Collection of Oddities

It's Not A Cult!

Summary: Do you ever get collector's anxiety?

Nightmare stood on the outskirts of Snowdin. The gang to his back. Each member tense and bearing their weapon(s) of choice, ready to spring into action on his command. Meanwhile, he himself remained composed as his sharpened tendrils shifted (anxiously) behind. Their foes were in a similar formation along the tree line a few paces ahead, with Dream taking the lead while Ink and Blue covered his back. The former had his staff already drawn and pointed toward the dark lord in a mock threatening fashion.

Neither side moved.

Snowflakes flitted through the space separating the two forces. Silence hung in the air like an impenetrable fog, only being broken by the occasional howling winds and crunches caused by snow poffs falling from the trees and onto the ground. A light breeze sweeping across the land nipped at the dark sludge coating Nightmare's secretly frail, silvery bones. But he dared not shudder in the face of his brother. Instead, keeping his expression stoic and form unmoving.

His brother did likewise despite the thin layers of clothing covering his small, weak body. Clothing that no doubt provided little warmth in the snowy environment.

One could call their current pause a standoff. However, that couldn't be further from the truth. This pause was merely a formality- a chance to evaluate their opponents' status (magical, physical, mental, etc.), the situation, and the steps required to overcome said situation.

The real standoff began when both the twins' eyelights met. Yellow blazing at cyan through narrowed eye sockets. And vice versa.

After several moments passed, Dream appeared to pick up that Nightmare wasn't going to make the first move. So he raised his yellow staff and proclaimed, "The negativity spread by you and your cult ends here, brother."

"It's not a cult. It is my elite team of henchmen." The Guardian of Negativity snarled, crossing his arms over his puffed-out chest. Then, as if to prove him otherwise, a low melodic hum followed by hushed chants echoed from behind.

"Hail the night!"

"Summon the greater darkness!"

"Spill blood for the shadows!"

"Bask in the eternal negativity!"

Nightmare scowled over his shoulder, very pointedly ignore his brother's skeptical eyebrow raise, snapping, "Will you four stop with the chanting and humming already! You've been doing it all week; I have half a mind to cancel that goat sacrifice you all begged me to get an altar for as punishment."

In response, the noise lowered but did not cease entirely.

Dream merely stared. "Nightmare... really? You can't be serious."

"Of course I a-" The negativity-laden skeleton halted mid-sentence when an ear-grating scratching started up. Then fully turned toward his followers and jabbed a phalange at the figure crouched in front of a small stone. "Killer, quit using your knife to carve runes and pentagrams into the rocks. You know the chips it causes to your blade are hard to repair."

"Brother..."

Nightmare spun on his heels at the disappointed, almost pitying voice. His eyelight flared, and tendrils angrily thrashed.

"No matter what you think, it's not a cul-" A burnt, herbal smell wafted through the air, redirecting the dark lord's attention back to his "not" cult. "Ugh, Cross put away the candles. And, Horror, get the goat skull off your head! You have no idea where it's been or if it's received the proper cleaning treatment."

In the background, Ink leaned over to Blue and whispered next to his nonexistent ear, "It's definitely a cult."

The Underswap Sans couldn't help but silently nod in agreement.