Chapter Text
The sky was occluded by clouds of dust, stifling any light which might’ve filtered through the ruddy atmosphere if there hadn’t been an extensive fight in the arid AU. Ink, the Creator of Universes, had gathered new recruits and while they weren’t necessarily formidable opponents, they were worthwhile in their efforts to distract Nightmare’s team. Ink was the biggest inconvenience according to Error. Blue avoided targeting Error, being that he harbored a soft spot for the Destroyer, and Dream didn’t concern Error in the slightest. If anything, Dream was merely a nuisance for his accuracy with a bow and the plentiful positivity infused arrows he toted around. The Guardian of Positivity had an attitude like his negative guardian counterpart, but he didn’t have the raw intensity that Nightmare did when he fought. Dream was a strategist while Nightmare could rely on his ruthlessness, his lethal tentacles reliably leading him to his target’s weakest points.
Dream was at a disadvantage when his negative counterpart was involved, since Nightmare targeted Dream whenever the opportunity presented itself. The fight closed in an unfortunate, abrupt manner as Nightmare’s team and Error were caught off guard. Ink, used to Error’s style of combat, was able to keep up with him. He’d come prepared with an extra vial of red paint, which he popped open and downed as he approached his string wielding foe. Error could hold his own, but the Creator took on a manic edge when he ingested the contents of the red vial. Error loathed when the abominable paint was involved. Some of Ink’s specialized attacks would burn like a potent acid, stinging his bones when the acrid paint became tacky, adhering to them as it dried. It would bleach and thin out portions of his clothing as it hissed, giving him a good idea of what it was trying to do to his bones as it sizzled away.
The Destroyer made a few nicely timed attacks, and it seemed luck was on his side. Ink took a major cut to the side of his face, laying open the marrow underneath and causing his black, syrupy blood to drip down his face. Error took the opportunity to send out a torrent of strings in his direction, one of them cutting into the Creator’s sleeve as it nicked his shoulder. One aspect of Ink which disturbed Error was that the Creator didn’t lack intelligence, even with his near constant amnesia. It made Error hate him that much more, knowing that he could be bested by a guy who’d forget that he broke Error’s forearm and ask him ‘What happened’ and really and truly not know. Ink’s entire existence made no sense to Error, especially given his soullessness. Error, for all of his shortcomings, had some sense of humanity tucked away in that fractured shell of a thing he called a soul–he couldn’t say that same for the Creator.
Ink pressed a hand to his cheek, seeming to contemplate for a moment the black fluid now staining his scarf and the mint green fingers of his gloves. Already it had thoroughly soaking the material, probably permanently, but Ink was more focused on the throbbing of his wounds than his tarnished attire. He met Error’s gaze, his pinpoint eye lights taking on an ominous quality, before he swung his brush, a torrent of ink ejecting from the honed tip, traveling so quickly towards Error he had no time to react. It impacted Error’s sternum before he registered what had happened. His soul quaked behind his rib cage, the intensity of that attack inciting vertigo as he was thrown spine first into a decrepit, splintering husk of a tree. It split under his weight, resulting in shards of wood lodging between his joints.
The Creator, satisfied that he’d detained his opponent, called a retreat. Error was down for the count, at least until his vision righted itself. He was certain the terrain hadn’t been melding with the sky before he’d been cast aside like a rag doll. Nightmare looked absolutely unimpressed. His team reminded the Destroyer of haggard dogs–scuffed, bloodied, and grimacing as they checked each other over. It felt especially shitty, since Error swore he’d been on the up and up lately, but Ink had made sure to set him straight only moments ago. He dragged a hand down his face, groaning as the pain resonated all over his frame. He could hear the Guardian of Negativity’s footsteps as he made his way over. Judging from the dissatisfied hiss, Error surmised his business partner was unimpressed with him. ‘Big whoop’ he thought. ‘If he wants something that bad he should’ve been prepared to shoulder some of the weight.’ Error, even though powerful, had his limits. He’d already been pushing them lately, only to find out he’d underestimated Ink’s skills. Ink had done something right, apparently, and that didn’t sit well with him, but that was reality.
“Have you considered not being a simpering fool around him? Stars damn it, Error,” Nightmare growled, cyan eye light flaring with ire. While he wished it wasn’t the case, Error’s soul squeezed in his chest, twisted interest bubbling up like bile from the depths of his psyche. What was wrong with him? Something, surely, for finding this absolute piece of shit leader attractive. Error was ready to offer an eye roll and a middle phalange. Nightmare’s temperament was trying without being slammed into a tree trunk and treated like a pin cushion.
Error clicked his tongues. “Not even going to as-as-ask if I’m okay? Tch, alright, I get it,” Error grumbled, pushing himself up into a sitting position far more slowly than he intended. Anguish blossomed through his lower spine as he attempted to straighten his back. Oh, that wasn’t a good sensation–not at all. His spine continued to twinge, then burn and he contemplated the fact that Ink may have wanted to leave him in two pieces by the end of their fight. His spinal column felt like it was one the verge of snapping. ‘Fuckin’ bastard squid.’
“Hey bud, yer lookin’ a little worse for wear,” Killer commented, sauntering over with his trademark smile coloring his features. Error could detect that he was in pain, but being so accustomed to pushing himself made Killer good at hiding his pain. His black tear tracks had increased during the clash, spilling over and creating something which looked like an oil spill all over his stylized sweatshirt. Error grunted.
“Observant, aren’t ya?” Error snapped, before chuckling dryly, then coughing as an immense wave of pain took hold of his back. He hoped his healing would kick in quickly for this one. He could see many sleepless nights ahead if this persisted.
Cross made up his mind, approaching Error to offer a hand if he wanted it. Error did–he didn’t want to have to admit that his back felt like it had been impaled with a hot poker. What, was he getting old or something? And when did Ink learn to play so dirty? He felt outdated.
“Thanks,” he said, genuinely meaning it. Cross offered a nod, giving him space. Error attempted to stand straight and regretted it. Ink was going to regret this big time, just as soon as Error was able to correct his posture. It shouldn’t take that long. He wasn’t a spring chicken, but he healed quickly enough.
“Oh, shit. Did you slip a disc or something?” Dust asked from behind Error. “That doesn't look too good, Glitchy…”
“I’m fine,” Error shot back, biting his tongues so as not to let out any utterance of pain as he whipped around to confront Dust. “Just…heh, bruised u-up. Nothing to worry about.”
“Dust’s right, bud,” Horror added. “We ain’t makin’ fun…of ya. You took a hard hit, Error.”
“So, tell me, are you done?” Nightmare growled, narrowing his eye at Error. “If you didn’t realize, this has been a complete waste of time. What an absolute shit show.”
“Okay, okay, so you want to fight Ink. Mr. Goop for Bones wants to go up against the Creator all by hims-self. I s-see. Well, he’s all your-your-yours next time,” Error spat.
“Have you seen your track record? I partnered with you because you promised excellence! You’re the fucking Destroyer, what gives?!”
“Do you think before you s-speak? Ever? You…you’re n-no partner,” Error snarled. “Partners don’t blame everyone but themselves. Why is it that you’re immune to criticism? The pristine, faul-fAuLttless leader bull-bullshit, right?” Error breathed hard, his spine twinging with the adrenaline pumping through his mana lines.
“When have I ever said I was pristine, Destroyer? Putting words in my mouth won’t get us anywhere,” the dark guardian responded.
Error snarled, hands over his eye sockets. He was so over this shit. He’d dealt with this pompous, ungrateful asshole for so long now he’d been sucked dry of any empathy he might’ve had for the wronged prince or whatever title he claimed to have. His fantasies of the tentacled god be damned, this wasn’t what he signed up for. “You kn-know what? There’s no winning with you. You fucking su-suck, Nightmare. Ever since I’ve been here, your team has been gr-gre-great, but you…just fuck you,” Error hissed. ‘I can do better’ he told himself.
‘But can you really?’ Error’s internal voices supplied, but he attempted to ignore them. Nightmare’s tentacles were close, the ends primed into points, and Error recognized the tension between them. The adrenaline swarming his aching bones was helping the pain and honestly, with his wounded pride, he could muster up some effort. He launched himself at Nightmare, catching him momentarily off guard.
Nightmare hadn’t been expecting the typically touch aversive outcode to suddenly come crashing into him. He was quick to respond, as was his team, but it wasn’t quick enough to thwart Error’s focused attack. Error opened a portal beneath them and they plummeted, the concerned shouts of Killer and Cross following them as they descended through time and space. Nightmare’s tentacles surrounded Error and he paid little attention to the way Error writhed, glitches popping up along his vibrant bones. There was a wild look in his eyes, something feral in Error’s demeanor that Nightmare couldn’t place. Maybe arousal wasn’t the correct emotion to have along with the anger which had coalesced in his chest, but nonetheless the Guardian of Negativity was feeling it. Error’s strings bit into the corruption coating his bones and Nightmare laughed dryly as they were flung into another AU, this one snow covered. The atmosphere had an ashy scent to it and somewhere in the distance, a chemical glow indicated that this AU in particular had a toxic environment.
“Are you finished with your tantrum?” Nightmare asked. Error shot him a glare fit to kill.
“Are you finished being a petulant little prick?”
“Tch. Maybe if you showed this amount of enthusiasm during battles you wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Nightmare jabbed, smiling as he incited a response from the Destroyer, until he felt Error’s teeth sinking into one of his tentacles. It was painful, sure, but it more so shocked him than hurt him. He flung the tentacle outward, dislodging Error’s teeth. Error spat the dark, goopy ecto into the snow covered ground, glowering at the corruption leftover in his mouth. “You fucking brat.”
“You're dis-disgusting,” Error snarled, using his strings to pull his opponent through another portal, then a series of portals. It was dizzying for him, so he was sure Nightmare was feeling the effect of being pulled repeatedly through the space time continuum. Error heard him grunt out a sound similar to needing to retch, and Error grinned maliciously. He would have continued smiling if not for the intense and increasing pressure on his soul, then his sternum, and thereafter his skull. He felt as though he was about to be ripped apart, atom by atom.
He decided enough was enough, intending to stop universe hopping, but the universe apparently didn’t get the memo. It wouldn’t stop. They were being hurled through the multiverse, the speed and frequency of it scrambling Error’s skull. His priorities made a 180 degree turn, and he began to grip Nightmare's sweatshirt sleeves in absolute terror. This hadn’t happened before–this wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d always been in control of teleportation and opening portals to other worlds. It hadn’t ever been a problem nor had it ever posed a challenge for him. This just didn’t happen.
“I don’t–I don’t know what’s happening!” Error screamed, barely aware of Nightmare’s hold tightening around his upper arms. He didn’t know if it was a conscious response or one born out of raw fear. He caught sight of the warped glow of Nightmare’s eye light and focused intently on it as he felt himself beginning to lose consciousness. It was too much, even for him…it wasn’t stopping. And then there was a void space, colors muted down to depressing tones of faded grays and beiges.
The sound was chilling, the sonorous quality off putting on a visceral level. It was there yet simultaneously, it wasn’t. It vibrated their bones on subsonic level, threatening to break them as they hung in the balance of the universe. They were in the unseen corner of time and space, so disconnected that Error knew that realistically, no one would be able to help them. Error attempted to call out, but he felt as though his entire being was in the process of breaking down. He clenched his trembling phalanges, hoping to find Nightmare’s tentacles or the material of his sweatshirt, but he found nothing. He was alone, and he was sure he was dying. He finally pushed the laws of the multiverse to their limits and he was paying for it. He succumbed to the fatigue settling in his skull.
Maybe he deserved an end like this…
~
Error was vaguely aware of a fluorescent light flickering somewhere above him. Sluggishly, he came to, shifting his limbs which ached from his strange positioning on the ground. The space was filled with empty cubicles, stains decorating the yellow tinted dividers. It reminded him of an AU that had been largely concerned with human ideals–the idea of working an office job was a commendable life achievement, and was looked upon as the path to happiness. The only difference was these offices had no furniture, no footsteps etched into the carpet, and no sign of ever having been used at all. He eased himself up off of the dusty floor, and his spine protested once again. Error warily began to explore the space, noting the infinite quality of the hallway separating the rows of offices. He took extra precautions as he glanced in the empty cubicles, moving on as soon as he made certain there was no one else there with him. He felt as though there should be someone there, but as far as he could see, he was alone.
He had this hope, this desperate, unrealistic anticipation, that he would stumble across Nightmare. The fact that he wanted to find Nightmare was strange, because he distinctly recalled being convinced he wanted to tear off one of his goopy tentacles. While he was still pissed at the dark guardian, he would give anything now not to be alone; he swore he’d been in more unsettling universes, but the fact that all he could hear was the eerie hum of the old lights was causing him to panic.
Occasionally, he’d get this wave of apprehension as he swore he heard something in the near distance, which provided him with ample imagery. Either it was Nightmare or something else–of course he’d prefer coming across his asshole of a business partner, but he didn’t have control over the situation, so he had no clue who or what he’d encounter.
He made the decision to take an alternate path off of the main hallway of the decrepit office building. He wasn’t sure if he’d made the correct decision, but so be it. He wasn’t about to stay in one place when he felt like he was being constantly watched. Error wasn’t willing to walk down a straight path forever, so the option to take the ominous corridor to his left was the next best thing. He frowned at the water stains on the wall, noting that nobody had seen the insides of this place in eons, which made him feel so great about being there.
What if no one found him?
Where the fuck was he?
Was this the afterlife? Had he died?
The dim tunnel transitioned into tile floors, walls, and ceilings. He entered a space which reminded him of a shower dimension gone haywire. He kept a hand solidly planted on a wall to support himself as he took in the peculiar space. It was absolutely ominous and extensive. Many open concept floors towered above while the central area contained a body of water. He wasn’t sure how deep it was and he had no intention of approaching the oversized pool to find out. The water extended further than he could see, since there were various bends and blind pots in the architecture. The culmination of the massive space reminded him of a decadent prison. He couldn’t deny it was creepy.
He walked for as long as he could. He wasn’t sure if it was the overwhelming ambience the generic, bathroom-pool area gave off, but he succumbed to anxious exhaustion rather quickly. He decided the next best step of action was making it his prerogative to access higher ground. He was almost certain that if there were others here, they’d be aware of his presence and possibly even looking for him. The slap of his flip-flops against the damp tile was driving him mad, and he despised the echoes of the water which seemed to follow him no matter where he traveled. The ever present sensation of being watched had him on edge. While he wasn’t certain the premonition was reliable, he couldn’t shake the paranoia clouding his skull. He wondered if he’d made any progress as far as finding a way out of this building or if he’d wound his way deeper into the labyrinthian landscape.
After making his way along the third floor walkway looking over the seemingly endless pool, he made the decision to seek out a place to lay low and rest. If he had the ability, he’d press on, but his joints were aching and the fatigue from being tossed like a ragdoll through the void left him feeling like he was on the verge of collapsing. With the last of his energy, he conjured his strings to support him as he scaled the wall, hoisting himself into an elevated alcove. It wasn’t anything special–it was a hollow in the structure where someone must have begun to dig out the space for storage purposes, but gave up halfway through the process. He nestled into the deepest point within the space, ignoring how the rough texture of the walls scraped against his aching bones. It would do for now. He fell into an extremely restless sleep, with his knees up to his sternum as he attempted to block out the intrusive thoughts plaguing him.
Error awoke to a sensation of absolute wrongness. He peered out of the alcove before deciding it was time to continue his trek through hell–no one else was going to do it for him, after all. He put his strings to use, descending the wall. He walked in the same direction he’d been going before his much needed break, hoping that this abominable place wasn’t as expansive as it seemed. Trying to remain positive, he thought of how his persistence would pay off if he kept moving.
He decided after walking for countless miles and hours of his spine prickling with apprehension to try something different. Various passageways had sprung up to his left, and up until now, he’d been ignoring them in favor of following the most well lit path. Since the tiled fever dream wasn’t ending, he decided to enter the dim passage closest to him, truly hoping he didn’t end up regretting it. After treading through the dimly lit corridor for a span of time, he observed the tunnel opening up into a room with incredibly high ceilings. Everything on the ground level before him was dilapidated. It seemed as though it hadn’t been touched in eons, much like the other spaces. He hesitantly entered, scanning the area for any sign of life. Nothing.
Anxiety occupied his skull, bringing with it a strong feeling of uneasiness. The silence left him imagining things, creating the sensation of being on the verge of either suffocating or imploding. He didn’t have any misconceptions–he was well aware he’d put himself in this situation. While he would’ve liked to feel less angry and more pragmatic, he had little to no control over how he was interpreting his surroundings. To be honest, he was fucking scared out of his mind.
He avoided stepping on the clutter lining the ground, as well as broken glass from the old freezer doors which had probably been looted at some point. He was glad to see that there wasn’t any perishable food left in the storage. It already smelled musty enough to turn his magic. He assumed the place used to be some kind of enormous indoor market. There were numerous aisles, some still stocked with products, which by now were all coated in a thick layer of dust. Walking across the cracked and colorful tiles of the flooring, he acknowledged how loud his footsteps were as he cautiously searched for an exit. Everything he did echoed and he despised it. He couldn’t be sure if he was hearing things, or if he was imagining another set of footsteps in the distance. He would pause to listen, sometimes for extended periods, just to confirm it was actually all in his head. What would he even do in that case? This place was a clusterfuck, he had no way of knowing if there was an exit or if he’d be looped around into another stupid maze.
He identified a putrid scent which had his nasal ridge crinkling. It was pungent and unlike anything he’d come across before. Vying for a distraction, he plucked a box from one of the shelves at eye level. The text and images on the box were warped, probably from excess moisture and the passage of time. Or maybe he was looking at a figment of the universe which hadn’t ever had a purpose to serve. Error grunted, sliding the item back into place. Error was hit by a wave of nausea as the scent intensified. He covered his nasal aperture with his scarf, hoping to chase away the moisture gathering in his eye sockets. ‘Holy shit…what the hell is that?’
He looked around, feeling acutely aware of how small he felt in the abandoned behemoth of a market. Being light on his feet, he approached the end of the aisle he was in, peering around the endcap. He didn’t dare leave the aisle as he felt the harrowing sensation of eyes on him.
I can hear you. A voice came from all around and nowhere at once. Was it inside of his skull? Or was it so resonant that it just felt as though it had permeated his thoughts? Your scent is strange…but pleasant, nonetheless. Where are you from, stranger?
Error pressed his spine against the shelving, desperately hoping to avoid whatever it was that had entered this vicinity with him. Or had it been following him the entire time? ‘Fuck fuck fuck!’ He gripped his scarf while sweat beaded up on his skull. The lights, albeit dim, flickered above, suddenly reminding Error of how much he didn’t want to be left in this space in the dark. No way, no how was he about to wait around for whatever it was to gain the upper hand. He heard the sound of something being dragged across the broken tiles and he swore he was on the verge of losing his composure.
It’s been so long since someone entered my domain. Don’t you know how to greet a new friend, stranger? Don’t be shy. The voice sent Error’s cervical vertebrae prickling with terror. He recognized the cadence of the question, but contrary to what was being said, it came off as disingenuous and sinister.
Error ever so cautiously slid along a row of decommissioned freezers, peering into the darkness of some of the intact glass to see his reflection staring back at him. He took his time, slowly peering down the aisles, resisting the urge to sprint for his life. That was probably what the thing wanted. He couldn’t play into its expectations.
Something shifted in his peripheral vision and Error froze. He’d seen that, actually seen it–he couldn’t place it, but something had definitely moved and it was close enough that he considered himself completely out of options. Panic gripped him as he surveyed the space, soul thudding frantically in his rib cage. He needed to get out. He pinpointed the passage he wanted to take. He didn’t hesitate, just went for it.
Error swore he was struck by solid steel. The air was knocked out of him as he was thrown to the side, his feet skidding, bone scraping painfully against the broken floor tiles. Whatever it was, it had flesh–sickly gray, pale flesh with a revoltingly slick texture. While the face had no distinguishable features, the thing’s body and limbs were horrific. It was far too lanky–it just didn’t make any sense. The long arms, the fingers tapered and sinewy and touching him–
Look at you. Trying to run, are we? We can’t have that now…
Error yelled as his face was gripped by a large, clawed hand, while the phalanges of the creature’s other hand toyed with his sternum through the fabric of his shirt. The grip was far too tight, and when the surface of Error’s face was cut in multiple places, he cursed aloud, internally begging for it to stop.
“Le-Et me go! Stop, st-stOp!” Error wheezed more than yelled, resorting to pleading aloud with his attacker as he tried to summon his magic. Nothing was cooperating with him, and while he could’ve put it down to being blindsided, he knew there was something very wrong.
It hurt, it hurt so badly, and he struggled with all of his energy to break the thing’s hold on him. Overcoming some of his panic, he lashed out with his strings, and attempted to teleport. The strings made an impact, but he had no luck teleporting anywhere. He only experienced the resulting vertigo from the inability to follow through with the actual teleportation. Growling in frustration and fear, Error bit down on the fingers closest to his mouth, making sure to clench his jaw until he heard a sickening crack. Vile, burning liquid doused his tongues as the creature let out a hideous wail and Error had his opening.
You-you disgraceful little bitch the slender monstrosity hissed, filling Error’s skull with static. The Destroyer didn’t look back, only pushed himself to run faster than he recalled ever going, his soul pattering at a rapid speed in his rib cage. He didn’t slow down until he’d clawed his way through the tunnel, tripping and stumbling his way to relative safety. Hacking and gagging, Error realized that biting the thing was an incredibly bad decision. It burned his bones, his tongues and it was coagulating and sticking to his jaw and cervical vertebrae. Attempting to get it out of his mouth was a losing battle.
The ceiling of the new space was made up of steel and glass, forming a canopy over the interior below it. The bone of his face ached fiercely and he felt it swelling from exposure to that caustic blood. Cursing under his breath, he attempted to stop his shaking, but to no avail. It was awful that he’d been correct about being watched. He didn’t want to be correct–he could deal with mental instability, but the fact that this was happening and very, very real…he couldn’t deal with that.
He didn’t want to go down any more hallways. He couldn’t deal with something else, couldn’t do it, not now (preferably not ever). He was lucky to get away from the last abomination. That was luck, he could clearly see that. He was absolutely fucked. Maybe if he stopped moving through the hellscape he’d have more of a chance at staying in one piece, but the thought of that thing discovering his whereabouts to finish what it started renewed his motivation.
He was painfully aware of how vulnerable he was like this. His pace had slowed and he wasn’t covering much ground now that fatigue was settling in. The ceiling eventually lessened in height, returning to a white cement or stucco texture. Everything morphed into a version of that texture. It was unsettling. It appeared as if he’d entered another “pool space”. ‘How shocking–more water.’ There were hulking columns forming an ominous, geometric space which might have been neat if it wasn’t actively imprisoning him. Error felt distinctly hopeless. He trudged along until he found a portion of elevated ground where some of the bleak walls met. It would work as a resting spot considering it was out of the way enough to not be glaringly obvious. He slumped down and brought his scarf up so that he could block out the sound of the water.
He couldn’t fucking stand that sound any longer.