Loyal Servant (Crossmare) (Rewrite)

Arc One, Your Champion

A/N
(Yes, hello. I'm shocked people still read the original so I thought I'd make it better. I'm sure you see the improvement.)

There wasn't a creature in the entire multiverse quite like Nightmare. Most viewed him as an insane overlord high on power, but he radiated far too much calculation and control for blind madness to be the cause of his personality. No, he was smart. Incredibly so. He best be, as he ran an entire kingdom of misery and suffering just out of reach from the universe's nosey "Saviors."

Cross had a difficult time deciphering his master's intentions. One may argue that he had no choice in being the ravenous king he is now, but that life had forced him down the path long ago for the sake of feeding. That's what this is all for after all. The pain and suffering. It was to feed the king. Cross couldn't despise him for such a basic necessity, no matter how foreign the concept and how often hunger turned the king's attention his way. 

He dealt with it. He dealt with everything. If Nightmare ordered the death of a monster who wronged him, Cross would not hesitate to draw his blade. This servitude didn't go unrewarded. He had a fraction of the dark palace that he could call home. In a multiverse that had played him dirty, that one prize meant everything to him. He would just go ahead and label himself insane if he didn't put his entire soul into protecting this second chance, and by extension, Nightmare. 

Moonlight beamed in through the curtainless window. The full moon hadn't waned in years. Nor had it ever dipped towards the horizon. Cross had gotten quite used to that oddity. Nightmare's magic affected everything in this universe. The moon was just one of those things. 

Still Cross rolled away from the soft light, attempting to drift off into sleep. These moments of rest had grown rare as of late. Things had been tense around the palace as rumors of the fabled Star Sans's spiraled about in hushed whispers. Cross hated to think about those soft-souled mercenaries, probably about as much as Nightmare hated hearing his subjects mutter about them under their breaths. Yet the lingering threat made sleeping a challenge. He wanted to be able to spring into battle the very second Nightmare was challenged, but how can he do that with his eyes shut?

He didn't have long to chase sleep anyway. Nightmare's voice, growly and amplified by magic, called to him from the throne room a distance away. He didn't hesitate to rise, though he gave a soft sigh. He slipped out of his room and into the dark halls which were still classified as his chambers. He passed another set of doors, these ones leading into a dark corridor lit only by the various windows' moonlight. Now he was on Nightmare's turf. So long as no light manifested here, Nightmare had his full arsonal of magic at his disposal. 

Cross entered the throne room, padding towards the elevated platform on which Nightmare's throne stood. The king was indeed upon it, his thick black tendrils whipping to and fro as his one bright blue eye turned his way. Cross didn't spare a look towards his lesser guards just yet, dropping down onto one knee. He gave his king a bow, keeping his head lowered submissively as he spoke. "You've summoned me, my lord?"

"Yes," Nightmare growled back, his talon-like fingers tapping upon the arm of his throne rhythmically. A hiss sounded under his breath as he shifted his gaze towards the guards a short distance away. "It seems we got our hands on a rather... scruffy looking trespasser." He explained with his fangs pulled back in disgust. 

Cross finally looked their way, seeing the armored monsters each had a hand clasped around the arm of a tall feline humanoid. Cross knew their kind. Crafty things with a habit of clawing their way into mischief. This one certainly looked to be playing quite heavily into that stereotype. He had on a dark cloak which made his already smoky fur blend further into his gloomy surroundings. Unfortunately for him, the bright pink scar that sliced across his muzzle put a dent in his near perfect camouflage. The feline's hard stare revealed nothing.