A/N: For those curious about who Homicide is, his origin is best explained in the chapter titled "Get Off My Lawn!" from "Collection of Oddities".
Sometime later (after the chaos settled), Nightmare enacted the first step in his plan: Getting Blue to set up a formal meeting for him and Homicide. Or, as the imbecile called it, a 'playdate.' Everything went smoothly. More so than anticipated. Blue said nothing about the 'playdate' to Dream; Likely content keeping it to himself or afraid of inciting another impromptu, gory bedtime story. He had half-expected the cerulean blabbermouth to burst from excitement and tell the entire Multiverse. His reputation as the vilest, most frightful creature in the Multiverse would be in ruins if such a thing came to pass. Luckily, Nightmare didn't have to worry about that at the moment. Revenge was his main priority. And, if Blue got the bright idea to go behind his back and soil his reputation- well, the Star Sans would not like the outcome.
With that handled, now all the dark aura-ed skeleton needed to fret about was dealing with that impudent fool, Homicide. The other was the wild-card of all wild-cards, vastly unpredictable and put the 'danger' in 'dangerous.' Their meeting could go one of two ways: successful or wrong to the point Nightmare would have to fight off the other. He greatly hoped for the former. His current state handled combat poorly, and he only had so much magic to spare. (All thanks to that annoying imbecile, Dream.) Not to mention, the whole point of setting up a stupid 'playdate' was to 'befriend' Homicide and discover his weaknesses, which would be impossible if the lunatic wants to kill him. And an utter waste of Nightmare's effort if it were to fail.
A gentle knock sounded from the direction of the door, likely Blue with his soon to be 'friend.' The Guardian of Negativity smirked.
Time to put my ingenious plan into action.
The hellish, color-laden prison's door handle turned before a living force pushed the barrier open from the other side. Once agape, Blue and Nightmare's foe, Homicide, were revealed to be standing in the hall connected to the cheery room. Homicide, from what he could tell, looked less than pleased by the situation. An expression of discontent sat on his skull- teeth turned down, eyes narrowed in Nightmare's direction. One would assume the other was angry. However, the second Guardian of Emotions knew better than to jump to conclusions. The emotions radiating from Homicide told a completely different story. Mild irritation (at Blue), curiosity, pride, and mischievousness swelled in him.
Perfect, Nightmare thought. His own curiosity toward me will be an aid in his downfall.
The bloody-jawed Sans cautiously stepped into the room. Promptly after beyond the threshold, Blue swiftly slammed the door shut with a near incomprehensible, "Okay, you two have fun, don't kill each other, bye!"
"Rude." Homicide grumbled.
Nightmare found that he agreed with that sentiment. The Star Sans could have stayed for a moment longer and given them a proper introduction, at the very least. But instead, he fled with his tail between his legs.
An awkward silence fell upon the room. The two skeletons had somewhat of a stare-off, using the opportunity to inspect each other. Homicide's white eyelights bore into his bones as he continued to search for a sign of something. What that something was, Nightmare had no clue. A few uncomfortable seconds later, he decided to take a civil approach and broke the deafening quiet. "Homicide, was it?"
The other crossed his arms and huffed. "Unfortunately. Even though I'm the first Geno, I can't have that moniker because some filthy glitch claimed it before me!" An evil grin spread across his face before he quietly added, "But he can't keep it if he is dead."
Nightmare felt his eye sockets narrow. "I think I'm starting to understand why they have you here..."
"My charm and good looks?" Homicide questioned with a cocky smirk.
His jaw nearly dropped in disbelief. Surely, the monster was not conceited enough to believe that. "What- No, You're crazy."
The bloody skeleton snickered and struck a dramatic pose. "Crazy good-looking?"
"Ugh, you are impossible." Nightmare groaned, rolling his eyelights.
Homicide dropped the pose and smiled, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Impossibly handsome, you mean."
In his mental space, Nightmare completed the equivalent of sighing and facepalming simultaneously, wondering in abject fear: Oh, stars, what horrors have I brought upon myself?
Despite the rocky start, the evening went fairly well- So well, in fact, that Nightmare completely forgot about his brilliant plan. He was too caught up in chatting with the crazy skeleton to even consider it. They talked and talked, up until it was time to part ways for the night.
Darkness fell upon the sky as the sun had long since set, stars danced and shimmered along the blackish-blue horizon- Not that Nightmare could see it. His room, unfortunately, lacked windows. That fact merely served to sour his mood further. A glass-covered opening would make for the perfect escape route or, at the very least, give him something less repulsive to look at. The dark guardian's eye sockets narrowed at the multicolored mobile dangling from the ceiling above him. It was ridiculous, infantile; Exactly like everything else in his prison. He loathed it. A window - even if impassible and secured with magic proof iron bars - would be a blessing. How he wished for a little peek into the real, unfanciful world. But, knowing Dream, he would have had Ink put a colorful faerie garden or unicorn-housing forest outside. Probably a few permanent rainbows too. Thus, ruining a perfectly good view with childish whimsy. It would undoubtedly be the inspiration for every fantasy-related air-brush painting worn by vans across the Multiverse.
"When will I escape this hell?" Nightmare groaned, exasperatedly. He then proceeded to smother his skull with an overly fluffy pillow.
Though the lids of his eyes felt heavier and heavier with the passing hours, sleep still managed to evade the negativity-controlling skeleton. Resentment boiled in his soul- hate for that self-proclaimed 'brother' of his, for the uncomfortably soft bed beneath him, for the damned night-light in the corner of the room; most importantly, hate and jealousy for the Star Sanses. The accursed trio and the buildings other residents had succumbed to slumber ages ago. A peaceful, undisturbed slumber based on the ease in their emotional states. If Nightmare had the strength to spare, he would send each and every one of those idiots a dream containing their deepest, darkest fears. Sadly, he was saving up his energy in hopes of gaining enough power to break free. Meaning: No tormenting the subconsciouses of his foes unless he wanted to prolong his escape.
A growl tumbled out his throat. His silvery-toned phalanges dug into the pillowy object covering his face, causing the delicate fabric to tear. Channeling his built-up aggression, he swiftly righted himself and chucked the pillow with all his might. It flew to the opposite side of the room. Directly on its course was a pile of stuffed animals, which prevented it from hitting the wall and toppled over when the projectile made contact. One by one, the plush creatures fell to the floor with a light thud. Then silence encompassed the room once more. Nightmare simmered. The display was unimpressive and not nearly as therapeutic as he hoped.
That was anticlimactic.
Suddenly a chilling voice echoed throughout the cheery expanse, with no discernable point of origin. Its tone deep, almost otherworldly and admittedly intimidating as it spoke words only heard in horror movies, "Oh, Nighty, don't you want to play with me? A GAME JUST FOR THE THREE OF US."
Nightmare stiffened, unconsciously pulling the sheets closer and wrapping them around himself like a protective barrier. The delicate soul in his chest beat faster with each passing moment. Every following thump-thump it produced, roared in his nonexistent ears and broke the deafening silence shrouding the room. Eyelights darting about, he examined every inch of his rainbow hell, searching and searching for an unseen enemy (or enemies). Alas, it was to no avail. Much to his dismay. The only thing mildly threatening within sight was the damned, beady-eyed stuffed animals- the ones Dream insisted on plaguing him with. However, an unnatural presence hung in the air. An aura that reeked of bloodlust and malice; Not to mention, LOVE. The foul kind that symbolized a being's capacity to kill. He was embarrassed to admit that he, Nightmare, Lord of Darkness, felt... afraid. Held fear for his life.
Are the stuffed animals haunted? Angry that I disturbed their resting place.
No. Nightmare, don't be stupid. Dream wouldn't put me in danger like this. Would he? He is a self-righteous moralist; if he thought a risky tactic would make me turn over a new leaf, he might try it.
Soul pounding, he let the blankets fall away and puffed out his chest. Sweat soon began to form at the base of Nightmare's skull as he donned a (fake) confident and composed expression. A chill crept ever-so-slowly down his spine. Thereafter, a tingling sensation inched across his bones- like the eyes of a predator were meticulously examining him, their prey. Smaller bones clinked together, creating a slight rattling sound. Nightmare quelled it by forcing his bones to still. He would not let Dream, or whatever this was, get the best of him; make him show signs of fear.
"I-if this is some k-kind of crazy attempt t-to scare me into acting nicer, i-it isn't going to work. You hear that, Dream. I-it won't work!" The Guardian of Negativity yelled, false bravado failing him before the first sentence.
A dark chuckle sounded from the room's four corners. Nightmare sensed a faint trickle of amusement in the hidden being's emotional maelstrom. Barely, though. Between the enmity and bellicosity, it was nigh impossible to detect. Either way, he couldn't decide whether that amusement was a good thing or a very, very bad thing. Judging by the next words they spoke, it sided far beyond very, very bad. "Dream? A dreamer? No, no, no- Here, there is only NIGHTMARES."
At the end of the bed, a shadowy hand arose from the murky depths and clawed at the sheets, causing a horrid 'sccchhtt' sound with each new tear. The Lord of Darkness could have done many things in this situation. For example: screamed at the top of his lungs, flung a barrage of magical attacks at the appendage, or struck it with a pillow. He, unfortunately, did none of the above. Nightmare completely froze up. His bone stiffened like ice, soul pounding dangerously loud in his skull. The few remaining tendrils he had hardened to perform an attack they were currently incapable of doing. Thoughts ran rampant in the frightened skeleton's mind.
No.
No.
No.
Dream isn't behind this, is he? He may be an utter creep and morally ambiguous, but he would not do this. Not to me. However, if he isn't, then why hasn't he sensed my negativity and bust open the door to make sure I'm okay?
That wouldn't matter unless...
The creature creeping up the bed got to him and the other Star Sanses first.
The shock of realizing that no backup was on the way happened to be enough to shake Nightmare out of his stupor. Once motionless bones began to rattle together, echoing throughout the mostly quiet room. Quick puffs of air forced their way out from between his jaws. His soul, the purest essence of his being, relentlessly sounded. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. And, refused to stop. Fear still resided in Nightmare- along with wariness and apprehension. Emotions such as those were difficult to triumph. To a mere mortal. Given who he was, it would be a disgrace to allow his very source of power to determine his downfall.
With a newfound flame burning for survival, the weakened skeleton summoned a magical construct in his left hand. A razor-sharp bone able to fit comfortably in his hand, similar to a knife. Pinprick small eyelights wavered yet firmly gazed at the appendage encroaching on the bed. He angled the magical blade in its' direction. It had no reaction other than to continue its' creeping ascent. Nightmare warily eyed his foe, conflicted on whether or not he should move closer to strike it. Before he could decide, the appendage quickened its' pace, darting toward him at a frightening speed. In mere seconds, it broke free from the shadows and skittered into the light. The night-light's yellow glow revealed it to be a scarred white skeleton arm with a deep crimson liquid dribbling down the phalanges, ulna, and radius.
The sinister voice promptly called, "Well, little nightwalker, what is your answer?"
Startled, Nightmare strengthened his grip on the magic weapon, as his trembling hands threatened to drop it. He swiftly raised the blade and aimed at the foreign arm, intent on attacking. While the bone descended, on route for slashing his target's radius, a second hand appeared out of thin air and intercepted the weapon before it was able to connect. The bloody, white phalanges wrapped tightly around his armed hand. They squeezed harshly, preventing Nightmare from pulling his hand away to perform another attack. A strangled sound erupted from his throat as he choked down a shriek. An efforts to escape the strong grasp were to no avail. Nevertheless, that did not stop him from frantically tugging his arm back in a desperate attempt to free it.
During Nightmare's struggle, the first hand planted itself firmly on the bed and started pushing up, causing a figure lurched from the shadows. They screamed, "Do you want to play a game?!"
At the same time, the trapped skeleton howled, "Funking hell!"
In a panic, he used what little magic he had been able to save up to summon two gaster blasters; they charged slowly but steadily, releasing the sharp scent of ozone. Then Nightmare took a moment to examine his soon to be blasted foe. A blazing blue/red eyelight, blood laden jaws, manic grin- Homicide! It was that bloody Aftertale Sans the whole time.
The demonic dragon skulls gradually fizzled out and vanished into nothingness, and with them went the bone attack he summoned earlier. Negativity's guardian blinked at the insane skeleton, at a loss for words. His posture instantly deflated. Shoulders slackening, captured arm falling limply to the side once the other released it. The wicked pressure bearing down on him disappeared entirely. Almost like it was never there.
The boys would love him, especially Killer, Nightmare's subconscious begrudgingly added. The little hellkite pulled similar pranks all the time. Notably around the holiday months when monsters and humans were most susceptible to the seemingly supernatural. Several alternate universes even worshipped the void-eyed skeleton's eerie personas: Underswap #XXXX26's legendary Halloween spirit, Deadlock, and Undertale #XXXX53's dreaded Christmas ghoul, Eidolon, and Underfell #XXXX94's horrible hall-haunting hugger, Moor, to name a few. Failing to pay tribute to a respective figure caused terrible 'hauntings' to occur. Harmless stuff like moving furniture a foot left/right, silently lurking in hallways, suddenly hugging people (Underfell residents loathe and fear that), nearly scaring the life out of someone if they were highly disrespectful, and et cetera. Homicide already proved to be extremely skilled in one of those.
Together, Homicide and Killer would be a force to be reckoned with.
As if the universe were trying to prove that further, his scarer, for whatever ungodly reason, produced two middle phalanges from a coat pocket. Then the skeleton practical shoved them into Nightmare's face and cheerily cried, "Look at what I got!"
If it were possible to crash like Error, he would have. There was just too much to try to comprehend. Numerous thoughts and questions ran through his mind as Homicide proudly displayed his prize. Did the skeleton not understand how grave the situation had been? How close Nightmare got to turning him into a smudge of dust and ash? Where was the other's concept of self-preservation? Why did he have someone else's phalanges, and who did he take them from? A nervous itch tickled the back of his neck. The kind that only happened when Dust, Killer, Horror, or Cross did something exceptionally ill-considered. Coupled with that and Nightmare's tendency to parent his boys, it prompted him to snap and lecture the bloody Sans. "The funk is wrong with you! You're lucky I didn't skewer you alive or blast you into oblivion. Next time, consider the strength of your foe before tormenting them in the middle of the night. It may just save your life."
A majority of the silvery-boned skeleton's scolding went in one metaphorical ear and out the other. The other monster seemed more preoccupied with considering the first sentence as if it was a legitimate question. "A lot of things- oh, wait, are you talking about the fingers? I don't see a problem with this. It's not like Ink ever used them. Plus, he literally can't give a funk anymore." While snickering, the bloody glitch waved the two amputated digits in the air to emphasize his point.
Nightmare took a deep breath and sighed. "Homicide, you are a strange, strange skeleton with morals that not even I can comprehend. Join my gang."
At least if he is one of us, I can keep him out of trouble- or get dragged into it with him.
Homicide drew his finger-clutching hand towards his chest, and a thoughtful expression flashed across his face before becoming unreadable. There was nothing (necessarily) worrying about the emotions coursing through him- mainly mischievousness and pride; a steady hatred for Ink's face, too, for some reason. Perhaps a grudge against Blue as well.
A roguish smirk settled on the skeleton's jaws, and in a confident tone, he answered in the least expected way possible. "Hmm, no. If anything, you should join my gang- Do you like coffee?"
The guardian's sockets widened slightly. That certainly was an unexpected turnaround: to offer Nightmare a place in his own gang instead of joining Nightmare's. It was so out of nowhere that he couldn't help feeling disbelief.
He has a gang? Him, the skeleton who doesn't even know the proper word for 'unicorn'?
How?
And why is he asking about coffee?
Nightmare's brow scrunched, teeth turned down in a slight frown. "What does that have to do with anything?"
He honestly wanted to know. Unfortunately, Homicide seemed to be in no mood to tell him.
"Answer the question!" His surprise recruiter demanded, a subtle growl tumbling out after.
"Sheesh! Okay, I enjoy coffee every so often. Happy?" The dark lord raised his hands in a symbol of defeat, hoping to placate the crazy Aftertale Sans.
The other grinned and rubbed his hands together, evilly- not unlike that of a cartoon villain. With a devious gleam in his eye sockets, Homicide stated in an ominous tone, "Very."
Nightmare could only shudder and worry about what was to come.