A/N: A requested story pulled from my book "Collection of Oddities," so all the chapters will be easier for others to locate.
Footsteps beat against the ground- a lighter pair pursued by a set of three heavier ones. Local scenery flew by in the blink of an eye. Veil after veil of snowflakes danced along the howling winds, creating a blinding white haze. Snow-coated pine trees and shrubbery blurred from the sheer speed of the running monster: A slivery-boned skeleton, whose chasers were relentless. A viscous black ooze desperately clung to his being, caught in a perpetual cycle of dripping off his bones only to clasp back on; Two limp tendrils made from the substance trailed behind him. If one gazed upon the monster's face, they would see an odd cross between fright and a hateful scowl.
Nightmare, the Guardian of Negativity, was the fleeing skeleton. A great fury only comparable to the one that plagued him in Dreamtale raged within his being. It burned in his soul and chest, festering like a planet-devouring sun hellbent on consuming the Earth with flame. Thought, despite the rise in internal negativity, he could not bring forth more power or repair his dark armor. How did this come to be? Dream, his self-proclaimed 'brother,' enlisted Sci to help 'fix' him. Meaning, the godforsaken scientist used the opportunity to create a device that would forcibly revert Nightmare to his uncorrupt form. The form of a weak, helpless child. It worked. Partially. Nightmare's true appearance was revealed for all to see. (What he would give to go back and slap that pleased smile off Dream's face.) However, the black ooze refused to recede entirely. (The crestfallen expression the other wore nearly made up for his damned positivity.) It was a part of him; Dream was a fool for thinking otherwise, and forcibly attempting to separate him from himself.
If only my negativity wasn't so useless right now! Nightmare growled at the thought. He hated it, feeling so defenseless and easy to kill. It drew out the old insecurities and fears buried beneath a layer of negativity.
I swear if I ever get my hands on Sci - or Red, he'd be a good bargaining chip - I will show them a force more frightful than negativity and death combined!
Of course, the forced shift in appearance and power was not the sole cause of his rage. Dream isolated him from his boys- Dust, Killer, Horror, and Cross. And, threw each of them into different AUs, which were notoriously dangerous and difficult to escape from unscathed. Apparently, in the guardian's twisted, delusional mind, they were a 'bad influence'; Demons sent by Satan himself to ensure Nightmare stayed on the path of evil. A ludicrous notion by all means. Killer could be intimidated by a pickle jar. Cross had a cow phobia. Dust feared any and every spider (Muffet's fight was quite traumatic in his AU). Horror cried whenever he saw a trash can because 'Nightmare, how can they be so heartless and throw away perfectly good food.' His boys- Despite being cold-blooded murderers and advocates of negativity, they had the mentality of a man-child. If anything, Nightmare was a 'bad influence' on them.
Suddenly liquid chains shot past the trees, knocking him roughly to the ground and pinning his body against the snowy surface. He squirmed and struggled. However, the black ink bindings merely tightened with each movement.
Funk!
Nightmare's pursuers' footfall grew ever closer; The sound nigh thunderous in his invisible ears. Frantic beating from his dark soul shook his rib cage. He could not allow the Star Trio to catch him. Given the circumstances, though, he may not have a choice. The chains tightened further with every additional thrash, squeezing around his body until the world began fading to black. As the world slowly dissipated, a hysterical voice sounded, "Ink, I told you to be gentle with him!"
"Wait, you did? Who are we chasing again? I forgot."
Two exasperated sighs followed, and then Nightmare heard no more as his consciousness got devoured by darkness.
Nightmare awoke gradually, and groggily with a sharp tingle nipping at certain spots on his bones. It burned as if someone tore a layer of bone off and poured lemon juice on the wound. A pained hiss escaped. At the noise, something - likely someone - next to him started; The mattress beside him shifted, and a tiny bit of the pain vanished. It took some effort, but he managed to force his eye sockets open. Bright neon and pastel shades invaded his vision. A sparkling eyesore of rainbow stretched across the ceiling, running down the connecting wall. This room- Either his boys decided to play a sick prank him, or this was not his regal dwelling. Nightmare squinted and mumbled, "Where?"
"Nighty!"
Dream! That means- "Ugh, I'm in hell." He groaned, wincing when moving a hand to his face.
"No, brother, you're in the Star Council's rehabilitation ward." The obnoxious, yellow-clad guardian sat next to the bedside; Positivity oozed off his being and brightened the disgustingly happy smile on his jaws. The hand closest to Nightmare held a blackened washcloth. A bucket of murky water was on the nightstand a foot to the left. As he stared, he noticed a chunk of corruption floating on the water's surface. Dream- that sick creep has been tearing off my magic! The slivery-boned skeleton was disgusted by the realization. That explained why bones stung in certain spots.
Shifting in the opposite direction, he growled, "Anywhere with you is hell. And, considering your friends are likely here, that must make this purgatory!"
Dream merely sighed and grabbed ahold of the nearest arm, pulling it closer. The wet, magic-tainted rag got threateningly close to a patch of negativity on the appendage before Nightmare snatched it back. Clutching the arm against his chest, he hissed, "Knock it off! The hell do you think you are doing?!"
"Just cleaning up the last of the corruption."
"Well, don't- If I were a mortal animal, you would be skinning me alive!"
Dream rolled his eyelights and waved a hand dismissively. "You're exaggerating."
The skeleton foolishly attempted to wipe away the gunk once more.
"Continue down this path, and I will find a way to transform you into a human solely to tear every strip of flesh off you." Nightmare threatened, enjoying the slight paling of the guardian's face.
Dream departed at six O'clock in the afternoon- but not before trying to battle Nightmare's goop with that godforsaken washcloth, giving up when Nightmare violently snatched it and shoved it in his mouth. The sheer revulsion on Dream's face was a delight. And watching the other attempt to wipe the viscous substance off his tongue was even better. However, that was two hours ago; Those hours felt like an eternity. This childish, colorful hellscape held nothing to amuse the King of Darkness. The sinfully babyish bookcase displayed infantile book (bedtime stories, coloring books, and the like), without a single decent read among them. It was absurd. A waste of space and a disgrace to literacy.
That, though, wasn't even the worst part: Stuff animals- plush creatures of all shapes, sizes, species, and colors surrounded him, watching with their beady black eyes. Nightmare would not admit it to anyone, not even his boys, but dead yet lifelike toys creeped him out. They looked like they would drag him into a rainbow and never allow him to leave. A shudder slid down his spine. Torture, this must be a new form of torture. How could anyone - except for the insane - choose to live like this. He glanced at yet another staring plush before fully turning away.
Next chance I get, I should find a sharp object and chop their heads off. Leave them for the Stars to find.
Nightmare's evil plotting was interrupted by a click from the door handle. The gateway leading beyond his neon-pastel prison pushed open, revealing none other than Blue.
Nightmare glared and hissed, "What do you want?"
"Mweh-he-he, the magnificent Blue has come to read you a bedtime story of friendship!" The blue-clad skeleton grinned and produced a 'Fluffy Bunny' book from his inventory. Added more subtly after was, "Dream would do it in my stead, but he is still trying to wash the corruption out of his mouth."
Oh, heck no, you are not doing that to me!
That damned children's book would not be read to him, Nightmare, the Lord of Darkness. His situation was demeaning enough already. But how to escape the torture? Glancing around the colorful hellscape, he found his eyes drawn to an unopened box of crayons. A devilish grin crossed Nightmare's skull as an idea came to mind.
"Hey, Blue, how about I read you a story?"
"And then Fluffy Bunny died. The End!" He concluded, using the red crayon to draw 'X's over the cartoon rabbit's eyes and add gruesome details. Blue, who was tied to a wooden chair with a rainbow jump rope, sobbed silently. Big blue tears dripped from his unlit eye sockets. Nightmare made sure to lean closer so the other could get a good look at the picture's gory additions. The negativity received in return was delectable. Please with his work, he tossed the book on the floor and freed Blue from his bindings. The potentially traumatized skeleton immediately bolted, dashing across the room and throwing the door open before slamming it shut and locking it. Soon heartbreaking wails sounded on the other side. His grin's corners quirked up a fraction further. If they were going to make him miserable, then he'd return the favor tenfold. Nightmare wandered over to his bed and laid down, relishing the negativity in the atmosphere.
I guess children's stories can be fun.
"Nightmare, what did you do?!" Dream's scolding voice echoed from the adjacent room.
Heh. Still worth it.
Nightmare stirred in the middle of the night. He tossed and turned in the overly fluffy bed, unable to get comfortable; Plagued by the overwhelming feeling that something was watching him. His eye sockets cracked open and- "Gah!"
The Dark Lord threw out a hand, knocking away a beady-eyed stuffed animal that was certainly not there when he went to bed.
I'd much rather wake up to Killer watching me sleep. Not one of those things.
Glancing at the other plush creatures, he pulled the equally plush and colorful blanket over his head; as he did so, one thought came to mind: This sucks. I hope the boys save me soon.