A collection of inane nonsense (ranging from Error being reincarnated as Palette to Dust finding a new love for the color pink) circling around the many AUs and Multiverses of the Undertale world. Some stories will be connected; Others will be rando...
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(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)
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Killer made his way down the castle's winding, cold corridors to the kitchen; the curtains lining the pathway blocked out the subtle shine of the early morning sunrise.
Once at the destination, he immediately noted from the doorway that a dark looming presence hung in the space.
Nightmare.
The fear-inducing monster lurked behind the kitchen island, facing the entry. His body - tendrils and all - sagged against the surface in blatant exhaustion and his face remained set in a scowl. Within a goo-coated hand's grasp laid a bright coffee mug stating in a bubbly, light blue font, "Smile for the Stabbing."
Interestingly enough, though, two objects sat on the marble counter right next to the dark lord: a brightly colored teal box bearing the demented grinning face of the other and an equally horrifying dark form nearby it.
Killer rose an invisible eyebrow at the former item. "Boss, you have your own cereal?"
"Of course." Nightmare replied curtly.
Brows furrowed at the response. "Why?"
"Everyone loves a good villain, Killer." The Guardian of Negativity explained, only pausing to take a sip from his mug. "Which means they will buy anything that has my face on it. Which, in turn, means we'll earn more funds for the more expensive schemes we currently can not complete. For example, that thing Cross wanted to do with glitter."
"And the plushie?" The hoodie-clad murderer pointedly glanced at the space beside the box.
The exact spot where a teddy bear-sized stuffed animal made in the dark lord's image laid.
"My marketing department said it would appeal to younger audiences. It has one hundred and forty-two purchasable accessories and says my most popular phrases." A negativity-laden hand reached forward and gave a plush tendril a soft squeeze. An almost creepily accurate voice said, "The king is back, bitch!"
The faux tendril received another squeeze.
What came out was a garbled, delayed mess overlayed with static. "I will m-m-murder your fa-family and-and devour your soul."
Killer gaped. He didn't even need to turn around to know the other skeletons slowly appearing behind him (more than likely for breakfast) did similarly.
"Dude, what the fuck?" Cross murmured, staring at the plush as if it were about to hold true to its word and suddenly stab someone.
"...creepy," was Horror's only input on the situation.
Not that the target-souled skeleton could blame him. It was creepy.
The Guardian of Negativity eyed his stuffed double with an appraising look, calmly saying, "Hmm. It seems the batteries need to be changed."
