This little drabble is inspired by the tags in this post, and features @glitchysquidd‘s boys Midnight!Nightmare and Blade!Killer. You can check out their bios here at @ask-the-variants!
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“Mmm, I must admit, I’m somewhat impressed, Blade. Well done,” he murmurs, shifting around to give his servant a condescending smirk of approval.
But that smirk quickly falls into a thin frown as he looks at the skeleton standing, or rather swaying, behind him.
“Blade?” he questions, only to receive silence as his answer.
That irks him a bit more than usual. After all, it isn’t often that he shows the other his appreciation. Here he is being what some would say nice for once, and all Blade is doing is staring numbly at the knife he dropped and stumbling forward and-
Midnight blinks at the collapsed skeleton on the ground.
Did . . . did he just die?
Stepping forward with brows furrowed in concern confusion, he directs one of his shadowy tendrils underneath the Blade’s lifeless body and turns him on his back. If he remembers correctly, monsters dust when they die. And while Blade is covered in a coat of snow now, he is still one very solid skeleton.
So if he isn’t dead . . . then why is he just lying there?
Midnight bends down closer, scrutinizing with such an intensity that would have even Blade squirming if his sockets were open. But unfortunately, they are closed shut, as is his small mouth, from which Midnight watches slow, deep breathes clouding from the chill.
Blade is dead alright- dead asleep.
The Lord of shadows straightens and snorts a frustrated sigh. He isn’t frustrated at Blade, per say. It isn’t his fault he is a pathetic mortal who still needs something as insignificant as sleep after three weeks of spreading chaos non-stop.
No, it’s his mistake for not remembering such a small detail, resulting in the passed out pawn before him.
Midnight pinches his nasal ridge as two more of his tendrils slither under Blade and scoop him up, holding him a good distance away. His boney arms and legs dangle limply in his grasp like a wet, useless rag. The movement does nothing to rouse him, which Midnight rolls his only eyelight at.
They’re so . . . inconvenient.
But Blade is his mortal, he thinks as he carries the other somewhere safer than the middle of a snowstorm for him to regain his strength.
And he’ll be damned if he ever makes the same mistake twice.
