They came at night.

Or at least what you perceived to be night since there were neither sun nor moon to dictate the time of day in the Void, a place where time neither began nor ended. Everything was the same in this world and it would always remain that way until time heaved its last breath and ceased from this mortal world.

Sleep was the vulnerability of man and monster. It was something that every living thing must perfrom in order to survive and sustain themselves. And you were doing this as well as every monster in your small band of survivors that had transversed miles in the Void for days on end. Preparations, plans, everything was futile, useless and wasted when you woke up with a start to find a knife pressed against your throat.

"Nightmare said this would be easy, but I thought that Ink's army would at least pose a fight?" The skeleton with the knife pressed against your throat surveyed the other skeletons amongst your group that were now just waking up, startled as their attackers threw them to their feet. "Then again, I wouldn't even call the lot of you an army. There's only what, six of you in total?"

"You're never going to win," Geno spat, struggling against his captor. The red scarf tied around his neck had now become his worst enemy, holding him in place as the skeleton that held a grip over him watched in amusement. "We're going to kill you, every last one of you is going to bleed for what you have done to the multiverse."

"Pity," the skeleton with the knife against your throat chided. "If only you had joined us, the ones with any real strength and numbers, maybe you wouldn't be dying today. But you are on the losing side my friend and there is nothing that we can do to help you. Nightmare's orders were clear, we've got to kill every last one of you."

"That's not very rad," Fresh piped in, his voice oddly calm whilst being in this situation. Purple flames crackled underneath his glasses, betraying the placated persona he pulled over himself. "Dust, you better high tail it out of this place or you're going to have a very unrad time."

Dust, the skeleton with the knife and red irises borderlined with blue, doubled over in a fit of hysteric laughter. The other skeletons in his charge joined in as well. "You really think you can win, that there's any hope for you and your friends? You have lost my brother and your death signifies the daybreak of a new era, a better time where the multiverse will no longer be dictated by you anomalies that call yourself its protectors. Nightmare is the true king and emperor of these worlds and all shall bow before him. Horror, bring me his head."

The skeleton whom you assumed to be Horror, a rather grim looking monster with a gaping hole on the left side of his skull with menacing red eyes that glared with an unknown fire and fury, reflecting madness that only years of deprivation and torture could manifest, took a step towards Fresh. You struggled against Dust's grasp and winced as the blade of the knife cut into your skin, helpless and hapless to do anything but watch. Error stared in blank retrospect as Horror lumbered to the PSA skeleton, his axe dragging menacingly behind him.

"You don't want to do this my axe amigo," Fresh growled, losing his once passive tone. The purple flames crackled from underneath his sunglasses and you for the first time felt afraid, not of Horror or Dust, but from the very skeleton you called your friend. "Because if you take one more funky step forward, you are not going to like the unfresh stuff that happens next."

Horror chuckled and shook his head. "And what can you do to stop me? You have no power here and you will never taste power again for you have reached the end of your line. Didn't you know that? Everything ends and your story is over. One head dog coming right up!" He called over his shoulder to Dust.

The axe swung up, gleaming as it caught the white glare of the Void and swung downwards, heading towards Fresh's neck. "Welp I tried my amigo," Fresh sighed and whipped around, his sunglasses falling off to reveal an upside-down purple heart emblazed in his right eye. His hands were alive with purple flame that caught Horror's axe in midswing, melting the weapon as it came into contact with the fire. This became the cue for the others to attack as you grabbed the knife in the height of Dust's distraction and turned his weapon on him, slicing at his cheek and then aiming for his chest.

"You won't win that easily I'm afraid," Dust sighed and swiped his hand upward, lifting you into the air. You struggled but to no avail, your pool of magic unreachable as you lost control over your movements. "Nightmare wanted us to take you to him, he wanted the privelege of killing you himself. He also wanted you to see the remains of that painter you called your friend, what was his name? Ink? Yeah, he's dead now."

Before Dust could continue, he was shot from his feet as a black laser slammed into his chest. Error nodded once at you before taking on several other skeletons that were surrounding him.

You managed to gain control over your soul and landed on the ground, convinced that several of your ribs had been broken in the process. You allowed yourself to relax slightly and extended your consciousness to the reserve of magic that was tucked away within the depths of your mind, trying to activate the powers that would give you the vantage over Dust. But you met nothing, a futile attempt to try to locate the power. Frustration welled inside of you as you tried to summon the magic again but only in vain. For this fight you would be forced to rely on mere combat rather than magic, which was a daunting task when considering that your opponents could incinerate you with a mere flick of the wrist.

But you still had the knife which served to be a valuable lesson. The knife seemed to be made perfectly for you, feeling more of an extension of your arm when in your grasp rather than being just a mere weapon. Every inch, every fibre of your being craved and yearned to bury the blade into another living thing, ready to win, ready to kill. The knife was a living thing on its own and its own mind seemed to press against yours, testing the thoughts of its new owner.

And then in a sudden explosion your mind melded with the knife, blade and owner becoming one. Kill, the knife whispered and so kill you would. You could not remember anything before this, it felt as if you had been born in the midst of battle and had no other purpose but to kill until nothing else remained. You had no friend or foe, every living thing was just another thing that could die.

As Dust got to his feet your dodged his attack, skipping over the bones hot your way and narrowly missing the blaster that shot a laser your way. You knew you were going to win, the knife was certain that you would kill the skeleton and so you believed this. "You're not going to win this war," the knife said, or maybe the words left your lips, it was hard to tell. "You're going to die and no one is going to remember your name. Your body is going to rot in a world where no one lives or cares to rememeber that you once lived. When you die you will not be missed because you had not lived. Isn't the thought terrifying?"

And the knife, you, slashed into his chest and ripped apart the sinews and bones that held Dust together. It was maddening how easy it was to kill and how easier it became once you had done so. "We've already won you fool," Dust whispered into your ear before he withered into ash. The thought confused you, it confused the knife as well. Had could he have won when he was the one to die? You were the victor and he was the deceased, there was nothing more than that.

You turned around, ready to leap once more into the heat of battle only to discover that there was none. It seemed that those that called themselves your friends had already defeated the others, was it possible that a victory was at hand?

No, the knife in your hand refused to stop. The knife wanted to kill and tear and rip things apart because that was what a knife did and in turn that was what you would do. Even if these skeletons , these things, called themselves your friends and your allies, they were nothing now. The knife realised this and so did you, the knife knew that these were simply things and things could be killed. You wanted to kill because the knife wanted to kill.

A hand clamped on your shoulder and you whirled around, slashing the knife against the fabric of the jacket of the skeleton that stood behind you. It was Error and the prospect of having struck him stirred another emotion inside of you. Hadn't the two of you agreed to be friends not so long ago?

Friends mean nothing, the knife insisted. Kill him, kill them all.

The knife knew the best because the knife was you. And so you lunged once more at Error, every aspect of your being trembling at the anticipation of killing him, wanting to feel the blade tear through every part of him. And then you would turn on the others and kill them too and you would never stop. After this you would find the other timelines and kill everyone there too. The knife liked that idea and so did you.

Biut when you moved, you were held in place, your soul contained by magic. "No!" The scream tore from your lips like the cry of some deranged animal as you thrashed against the invsible hold. Were you the one screaming or was it the knife? "I'm going to kill you all, have to, have to, have to!"

Error approached you and forced the knife from your grip, throwing it aside. All at once your episode subsided and your thoughts separated from those of the knife and you saw clearly again, taking in the gash on his jacket with an immense wave of guilt. "What the hell was that," you breathed, not wanting to go near the thing.

"Trickery," Error growled and kicked the weapon away. "Most likely Nightmare's going in an attempt to unhinge you. Those he sent on us were probably a ploy, wanting to make sure the weapon fell into your hands."

"I was going to kill all of you," you whispered, the feeling having not yet subsided. "It was like the knife was a part of me."

"They're called soul weapons," Geno explained, adjusting his scarf. "They're very rare and very dangerous. They're designed to appeal to the mind of the wielder and essentially have a mind of their own. Sometimes soul weapons can be used for good and work in sync with those that use them, but the one Nightmare designed does the contrary. It appeals to your soul and corrupts it, but soul weapons can only be used by humans given the complex an stronger nature of their soul. He was probably hoping that we wouldn't be able to stop you in time and that you would slaughter us all."

The thought of that chilled you. "The only problem is," Reaper interjected, catching several of the others off guard. He rarely ever talked. "Once you touch a soul weapon and it binds to your soul, it leaves a mark that none can repair. If we try to destroy the weapon, it will kill you because a part of your soul was ripped away and stored inside the weapon, thus is the nature of this blade. So we must bring it with us lest this fall into the wrong hands because if Nightmare were to retrieve it again, he could have command over a partiality of your soul which is something we do not want.

"However," Reaper continued. "You will always be drawn to this weapon. It will call to you every second and every minute because now that a part of you has fused with it, the tempation may prove irresistable. But for our sake and yours you must push such thoughts aside or our fate is sealed."

"Then keep it away from me," you shrugged, not getting the big deal.

Error swiped his hand upwards, lifting you into the air. Your soul became visible and for the first time, a significant chunk was missing. "Don't you get it?" he asked, shaking his head. There was somehting else in Error's gaze, pity perhaps? "The soul weapon has taken a part of your soul and keeps it trapped within there. Missing a part of your soul is not something that can be taken lightly. You will be driven into insanity if you do not come into contact with your complete soul, does that make sense?"

The horror dawned on you. The soul weapon, the knife, had taken a part of your soul when it first connected with you. If you chose to push away the weapon and never touch it again, you would be living forever without a part of your soul and that would slowly but surely drive you into insanity. So on occasion you would have to hold the weapon in order to ensure you were not driven over the edge so that you might be able to remain sane for when you held the weapon, your soul was complete. But touching the weapon, coming into contact with it held a terrible cost. You would be corrupted, become the knife and want to kill, risking the lives of anyone near you.

You sank to your knees, shaking at the uncertian future that lay ahead. How could you defeat Nightmare now if those around you could not sleep soundly knowing that you may one night turn on them in their sleep?

Gaster pushed yet another piece in his game, pushed another piece in this game of chess of his.

Closer and closer to checkmate.