going to lose.

A blade cut into his thigh. Tommy yelped and instinctively pulled away from the direction of the attack, accidentally pushing Tubbo forward. The boy stumbled backwards and was immediately enveloped by the misty veil of smoke. "No!" Tommy choked out, lunging forward to grab him. His hands passed through the fog, only to be met by a sharp stab of pain.

Tommy pulled his hands back and stared down at them in shock, his eyes wide. Blood dripped down from the twin lines across his palms, a stinging sensation tingling his fingertips. He could feel the pain, but he couldn't comprehend it. Where had the blade come from?

He looked up as a figure stepped out of the white shadows. His face was hidden behind a black gas mask that sheltered his face and eyes from the smoke. A long jacket covered his body, falling all the way to his knees. In one hand, he held the sword that had cut Tommy's hands. His other hand gripped the back of Tubbo's shirt tightly.

Despite the amount of obstruction over the man's face, Tommy recognized him instantly. The brown hair, the white glasses perched on top of his head, the pale skin of his exposed hands and neck. It was George.

"Let him go," Tommy scowled.

George laughed mirthlessly, his voice sounding weird from behind the mask. "How about no?"

Tubbo struggled against the man's grip, but to no avail. It made Tommy feel sick to watch, to see his friend so helpless. He hated not being able to do anything.

"George, please," Wilbur said, stumbling over to him. "Tubbo is just a kid. You don't have to do this."

The man stared at Wilbur. His smoke mask was unnerving, almost as much as Dream's smiley one. It looked like an insect. Not only that, but in a strange way, it reminded him of the plague doctor masks of old. The last thing people saw before they died. Just like what was happening to him now.