Slave is back 😍😍

The air was stagnant with dust, a beige cloud sweeping across the sky in a flurry of movement, blurring visuals and straining senses. Sand scrapped underfoot with a rasping pant, strewn up in a stab of soil sent skittering across the floor. In the surrounding perimeter the walls were alive with noise, screams, shouts, cries and jeers reverberating into the floor with a thudding rhythm. It was an anthem, a song, a chant of death.

Spitting the grit from his mouth Killer panted, blades glinting in the chink of light that split through the dust. They gripped in each hand, scarred and chipped fingers curled around them tightly, held up before his skull in a defensive manoeuvre. The heavy air made it difficult to see, his grey pupils flicking across the space in front of him slowly, each shadow brown down, analysed. Where had he gone? The enemy had been in front of him, he knew that much. Throwing up the dust cloud had been cowardly. How did they expect the crowd to get a good view of the fight?

The subtle scuff of a footstep rang out among the masses and he grinned, fingers twitching and heel digging into the ground. His attackers descent was swift, but he was faster, body twisting to avoid the slashing bone that scratched his skull. Blood dribbled into his eye socket yet it went ignored, arm sweeping in an arch until the dagger hit it's mark. The blade sank into bone with a crunch, fracturing something flat and curved.

Scapula. He thought with grit teeth, the blade twisting and lodging deep before he let it fall from his fingers to continue the damage. Good luck throwing a hit without use of your arm. Staggering away from a blindly lashing attack, he rolled across the ground to the centre of the arena. It was only then that the cloud of dust started to settle.

Around him the curved walls of the stadium became more apparent, the old stone alive and rippling with an infection of people, bodies convulsing in gestures as they screamed. They were cheering, booing, at him. He relished the sound. Eyes sweeping upwards for a moment he allowed himself to spare a glance towards the royal boxes, amused to see one angry face, imperative to see one stony. Dream wasn't easy to please.

A ragged cough snatched him back to the fight, cooly looking to see his enemy stagger to his knees, hand gripping the serrated dagger that lay embedded deep into his shoulder. Blood leaked from between his fingers, dribbling down over the fluff of his jacket and matting it. He looked riled, expression poisonous. He wasn't used to being overthrown at this stage of the tournament.

Lust. That was his name. He was Horror's little pet, a meta-monster with the ability to grasp your deepest desires and twist them into an illusion so realistic that by the time you'd figured what was happening it was likely his spearing bones would have already pierced his chest. He'd come second place last year, had cost Killer his third victory in a row and resulted in a beating from Dream that had left him unable to walk or train for weeks. This wouldn't happen again, he'd fight the demon and win, passing through to the next opponent where he'd fight Ink. That was the prediction anyway, himself and the artist as the final two. Though the crowds had taken a liking to Cross' new slave, Nightmare. He'd slaughtered his fight with Geno and left the monster near dead. He was due to fight Ink next. Maybe he'd be the first to defeat him.

But another opponent wasn't a worry to him until he had to fight them. The slimy slave could be left until later before he needed to start paying attention. Flipping the blade in his hands he watched the skeleton with keen eyes; the slightest glinting smile forming at the sight of the other's visible pain. He would break him, nice and slowly.

Spitting blood across the floor Lust lurched up, wrenching out the knife with an animalistic noise. It was sent flying across the floor, spinning and scraping to a stop around 14 feet away. Scoffing lowly Killer glanced back to him, voice sharp like wild cherries.  "That was rather stupid of you."

Lust didn't seem to care for whether the weapon could have been useful to him or not, his body moving with a flurry towards him. By the time Killer realised the succubus had him under his spell it was too late, body crashing to his chest with a crunch and sending them both crashing into the floor. Killer's skull smacked into the soil and his vision exploded with stars. He was conscious of Lust summoning a burning magenta bone of magic yet was oblivious to stopping it, his mind choked with purple fog. He didn't know when the opponent had managed to weave his magic into his skull, but he'd managed it all the same, tendrils of magic rendering his reflexes useless and brain slow to think.

It took all his willpower to jerk his skull aside before the bone shattered it into hundreds of pieces, the jagged end embedding deep into the ground beside him. Heaving in a breath he twisted his wrist where his knife gripped in his hand, pointed bring. But his sluggish response time meant that the limb only managed to lift half way off of the ground before he felt every bone in his hand shatter with the splintering contact of a second bone.

A wail tore from his throat and he jerked, blood leaking into his vision. His hand was useless. His knife hand. His fighting hand. How was he supposed to fight without it-? How was he supposed to pass the round? How was he supposed to win? How was he supposed to-

He was faintly aware of Lust tearing his own knife from his broken hand and raising it above his head, prepared to stab it through his soul and kill him. He wouldn't let him live like last year. To be killed by his own blade.

How embarrassing.

He could almost hear Dream's sneering voice speaking the word, scornful of his pathetic display that would no doubt embarrass his kingdom. Then he'd have to go through the hassle of sourcing a new slave. He could feel his irritation at that too.

Yet the hit never seemed to come, Killer's eyes snapping open to look at the shining tip inches from his soul. Lust had stopped. He seemed to be shaking, fingers shifting and clasping the handle over and over, arms trembling as if they couldn't carry its weight. His body seemed tense, as if the nerves in a human had been tied in a knot and then tugged, muscles rigid. For a moment he felt confused, but then his gaze settled on the fighter's face. He was smiling. No, grinning. Mouth stretched so wide that the bone seemed strained, his teeth bared and biting at his tongue until a dribble of blood ran down his chin. It was an insane smile, one he'd seen many times before.

Silver pupils flashed to the royal boxes, good hand gripping dirt. He was met with gold, narrowed eyes staring at him in a way that spoke a thousand orders. It was only because he knew the king so well that he recognised it; the softly lifted finger from his oak chair. It barely hovered off the the wood, twitching softly. But he knew what he was doing. The lord was using magic. Cheating. One silent look and nod from Dream said all it needed to.

You won't embarrass me like last year.

A hush had fallen across the crowd, spared for Horror's yelling for Lust to finish him, to bring the knife down and spear his soul until he no longer breathed. It was a raspy and heavy shout, the type that could send chills down a spectators back. He was notorious for his savage nature when it came to competition.

Three boxes down from Dream, Cross spared a glance over to the ex-guardian, eyes flickering over his pose, expression and vision target. His slave watched too, tentacles still baring the blood of Reaper's slave. That hadn't been a pretty fight. Whether they knew what the golden King was doing or not, they made no indication of it, observing only.

With the fog gone from his mind and Dream'a voice ringing in his skull Killer grinned, arm wrenching up to manipulate his dagger back into his own hands. He was ambidextrous, yet relied on his left hand for most things. The fact that it was crushed however left him with little other option; it would have to be the right hand.

Sweeping it round in a fine ark he dug the blade deep into the succubus' eye socket, driving it in until he felt his pupil shatter and the tip hit bone at the back. Rolling his body his legs twisted to wrap around him and roll, the other's body crumpling and writhing like a beached fish. Killer felt himself stumble, his entire left arm on fire as he swayed to his feet, blood roaring through his skull. By now it seemed the Lord's magic wasn't effecting him as he wasn't grinning anymore, only having the capacity to howl and yell in pain as the knife was drove into his eye socket a second time. That was good; less chance of anyone noticing and calling it out.

The blade was driven into Lust's skull over and over until his screams were no longer human or monster, instead the desperate wails and begs for it to stop. Yet it was only when the word 'forfeit' was screeched from his broken mouth that the assassin stopped.

He looked a mess, skull fractured and cracked to match his masters, blood pooling on the floor around it. Little fractures of bone acted as little islands for the red liquid to circle; a pattern that Ink the artist would have been impressed by. Stepping back Killer laughed, a crazed cackle that had the crowds in a cacophony of noise. This is what they liked to see. The blood craze.

Spinning on his heels Killer turned to look for his master eagerly, only to be met with a stony expression. He wouldn't be reviewed with praise or congratulations. He had needed help to win, it would be regarded as a loss. But that didn't stop Killer from raising his fist in victory, grin wide as his eyes searched for Nightmare and Ink. One of them would be who he'd fight next. He didn't plan on losing. New opponents were always the most fun.

By the time the medical team had come to scrape Lust off of the floor Killer was already stumbling into the foyer, shoulder crushed against the wall for stability as he headed to the royal convening room. He was supposed to wait until Dream came to collect him, but his hazy mind couldn't care for the logistics of his expected actions as a social inferior. Blood dripped from his hand to the floor in a ghoulish handsel and grettel.

He'd only managed to turn the third corner before his shoulder was crushed in a vice grip, a voice sharp as cider as a hiss to his ear. "You shouldn't be here."

Killer's voice was slurred, vision blotchy. "Hhand.." he managed to mumble, feeling each bone scream in protest as he lifted from the elbow.

Scoffing sharply Dream grabbed at it, regarding the crippled limb with disgust. "I aught to leave it broken as possible punishment for your pathetic display out there.  But you're miraculously still in the competition, so consider yourself lucky that hand is my lucky trophy for winning."

His actions were none too gentle as the King grasped his hand, fingers interlocking forcefully in a way that earned a strangled curse of pain that went ignored. Killer's mind was reeling, good hand scraping against the wall in protest at the vice like grip. But it only took a few seconds before the soft warmth of healing magic washed over his damaged bones, soaking and soothing them until the pain numbed. A mumbled thank you fell from his lips, a sharp grunt leaving the other as he was dragged from the corridor and towards the Lord's chambers.

"You nearly embarrassed me out there Killer. To let yourself be so easily caught under his spell? It's as if you're purposely trying to have me lose this tournament again. Coming third last year had had been pathetic, but you nearly just placed fourth." He wasn't kind about wrenching him along, mouth pressed in a scowl as they passed Blue and his Slave Dust. The Skelton had been a new fighter yet had still scraped his way up to 5th before being beaten down by Cross' new star slave. A crowd favourite. The thought occurred as to what the other King would think of Dream and his slave holding hands, yet then blood dribbling across their fingers should have been indication enough.

"I would have died,  not placed fourth. Surely that would have been more upsetting than embarrassing." He muttered, gaze catching a grand painting of the country's kingdoms mapped out in glorious stretching woodland and grey cities. They had coloured outlines; Black for Reaper; Blue for Error, Red for Horror, Yellow for Dream. It always made him feel smug, to see how much of the land their kingdom dominated. He knew none of it was explicitly his. He didn't even own the bed he slept in. All that belonged to him were his knives and the clothes he wore. Anything else was property of Dream. Just like he was.

"You're easily replaceable Killer. Don't ever forget that." It was cold worded and snide, a comment meant to belittle and degrade. But he ignored it really, staring over at him now. "You'd be upset, admit it."

"Be silent." Was the order he was met with, though Dream's mouth twitched in amusement. Though Killer could be replaced by another slave from the black market, he knew it would be an awful waste to lose him after the years of training and endless amounts of money he'd spent on him. Slaves like him that could fight without fear were quite special; and Killer was unique. Losing him wouldn't be beneficial for him, and would leave him vulnerable to the other kingdoms. He needed to take back the land he'd lost to Error and Killer was his best bet.

He knew better then to make some quip or comment back at the King considering his hand wasn't yet fully healed and it still lay in the grip of someone who could splinter it all over again. It wasn't burning any more, instead washing with a warm heat that was rather pleasant. He wasn't expecting to turn the next corner, having assumed the Lord would send him off towards the communal slave quarters where he could perhaps see Lust in his crippled glory. Yet the other turned him to the right to his own personal chambers, the doors sweeping open to expose his grand bedroom.

Killer glanced to him with an arched brow, mouth twitching in a slight grin. The skeleton was frustrated, and he knew what that often led to. This wasn't the first time he'd been taken to his room. Spinning around on his heels he grinned sharply and stopped in the middle of the room. Facing his master he scowled back at him, golden pupils hard. The order to be silent didn't apply any more and he knew it. "So then, you got any more orders for me?"

The King scoffed lowly, his pupils trailing up and down Killer as a cracked smile formed on his face. His voice was soft and dangerously smooth as he spoke.

"How about you get down on your knees."

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I've been missing this series hope you like it 🥰🥰

You know what the ending of this chapter means 😏😏😏

I've had the idea of dream cheating and assisting killer in fights for so long so I hAD to finally write it.

Yum yum killer is about to please his king as penance for embarrassing him in public earlier in the fight.

I'm low-key tempted to write a really long oneshot Like I did with Crossmare 'Deciteful' but Kreme and a Squid Game plot hmm 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

See you next next Friday

-Jess-