Summary: Dust ponders why he chose to follow such a technologically inept king.
When a particular hoodie-clad skeleton wrapped a hand around the door handle to his new residence, the last thing he expected to hear was an enraged bellow echoing out the living room. "Fear me, you worthless swine! I have the power to make your worst- Don't you dare turn away from me!"
Hesitantly, Dust pushed open the door to the shadowy, foreboding mansion. His feet stuttered a bit before slowly bringing him inside. A dark skull animated by the viscous substance dripping down it swiveled to face him, piercing his being with a single cyan eyelight.
"Dust! The people enslaved in the magic box you stole refuse to obey me. Why?" Nightmare huffed, demandingly.
The murderous Sans rose a brow, questioning, "Wha- Are you talking about the show on the TV?"
The angered Guardian of Negativity snarled and jabbed a bony finger in the direction of the so-called 'magic box.' "No. I am talking about the magic box you used to capture these worthless cretins who can't listen to a king that is right in front of them!"
Dust couldn't stop a small laugh from forcing its way past his jaws. "Nightmare... Really?"
"Yes, I am quite serious." A scowl worked its way onto the dark skeleton's face. Black, oozing tendrils lashed behind his back, some coiling as if ready to strike for the impertinent tone. One of the eight appendages snaked around Dust's waist and pulled him face-to-face with Nightmare. He gave a manic grin and spoke in a voice drenched in malice, "You should know by now I am not one for shenanigans or tomfoolery. Now, reveal to me the secrets of your black magic!"
A mental sigh brushed through Dust's mind, only added to by the internal words: This is weird. And dangerous.
Still better than all those resets, though.