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It’s been a very long day. Nightmare had Killer on a solo mission for the whole day, and the whole day Killer had been fighting anyone who got in his way. It was exhausting to his body to work nonstop, and it didn’t help he had multiple wounds all over his body. His entire left arm was cracked open, but Killer hasn’t bothered to bandage himself yet. He had been lying in his bed unmoving for hours since he got back. He forced himself to tilt his head to the side so he could check the time.
2:30 AM. He should probably sleep. He won’t, though.
Instead, Killer forced his body to get up, letting out a pained groan in the process. Before he did anything, he should fix himself first. Blood stained the sheets on his bed, but Killer had hardly noticed. He limped outside his room and into the endless maroon hallway, not a single light in sight. The only thing that guided his way was a bright red light that could be traced back to the floating soul outside of his chest.
Slowly, he found the nearest bathroom and entered it, turning on the light. The first thing he saw was himself. Blood seeped out of his mouth, his empty eyes staring back at him. His excess determination was surprisingly calm for the condition he was in, but as he continued to observe himself, it slowly started to pour more and more from his face until it blended together with his blood.
He leaned over the sink, breathing heavily, supporting himself so he wouldn’t fall over. He gingerly searched around in the cabinets underneath it, looking for a medical kit. He eventually managed to grab one and sat down so he could examine himself. He cleaned up and bandaged every severe wound he had, not caring about the less life-threatening ones. He then finally bandaged his arm and rested it on his chest.
He allowed his body to collapse against the bathtub. He didn’t have the strength to walk back to his room. He was so tired. He breathed laboriously, his excess determination dripping down his throat, threatening to choke him. He coughed and sputtered in vain, doing everything he could to not die in that moment.
Suddenly, he heard a noise outside the bathroom, but he couldn’t recognize what it was. There was dead silence in the room as Killer listened closely, trying to figure out what he heard. Then he heard it again, this time it sounded more closely to a scratching noise, like something was scratching at the door, trying to get in.
Almost without thinking, Killer ignored all his body’s exhaustion and injuries out of curiosity, to see what was behind the door. His hand shook as he turned the doorknob and opened the door, only to see there was nothing there. The hallway looked the exact same as it did before. Nothing had changed. Killer looked around and slowly stepped out, looking for any sign that he wasn’t alone. Then, he heard a voice. A voice that was all too familiar to him.
“Killer? What are doing outside your room?” It was Nightmare. Killer turned around to see his figure standing a few feet away from him. He knew it was him, but the darkness that surrounded him made it hard to distinguish his features.
“I was bandaging myself.” He responded, standing tall, looking directly at his boss.
“You should’ve done that ages ago.” Despite him being covered in darkness, Killer could see his eyelight dim as he narrowed his eye socket. “You should be getting rest for your next mission now.”
Killer looked down at the floor, knowing he had screwed up on some level. He just hoped Nightmare would let him off easy. “Of course.”
Just as he was about to turn away, he heard Nightmare speak again. “Oh, actually, Killer. Since you’re still up, I have just one more small request before you head off.” He grinned.
What more could you possibly want from me?
Killer bit back the reply and turned back to look at his boss, only to see Nightmare standing directly in front of him, looking Killer dead in the eye. Killer flinched back slightly from Nightmare’s sudden closeness, but quickly shook it off and stared back at him. Nightmare wore a loose, placid smile that made Killer feel sick. He swallowed the excess determination that was still stuck in his throat as he looked at Nightmare expectingly.
“I need you to go downstairs and check the kitchen for me.”
“For what?” Killer inquired, genuinely confused.
Nightmare smiled as he walked past Killer. “I think I heard something.”
Killer watched Nightmare’s figure slowly disappear into the shadows as he walked away. After another moment, Killer woke up his consciousness again and made his way down the endless hallway, stumbling at every step, only the light of his soul telling him where the walls were.
Every now and then as Killer walked, he could hear one of his bones crack, but he never stopped to check on it. As he continued, it felt like the light in front of him was dimming, until he couldn’t see it at all. Random splotches of color blurred his vision, slowly forming into unrecognizable shapes. Killer held his hand out in front of him, but he could feel nothing but the cold air.
Killer never stopped walking. At some point, he forgot what he was looking for, too captivated by the images that danced in front of him. He tried to look down at his soul for light, but he couldn’t see anything but darkness.
When he looked up again
Killer collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily and choking on his determination, sputtering everywhere. He still couldn’t see, but he could feel his soul swirling around violently, too energetic for his body to keep up with. Against his will, his body heaved and retched. His soul ached painfully, making Killer cry out in pain.
Tears swelled in the corners of his eye sockets as his body retched again. Killer coughed up thick amounts of excess determination that his soul created, proving too much for Killer’s fragile body. Killer rested on the floor, his exhaustion finally catching up to him again. He couldn’t move.
But he could see again. He could see the maroon walls, though still layered with shadows and darkness, and he could feel the soft carpet beneath him. He felt his fingers through it as he caught his breath again, terror still pulsing through him. A thick puddle of determination laid next to him. Killer knew Nightmare would kill him for that, but he couldn’t even be bothered to care at the moment.
Just when he thought he could have a moment of rest, Killer heard that awful scratching noise. It was grating and loud, almost like whatever was making that noise was inside his skull, trying to break out. A loud ringing was layered on top of it. Killer’s hands flung up to his skull, trying to block out the awful noise, but nothing helped. His body curled up in pain, he couldn’t take it.
Killer screamed, his voice almost just as grating as the noise in his skull. It hurt to scream, but what else was he supposed to do? It felt like something was crawling on his bones, and Killer’s body shook as screamed for anyone, anything, to come to his aid.
And something did.
Killer could hear Nightmare’s voice above him. He tried to listen, but everything else blocked him out. But through his blurred vision, he could see Nightmare hold out his hand. An uncanny sense of familiarity washed through him as he recognized what it meant.
Shaking, Killer grabbed his aching soul and put it safely in Nightmare’s claws, the other smiling as he pierced his claws through it, deforming it entirely. A sharp, searing pain coursed through Killer, his body recoiling harshly. He screamed and cried, his body shaking violently. It was nearly unbearable. But almost as quickly as it happened, it was over, and everything returned to how it should be.
Killer blinked his eyes open from his heaving body to see that Nightmare was gone, but so were the noises that had filled his skull. His soul still ached painfully, but everything was back to normal now. The only problem left was that he still wasn’t able to pick himself up.
With his body at its absolute limit, Killer allowed himself to pass out.
A muffled voice above him awoke Killer, who groaned from the sudden aching pain he felt throughout his body. As he blinked his eyes open, determination poured out, disrupting his vision. He weakly lifted up his arm to wipe his eyes and look up at the figure standing above him. It was Nightmare again.
“What the hell are you doing on the floor.” That was odd, surely he remembered what happened last night? Perhaps he just wasn’t expecting to see Killer still on the floor.
“I’m sorry, my king, but I couldn’t get up.”
“That explains literally nothing. What were you doing outside your room in the first place?” Nightmare scowled in disgust as he observed the absolute mess in front of him.
Confusion washed over Killer. Didn’t he remember? Did Killer misunderstand his instructions somehow? Hesitantly, Killer explained. “You told me to check the kitchen, remember?”
Nightmare face shifted into a mixture of disgust and shock. “I did no such thing.”
“Yes, you did.” Killer claimed, trying to sound confident.
“No, I didn’t. You’re crazy.” Nightmare growled. “Why would I tell you to go downstairs? I told you to go back to your room.”
An unknown pang hit Killer’s soul. Did he? A sudden wave of realization hit him as he realized everything that had happened was fake. As he slowly regained his consciousness, he understood that everything he saw, everything he heard, made no sense. But when did it start? When did it stop? He heard Nightmare speak again.
“Just go back to your room and go to sleep. Now. And clean up this disgusting mess.” Nightmare stepped over him, but Killer stopped him before he could leave.
“I can’t get up.” He said, pathetically asking for help.
Nightmare grumbled under his breath and used one of his tentacles to roughly force Killer back onto his feet. He wobbled for a couple seconds before gaining his balance, his legs shaking.
“Go get some rest. I’ll be in my office.” Nightmare told him, pity being heard in his voice. He turned around and walked away.
Killer wobbled down the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. Before he knew it, he had already found the bathroom door. It was weird, he could’ve sworn he was so much farther away.
He shakily opened the door and turned on the light. The first thing he saw was himself. His face was smeared with his own leaking determination. Cold, empty eyes stared back at him, judging him for everything he’s ever done. His soul peacefully swirled in front of his chest, and it made him wonder.
If Nightmare didn’t fix his soul, who did?