Script’s Bitter Taste of Cruelty in the Multiverse: A Skele-napping

Chapter 3: A Soulful Interaction

~━━━━━━━━━━━━━━~

Script lies upon the cold, stony floor shivering, though the chill is more than just the clammy, gritty stone beneath his bones. Emotions swirl and churn within him, a concoction of fear and dread, as he stares into the hate-filled glee that makes up the abyssal darkness within Killer's eye sockets. Lost in his frightened panic and trapped in the empty sockets of a devilish skeleton, Script doesn't notice Killer shuffling even closer to him until the blue and white sneakers tap his shoulder. Script jerks with a breathless yelp and immediately directs his gaze to the offending shoes touching his arm. The cold sweat across his bones only becomes thicker while his soul trembles with growing manic fear. Under more light-hearted circumstances, Script would've laugh hysterically at being scared by a shoe, but the time and place is overbearingly wrong and easily stifles the emotion.

Suddenly, Killer's face appears a few inches above Script's skull. The victim skeleton yelps and drops back from his partially propped position on his elbows. His shoulders hit the stone below with minimal impact, yet the grainy cold still jabs into his bone. Script hisses with discomfort briefly before his attention refocuses on the predatory skeleton looming directly above him. He attempts to discreetly shuffle away from the other with hopes that the other won't care enough to stop him.

Killer remains crouched at Script's side, watching his every move and reaction with a morbid sense of interest. A shaky breath escapes Script as he stares back at Killer, daring not to remove his gaze from the insidious eye sockets. He feels a festering discomfort clinging to his bones, producing a slimy itch that he can’t scratch. Killer's arms rest upon his crouching knees and his hands fiddle with something that flickers a white light with the movement. The slimy itch creeps heavier upon Script's shoulders with each movement of Killer's hands. Despite Script's desire to keep an eye on Killer's face, he can't help but glance down at the caging hands.

Script's trembling eyelights focus more upon the object cages in Killer's grasp as a sense of wrongness constricts him. As if wanting Script to see the object, Killer's hands move to cup the glowing item in both of his hands, clearly on display. Script's soul jolts with fright within Killer's grasp while Script jerks upon the ground with an overwhelming terror. How had he not noticed it was passed off from Nightmare's tentacle to the demented skeleton at his side? Furthermore, he frantically wonders why he hadn't been keeping track of his own soul.

Killer's thumb begins to press carelessly into Script's soul, eliciting a prickling pressure spreading through Script's bones as if millions of needles are jabbing incessantly all over his body. The malicious intent to harm seeps from Killer's touch, causing a pained sheen of sweat across Script's body.

Killer's thumb carelessly flicks at the papery substance that makes up Script's soul. Bits of the powdery papery layers of his soul flake off and flutter downward, disintegrating into tiny particles that further crumble until they become an invisible power. Though the flaking bits of his soul are meant to shed and regenerate naturally at a slower pace, much like a shedding snake, the rate at which Killer flicks bits off is much too fast. Script feels as if his defenses are being stripped from him with each papery layer peeled from his soul. The flaky layers become tighter and fresher with each one shed, and the growing sense of wrongness eats away at Script's mind. He cringes, teeth gritting to keep himself from speaking as he knows the end goal of this disturbing event.

Script startles as he recalls his concern for Killer himself. His eyelights dart up to Killer's face and he finds Killer's skull unmoved from its place. He suddenly realizes that Killer's gaze hasn't deviated from Script's face. The sadistic skeleton must be curiously experimenting, Script thinks to himself.

As the easy-to-shed topmost layer of Script's soul is finally removed, his soul begins to twist with discomfort while Killer continues to dig his phalange into the soul. His thumb digs up under the tighter wrappings of paper that make up Script's soul. Script releases a hissed breath as Killer's thumb is shoved further under the layer. All at once, a soft tearing accompanies a strangled gasp from Script as pain slices across his being. Dollops of teal liquid begin to coalesce at the edges of his eye sockets.

The torturous possibilities of the near-future race through Script's mind, and Script is suddenly gripped with white-hot terror striking through his soul. His frightful mind abandons the idea of appearing unaffected in favor of preservation. Having been struck with a desperate need to escape and protect himself, Script lunges for his soul with an outstretched hand. He doesn't get far before pain explodes in his arm which is slammed against the ground. Script releases a gutteral shout in surprise before whimpering and assessing the damage. He finds a kitchen knife impaled in his ulna parallel to his bone. Script's normally yellowed bones turn pale at the sight of the knife jutting out of his arm. He takes a panicked gasp before looking at Killer's face when he hears the other speak up.

"Ah-ah-ah~," Killer taunts in a sing-ong voice, "This is punishment for not telling the boss what he wants tah know. Soon as ya spill what ya know, page, the sooner your pain will end."

Script whimpers again, feeling hopelessness creeping upon him, and his head ducks between his shoulders. No one is meant to know of his existence aside from those in high standing of The Multiversal Library. No one will come for him, he's certain of that.

Script gives an experimental, near-imperceptible tug on the impaled arm and winces with a hiss at the sharp pain that results despite his attempt to be gentle. It's now clear to Script that the knife is stuck in the stone. In the back of his mind, he wonders how much strength and control it takes to do that successfully.

Script looks up at Killer from his pinned position lying on his sternum. Killer's grin quirks upward slightly when he makes eye contact, his head tilting as he admires the teary-eyed displeasure of the skeleton below him.

"Ready to talk yet?" Killer taunts.

Script's expression twists with baleful resentment before it flickers with a grimace and he shakes his head. "N-not ever…"

Killer hums thoughtfully at this, one hand pulling back from Script's soul to rub at his chin, gaze drifting away. "Hm… that's a shame…" Killer trails off before his head redirects at Script, he smile sharpening with malignant glee when he continues, "for you."

Before Script can even process what those words mean, a sharp pain rattles against the back of his skull and his vision blurs downward into darkness.