Dead By Daylight [OneShots]

The Lich X (OC) Reader (P5)

He grabbed a fistful of the knitted collar, hoping that it was sufficient to choke me. Underneath the charade I knew something wicked was going in his mind all the while he was faking it. But as they say, fake it till you make it; it was all but an act to get me to lash out. Chucky was the kind of killer to play with his prey before taking the detour and watch them fall right into their graves.

It was ludicrous that his size didn't come with its seeming advantages.

The Undead Lord turned back his attention to me, before he hovered ever so slowly above us. Even with his cold, menacing presence, his approach only boosted Chucky's confidence. After all, both were supposed to be on the same side.

Mark my words; supposed to be.

His actions were mandated by Entity itself, governed and facilitated by the evil forces at work. Similarly, what supported Chucky in carrying out his devious plans simply kept The Lord's from lashing out unnecessarily. It was apparent that he enjoyed bloodbath and war but wouldn't partake into the mess so as to not dirty his own hands of which he was considerate enough, that they were meant to tend to the activities of higher plane and not some mundane nit-bits.

Just as I had begun to unravel his undoing, Chucky manifested into that husk of the man which had remained of him, pulling me up by the collar. However, some dark force prevented him from proceeding beyond that, causing him to abruptly stop and turn around. The Lord was positively seething with frustration, his eyes dangerously narrowed at the doll clinging to the shadow-man's neck.

"Outta my way, Mummy-Man. I ain't dealing with the undead today." His curt demand was met by a sharp ringing in the ears, remnants of which reached me because of the proximity. The range was starkly wider than I could've assumed. Chucky nearly doubled down, letting go of me in an instant as he covered his ears, "What's the deal with you, Anorexic Jesus?!"

"I would suggest you hold your tongue." I mumbled, just positioning myself farther from him in case the pallets were to turn, "You don't butt heads with whom you don't know."

"And I'm a fucking bull 'bout to ram 'em horns right into your guts!" He yelled back, scornful eyes looking down at me, "How 'about you keep your puny mouth shut while I deal with this floating bag o'bones?!"

"Suit yourself." I muttered, "Don't come crying back to me."

"Oh, are we feisty today?" He seethed, before turning back to face The Lord, "Sup, Thanos-on-Ozempic, or would you prefer..." he tilted his head sarcastically, and I mentally buckled up to hold myself from laughing, because I knew the delivery was going to be disastrous, "Thinos."

Dear Lord, Chucky, why did you have to be so obnoxiously obvious?

I wondered if The Lord understood the hidden mockery behind his comments, but Chucky had done doctorate in being an absolute-piece-of-shit and had Centuries' worth of experience in being a pain-in-the-ass which his not-so-crude humorous remarks. He may not be versed with the comedic dialects of my time, but it was certain that he understood the insult in the tone. And he didn't take it lightly.

If a man's ego was too delicate to shrivel at a single touch, then the God's ego was equivalent of a baby's skin.

I could see it, the musculature of his face so taut because of the withered lines, emphasizing the scorn on the face which made me cower in utter dismay. Chucky had to open his loud, foul mouth, knowing well where he stood. His marred body made up for the enormous display of intimidation, and suddenly the blood gracing the filigree adorning his body appeared to be lacking.