Summary: Nightmare is 30% banana tree from his father's side-

(Warning: This story contains the typical weirdness and swearing.)

Killer yawned and rubbed his eye sockets, smearing black ooze across his hands and the sides of his face as he lumbered into the mansion's kitchen.

Cross and Horror were not too far behind him. The former's face pinched in discomfort while he clutched his invisible stomach, fighting off what were undoubtedly sharp pangs of hunger; Accompanied by low rumbles if the look of distress on the face of the broken-skulled skeleton beside him was any indication.

Not much of a surprise. The monochrome warrior had arisen to train before the sun dared to shine upon the dark woods surrounding their home (unlike Killer, who had wisely slept in). Thus, meaning he was long overdue for a large meal to make up for all the magic he spent fighting the practice dummies. Or shooting gaster blasters. Or... whatever he did in the training field in the early morning.

Horror appeared to take fixing Cross' plight upon himself. Since he rushed past Killer and to the fridge, throwing ingredients on the nearby countertop for a hearty breakfast of bacon, cheese and vegetable omelettes, and pancakes.

The actions did little to disturb Nightmare, who had already claimed a spot in the cooking space in front of a half-full coffee pot. A mug laid his gooey hands. A warm brown liquid - his morning caffeine elixir - just barely peeked over the brim.

Killer quietly crept up beside him - leaving ample space between them, lest the dark lord lash out thinking the murderer wanted his coffee - and stopped at the toaster. He groggily liberated two slices of bread from the bread box next to it, popping them into the device.

As he waited for them to heat, his non-existent eyelights slid over to Nightmare. Dark bags highlighted the negativity-laden skeleton's eye sockets. Though, more notably strange, his usual hoodie was gone, replaced by a tanktop that showed off the angry hissing lumps on his arms.

Killer froze and blinked.

Wait, hissing lumps?!

He fully turned to face Nightmare, staring in disbelief.

There were several bulges along the dark lord's arms. Each bore a tiny cyan eyelight, and little tendrils wiggled around them, threateningly striking the air.

"What the fuck, Nightmare?!" The target-souled skeleton shrieked and flinched away from the other.

The Guardian of Negativity took a slow sip of his coffee and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. If they are removed today, they shouldn't have enough magic to survive on their own and will die in a few days. Perhaps even a few hours, if we are lucky."

"Dude..." Cross gasped, staring at Nightmare's arms, mortified.

"...Babies?" Horror wondered. All the while, examining the mini Nightmare lumps from a respectable distance- i.e., where they couldn't lash their tiny tendrils at him.

The negativity-laden guardian raised a brow, then looked down and considered the disturbing growths on his arms. "Hmm... In a sense, I suppose. However, they are more akin to clones."

"Nightmare..." Killer said before taking a deep breath. "I repeat: WHAT THE FUCK?!"