Feeling Reborn

A Kettle of Fish

Swearing, because Nightmare is a sadist and Skull is being tortured.

Oh yeah, mild torture warning. Is it mild? I have no idea.

Credits on the picture
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"Not gonna talk?" Nightmare smirked, raising a boney hand to stifle a yawn. This was entertaining, for sure, but not the best activity he's ever done. He could just get rid of the Papyrus, though... However, killing him would mean losing leverage over his hostage. Besides, it was way more fun to keep them both alive for now, until they realize that he'll kill them anyway, after the Sans, who was dusting heavily from his femur, cooperates with his interrogation.

He twirled the gun lazily between his digits. Ideally, he shouldn't reveal too many of his abilities, but this was quickly getting annoying. Patience, Nightmare told himself. For the time being, no more spontaneous killing using magic. He would have to settle for the old-fashioned way for a while. Any information the enemy collected on him could potentially be exploited to coordinate an assault against him: if the skeleton brothers made it out alive, that was.

The chances of that happening were incredibly low, but better safe than sorry.

Nightmare tightened the tentacle's grip on the other's neck. "Now, now," he cooed, "We wouldn't want your neck to suddenly splinter, now would we?"

Silence, apart from heaving breaths- one always more rapid than the next.

"I just want your name, fuckwad. Spit it out."

He added a little more encouragement, sliding yet another inky tentacle underneath the wrinkled shirt and cocooned a few pearly white ribs in an all-too-eager to obey appendage. The Sans shivered in blatant discomfort at the cool, almost slimy feel of something coating his ribs, his already-agonized expression contorting into something unrecognizable. At the moment, if those things he detested were to release him, he wouldn't be able to support his own weight.

"Fuck," he hissed. "You fricking bastard."

Nightmare grinned back. Subsequently, he pointed the slightly smoking gun to the next, untouched leg bone, the limp hand hanging next to the creased pants twitching erratically. "Would you like another round? Lose a precious rib or two? Or would you like to tell me your name?"

The Sans winced at the implications, then bowed his head with resentment and whispered, "Skull."

"What was that? I can't hear you."

Skull spat frustratingly from below, "Skull, my name is Skull. Got that in your head, bastard?"

"Good, good," Nightmare crooned, snidely sticking his leering face into the other's pained one.

"Are you ready for the next one, Skull?"

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It was undeniably not the best day he's ever had so far, but certainly not the worst. Yet.

The tentacles were suffocating the last of his wit to oblivion, his cover blown, and his brother's position was compromised. They would probably have to call the boss soon, at the risk of Skull's own life; not because this dangerous Monster would catch onto their code, but because he technically failed this mission.

Either way, his gut feeling was that he was going to die; it was only a matter of damage control to the family's reputation. If word of this spectacular crushing defeat was ever passed on to other gangs, they might as well give up their weapons and pride and live as hermits in the sewers before even trying to kill off the ones who knew.