Kréme / Driller Oneshots

Arena (Slave)

Slave is back 😍😍

The air was stagnant with dust, a beige cloud sweeping across the sky in a flurry of movement, blurring visuals and straining senses. Sand scrapped underfoot with a rasping pant, strewn up in a stab of soil sent skittering across the floor. In the surrounding perimeter the walls were alive with noise, screams, shouts, cries and jeers reverberating into the floor with a thudding rhythm. It was an anthem, a song, a chant of death.

Spitting the grit from his mouth Killer panted, blades glinting in the chink of light that split through the dust. They gripped in each hand, scarred and chipped fingers curled around them tightly, held up before his skull in a defensive manoeuvre. The heavy air made it difficult to see, his grey pupils flicking across the space in front of him slowly, each shadow brown down, analysed. Where had he gone? The enemy had been in front of him, he knew that much. Throwing up the dust cloud had been cowardly. How did they expect the crowd to get a good view of the fight?

The subtle scuff of a footstep rang out among the masses and he grinned, fingers twitching and heel digging into the ground. His attackers descent was swift, but he was faster, body twisting to avoid the slashing bone that scratched his skull. Blood dribbled into his eye socket yet it went ignored, arm sweeping in an arch until the dagger hit it's mark. The blade sank into bone with a crunch, fracturing something flat and curved.

Scapula. He thought with grit teeth, the blade twisting and lodging deep before he let it fall from his fingers to continue the damage. Good luck throwing a hit without use of your arm. Staggering away from a blindly lashing attack, he rolled across the ground to the centre of the arena. It was only then that the cloud of dust started to settle.

Around him the curved walls of the stadium became more apparent, the old stone alive and rippling with an infection of people, bodies convulsing in gestures as they screamed. They were cheering, booing, at him. He relished the sound. Eyes sweeping upwards for a moment he allowed himself to spare a glance towards the royal boxes, amused to see one angry face, imperative to see one stony. Dream wasn't easy to please.

A ragged cough snatched him back to the fight, cooly looking to see his enemy stagger to his knees, hand gripping the serrated dagger that lay embedded deep into his shoulder. Blood leaked from between his fingers, dribbling down over the fluff of his jacket and matting it. He looked riled, expression poisonous. He wasn't used to being overthrown at this stage of the tournament.

Lust. That was his name. He was Horror's little pet, a meta-monster with the ability to grasp your deepest desires and twist them into an illusion so realistic that by the time you'd figured what was happening it was likely his spearing bones would have already pierced his chest. He'd come second place last year, had cost Killer his third victory in a row and resulted in a beating from Dream that had left him unable to walk or train for weeks. This wouldn't happen again, he'd fight the demon and win, passing through to the next opponent where he'd fight Ink. That was the prediction anyway, himself and the artist as the final two. Though the crowds had taken a liking to Cross' new slave, Nightmare. He'd slaughtered his fight with Geno and left the monster near dead. He was due to fight Ink next. Maybe he'd be the first to defeat him.

But another opponent wasn't a worry to him until he had to fight them. The slimy slave could be left until later before he needed to start paying attention. Flipping the blade in his hands he watched the skeleton with keen eyes; the slightest glinting smile forming at the sight of the other's visible pain. He would break him, nice and slowly.

Spitting blood across the floor Lust lurched up, wrenching out the knife with an animalistic noise. It was sent flying across the floor, spinning and scraping to a stop around 14 feet away. Scoffing lowly Killer glanced back to him, voice sharp like wild cherries.  "That was rather stupid of you."