Killer was a valuable asset. He was quick and violent. Swift and dangerous. Emotional and unpredictable.
To some, that statement may seem to be an oxymoron. Killer certainly would not be an asset to most anyone. Unstable was not remotely synonymous with useful.
However, Nightmare was the God of Negativity. He did not need or want a predictable or dependable person. Predictability suggested content, and content was a positive emotion. He was allergic to positive emotions. Dependability wasn't necessarily bad, though it was rather dull, mundane. He could depend on Killer to do Killer things and behave like Killer, and that was enough.
Nightmare appreciated Killer's violence and unpredictability. Nightmare appreciated his moodswings, and the way he was almost always doused in one negative emotion or another. Killer was a constant source of food.
And if that were not enough, as soon as the Guardian of Negativity had put Killer in his place (albiet violently), he had received nothing but blind loyalty from the volatile skeleton. Killer seemed to take some sort of sick joy in being helpless, in being owned by Nightmare and in serving. Of course, that didn't mean that he always followed orders- he was rather bad at that. Nevertheless, he would choose Nightmare over himself at every opportunity, not doing what he was told, but rather doing what he thought Nightmare really wanted.
Nightmare would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.
As much as Nightmare enjoyed tolerating Killer's presence, there were times that he became... too much to bear.
"I see." Nightmare said flatly for what felt like the thousandth time. And it might have been.
Killer had been talking almost constantly for so long that he had had to leave for food and water six times already to prevent himself from toppling with starvation. He talked about anything and everything, from how Nightmare's castle needed something other than grey (maybe some curtains? Everyone likes curtains) to his favorite ways to slice everything (literally everything, why would you want to slice a guitar the knife wouldn't even go through smoothly what is wrong with you Killer).
The conversation (more of a monologue really) had shifted towards the rather inappropriate things he wanted to do to Nightmare. He touched the subject cautiously at first, but when it garnered no reaction, he delved into it further. His descriptions became detailed and downright humiliating, until he reached the point where he wasn't even listing off wants, but rather just trying to get Nightmare to say anything besides 'interesting' and 'how quaint'.
"Lovely." Please. He was the King of Negativity. Killer confessing to being a furry would only give him blackmail material. And at least he had stopped talking about Nightmare's decor.
A negative feeling spiked in Killer. Nightmare tasted it. Frustration, disappointment, irritation. The frustration had been building over the course for the conversation, but for the rest of it he had simply been ridiculously happy to be allowed to rant for as long as he had. The touch of negativity had soothed the stomache ache Nightmare had developed over the last hour.
A flurry of inspiration. Killer shifted gears, a sort of hopeful smugness poofing into the air. "Dream on the other hand," A flicker of satisfaction. The mention of Dream had caught Nightmare's attention, and he knew it. His hand cycled in a dismissive pattern as he talked. "I bet he cries when he cums."
Nightmare didn't answer, beyond his slight stiffness turning into a complete stiffness, and his thin line of a mouth tightening ever so slightly. Something swelled in Killer, a positive reaction that Nightmare didn't bother to try to identify.
"He's easy, I can tell just by lookin' at him. I bet he melts if you say anything nice to him. He blushes gold right?" Nightmare didn't answer and Killer didn't wait for him to. "Bet he turns into a soft little puddle if you as much as touch him. I'd like to ram myself into him until he's crying from the pain as well as pleasure. Bet he's so easy he'd cum over and over again before I'd even get off from it." He paused, watching his boss's expression in an excited and hopeful sort of way, a sort of superior giddiness bubbling inside him.
Killer collided with the wall, several feet above the ground, pinned in place by the black tentacles that potruded from Nightmare's back.
Nightmare's aura clouded the room. The slime that soaked through Killer's clothing was cold and clammy. Unfamiliar.
"Aw, c'mon. The thing that gets you is boning your bro-" The tentacle jerked upward, cutting off his invisible airway. Drips of black flung themselves out of Killer's sockets as he coughed on the little air he had left.
The cyan eyelight was bright, highlighted and emphasized by the goopy blackness that consumed the God of Negativity. Its shine traced gently over the slime, almost giving it the illusion of glowing. Nightmare's furious expression was creased and darkened by the light. "Will you ever learn to shut up?" He ignored the arousal that crashed through Killer in favor of focusing on the more negative emotions: shock, mortal terror and the 'oh shit I'm in for it now' feeling.
Nightmare went quiet for a moment, sucking the emotions into his being and savoring them, socket flicking shut.
Killer had went uncharacteristically silent, squirming mutely beneath the tentacles, distress spilling out of his eyes and absorbing into Nightmare's slime.
The panic spiked, consuming and blotting out all other emotions. Fear poured and sloshed through Killer's being, drowning his mind. Nothing was coherent besides it. Killer's phalange tips clawed frantically at the slime, eventually just gripping with a silent desperation.
It was far better than before.
The emotions distorted, turning hazy and beginning to fade. Killer's body went limp, arms falling to his sides, now only held up by the throat.
Nightmare looked over Killer's prone form critically.
Right. Skeletons need to breathe.
The tentacle at his throat pulled back, and Killer started twitching and gasping, eyes flicking back open. Life flooded back into him, blended with the oh so delicious fear with a touch of relief. Alongside it, a positive emotion rolled in.
It was a complicated emotion. Something superior but humble. Power bottom energy, perhaps. It was a sort of knowing feeling. It flooded through Killer, almost stifling the other emotions.
Killer knew Nightmare wouldn't kill him.
Trust. Fresh nausea was collecting at the bottom of where his stomach would be. Nausea and horror. It was trust.
Nightmare looked up and watched Killer's writhing form, filled to the brim with love, LOVE and loyalty.
He would have to fix that.
Perhaps a lesson of a sort was in order.
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.
ppfff, I'm not projecting! What're you talking about???
Drop a comment if you enjoyed, criticism is welcomed and roast me if you see a typo!