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Working for Nightmare wasn’t a job—it was a sentence.
It wasn’t something just anyone could do, and it certainly wasn’t something anyone should want. Once you agreed to serve them, you forfeited the right to comfort, to safety, and even to your own life. Whatever task Nightmare demanded—whether it was causing destruction in positive AUs or fighting the multiverse’s strongest beings—you did it. No matter the cost. Survival was never guaranteed. In fact, it was rarely expected.
And that was only half of it! Endless reports were expected after every mission. Data on AU stability, emotional decay, the spread of corruption—all of it had to be delivered in precise detail. Nightmare could have easily gathered the information themself. But why bother, when there were weaker minds willing to do it for them? That was Nightmare’s way—let the desperate and the damned do the dirty work while they sat on a throne in their castle.
The so-called guardian of Negativity didn’t recruit. They selected. Carefully. Ruthlessly. Only the shattered, the hopeless, the ones with nowhere else to go—those were the ones Nightmare approached. People teetering on the edge, who had to choose between eternal servitude or immediate, agonizing death.
Nightmare offered them shelter, food, and the illusion of purpose. In return, they demanded everything. Your soul, your will, your freedom—gone. Nightmare didn’t just own you; they controlled you. Every breath, every step, every kill. Even your death wasn’t yours to decide. And they made sure you knew it. Disobedience wasn’t punished—it was erased.
And still, only four beings ever accepted that deal. Four broken souls, too far gone to resist, too desperate to refuse.
Killer was the first one Nightmare recruited—and he quickly became more than just a soldier. He was Nightmare’s right hand, always nearby, always ready. Some might even say they shared a twisted kind of friendship. At least, that’s what Killer liked to believe. Whether Nightmare felt anything close to friendship was unclear, but Killer acted like it was real. He followed orders without question, eager to please and even more eager to cause chaos.
Dust came next. He and Killer were the main enforcers—the ones sent in when Nightmare wanted a universe broken. Killer enjoyed the thrill of destruction, while Dust was colder, more focused, but just as deadly. Together, they did most of the terrorizing. They were the storm that hit first and hardest.
Horror and Cross had different roles. They were more stable—less insane than Killer and Dust, and better at thinking things through. That’s why Nightmare trusted them with the more delicate tasks. Horror handled supplies, body clean-up, and anything that involved getting his hands dirty in a practical way. Cross was the data collector—tracking emotions, AU corruption, and anything Nightmare wanted to monitor closely.
Even though they all had different jobs, none of it was easy. Every mission Nightmare gave was hard, and failure wasn’t an option. Whether it was destroying, spying, or collecting, each task had to be done perfectly. Nightmare didn’t accept mistakes. You either got it right—or you didn’t come back.
And under Nightmare’s rule, even loyalty had a price.
Yes, the guardian was evil. Cold. Manipulative. But they weren’t entirely monstrous—at least not in the way you’d expect. Even the most deranged killers in their service were allowed a day off every now and then. Once every couple of weeks, maybe. A chance to breathe before the next command!
And for Killer, those rare days off were everything. Today was one of those days, and he wouldn’t take it for granted.
He was practically buzzing with excitement, a rare emotion for someone like him. Excitement didn’t come often—not in his line of work, not under Nightmare’s watch. He’d try to suppress said excitement, seeing as his boss would question it. But today was different. Today, he was going to see her.
DayDream.
His girlfriend. Or more importantly, Nightmare’s sister. His enemy’s greatest rival and opposite in every way. She was the light where Nightmare was darkness. Hope where Nightmare was despair. And yet, somehow, she had chosen him.
It was dangerous—insanely so, to be with her. If Nightmare ever found out about their relationship, Killer knew exactly what would happen. There’d be no dramatic confrontation, no chance to explain himself. He’d be slaughtered. Brutally. Slowly. His betrayal wouldn’t be forgiven—it would be made into an example. But even knowing that, he couldn’t stop himself. He wouldn’t stop. Because seeing Dream—just seeing her smile—made the risk worth it.
Killer wasn’t someone who asked for much. In fact, he barely asked for anything at all. He took what he was given and kept his mouth shut, living on scraps—scraps of food, scraps of freedom, scraps of peace. He did what he was told, without even as much as a question about the orders. He knew the dark God wouldn’t settle for any less.
But Dream was different. She made him feel like he was more than a weapon. More than a tool to be used and discarded. With her, he didn’t feel broken. He didn’t feel forgotten.
She gave him hope—something he thought he’d lost forever.
So he’d risk everything to keep seeing her. Again and again. Because in a world built on suffering and survival, she was the only beautiful thing he had left.
And that was enough to make him defy the very God he served.
Killer clutched the portal device tightly in his hand, the cold metal buzzing softly with energy. It was a rare privilege, one granted only on his precious days off—when Nightmare allowed his soldiers to pick a universe and disappear for a few short hours. Most used the time to recharge, to hide, or to cause minor chaos in less guarded timelines.
But not Killer.
Today, he had something—someone—else in mind.
He punched in the coordinates for a LeviathanTale pacifist timeline, a certain peace nestled in gentle blue oceans and golden sands. It was quiet there, untouched by war or corruption. Last time he and Dream had spoken, they’d mentioned going together—just once. Just to see the beaches. She’d told him about the clear waters, the smooth stones beneath the waves, and the skele-mers that sometimes surfaced at sunset. She’d smiled as she talked about it, her eyes sparkling.
That smile had stuck with him.
Besides, pacifist timelines were harder for Nightmare to track—less corruption, less emotional weight to sense. It was one of the few places they could meet without immediately triggering an alert. At least, they hoped.
So that’s where he was going.
And he prayed she’d be there.
The portal activated with a quiet hum, and in a flash of light, Killer stepped through. Instantly, he was hit by the blinding sun and a blast of heat that nearly knocked the breath out of him. The sand beneath his sneakers was sticky, the air thick and humid, curling around his bones like fire.
“Fuck,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his musty jacket. “If I knew it’d be this hot, I would’ve worn something else.”
He was just about to roll up his sleeves when he saw her—and suddenly, the heat didn’t matter anymore.
There she was.
Dream.
Standing at the shoreline, toes dipped in the water, the sunlight spilling over her golden form like honey. She wore a flowing sundress—a soft yellow, fluttering in the wind—and her eyes were closed as she tilted her head toward the sun, basking in its warmth like it was made just for her.
She always loved the sun. She’d say it made her feel alive. Like she could feel the happiness soaking into her bones.
And Killer? Killer couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t know how someone could look so peaceful, so bright, in a world full of so much pain. How she could exist in the same multiverse as Nightmare and not be stained by it. She was everything he wasn’t. Everything he could never be.
And yet, she had chosen him.
He took a step forward, heat prickling his bones—but it wasn’t from the sun.
No, this was something deeper. Stronger. His SOUL wobbled in front of his chest, as if it was trying to contort into something it wasn’t. He knew the risk of being here. He knew that every second he stood here could be his last if Nightmare somehow found out.
But as Dream turned, catching sight of him with that soft smile that never failed to undo him entirely, all logic and fear melted out of him.
“Killer? You finally got a day off, huh?”
At that, he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He sauntered over to stand beside her, stumbling while trying to take off his sneakers.
“Yep. Told Nightmare I’d die of exhaustion if he didn’t give me a break. I figured this was the kind of place I’d rather croak in.”
Dream looked up at him, amused. “You’re sweating already.”
“Pfft. It’s not sweat,” he said, quickly wiping the sweat from his brow. “Besides, if I’d known you were showing up looking like that, I would’ve worn something hotter.” He paused, then added with a wink, “Or, well . . less.”
Dream blinked, tilting her head. “Less? Like . . a crop top? Or just your confidence?”
Killer cracked up, tossing his head back with a laugh. “Oh come on, give me some credit—I’d at least keep my shoes on! I wouldn’t traumatize the fish.”
She giggled, stepping a little closer as she glanced back toward the ocean.
“I think this timeline’s already seen worse. But I’m glad you came. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
Killer’s grin softened, and for a split second, the cocky sparkle in his expression gave way to something gentler. He nudged her shoulder with his own, just enough to make her sway a little.
“Yeah? You miss me that bad, sunshine?” he teased, voice low and playful. “Didn’t take you for the clingy type.”
Dream smiled, golden eye-lights narrowing with mock suspicion. “I’m not clingy.”
“Oh really?” Killer leaned in, a smug look plastered across his skull. “You just ‘happened’ to pick the exact beach we talked about. And you ‘just so happened’ to be here early. And lookin’ like—well, like that.” He waved his hand vaguely at her sundress and the way it caught the wind. “You came to seduce me, admit it!”
She laughed, the sound light and warm like everything else about her. “I think you’re the one seducing yourself!”
Killer blinked. “. .Wait, that doesn’t even—hey, that’s not how that works!”
Dream just giggled again and started walking down the shoreline. Killer jogged a few steps to catch up, hands stuffed into his shorts’ pockets now, though he couldn’t stop the occasional glance her way.
“You really like the beach, huh?” he asked after a moment, his tone a little quieter this time. “You always pick these bright, peaceful places.”
“They help me breathe,” she said simply, lifting her face to the sky again. “Everything in my world is about hope and balance, but sometimes I forget to rest. Here, it’s like I don’t have to carry anything.”
Killer was quiet for a beat, watching the way the light wrapped around her like a second skin. Then he said, “Y’know . . I get that. Kinda. Except I come to stare at pretty girls in sundresses and avoid paperwork.”
Dream snorted and nudged him with her elbow. “You don’t even do paperwork.”
“Exactly. It’s already avoided!”
They shared a laugh, and it felt natural. Easy.
As they continued walking along the edge of the water, Killer let the silence settle for a moment. The waves rolled in and out like breath, and their footprints trailed behind them—his messy and crooked, hers light and careful.
Dream had always moved like sunlight—soft, warm, impossible not to notice. Every gesture she made, every little glance or tilt of her head, seemed to glow with some quiet, graceful beauty. To Killer, she was perfection in motion. She could breathe wrong and he’d probably think it was poetry.
He never said those things out loud, of course. Not in so many words. But they stayed heavy in his chest, unspoken and aching, like every stolen second they spent together.
Still, something about her shifted.
They were walking beside the ocean, waves lapping at their feet. Although now, her shoulders had tensed ever so slightly, and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore.
Killer noticed it instantly. It was like a cloud had drifted in front of the sun.
Then, Dream’s voice broke through the quiet, small and fragile as a seashell in the sand.
“It’s… nice. Being out here with you.”
He tilted his head, waiting. He knew there was more. “But?” he asked gently, nudging her side.
Dream hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she sighed. Her golden eye-lights dimmed just slightly.
“But I’m so nervous,” she admitted. “If Nightmare ever finds out you’ve been with me like this . .”
“They won’t,” Killer cut in quickly. His voice was sharp—too sharp—and he softened it right after. “It’d be impossible for them to know, anyway. They can’t even enter a positive AU without getting all weak and sick. They’re not gonna show up here.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But still! Just the idea of it is worrisome. You’d be in trouble. And it’d be because of me.”
There was a pause. The ocean crashed gently in the distance. A bird called overhead.
“They’d probably kill me,” Killer said flatly, staring out at the waves like they might answer back.
Dream’s head snapped toward him, alarm widening her sockets. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m just being real,” he shrugged, pretending to be more casual than he felt. “You think Nightmare wouldn’t stab a tentacle through my soul if they found out I’ve been sneaking around with their most hated enemy?”
Dream didn’t flinch. She just reached out and took his hand, gently lacing her fingers with his. Her expression twisted with guilt, and he hated that look on her. He hated that she felt like this—like she was the problem when she was the only good thing he had left.
He sighed. “Look, I made my choice, okay? You didn’t force me into anything. If Nightmare ends me, so be it.”
“Killer…”
“I mean it.” He tried to grin, but it came out lopsided and tired. “Do you think I’m scared of dying? I already came from a place that chewed me up and spit me out. This—being with you—is the only thing that makes me feel like my SOUL’s normal.” As if to prove a point, his SOUL wobbled as it tried to contort again.
Her lip trembled, and she squeezed his hand, closing her eyes.
He continued, softer this time. “And if I’ve only got so many days left, I wanna spend ’em doing something stupid! Like falling in love with a girl who smells like sunflowers and makes me forget I’m supposed to be in a violent gang.”
Dream’s eyes fluttered open, eye-lights fuzzy now, but she smiled.
“You’re the worst sweet-talker,” she murmured.
“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, “you’re still holding my hand.”
She laughed, shaky but genuine, and let him wrap both arms around her waist instead.
They stood there like that for a long moment—Killer holding her like he was the one saving her—and he silently swore to every timeline in the multiverse that no matter what happened next, he’d never regret this.
Not one second.
A few weeks had passed since that sunlit afternoon on the beach—the one that still played in Killer’s mind like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.
But reality always had a way of crashing back in.
Now, the sky was anything but calm. Darkness churned above a war-torn landscape, the kind only multiversal conflict could create—blood and dust swirling around in the air from all the citizens who’ve been attacked and killed.
Nightmare had found himself yet again locked in a brutal standoff against the Star Sanses. Another battle, another push to tilt the balance of the multiverse toward decay. As always, the command was sent: assist your God.
Killer had been summoned—ripped from wherever he was and thrown into the heat of battle.
He arrived late—just a few seconds—but it was enough to throw off his rhythm. He blinked into the chaos with blades drawn, and immediately the scent of scorched ground and magic hit him like a wave.
No one knew exactly how the fight had started. Some said Nightmare attacked unprovoked. Others claimed the Stars made the first move this time. Either way, it didn’t matter. It was already a bloodbath.
And Killer couldn’t focus.
His gaze swept the battlefield like a magnet drawn to one specific presence. Through the blasts of magic, the screams, and the torn earth, he finally spotted her.
Dream.
His heart sank.
She was across the field, barely standing. Her dress—the same kind she wore on their last stolen day together—was torn and stained with dirt and blood. She must’ve kept it on because he liked it so much. One arm hung limp at her side, and her skull had a jagged crack running just above her left socket. Blood seeped from it slowly, trailing down her cheek like a tear.
Killer froze, his SOUL shifting just slightly.
There were too many people. Too many attacks. Too much noise. But somehow, all he could hear was the echo of her laugh on the beach… and the sound of her soft voice saying, “If Nightmare ever finds out you’ve been with me like this . .”
His grip on his knife tightened, teeth gritting as he tried to figure out what to do.
He had told her not to worry. Told her Nightmare couldn’t touch them in the peaceful timelines. He had promised she’d be safe from him.
But this wasn’t a peaceful timeline.
And now, Dream stood bloodied and barely holding herself together—and Nightmare was just a few paces behind him, watching it all with that unreadable teal eye-light.
Killer felt his stomach twist. There was no way Nightmare didn’t know. Not anymore. Not after the way his gaze lingered just a little too long on Dream’s broken frame. Not after the way they had summoned Killer, specifically, to this fight.
This was a message, a warning. And he realized that all too late.
Killer’s fingers twitched around the hilt of his weapon. He wanted to run to her. To get her out of there. To scream at the others to fall back and end this battle. But his legs stayed rooted in place.
Because Nightmare was here.
And they were watching.
Dream was on one knee, gripping her side where golden light leaked from a deep wound. Her bow trembled in her hand, her breathing shallow. Around her, the Star Sanses fought to keep the rest of the gang at bay, but even they were struggling. It was obvious now—this fight was leaning toward defeat.
Nightmare followed Killer’s gaze, a smile slowly curling at the edges of their mouth.
“She’s losing,” they murmured. Their voice, always layered and echoing like voices through a tunnel, slithered out soft and amused. “It’s rather pitiful. I thought she had more fight in her. But maybe that shine was just for show.”
Killer didn’t respond. His fingers twitched slightly around his weapon.
Nightmare’s gaze didn’t leave the battlefield. “It’s funny, isn’t it,” they continued, “how something so radiant can fall so quietly. You’d expect more resistance. Perhaps more screaming? But she just . . . kneels.”
Killer gritted his teeth, void sockets still locked on Dream’s crumpled form.
Nightmare tilted their head slightly, voice musing. “I wonder what makes her so persistent. All that light… still clinging to life like it means something. Must be something she’s holding onto. Someone, maybe?”
There was a pause.
“A reason worth staying alive. You’d be surprised how much hope can do to a dying star.”
Killer’s grip tightened once more.
Nightmare finally turned their head, watching him now. “Do you feel it?” they asked, eyes gleaming. “That tension. That pull. That moment before a choice is made.”
Killer said nothing.
“It’s the perfect time to act,” they continued gently, “while the heart is exposed. While it’s vulnerable. You can end so many things in a moment like that.”
They gestured forward with one inky tendril, toward the broken sands where Dream still struggled to rise. The other Star Sanses were distracted. She was alone.
“Go on,” Nightmare said softly. “Strike.”
Killer hesitated.
They let the silence stretch.
“Surely, it wouldn’t be difficult for you,” they said, almost kindly. “You’ve fought far worse. Killed far stronger. And she’s barely holding herself together.”
Killer still didn’t move. The tension in his body was so tight, it looked like it would snap him in half.
Nightmare smiled again—slow, knowing, cruel.
“Or is there something holding you back?” they asked, just a breath above a whisper. “Some hidden thread you forgot to sever? Some light that’s crept under your skin?”
Killer turned away slightly, jaw clenched.
They leaned closer, shadows brushing against his back. “You’ve always had… unique motivations. That wildness. That spark. It’s part of why I keep you so close, Killer.”
Their voice lowered.
“But even sparks can burn the wrong things if left unchecked.”
Killer didn’t look at them, but his soul felt like it was crumbling. And still, Nightmare kept smiling. “This is your moment. Be the blade I forged. Or be something else.”
Their voice dropped into something colder.
“But choose.”
“Leave… him alone, Nightmare,” Dream sputtered. Golden blood slipped from the corner of her mouth.
Killer flinched at the sound of her voice. It was so weak—yet still so stubbornly hers. He took a single step forward, but Nightmare’s tendrils subtly coiled in front of him, halting his path.
Nightmare turned their head slightly, the shadows that made up their form twisting like oil across glass. They observed Dream in silence for a long, suffocating moment.
Then they chuckled—soft, amused, and terrible.
“Still clinging to your little ideals, sister?” Nightmare purred, the plural voice rumbling like a storm in the bones. “Even now, on your knees, bleeding into the sand?”
Their grin widened, stretched far too wide to be anything kind.
“It’s admirable. Pathetic. But admirable.”
Dream glared up at them, her gold eye-lights burning even through the haze of pain. “You cannot command him,” she said, almost in a whisper. “He’s not yours.”
Nightmare’s eye flicked back to Killer.
“Oh,” they said slowly, “but he is.”
Their tendrils coiled tighter in the air, lazily, like a serpent circling its prey. “He came to me willingly. He took my hand. My power. My promise! He made his choice the moment I saved him from that crumbling little AU of his. Didn’t you, Killer?”
Killer didn’t answer. His hands had started to shake. Just slightly.
“Besides,” Nightmare went on, almost conversational now, “I don’t need to command him. I only need to watch. To see what he does now, when both his heart and his orders collide.”
They tilted their head toward Dream again, voice dripping venom. “I wonder what he’ll pick, dear sister. Loyalty . . or love.”
Dream’s breath caught.
Killer’s voice finally broke the silence. Low. Unsteady. “Boss, don’t make me do this.”
Nightmare’s smile didn’t fade. “I’m not doing anything, Killer,” they murmured. “This is all you.”
Their shadowy form slithered back a pace, giving him the space he’d need to strike. “Finish her. Show me who you really are.”
Killer looked at Dream. Her chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths. Her glow had dulled, but her eyes still held that quiet stubbornness—the same spark that drew him in from the very start.
He raised his blade—
—and froze.
Dream didn’t beg. She didn’t cry. She just looked at him, as if seeing him clearly, even now.
Killer’s blade trembled.
Nightmare watched with hunger in their gaze.
“Well?” they whispered, their voice now barely audible, brushing against his ear like the cold wind of death. “Show me.”
Killer stood there, frozen, his blade raised halfway toward Dream—and yet, it weighed more than a thousand tons. His breath hitched. His fingers curled tighter, then looser. The wind swept across the battlefield, warm with the blood and dust of the fallen, but his body was cold.
He looked at her.
Dream. The sun-kissed girl with that ridiculous laugh. The only softness he’d known in a world carved out of sharp things.
And in that moment, he let the blade fall.
It clattered against the stone beneath him with a hollow, final sound.
“No,” Killer said, his voice barely a whisper. “I won’t.”
Nightmare’s smile dropped.
The silence that followed was heavier than any scream.
“You won’t?” they echoed, softly—too softly. The multivoiced timbre of their words slid like a dagger under the skin. “You… won’t?!”
Killer didn’t speak again. The thick, blackened globs pouring from his sockets said everything: he knew what came next.
And still, he stood in front of Dream.
Nightmare’s form darkened, growing taller, colder, more monstrous with every second. The shadows around them writhed like wild beasts. “Do you think you’re special, Killer?” they seethed, their many voices curling into one venomous snarl. “Do you think disobedience makes you brave?”
Their tentacles lashed forward in a flash, faster than thought. One wrapped around Killer’s throat and hoisted him into the air effortlessly, choking the air from his lungs. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t even flinch.
“KILLER!” Dream screamed, trying to rise, but she collapsed again under the weight of her wounds. Her voice cracked, filled with raw terror.
“Oh no, dear sister,” Nightmare sneered, turning their hollow gaze to her. “You don’t get to look away. This? This is your doing.”
And then, without another word, Nightmare plunged a blackened tendril straight through Killer’s exposed soul. The piece of magic shifted from a target to a heart, then back to a target again. However, it wavered unstably.
There was a soft, wet crunch.
Killer choked, his body jerking violently. Black tears streamed down his skull like thick ink as a hoarse breath left him—shaky, final. The light in his eye sockets flickered once then vanished.
His body crumbled.
On her knees, she watched him turn to dust.
“No…” she whispered. “No. No, no, no—”
Her eye-lights dulled to a flicker. The color drained out of them, gold fading into grey.
Nightmare let the dust scatter into the wind, watching it go with something unreadable in their gaze. Something dark. Deeper than anger.
They turned toward Dream, quiet now, like the pause before a landslide.
“You,” they said, stepping forward, their voice low and full of thunder. “You are the reason for all of this! You could’ve stayed out of it. You could’ve let him be mine. But no… you had to reach in and ruin him. Just like you ruin everything.”
Dream couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Her hand was stretched out toward where Killer had been.
“He was mine,” Nightmare hissed, shadows crackling across their form. “He swore loyalty to me! And he broke it. For you. Just like everyone else.”
Their form twitched, unstable now with rage.
“They always choose you, don’t they?”
One of their tentacles lashed across Dream’s chest, knocking her back against the sand with a sharp crack. She gasped, trying to rise, but another tendril slammed her down again, pinning her as if the air itself had turned against her.
“And I’m so sick of it.” Nightmare whispered, stepping close enough that their many-eyed gaze bore down into hers.
Dream coughed, golden blood pooling beneath her as she met their stare, fearless even in the face of death.
“I pity you,” she whispered. “You’ll never understand love unless you destroy it.”
A snarl twisted Nightmare’s features, a cruel smile playing at the edges of their lips, dark and bitter. In that moment, the storm inside them broke loose—the rage, the jealousy, the endless ache of possession denied.
With a sudden, brutal motion, Nightmare’s tentacles surged forward, coiling around Dream’s trembling form. They crushed with agonizing force, twisting and squeezing as if trying to wrench the light from her very soul. As if trying to steal what everyone saw in her. Dream’s breath hitched, golden blood spilling freely now, her body arching in desperate protest against the inevitable.
Nightmare’s voice dropped to a venomous hiss, barely audible over the crashing waves.
“You were never meant to be his salvation. You were the weakness that ruined everything!”
The tendril slid through her chest—not with brute force, but with a dreadful, almost reverent slowness. As if Nightmare wanted her to feel every heartbeat slipping away. Her body arched once, fingers curling weakly against the sand, then stilled, as though surrendering to a fate long written. There was no struggle. No final cry. Only the quiet unraveling of her soul—shattering without sound, scattering like golden fireflies into the fading light of dusk.
Nightmare stood frozen, watching as the last delicate traces of her essence were taken by the breeze. Each glowing fragment drifted upward, vanishing one by one like dying stars.
There were no screams.
No thunderous cries of triumph.
No applause from the void they served.
Only the haunting whisper of the wind and the growing silence that followed. A silence that pressed into Nightmare’s chest heavier than any blade.
In that stillness, a truth settled like ash in their lungs: in the need to assert control, to crush the light that defied them, they had only exposed the hollowness carved within their own being.
They looked down, expecting rage to follow. Vindication. But all that remained was small traces of dust—soft, golden, and untouched by their hatred.
And for a moment, Nightmare almost reached for it.
But it was already gone.
“I was his everything,” they whispered, but the words cracked halfway out of their mouth. “And somehow… he still chose you.”
And for the first time in centuries, Nightmare felt hollow in their victory. The battlefield remained frozen around them, as if the entire world had paused to grieve the loss of light.