Nightmare is pissed. It isn't anything new, really. He was usually angry, and always unhappy. The guy should really try to smile more, even if he wasn't very good at it. Well, unless if smiles were supposed to set your hair on end, and make you feel like a piece of meat. Killer honestly didn't mind that look.
Normally Killer appreciated Nightmare's bountiful wrath, even when directed at him. Normally he'd be revelling in being dragged down the halls by his neck, Nightmare's dark tentacle occasionally forgetting to let him breathe until his vision starts to go black and the sharp and painful ting of fear pinches at his soul. Normally he'd be grinning like a maniac. Normally he'd be getting a power rush out being able to actually get Nightmare to lose his temper. Calm, collected, icy and detached. But not anymore.
Normally, he wouldn't be afraid.
Well. There was a first time for everything.
He heard something heavy shift against the ground, the sound of stone grinding against stone. Killer tried to tilt himself up to see what was happening, only for twist of the tentacle to force him to look down, pain exploding across his cervical. He obediently slumped against the pain, trying to blot out the panic unfurling in his ribcage. Nightmare wasn't going to kill him. It would be a pain to train someone else to fight for him. Even harder to find someone as loyal. Nightmare wouldn't kill him. He wouldn't.
The ground disappeared from under him. The pressure on his neck tightened, and darkness pooled over his vision. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.
He wasn't going to let go. He wasn't going to let go.
Time slowed to an almost stop.
Killer was falling. He was floating. Everything hurt. Nothing hurt. Wind or air or something wooshed past him, his limbs flailed and kicked at nothing. His sockets squinted open, and all they saw was grey and darkness.
Cold air shocked him into focus, rushing past and through his bones. The tentacle unwound itself from Killer's neck. His ribcage pressed against his hoodie as it expanded outward trying to fit more and more air, afraid it might not have the chance later. His limbs flailed as they tried to figure out if he was flying or falling. Killer's shoulder collided with something hard, a cracking noise spliting his nonexistent eardrum. He fell, body skidding down what seemed to be a wall. His coccyx collided with the ground, shooting pain though his spine. For a few seconds he laid there, immobile, slumped against the wall, sockets bleary with pain. His phalanges scribbled at the ground, mind spinning as he tried to get a grip on something, anything, to stabilize himself. Eventually, his breathing slowed, panicked bright eyelights settling and fading out.
There was still light. It pinched at his face and worsened the headache he had just now noticed. Killer lifted his head, discs squeaking in protest, and met Nightmare's gaze which had settled into a blank mask.
Nightmare appeared calmer now, his posture straight but not stiff, tentacles splayed out in a way that demanded authority, twisted tendrils blocking out sections of the light in a way that was almost comforting. His form was silhouetted by the pale moonlike light that poured into the windowless room. His single cyan eyelight flickered and then glowed, lighting up his face, silhouetting his empty expression.
The fear had faded mostly, but Killer sparked. He thought of what had just occurred, focusing on his confusion and a the faint feeling of helplessness. He reminded himself of how easily Nightmare had forced him to yield to him when they first met, when he had assumed the slime monster would be easy LV. Killer wondered if Nightmare remembered, no one held a grudge quite like the God of Negativity.
Killer let the negativity consume him. His bones rattled, scraping against each other painfully. He tensed his skeleton to keep his gaze locked with Nightmare's, ignoring the way his body shrieked in protest. The fresh negativity was a sacrifice. A gift to plead for atonement. A bribe, even. "Boss, I..." He couldn't think what to say. It hurt to talk, the words scratching against his hyoid.
A small smile curled at the corner of Nightmare's mouth, his eyelight relaxing into a small dot. Killer knew his offering had been accepted.
The door closed with a sharp clink, and Killer was plunged into darkness. In response, Killer's soul lit up, tracing the tiny walls with soft red light.
He was alone.
He grinned at the door, sharp and careful and bright and angry and hot and cold. Nightmare'd be back. He was just trying to scare him. He'd be back.
He just had to be patient. Calm down. Relax.
Everything hurt. Everything ached and everything burned. He was pretty sure his shoulder was broken.
He'd felt worse. He'd felt so much worse before. He could handle this. He'd prove himself to Nightmare. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't.
Killer's magic crackled, a faint red glow from inside him lighting up his marrow, shining through the cracks in his bones. He shuddered as they slowly began to meld back together. It drew from his energy source, and tugged at his soul as it stitched him back together.
He was fine. He was perfectly fine. He liked the dark. And besides his soul let off enough light to make creepy shadows. He loved creepy shadows.
He didn't mind being alone here. He liked being alone. If he wanted to be around people he would've tried to save his world.
He wanted to be alone.
Killer's fists collided with the door.
When had he stood? How did he find the energy?
He couldn't remember.
Someone screamed. It was him. He was alone.
Scream. Scream. Scream. Scream and shout. Was he hungry? Was he thirsty?
Roar. Scream. Shriek. Wail. He imagined Nightmare laughing. He hoped his suffering pleased him. He knew it did.
Cry. Shudder. Whimper. His hyoid bone still hurt, the pain sliding down his collarbone and climbing up his jaw.
Pain. Shake. Fall onto the door.
If the door was unlocked, he never would've noticed. It probably was. Nightmare knew he wouldn't leave.
He wouldn't even try the door.
Sob. Shake. Knees on the floor. He couldn't breathe again.
Pain. His shoulder didn't hurt. Hot oil dripped down his face, pooling in his sockets, splattering down his neck and clinging at his ribcage. Frost worked its way between his bones, into the divots of his spine and collected at the back of his neck.
The stone tore at the sides of his hands, as scraped his fists down the door again and again, wincing and whimpering.
If there were anyone else there, he would've got his shit together. Calmed himself down. The only one nearby was Nightmare.
There was no point in hiding his emotions from Nightmare.
And he didn't want to either.