Feeling Reborn

Smoke Screen

"Shit!"
Unlike Error's softer landing, Nightmare had his spine slammed onto stained concrete. The aftershock was, to say the least, shocking and left a ringing in his non-existent ears. That was going to leave a mark.

What was worse, whatever magical doohickey he had come from had completely stripped him of the dark apple's influence (on the outside), thus leaving him feeling very naked and vulnerable although his royal purple clothes were back on his uncorrupted form, his weak and despised version of himself, although it was a prominent figure of his past. His vision cleared and the cotton in his head drained out into the air and, unfortunately, cleared his emotional barrier in the process.

A veritable tsunami of pesky emotions and unwanted feelings invaded his senses, the ones he had stored away in the attic of his corrupted form, wracking his SOUL with a sort of hurt he had long since forgotten and left behind.

It hurt. It poked and prodded at re-opened wounds, rubbing salt into them, and tore his SOUL from the inside out. Salty tears dripped down, one by one. His head hurt. He ached all over. Why was he feeling these... things? A familiar substance rose in his throat.

After coughing out a bucketful of tar, he got up on one knee and weakly observed his surroundings.

The skeleton was crowded by pale grays and muddy reds, the invading smoky smell of gunpowder, cigar ash and despair, tall, half-abandoned buildings and a cloudy gray sky above. It made him feel small. The people and monsters ambling around were either furtively glancing at the more sinister ones and the shadows, or strutting around like they owned the place, which they probably did, and he spotted multiple seedy bars and brothels in which they were entering. Litter consisting of stubs of cancer sticks, plastic bags, shattered glass and bullet shells practically made up at least a third of the ground, something that Nightmare wasn't very fond of, but didn't exactly sulk over either.

Fuck. Somehow, this was Error's fault.

"Hey guys! Come take a look at this."

Nightmare glared behind sharply with a growl rising in his throat. This was at least partly Error's fault.

His glare was met with the smug gazes of a small gang of furry monsters, the leader a shaggy gray hare with a jagged scar cutting an 'x' on his forehead. They all carried some sort of weapon, ranging from sharp but short switchblades to high-functioning, gleaming handguns, and, all in all, the reigning predator (posing as prey) found them pathetic.

"Aw, is the itty bitty baby going to cry?" he sniggered.

"Say that one more time, and I will rip your arms off." The hare laughed even louder.

"Is the itty bitty baby tryin' ta be- whoa!"

Nightmare had launched himself at them with his short temper, and even though his lack of strength was evident (compared to his corrupted form), he still managed to wrap the leader in a headlock, cutting off his supply of oxygen.

Almost immediately, the rest pointed their sharp, pointy things and aimed their pistols at him.

All the innocent-looking monster did was let loose a mad bark of laughter and summoned one bone for the members.

The first one impaled an Aaron in the head, a spurt of blood leaking from the hole.

The second and third bones pinned a rabbit (who, by the way, resembled the Nice Cream Guy) to the cracked brick wall by his sleeves while the fourth stabbed him through the heart.

The fifth and sixth... Well, those did things too gory to put here, but let's say it involved a Snowdrake and his ass. (He didn't die, though.)

The seventh through twelfth made a pincushion out of a hybrid between a cat and a bull.

It all happened in a few seconds, and the alleyway now looked like and was a crime scene, not that it bothered him a whole lot.

Finally, he focused on his plaything underneath him, who was starting to turn red from lack of oxygen. His fur was already matted with sweat, his eyes watering as well, and his movements progressively grew more and more erratic by the second; trying to tear Nightmare's vice-like grip from his strained neck proved futile, but that didn't stop his claws from scrabbling against hard bone.

He drove two summoned bones into his shoulders after covering his mouth, eliciting a muffled scream of pain, and promptly ripped them off, just like he promised.

By then, the hare had passed out with the whites of his eyes showing.

For anyone who would stumble upon the picture of dust, tar and blood, it would be an odd sight indeed; a skeleton in rich-looking material with tear tracks running down his face, covered and surrounded by dust and blood and a puddle of a gooey black substance with an armless gang leader on the brink of death on his lap.

That's exactly what Skull saw as he padded towards the barely audible screams, thinking that some innocent soul was being tortured on his turf.

.

Skull, being a high-ranked member of Gaster's Family, was taking advantage of his ranking by strolling leisurely down the street while others cowered at his very presence. Heh. Some other perks were discounts on almost anything, and the lack of small gang ambushes during the day.

That is, he had responsibilities. Such as checking out any suspicious activities, and muffled screaming sure earned a place on the list.

He tugged the brim of his fedora over his forehead. He had a sinking suspicion that today was going to turn out more complicated than he would've liked, and those sinking suspicions were more often right than wrong.

.

The former prince could hear the quivering hustle and bustle of daily life, and decided that going out in fancy clothes and a delicate profile wouldn't do his safety much good, even if he was drenched in life fluids.

So, of course, the brilliant idea to go out into the street, smack dab in the busiest sector of The Underground came to him as clear as day.

Wonderful.

Inconspicuously, he slipped into the harsh midday shadows, thriving in the sheer pressure of negativity, slinking this way and that, garnering the attention of several low-timers, but nothing too serious. He chuckled mentally. People here really didn't care, did they? He was actually going to get away with it.

At least, that was until he spotted the Sans of this AU tread towards the gory scene (the Snowdrake probably had passed out).

It did pool a little bit of anxiety in the pit of his 'stomach', but where was the fun in having a tame and quiet life?
.
"Holy shit."

Skull's jaw dropped and, by consequence, his cigar fell onto the ground where it quietly burned out. The attacks he'd seen were nothing compared to this brutality.

Blood on the walls, dust on the floor... Bone attacks embedded several inches deep into the cement and bricks. Half-alive Monsters. Cold weapons. The stench of grime and garbage and iron and magic shutting out the acrid, smoky scent outside.

This was the work of someone who was well-versed in killing and wasn't afraid to boast their power.

Shit, today was not his day. The Don would have his bones if he didn't capture the murderer.

And so, as always, he followed the scent of fear.

---------

Tears come from the heart and not from the brain.

-Leonardo da Vinci

....
I have mapped out so many parts of the plot, but I just can't choke out the next few chapters.

(22/06/2020)

*NONE OF THESE CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN EDITED OR BETAED, AND I DON'T THINK THEY EVER WILL*