Truth be told, Nightmare was sort of enjoying this new world. People were so defenseless, so scared, that he had no problem gathering negativity and replenishing his energy. He could probably summon half of his corrupt form, but only for emergencies. After all, it wouldn't do to for a hellish-looking skeleton to parade around a human town and cause mass panic. Oh, it would probably also initiate a war between Mafias.
For now, he sheltered in a remote coffee shop toeing the border of the Gaster Family, but still in the Red Hand's territory, according to the usual clients. Over a bloody fight over a month ago, the border which had been so troublesome to the Monster side, since it cut off their main supply routes and access to the main street, had been moved by a couple meters, unfortunately landing the otherwise cozy café in a bit of a tight spot. The Red Hand would do anything to get their lost land back, to once more block Gaster's Family from the 'city.'
It wasn't much of a city. It was more of an agglomeration of small shady businesses, dark alleyways placed in convenient locations for all Mafias, a downtrodden clinic and one or two tall, shiny buildings of the more fortunate who got to live within those well-kept brick walls. Those... fortunate people were usually minor politicians who, of course, belonged to local mafias who held downtown in their palm. This meant no outside help from glowing cities of glass and steel, no easy way to cross the borders of barbed wire or to gain better resources. Worst of all, they couldn't give a damn about the good-hearted citizens, preferring to clear the path for money.
Parks and jungle gyms were a no-go, unless you wished to contract some rare, fancy disease which the clinic could not cure you from or gaze at the ever-growing sea of trash and splintered wood. It was a miracle that it hadn't yet been taken down to make room for another crappy building. And, according to some drunk bastards on the street, the last proper mayor renovated the park decades ago.
But that was decades ago, when the once quiet town was developing into a bustling metropolis, when business was thriving and children were running amuck in the streets. Nowadays, even if the structures were somewhat sanitary, children were few and far between, and people mad enough to enjoy life in the hell hole, even further.
So, yeah, it wasn't much of a city, but what it lacked in habitability, it made up in deals. Money, to be more precise. Revenue and financial aid for big time Families, arms dealers, drug smugglers, animal and human trafficking, contract killing, the list goes on. This meaning, if you somehow managed to impress a mafia boss, there was a slim chance of being accepted into the Family and being awarded numerous advantages, both in lifestyle and in power.
Of course, that is if the mafia ranked high enough in the sector.
And Nightmare? He didn't like going small.
Plus, this may be his only chance to find Error- not that he'd admit it out loud.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The peace didn't last long.
Apparently Nightmare wasn't as sneaky as he had thought; a suspicious shadow was tailing him around every corner, no doubt tracing him for the kills committed in that dark alleyway a few hours ago.
And the place to hide was out in the open, on the stained and cracked sidewalks, the coffee shop no longer safe due to a thorough ransacking by a group of thugs wanting to get a quick buck or two. He was easily overlooked, hidden in the corner and all, and probably could've taken them out easily without his corrupted form, but he felt no obligation to help.
He was no hero. He was a villain, through and through, named so by the total of his Multiverse and himself. Heroes helped and saved others for the price of nothing, out of their own good will. And that ruled out Ink, who, by definition, couldn't feel, and therefore wouldn't have such a thing as 'good will.' Dream was trickier; even in their childhood, he could not read the guardian as well as other people. Nightmare couldn't tell whether Dream reveled in the praise or was repulsed by it, so, in his hate for the world, he took it as smug pleasure, and wreaked havoc on their people when his patience ran out.
Perhaps he sometimes wished he had taken a different route, or made Dream notice the pain he went through in their old universe. Maybe then he'd stay in his brother's shadow, not an antagonist, but not quite a recognized hero, either, though he'd never be satisfied with just that. He wanted to be as renowned as his brother, be it through murder or good Samaritan deeds.
He had chosen years ago, and was not about to change his decision.
And as a result of his selection, he would not back down from a challenge. No. He would welcome this stranger, so keen on his pursuit, he thought, sliding through a small gaggle of people going home from work.
Nightmare took one last turn into an abandoned alley, as the previous owners of the shops beside it were... absent, and waited.
A looming shadow glided and shifted across the worn brick wall, a silhouette of a cocked pistol brushing the tip of their fedora. Judging by the rounder skull shape and equally as circular body, it was the Sans of this universe.
Now, to kill or to capture?
He tapped a finger on the pant leg of his femur. In any other situation, he would've probably killed immediately, except if he wished pain on the captured or information, but this time, he needed the latter.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Skull, by any means, was not a rookie in the art of stealth and murder. No one in the family would've even been left alive if they weren't decent in the eyes of the boss, and no one would survive for long in this dingy part of the city if they didn't possess a modicum of combat knowledge. Point being, he was the cat and the other was the mouse. He was the strongest out of the Skele-family's henchmen, even if he liked to keep his true power locked up. Besides, his magic sapped his stamina quickly.
And since he was quite the naughty cat, he always played with his food during mealtimes, sometimes dangling them by the tip of his claw, or gouging a bloody stripe across their stomach, watching it cut it open like paper.
He flicked the safety off, and cocked the loaded pistol. Time to hunt.
He actually didn't know what to expect when it came to catching the killer. It was definitely a skeleton, but apart from him, the boss and his brother, there was no account for another monster belonging to their species. Most had been wiped out in the last War, when he served as the lowest rank in the family's hierarchy as the messenger boy, waiting for mom and pop to return from the battlefield, covered in blood, dust, sweat and other body fluids, but generally unharmed.
Usually, the type of Monster who killed that many others in one go was unhinged, but it could well be a small, budding Monster family who somehow managed to discover and recruit another living skeleton.
Skull rounded the corner a few moments after the mark knowingly or unknowingly cornered himself. Out of habit, he met the tip of his firearm to his pitch black fedora.
The assassin waited until his shadow dwarfed the skeleton, not reacting to the pitiful sight of skinny, pale bones and muddied clothing, so reminiscent of his childhood years.
The unknown had definitely been aware of his presence since a while ago, seeing as zero physical reactions manifested anywhere. Training? Very likely. If so, he might have a harder time than estimated. Anyway, this was his assigned job, and he might as well die by the hands of the boss if he failed to bring back a small portion of dust or a breathing prisoner.
"Heya."
Instantly, he pulled the trigger, barrel pointed to his SOUL with a bang. It should've been something close to an instant kill or a long, drawn-out death depending on the damaged area, but, instead, the 41 caliber bullet struck brick with a resounding crack.
Dodged. What the fuck. Who the hell was good enough to dodge a goddamn slug aimed straight for the chest?
No matter. If he couldn't execute the victim with one shot, a full-out battle it would be.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Nightmare grinned. This was amusing- clearly, the Sans had no clue of what he was capable of.
Literally dodging a bullet was an easy task for him.
Three more shots eluded swiftly, and he'd have to up the ante if he preferred not being grazed or shot point blank out of pure arrogance and confidence in his abilities.
There wasn't much fun in this battle; his corrupted form was still off-limits since this still didn't count as an emergency. Moreover, it was mainly him just side-stepping the numerous bullets and couldn't be bothered to send a counter-attack. Abruptly, his head shot up at the brisk footsteps thundering against the cold asphalt.
Damnit, the Sans was charging towards him, pistol reloaded and ready to blow his non-existent brains out. And knowing all Sanses pretty well, he probably had backup hidden someplace, to shoot him down, if need be.
Supposing that, in the next second or so, his assailant would fire another round, he promptly performed the ol' stop, drop and roll.
Bullets whizzed past his skull by bare millimeters, a slight sting of air cutting across the bone. As he ducked, spun and danced around, he could feel his sixth sense warning him of an incoming shot from far away. He should end this soon, before his control over his bloodthirst slipped and unleashed a fatal attack, to therefore lose one source of information.
Executing a perfect barrel roll, Nightmare immediately jumped back on his feet, and closed the remaining meter in two steps, feeling the familiar cool substance coat his bones and feed him the strength he oh-so longed for the moment he was deprived of it.
"Move, and this guy here fucking dies," he growled.
The temptation was too much to bear. Evidently, he could've concluded this palpitating battle without the use of his dear corrupted form, but what's life without a little bit of fun?
One tentacle wound itself around the skeleton's neck, another snaking around the dominant hand and cutting off access to his polished, fine pistol.
"I'll take that."
Nightmare snatched the gun from the hand. A chillingly blank expression looked down on Sans, sending shivers down his spine. He moved his arm a little to the right, leaving the Papyrus staring straight down the pistol's barrel from his scope. He tensed. This would count as a mission failed if they couldn't turn the tables and capture the threat, and then, if he didn't kill them first, the boss would rip them to shreds with his bare hands.
Nightmare tapped the tip of the gun to the center of the fancy white dress shirt and loosened his grip on the other's throat just slightly. Time to extract information.
"First thing's first. Who are you?" he asked.
"W-what the h-hell makes ya think I'd t-tell ya any-"
His air supply suddenly cut off once more, leaving him silently gasping and trying to claw at the appendage squeezing around the vertebrae like a boa constrictor. This wonderful sequence of events eerily resembled the... situation with Ink a while ago.
"Tell. Me. Or do you want me to shoot both of you bastards?"
He stayed silent.
Nightmare smirked. This was going to be fun.
Bang.
A muffled scream failed to reach the passersby, drowned by the agitated sounds of rush hour.
---------------------------------
AHHHHHHHHHH ONE SEC------ Cake in the oven
DVHJJH oki uwu
9 minutes left :DD
Till what? :DDDDD
Til done :DDDDDDDD
Pog! \\\\\\\\\\\\\\:DDDDDDDDDDDDDD/////////////////
POGGGGGGGGGGGGGG :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
POGB !! :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
Oh dear XD
Uwu I guess we have another authors note now- XD
Yep XD btw, what color are your letters/suggestions on your screen?
On my screen, I'm green and you're pink but it's probably the opposite for you .p.
Ye .w.
uwu
THE CAKE IS DONEEEEEEEEEEEEE
POOOOGGG!! \\\:DDDD////
YEEEEEEEEEEEET
cake pog uwu
Uwu indeed
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Memento mori.
(November 13, 2020)
Minor edits 24/11/2020