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Nightmare’s tendrils lashed out in fury, knocking over a vase as he stormed through the hall. The crash of shattered porcelain echoed behind him, but he didn’t even flinch, his anger and exhaustion too overwhelming to care about the wreckage left in his wake. His bones throbbed, each step a reminder of the arrows his brother had loosed in battle—positivity-laced projectiles that still stung long after he had ripped them from his body.
The loss gnawed at him, festering like an open wound. Weeks of meticulous planning, undone in the blink of an eye. His tendrils snapped again, sharp as a whip, fueled by the mere thought of it.
The bitter taste of failure curled in his throat, rotten and pungent.
To add to his humiliation, he couldn’t even summon the strength to teleport back to his room. Instead, he was reduced to walking, each step feeling more pathetic than the last.
It was unacceptable. He needed to get stronger. More ruthless. He couldn't continue this routine of falling to Dream. This push and pull between them could not be allowed to last for much longer. He needed to protect his gang, he couldn’t afford to be weak.
The silence in the castle pressed down on him, thick and suffocating. Normally, he would have welcomed a rare moment of peace, but this wasn’t tranquillity. It was the kind of silence that came from defeat—the others too worn, too beaten down to make even the slightest noise. What should have been comforting felt wrong, sour in the air.
He could feel their negativity, the weight of their rejection, their hurt. It seeped into him, feeding his abnormally thin and watery Corruption. Yet even as it revitalized him, the taste was bitter.
Still, he wouldn’t admit—couldn’t admit—that he missed the sound of their voices. Their clamour, their chaos.
Relief washed over him when he finally reached his chambers, the promise of solitude pulling him forward. He was ready to lock himself away, to lick his wounds in private. To curl up, piece together his shattered pride, and strategize how to avoid such losses next time.
But as the door creaked open, his relief shattered like glass.
He hissed, rage flaring hot and fast. There, sprawled across his bed as if he owned it, was that winged bastard. The rotten look-alike of his brother, the twisted mirror image that seemed intent on invading every corner of his life.
And now, he had come to defile Nightmare’s one refuge, his inner sanctum, as if it was his by right.
The sight of Sol lounging there, wings splayed out lazily, was enough to make Nightmare’s tendrils thrash in barely-contained fury. His chest burned with the need to strike, to tear that smug expression from Sol's face, but he held back, if only barely.
Nightmare grit his teeth, his fury simmering just beneath the surface. As tempting as it was to tear Sol apart, to rip him limb from limb, he couldn’t bring himself to do it—not here. He would hate to have that man's marrow stain his sheets.
The mere thought of it was enough to make his tendrils twitch in disgust.
“How dare you,” Nightmare snarled, his form shifting, twisting into something darker, more viscous. His body seemed to drip with shadow, his tendrils writhing like serpents as his distaste warped his already terrifying presence into something even more eldrich.
He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this menace. Not now. Not when every nerve in his body screamed for rest, not when his rage simmered so close to the surface that one wrong move might send him over the edge.
“There you are, pretty Omega,” Sol’s voice chimed, sing-song and sweet, like some twisted birdcall. His wings rustled as he stretched lazily on the bed, a smug grin tugging at his mouth, utterly at ease in a place he had no right to be. "I've been waiting for you."
Nightmare's tendrils coiled tighter, trembling with barely suppressed fury. The way Sol so casually called him by his second gender only stoked the fire in his chest, the insult hanging in the air like smoke. But he forced himself to hold back. He wasn’t in any state to get into a fight with his brother’s counterpart, no matter how much he craved to wipe that smug grin off Sol’s face.
“What do you want?” he snapped, his voice sharp and brittle, betraying just how close he was to breaking. The sooner this infuriating exchange was over, the better. He needed to retreat, to rebuild his strength. Not waste it on a game he couldn’t win right now.
“I’m here regarding our arrangement,” Sol purred, his voice dripping with a sickening sweetness. “You can’t keep putting this off, darling.”
He leaned forward, his eyelights gleaming with a predatory hunger, locking onto Nightmare with an intensity that left no room for escape. Every subtle twitch, every flicker of movement, Sol tracked like a hunter poised to strike, his gaze unwavering and leering, the air between them thick with tension. His smile widened, sharp and knowing, as if savouring the power he held in the moment.
A cold wave of dread washed over Nightmare at the reminder, the weight of that unspoken agreement settling like ice in his ribcage. Sol’s expectation hung heavy in the air, thick with promises and threats all wrapped in a facade of charm.
Nightmare’s throat tightened, but he would not show weakness—not now, not in front of Sol.
“I told you, now isn’t the time,” he said, his voice stiff, clipped. He refused to acknowledge the Alpha’s blatant attempt at dominance, rubbing his scent into the very fibres of Nightmare’s sheets.
The violation only fueled his frustration, but he couldn't afford to lose control.
Not yet.
"How long will you continue to put this off, hmm?" Sol hummed, his voice smooth but laced with impatience. "I tire of waiting, my beloved."
The words dripped with false affection, his gaze sharp and unyielding. As Sol spoke, he leaned in slightly, as if drawn into Nightmare's orbit, an invisible force pulling him closer and closer with every moment, like two opposing magnets bound to collide. Each syllable carried a heavy weight, pressing down on the air between them like the tension before a brewing storm. Though his tone was sweet, it held a dangerous undercurrent—an unmistakable edge, a warning wrapped in endearment.
"I want you," Sol murmured boldly, his voice low and unwavering. The words hung in the air, their weight undeniable.
Nightmare's breath hitched, and despite himself, a soft cyan blush bloomed across his cheekbones, betraying the turmoil beneath his icy exterior. It was a reaction he couldn't control, no matter how fiercely he willed it away.
Sol's gaze, sharp and knowing, lingered on the faint blush, his mouth curling into a satisfied smirk.
The angel's desire was a palpable force, a tangible weight that pressed down upon Nightmare like a heavy blanket, suffocating yet inescapable.
His scent thickened with his persistence, a sweetness reminiscent of burnt caramel, dark and cloying as it flooded the room. It lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, creeping closer with every breath.
Nightmare felt a brief moment of relief standing near the open doorway, grateful for the fresh air that tempered the overwhelming scent, lest it drown him entirely.
"If you keep pushing me, I'll end this deal right now," Nightmare snarled, his voice sharp with barely contained fury. His eyes darkened, narrowing into dangerous slits as the air around him crackled with tension.
"Don't test me." His tone dropped, cold and venomous. "The only reason this is still happening is because it serves me, not you." Every word was a dagger dripping with warning.
To Nightmare's dismay, his threat only seemed to fuel Sol's twisted delight. Far from discouraging him, it drew Sol closer, his pleasure almost palpable in the air between them. A faint flush spread across Sol's face, his eyes gleaming with even greater intensity, as though Nightmare’s fury only endeared him more.
“Oh, you’re so stunning when you play hard to get,” Sol murmured, his voice dripping with a sickening mix of fascination and affection. The strange pattern of his right eye light spun lazily, a revolving sun, reflecting the depths of his twisted emotions. He looked almost enthralled as if Nightmare’s fury only endeared him further.
“That’s fine,” he allowed, his tone gracious, though the gesture that followed was anything but. With an infuriating smirk, he rubbed his scent deeper into Nightmare’s sheets, marking the territory as though he had already won. The bastard.
Sol rose from the bed, his movements fluid and graceful, a contradiction to the lanky, almost coltish limbs that should have made him appear awkward. Yet there was nothing clumsy about the way he carried himself. Every step was deliberate, dripping with confidence, like a predator casually strolling through territory he had already claimed.
"But don't keep me waiting much longer, my new moon," Sol purred, looking down at Nightmare with a sickeningly soft smile. "Or else I’ll be forced to play with your pups instead."
The threat hit its mark, sharp as a blade, and the thread of Nightmare's control snapped. His Omega instincts flared violently, protective and primal, drowning out every other thought. His vision clouded red, a roaring anger rising in his chest.
"You will leave my men out of this!" he snarled, voice raw and feral, his tendrils lashing out in fury. The room seemed to darken with the force of his rage, every fiber of his being demanding Sol be torn apart for even suggesting such a thing.
Nightmare moved to strike, his tendrils snapping through the air like whips, but his strength had ebbed. The once-deadly force behind his attacks had dulled to little more than kitten bats against a lion. Sol barely flinched. If anything, he seemed to revel in the display, a twisted grin spreading across his face as Nightmare’s efforts fell short.
This, this humiliation, was why he had agreed in the first place—why he’d sided with Sol. To go up against someone who rivalled his power, who had also given themselves to the same corruptive forces, was foolish. No matter how much the very thought sickened him, how much he loathed the idea of bending to Sol’s whims, the alternative was far worse.
I'll strike a truce with you, Sol had whispered with that devilish smile, if you'll be my mate.
It was degrading. Vile. The mere thought of it twisted something deep inside him, but the knowledge that his men would be safe—that he wouldn’t have to wage war on two fronts, against both Sol and Dream—had outweighed his pride.
Still, the bitterness lingered. He had no desire to submit to any Alpha, let alone that Alpha. Sol’s control, his smug superiority, grated on Nightmare’s every nerve. But for now, he had to endure it—for his gang, for the tenuous balance he needed to maintain.
Even if it meant swallowing his pride for a man he despised.
Lost in the storm of his thoughts, Nightmare’s fatigue slowed him just enough. Before he could react, Sol’s hand shot out, capturing one of his tendrils with unsettling ease. Nightmare tensed, a low growl rising in his throat, but before he could pull away, Sol did the unthinkable. He brought the writhing tendril to his mouth, lips brushing over it in a mockery of tenderness, daring to kiss it lightly.
The smear of dark corruption left on Sol’s pristine teeth was unnerving, the sight of it sending an involuntary shiver down Nightmare’s spine. There was something disturbingly intimate about the gesture, the twisted token of affection gnawing at his already frayed nerves. His disgust battled with a strange, unsettling sensation he couldn't quite name.
Sol’s tongue, a vibrant gold, darted out to lick the lingering negativity from his teeth, each motion deliberate, almost seductive. His eyes gleamed with a twisted hunger as he savoured the dark energy, a wicked grin curling his lips.
"Delicious," Sol purred, his voice oozing with satisfaction. He leaned closer, his gaze locking onto Nightmare's with an intensity that made his skin crawl. "I can't wait to taste more of you, my darling."
The words dripped with a dangerous promise, sending an unwelcome chill down Nightmare’s spine.
Nightmare barely managed to collect himself, suppressing the shiver of disgust crawling up his spine. His voice, though strained, held a sharp edge. “Leave, now,” he demanded, his tendrils quivering as they recoiled from Sol’s touch. “We will discuss our agreement later, Sol.”
Sol’s grin widened, eyes gleaming with a sickening satisfaction. “Oh, to hear my name upon your tongue…” He let the words linger, savouring each syllable as if it were a fine delicacy. “To taste you…”
Nightmare’s jaw clenched.
“I suppose,” Sol drawled, his wings rustling as he rose from the bed, “I can leave you be for now.” He chuckled softly, as if granting a favour, before he turned to go, a portal of blinding light invading the darkness of his sanctuary.
Sol paused a moment before he crossed the threshold, turning his head just enough for his voice to slither back through the room, soft and venomous. “But know this,” he murmured, his tone dripping with dark amusement, “you cannot run from me forever, my beloved. You will have to fulfill your end of the agreement... eventually.”
His eyes glinted as he continued, his words wrapping around Nightmare like a vice. “You are lucky I’ve been so patient, waiting this long for you. I could take you right here and now if I so desired...” His voice dipped lower, rich with a dangerous undertone, the threat barely veiled beneath his twisted affection.
Nightmare swallowed dryly at his tone, his threat.
Sol’s grin widened as he sauntered toward his portal, a mockery of sweetness in his voice. “But you’ve been so cute for me, my pretty Omega. I’ll give you more time, since you’ve performed so well.” He winked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ta-ta for now!”
With a final smirk, the shimmering gold of his portal enveloped him, and then he was gone. The room plunged into a deafening silence, the only sound the faint rustle of Nightmare’s ragged breathing. He stood there, unmoving, his tendrils coiling tightly around him as if to ward off the lingering presence of Sol.
But the scent—gods, the scent—clung to everything. His room, his sanctuary, was defiled by the nauseating sweetness of snapdragons and burnt caramel. It clawed at his senses, sickeningly intimate, leaving him with the bitter taste of humiliation.
He hated him. He truly loathed him. Every fibre of his being burned with it.
To think he had engaged himself to someone like that. The mere thought made his skin crawl. He, Nightmare, bound to a fool so twisted by his own arrogance—a pompous clown bathed in that sickening sheen of positivity. The idea of being forced to submit to Sol, to endure his touch, his control, sent a wave of revulsion through him.
And yet, the cold reality weighed on him like a noose tightening around his neck. If he couldn’t find a way to gain an edge over Dream, to finally break their stalemate, then he would have no choice. He would be bound—mated—to that man.
The thought was unbearable.
He itched to strip the bedding, to tear away every trace of Sol’s defiling presence, to rebuild his nest in the cold silence of his chambers. But exhaustion settled over him like a heavy blanket, dragging him down. The adrenaline that had fueled him during his confrontation with Sol had drained, leaving him spent, his tendrils trailing limply along the floor.
What he craved—truly craved—was the presence of his men, his pups. Their warmth, their rowdy laughter, the familiar comfort of their scent surrounding him. But that, he knew, was a distant dream. They were wounded and demoralized, scattered like fallen leaves after the last battle. They couldn’t be here, not now.
In their absence, he settled for the next best thing. His tendrils gathered up the stolen pieces of their clothing he had hoarded, drenched in their scent. He arranged them carefully, wrapping the fabric around him as he collapsed into the bedding, clutching onto the lingering traces of his pack. It wasn’t the same, but it was enough to momentarily dull the ache in his chest, the overwhelming weight of solitude pressing down on him
The sharp, unwelcome scent of Sol still lingered, biting at his senses, but the stolen clothing helped diminish it. He worked quickly, re-scenting his bedding, desperate to overwrite every trace of the Alpha that lingered.
As he buried himself in the softness, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. If he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine his pups were with him. Their soft snores and breaths filled the quiet, his tendrils curling around them protectively. He could almost feel the pop and fizzle of Error’s glitches beside him. He felt safe, sheltered from the world, if only in the fragile space between dreams and waking.
Surrounded by their familiar scents, Nightmare closed his eyes, allowing the weariness to pull him under.