Feeling Reborn

Deck of Cards

Three more days had passed. Counting the days - or at least trying to - kept him entertained.

A glistening sheen of sweat drenched his brow, rendering the stinking blindfold damp and even more pungent than before, when it had only been exposed to dried blood and rust.

Speaking of rust, it had seeped into several of his aching wounds, leaving behind infections which sent a fiery throbbing throughout his body. He'd rather concentrate on other matters, such as his escape, but his head felt so cotton-stuffed, and his limbs locked and stiffened uncomfortably in his slumped position. No other strings of thought could pass.

The guards who dropped him off came back a few hours ago, chaining his wrists to the wall instead of leaving him curled on the floor. More sanitary, self-satisfying and less concern for his presently improbable escape for the enemy? Definitely. Unfortunate for him, but optimal for them.

Nightmare clenched his teeth sharply and wrapped his leaden fingers tightly around the chains in a flash as painful spasms contracted his joints and curled his body like a roly-poly. Sickness was something he dealt with once in a full moon, back when he was almost untouchable behind his guard. He finally relaxed his hold when the burning contractions subsided completely.

Although skeletons didn't always have blood or a nervous system, they could still contract diseases through bone marrow and their magic, which was impractical, but it is what it is, and Nightmare had to roll with whatever infiltrated his system.

While he was busy coughing up his non-existent guts, his cell door swung squeakily opened once more, and a raspy voice called, "So, stranger, are you ready to fess up your name yet? Skull gave you his. It is common courtesy to give your own."

Nightmare laughed in between hacks. "Fuck you," he choked out. "You can't make me. Beg, and I might, peasant."

The interrogator struck him across his face with a gloved hand, hard enough to make Nightmare's head whip to the side from the blow, reopening a nasty cut he received two days ago. Ouch. He shuddered.

The captive spat on the ground in defiance. Pissing off whoever came in was probably his new hobby at this point.

There was a stony bout of silence.

The voice returned, this time strained and carefully measured as to not snap at the prisoner. "What if I enrolled you into our family in exchange for information?"

Nightmare pretended to swirl the proposal in his mind when he had been waiting for this moment for so long. There was no actual reason to delay his answer, but he was mad and bored. The poor Monster served as an outlet.

He barely suppressed another spasm while asking, "Associate or soldier?"

"Soldier. It would be shameful to waste such good talent."

He sighed, twinging at the jolts of pain from his damaged ribs. Soldier was the best he was going to get.

"Ask away." He was close to gagging on his words. "But," he interrupted as the other began to form syllables, "What are the rest of your terms? I can't imagine someone as snappy as you would let little old me go so easily."

"You will be bound to the family for as long as you live. A defection will result in your elimination." The voice was now stone cold and as sharp as the blade of Cross's knife.

"Fair." No, not fair. He wanted a better deal, but self-preservation may be more important than haggling for more profits. (He absolutely despised pain.)

"Name and purpose."

"Fine. You can call me Nightmare- remember that name. I just want some fun. If you can guarantee that, I'll be your loyal bitch for the rest of my life." He offered them a slanted smirk. His jaw and face felt quite stiff, but he managed.