⛔️So I don't know if you guys recall, but in my Crossmare oneshot book I had a short series called "slave". If you don't remember or haven't read it, then I suggest you do so before reading this⛔️

A little summary though:
some of the Sanses are lords/kings ect and once a year the biggest kingdom rulers host a tournament in which their fighter slaves compete to win. The prize is more land, power, money ect. I was writing the crossmare side, and shall now enlighten you to the Kreme 😎

Enjoy

"So.. were we not invited to lunch?"

"Don't try to amuse me, Killer."

The room was silent except for the scrape of cutlery against bone china plates. Across from the King, his servant grinned back at him, fingers twisting his knife round and around in fluid movements that had seen many-a-slave left with minus HP.  "What? It's an innocent question. Have we disgraced ourselves out of an invitation? I didn't think third place was such an outrage."

"You can eat with the scullery maids, if that's what you're asking for."

"I'm kidding, forget I asked, I was just poking fun- lighten up." He rolled his eyes, stabbing a piece of broccoli and chomping down on it.

Dream watched him, eyes flicking over his sharp canines for the split moment they were visible before they sank into the stem of the vegetable. "You're on thin ice."

"I'm always on thin ice, y'know I could probably become a skater if I wanted. Leave the fighting career and dance on ice." The skeleton snickered, leaning back in his chair. It was only the two of them in the dining room, two egotistical men sat conversing like stubborn fiends - If  one sided speaking can be called a conversation, that is. But in reality they were opposites, in more ways than one. Dream was perhaps the second richest man in the world, and Killer? Well, until as of three years ago, he'd been eating his dinner from the trash bags out the back of Dunkin' Donuts, not eating quail's eggs, venison and sautéed broccoli off of a Japanese themed blue painted delicate plate.

Their life experiences had been polarised too; Dream having conquered three kingdoms by the time he was 24 and Killer having conquered the art of being kidnapped by a black market seller that offered a deal even children would know to turn down.

Being sold as a fighting slave for a sum of money that could have bought the entire Dunkin' Donuts franchise wasn't something he'd particularly expected from his life - never the number one on his bucket list. But here he was.

It wasn't all bad really; it had its ups and downs. Sure, the beatings and broken bones from the first year had been permanently engrained in his brain like a hot iron, but it had helped him evolve and grow strong. He was no longer the street kid picking fights with thugs and posh gentlemen that caught him nicking their possessions. His old life had been wiped clean by Dream's so called 'therapy'. Even his old name had been forgotten, replaced with the new: Killer. He found he quite liked it, it made people respect him more than his birth name.

Respect was something he found he rather liked. From street kid to two time tournament champion, he'd gone from sneers to regarded looks. A few of Dream's assistants would occasionally glance at him as if he were a clod of gum that had latched itself to his shoe. But the King favoured him - enough so to invite him to dine with him as of recent instead of eating in his room or with the other servants in a distant room. That was enough for him.

"You'll do more training after dinner." Dream slowly placed his cutlery down in line with each other across the centre of the table. "The tournament is only a few months away, and I won't let you embarrass me like last time."

Killer muttered something under his breath, but one sharp look was enough to play it off as a cough. "If that Succubus used magic to seduce me, there wasn't much I could do. But maybe I saved you more embarrassment? That artist could have wiped the floor with me - then you'd not only have a disgraceful fighter, but a dead fighter."

Dream was impassive as he stared at him. Coming third after two first place wins with Killer may have wounded his ego, but Error wasn't a king to boast, and he hadn't lost much land in response. If he won this year however, 13% of the glitched Lord's kingdom would become his - and unfortunate boarder for the dark skeleton. "You won't let that happen this time."

"And what If I cant take help it?"

"Then I suppose I'll have to step in." Pushing back his chair he stood, clicking his fingers as an indication for Killer to follow behind. The skeleton jumped up, stepping around the long table and to his side as they exited the dining room. "Step in? You mean illegally assist?"

He got no answer to that, only the echoing sound of footsteps as they strode down the hall. It didn't seem they had a particular direction in mind, but Dream was the kind of person who looked as if he had purpose in everything he did, even if he had no target in mind.

They'd maybe made it half way down the corridor when a scraggly servant stepped up, staggering on their feet to halt before both of them, chest heaving as if he'd run through every wing in the castle to get here - it was a more likely possibility than you'd think.

Scowling sharply the King tipped his chin up, staring at the boy down the bridge of his nose ridge. "Do you have a reason for barging down my hallways like a bull?"

They nodded frantically, taking a heaving breath. "It's the Regiment- they've brought back a hostage from the Mercosur Kingdom- th-the one you requested-"

Within those through words Dream's mouth twitched from a frown to a smirk, the whites of his teeth showing slightly in the dim light as he chuckled. "It was good of you to inform me, be on your way now. I assume he's in the dungeon?"

One more nod was given before the boy walked quickly away, knuckle lightly brushing Killer as they narrowly avoided a collision. Neither of them really cared, they had a target now. The tear-stained Skelton followed quickly behind his master, unable to suppress a grin.

Dream didn't take lightly to traitors, or anyone that tried to leave his kingdom, or speak ill of his leadership. A month ago an old stables keeper had managed to smuggle himself over the boarder to preach all sorts of lies and fantasies about the Golden Ruler's kingdom. Propaganda and harmful stories that spread murmurs as far as Horror's little scrap of land and rock. Dream had been after him for a while now, a vengeance fulled fire that water couldn't hope to put out. He'd been slippery, evading capture. But they had him now.

Killer liked it when they caught escapists. Mainly because if Dream wasn't in the mood, he'd let him torture them instead, allowing the skeleton to use his sharp sharp knives to carve them up, skin them, cut off anything that didn't cause them to bleed too much. He loved it - it was exhilarating, the sound of screams, the way their bodies thrashed, the way tears stained their cheeks and blood flooded the flagstone floor. He'd never get tired of it - that's why fighting in the tournament was so fun. A once a year free for all with no consequences expect if you won, that consequence being fame and more money and land for his master. More land and money meant more respect.

The corridors twisted and turned, stairways running in spirals down to the lowest floor of the castle; the dungeons, where he'd spent the first year of his new life until he could prove himself worthy of a room and bed. Light dipped into darkness and torch flames flickered across the cold stone walls. Unlike the rest of the castle, the dungeon was always cold. It was too far away for Dream's aura to reach, so much unlike the lukewarm corridors and warm throne room where he spent most of his time. The king's aura had been dulled down immensely after he tore it apart, but some features stayed. Gone was the constant positivity and amiability, but the sense of warmth in temperature forever followed him. If you stood close enough, you'd feel your start to get toasty (he'd done this once on a cold winter day when walking rounds outside, and it had resulted in a broken rib).

The cold was nice, not overbearing, but not too subtle for you not to notice it. If he pressed his fingertips to the wall, he knew he'd shudder. It was only a few moments later before they reached the last step, a waving hand dismissing the guards who let them both pass with ease.

The dungeon was large, most likely the biggest of all the kingdoms. It stretched out under the entire castle, a network of cold stone cells with iron bars that could give you a nasty infection if you grabbed and tugged at them more than necessary. Dream was the sort of ruler that would throw citizens into confinement for small things - deformation of his character, selling of kingdom secrets, curfews not being met, messengers giving him state responses he didn't like the sound of. They might not stay down their long, but the experience was enough to confirm that they never make the same mistake again. It was one of the reasons that Dream had one of the highest levels of control over his citizens in the country - they all feared death if they didn't abide.

Three corridor turns and seven cells later, the King's echoing footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

The cell was like every other, similar to the one Killer had embedded to memory. Slumped inside, wrists and ankles shackled, a man sat, head ducked so his hair obscured his face. It was obvious he'd already taken a beating, drops of crimson blood flecked across the floor.

"Let me have him, I'll make him sing for you.." The teared skeleton murmured, fingers twitching for his knives. He'd take joy in hurting this one, he'd take his time.

"No."

He paused and glanced over, a question laying heavy on the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it sharply, nodding and stepping back. It was rare that Dream would carry out punishments personally, but it seemed this man had displeased him greatly.

The King stepped forwards, one gloved hand curling around a bar to the cage. Shifting, the prisoner glanced up, teeth showing in a crooked smile as he noticed. "Mh, finally caught me huh? It was a good run."

Dream hummed lowly, gaze casting to Killer for only a moment. "I suggest you step back."

Obediently he did so, soul jumping in excitement as he left a nice amount of space between himself and the king. That could only mean one thing.

The dungeon temperature rose slightly, soft waves of heat emitting from the Golden skeleton who's positive aura had once been used for so much good. Now it was a weapon of destruction.

The traitor grunted and tugged at his chains lightly, the metallic scrape ringing out sharply across the silent dungeon. His mouth turned up slightly, eyes appearing slightly glazed. "You'll- you'll get what's coming for you-" He smiled as he said it, but it wasn't purposeful. The smile soon morphed into a grin and he twisted, feet dragging across floor to kick at nothing. Teeth shone and lips peeled, the grin only growing wider as they started to wriggle in discomfort.

Dream stood still, gaze fixated on the filthy scum with little care, fingers ever so slowly tightening around the bars as he watched them give a strangled yell, the flesh on either side of their mouth splitting, muscle and gum tearing as their face forced itself into an impossible smile.

The screams were empty to hum, hardly coherent over the silence in his mind. When he'd made his decision to change his ways, decided to never let himself be used again, he vowed not to use his aura. Ever. But he found it had its perks when used the right way.

Soon the screams were reduced to gargling cries, flesh splitting all the way up to their ears as fingers tore at their eyes, blood dribbling from them and across stained cheeks to drip on the floor. Thrashing and convulsing they curled in on themselves, body fighting with the overwhelming positivity that slowly devoured them from the inside out. Screams transitioned into manic giggles, eyes melted, until finally.. silence.

Sniffing distastefully he turned, stepping over to Killer with a cruel gleam to his golden eyes. "Now then, let's go train. The tournament is nearly upon us."

They walked to the stairs, leaving the crumpled and bleeding body of the traitorous man with a grin on his face, jaw hanging lose onto the floor in a permanent stain.

"It is indeed."

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Thanks for all the good wishes, but on Thursday my little cat took her last breath. She's in a good place now, buried in our back garden near her favourite spot

Xx

No bro I have so many plans for this I've wanted to continue this series for so long you have no clue wow

Anyways so Ummmm controlling dream? 😩😩 I cant help myself guys, it's an driller addiction now

Anyways, next chapter of this if I write this would probably be the tournament 😎

Lowkey love the idea of dreams aura being used for bad um, chile

-Jess-