This was supposed to be part of a Kreme filled week I was co-creating, but we both ran out of motivation, so you get a oneshot instead 🥰

(I'm working on Seven Nights Only I swear)

Merry Christmas 🎄

Dream hadn't known what to expect when he first met him.

Ink had warned him of a new member to Nightmare's group, yet it seemed he hadn't adequately prepared himself. It wasn't uncommon for the Negative Lord to pick up strangers from alternate universes. Many times he'd come the wreck of a timeline to find the Lord had sourced a deranged, broken skeleton with the desire to tear homes apart so others could feel the same anguish they themselves felt.

He recalled when he first met Dust, a tall freak with magical capabilities above his expected stature. It had taken him no more than seven seconds to disarm and incapacitate Blue, and only an additional thirteen seconds nearly snap his staff in half. The skeleton never spoke, never rushed, never missed. He always kept his guard up when placed against him.

And then he had met Horror, an ungodly brute of a man who's jagged axe had chopped one of Ink's fingers off and splintered his brush in their first fight. The man had been ruthless, without an edge of awareness for his own safety. It was as if he didn't care if he were hit or not, and that had made him dangerous. Yet he had tired fast, and it was always five-to-ten minutes into the fight that he'd slow, and from there (if you still had all your limbs) you could strike him down to ensure immobility.

Many other fighters had been and gone in the time he'd been apart of the Star Sanses, some had moved on from the group, some had come to their senses and left, and some had died. There hadn't been a new member in almost a month. He'd become complacent, as if expecting there'd be no more additions to the group, ever.

But now, stood in the snow with his blood decorating the white ground, he realised to never make that mistake again. Because in front of him, knives in hand, stood a stranger.

It had been so long since a new opponent, and because of that he found he had become lax in his training. He knew Nightmare's fighting tactics, he knew how to tame Dust and how to tire Horror. But this new skeleton? He'd never fought anyone like him before.

Crimson tinted blades twisted in his fingers, dusty blue sleeves bunched up to his elbows to expose slender wrists. His body was thin and small, perhaps only a whisper taller than Blue, much more so than Ink. Yet his bones looked so slight, and the subtle rise of his sweater to expose ribs was enough to waken the idea that they'd be so easily snapped beneath his fingers. The skeleton bore a wide, wickedly charming grin, the corner of his mouth upturned in a cocky manner. He knew Dream was struggling. His eyes were black, soulless. No matter how hard he studied his sharp facial features, he couldn't catch sight of any pupils. Black tar bubbled from his sockets, dropping down them in dragging lines. Some seeped down to his neck where they became lost in the fabric of his grey sweater, others became smeared when his sleeve brushed them away.

So far he hadn't managed to land a single hit on him. Not one. Unlike Horror, this man would not stop moving. He never stood still for even a second, body twisting in fluid and darting movements to avoid each of the arrows shot. Dream quickly realised the trouble he was in when he noticed the other was actively trying to get closer. He was a short distance fighter, and Dream excelled in long distance. By the time he'd realised, his bow was already rendered useless with the proximity, and he'd been forced to use his staff.

His fighting style seemed to be based entirely off of opportunity, his blank eyes searching for any stumble, step or foot Dream placed wrong. It made him hard to predict. And to add to the perplexity of his character, the man didn't use magic. He hadn't seen him teleport or blip. Not a single magic bone formed in his palm, no burning daggers, no gaster blasters. While Dust relied heavily on magic, Horror on brute strength, Nightmare on a mix of both, this skeleton seemed to use his wits and bare blades alone. It made him dangerous.

Stumbling back to reassess, Dream spat blood from his mouth, hacking. His golden pupils burned into the other, searching for any sort of weakness; a blind spot, a fault in his fighting style. Yet he found none. The skeleton tipped his head, grin handsomely cruel. If they weren't enemies, he was sure the other would have been able to convince him for a drink at a bar. Deadly.

From the murmuring rumble of Nightmare's voice, he was sure the Skelton's name was Killer. And in any other occasion he would have laughed, because he didn't doubt he lived up to that name in the slightest. But he didn't want his carcass to be the one to confirm it.

Eyes flicking to the side he caught sight of Ink's figure crushed against a tree, Nightmare's tentacles one finger's breath away from ripping his arm from his socket. Blue was busy trying to ward back both Horror and Dust, the brute charging at him while the magician stood back, magic rendering Blue's defensive attacks useless. So no chance of assistance.

His head turned, ready to dedicate his focus back to Killer. Yet upon looking at the spot where the man had last been, he was met with blankness. Stretching before him simply lay snow, and spruce trees speckled off into the horizon. His eyes rolled down to rest on the imprints of where the others feet had last been, bones prickling. Two solitary footprints sank deep into the snow, the ridges of trainers crisp and fresh, spots of dirt staining its complexion. There were no footsteps leading away from that spot, no other sinking enclaves or scuffs. That could only mean one thing.

Teleport.

His body reacted far too slowly, spine only able to twist so far before white hot pain exploded in his shoulder, tearing through what little reserve he had. A strangled yell ripped from his throat just as the blade was yanked from the bone. His feet stumbled, knees knocking together until his core started to tip. It was only the second time he felt the knife be plunged into his shoulder that he registered he was falling.

Crunching, his knees thudded into the ground first, the cold snow seeping through his leggings and biting at the bone. Next to hit the snow was his good shoulder, elbow clicking harshly, knuckles knocking the ground. He nearly lost his grip on the staff, but his reflexes worked faster than his mind, grasping it tight. The pain in his shoulder was truly excruciating, eye sockets pricking with moisture. As the blade was torn from his shoulder for a second time he could only think to plea, mouth shut taunt as his mind begged for the knife not to make its mark a third time. He didn't know how he'd heal it if it did.

Instincts kicked in and he heaved sideways, able to twist himself onto his back just in time to watch the knife sink deep into the snow where his shoulder had been less than a moment ago. He gasped, fingers tightening around his staff and surging upwards in collision course to splinter the other's skull.

The hand only made it so far before his wrist snapped. He couldn't help the yell that escaped him, the breath torn from his lungs in a cruel rush. Skull twisting sideways he stared, focused on the dusty white trainer that crushed his hand into the ground. He could feel the break, his fingers jerking to release his staff where it clattered to the floor. His breath rasped, pupils shrunken as he stared back at the face of his attacker.

His pupil was met with the cruel glint of a blade, its curved surface angled to his socket. The mere sight of it made his eyes water, hitching as he forced himself to swallow. It felt like trying to force down sandpaper.

Killer stood over him, one knee sank into the snow beneath them, a trainer crushing his hand. His smile was cruel, and for the first time he saw the faint glimmer of a silver pupil in the void of his sockets. It looked so.. primal, feral. He almost felt as if this were a game to him, like he were a predator and Dream was his pray. He'd caught him, and now he'd play with his food.

Lying there like that time seemed to slow. The snow bled through the back of his jacket and shirt, biting at his spine and creeping over his ribs. He was positively frozen, to the point where he was sure he wouldn't be able to move in time to block a hit. The only benefit for the cold was that it eased the flames in his broken showdown, numbing the roaring pain to an almost bearable ache.

He could faintly process the yell of his collages, of Nightmare's cold laugh, of Killer's cruel sneer. In the moment he closed his eyes, the tension of his impending fate too much to take as a first witness.

Killer spoke, voice cutting clear through the fog in his mind. It was inviting, intoxicating even. "Look at me angel. I want to see the fear in your eyes as I hurt you."

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This is six months old but I hope you enjoyed

The timeline created means that cross hadn't joined the group yet smh that's why he's not there ☹️

Merry Christmas and happy new year

😘

-Jess-