DystopianTale Asides

The one where Killer literally kills a man

This takes place right after chapter 11

Killer shifted on the window sill, his legs were beginning to cramp from kneeling on the ledge, and his shoulder was aching like a bitch in heat, but he didn't dare move, not yet. His gaze stayed glued to Nightmare, curled up in the sheets on the worn bed, his bandaged arms on top of the blanket. There was dried blood on the bandages, but, Killer noted, the bleeding appeared to have stopped.

He needed to make sure Nightmare was really asleep.

This is so creepy

Oh, shut up Killer.

Hissing out a breath, Killer pushed himself fully out of the window, grabbing onto the edge of the roof and hoisting himself up. The night sky was clouded, seemingly like a thick blanket, hiding away the bright stars and moon. Good. Killer thought. Easier to hide. Darker shadows .

Killer knew what he was doing was fucked up. But, if he was being honest with himself, he couldn't seem to give a shit.

The guard that hurt his Nightmare needed to learn a lesson, and he couldn't care less if Error, Sans, or even Cross said it was a "bad idea".

He focused on the rage burning in his soul as he hopped between roofs of the tall buildings that towered over BlightView, simultaneously trying to ignore the other feeling burning there, the feeling of possessiveness, of obsession, of Love.

His footing slipped as the word floated into his skull, Killer scrambling for a hold on something - his hand found a pipe, gripping the steel as a lifeline. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself back up, brushing off his pants.

He knew damn well he couldn't keep denying how much he liked being around Night, nor how comfortable he was around the prince, but he sure as hell shouldn't be using that word.

He didn't do love. He couldn't.

LOVE, on the other hand, was a different story.

Wrapping his hands and legs around a pipe, Killer slid down to the ground and pressed himself against a wall, hiding in the shadows while watching two guards patrol the outer wall. He waited till they were out of sight before bolting forward, grabbing at loose bricks to propel himself up and over the wall.

Moving silently through the bushes and shadows, squeezing through vents; it was all almost second nature to Killer but still, there were too many guards, too many close encounters. He should turn back, this was stupid . If he gets caught, he'll fuck up everything for the others.

And yet...

The image of Nightmare, passed out and bleeding, drifted into his skull, igniting something deep inside of him, something hot and unwieldy, something that made his fingers twitch with a need for blood, for Dust.

Determination.

He was determined to make an example of these fuckers so that they know not to touch his... friend.

His Nightmare.

His...

Click.

When had he gotten to a door?

Whatever, it didn't matter. Quietly, he pushed open the door, peeking in to find a rather tidy room: basic white plastic table, dishes in a rack to dry - two plates and a pot and some cups - and a lounge area with a TV (Killer doubted it was ever used) and a red sofa. Across from the door the small skeleton had opened, was another door, open ajar to a sleeping figure. He couldn't make out much more than a silhouette - someone relatively small, with fur or feathers protruding from their cheeks.

They'll do.

The room was dark, no moonlight to shine in through any windows, not that there were any, so he crept slowly along the floor, careful not to knock anything over. If the monster woke up before Killer wanted, this would go down the drain. He'd be locked up.

He'd be unable to protect Nightmare.

Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

He made it to the bedroom, locking it behind him. The monster on the bed looked like a type of wolf, if Killer had to guess, and their breathing was even, steady, blissfully unaware of the danger. It made Killer feel powerful.

He liked it.

Killer stepped forward, ripping off a piece of the guards blanket, tying it to their mouth, tight enough so it would cause bruises. The monster's eyes shot open, terrified, the air suddenly buzzing, electric with magic.

"Stop that." Killer hissed, his hand twitching as a blade formed, plunging it into the monster's chest. Blood gushed from the wound as Killer pulled away, the body slumping, crumbling, becoming Dust. It covered the bed, the sheets, sticking to them and coating them in a fine layer of white. It was on Killer.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat as a rush of warmth, of pure energy washed over him, filling his bones and "lungs". It had been so easy . Still, even hyped up on the new LOVE, Killer knew he couldn't just leave the body - the Dust - like this. It can't look like a murder.

Killer left with two things on the side table next to the dead monster - a note (there had been multiple documents and reminders written by the guard around the room and, luckily, Killer was skilled at forgery) and a bloody knife (the blood was from his own arm, but he didn't hurt himself. After that boost in LV, there was no way it would have.)

A suicide isn't suspicious.

When he got back to the orphanage, he curled up to Nightmare, spooning him - why bother keeping distance right now? He inhaled the smell of fresh rain, arms around Nightmare's waist, and a feeling of pride shot through him when a content sigh left the Prince.

He'd happily kill anyone who tried to hurt Nightmare.

Killer would do anything to keep him safe.