(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing, blood, and violence.)
The battle in Snowdin raged on, causing copious amounts of damage to the environment. Slash marks from Horror's deathly sharp axe tore through the ground, buildings, and trees. Burnt, damp earth sat where (narrowly dodged) blaster beams scorched the land, releasing an abrasive scent; its two components being ash and ozone. Spear-tipped, blue and white bone attacks protruded from the surrounding surfaces. Some had the barest hint of red on their sharp tips. As time progressed, Nightmare and his followers grew more and more frustrated, attacking frequently and somewhat desperately. Dream wasn't fairing too well either. The Guardian of Positivity lightly panted, exhaustion growing with the frustration his foes' held. A yellow flush colored his skull, and his movements were becoming slower and slower. His once spotless armor now had deep gashes with blood-like marrow seeping forth; the only pristine spot being the area that covered his belly.
A pointy tendril stabbed at Dream's side, missing by a millimeter as its target stepped out of the way of yet another knife slash. He warily eyed the snarl on Nightmare's skull while attempting to keep an eye on his other three assailants at the same time. Horror stood a foot to his back right, axe raising for another swing. Dust, on the other hand, positioned himself at a nearby building (Grillby's) and lit his left eyelight ablaze with purple magic. Bones burst around Dream's feet, likely an effort to keep him still while Horror attacks. The flushed skeleton leapt forward, narrowly clearing the obstacle, and turned to counter the axe with his sword. The distinct sound of leather ripping echoed through the air, followed by a stinging pain emanated from behind. Dream hissed in discomfort. However, his hands did not falter as he blocked Horror's blow.
Sparing the opposite direction a glance, he saw none other than Killer standing behind him. A smug grin laid on the sneaky skeleton's jaws, and blood dripped from his blade. Dream shuddered at the malice inside his empty eye sockets.
Damn it! When did they get so good? I can hardly keep up. Perhaps it's time I consider withdrawing- make a distraction and getting the hell out of here. Nightmare has made his point more than clear. He doesn't want to talk or listen, and I can't make him.
A bitter part of the guardian's mind added, This wouldn't be a problem if I had Ink with me.
A frown marred his face. Loathing boiled at the fact his subconscious seemed determined to bring up their failing marriage. Dream hastily began to shoo the thoughts away, becoming distracted enough to take a punch directly to the jaw. The sword, luckily, stayed in hand as the force knocked him over. He groaned, landing on a barren patch. His nasal cavity wrinkled as a dreadful scent assaulted it. The stench of ozone alone was enough to make Dream's stomach turn, but together with that horrid ashy, burnt smell (and being so close to the source), he nearly vomited. Choking back a gag, he quickly pushed himself off the ground and jumped away. A second later, twenty bones shot out of the earth; likely would have impaled him if he hadn't reacted so swiftly. Dream wheezed, silently cursing his weakened body.
Thereafter, the next wave in the assault commenced without giving a moment to rest. Ten-foot tall bones launch out of the ground. They stood in a row on the guardian's left and right, creating a clear path between him and Nightmare. Dream briefly pondered whether or not the trio planned on herding him towards Nightmare. Unfortunately, he soon reached a conclusion, as the Guardian of Negativity barreled down the path with all eight tendrils readied for battle. His soul clenched- heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and bones slightly rattling. Yellow, pinprick eyelights frantically searched for an escape. His magic reserves were dangerously low. Teleportation would be very risky and foolish in this state. It seemed fleeing wasn't an option either. Dust, Killer, and Horror blocked the path behind him. Each wore a manic grin. Glee and anticipation radiated off of them; further prodding proved they were excited that this game of cat and mouse would be ending soon. And in their favor.
Dream considered what few options he had: Surrendering (As if that would do any good; His four attackers sought dust), holding his ground, forcing his way past the deadly trio, and facing his opposite head-on. None were exactly favorable. Or liable to provide a semi-decent outcome. For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of calling his supposed husband. Despite everything (the failed summonings and ignored phone calls), the pregnant skeleton kept a little vial of ink in his inventory for emergencies. It was tempting. He could easily pull the vessel out and smash it on the ground to summon the artist. Yet Dream doubted Ink would answer the summons. Too many had failed in the past for him to trust the other to come to his aid. Meaning, he needed to somehow weasel out of this mess by himself.
Nightmare was right about one thing, Dream thought while glancing down at his belly, my foolishness my very well be the end of you, my dear Palette.
However, my own shortcomings will not end you today!
The Guardian of Positivity quelled his rattling and replaced any fear in his expression with a determined gaze and grim frown, defensively raising the falchion he held. His tendril-wielding counterpart sprang forth, slash and hacking with the biological weapons. Dream evaded each attack while using his sword to block any unavoidable ones. As a mucky appendage struck against metal, another swung in front of him, forcing him to take a step back. The motion repeated again and again until Dream realized he was being driven directly to the other three evil skeletons. Dust, Killer, and Horror had prepared their magic and material weapons, waiting for the opportune time to attack all at once. They looked ready to pounce at any given instant. So, instead of allowing the next slash to push him back further, he whirled the falchion to the side he knew Nightmare's next attack would aim for.
The blade's edge sliced clean through the approaching tendril. Black, viscous goo spurt from the flailing limb as its severed tip landed on the ground, limp and useless. Stray splatters hit Dream's armor, causing him to grimace. Meanwhile, his opponent released a howl of rage and agony, staring wide-eyed at the amputated body part. Their onlookers appeared shocked by the sudden injury. The guardian couldn't blame them. Never before had he inflicted such a grievous wound on Nightmare. Not even when the other was doing his damnedest to kill Dream and his fellow guardians- Unfortunately, for the dark king, times change. Dream found something he refused to lose; something to protect and fight for. If his 'brother' wanted a real fight, then he would get one.
No more holding back.