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[EZEKiAL]

I wrote this today, out of the random emoness of my soul. It's pretty much NiGHTS + Super F*cked up. Hope you guys like it.

EDIT: The name is "Twisted Night"

NiGHTS looped fiercely around each swirling rock pillar, completely unaware of his dark surroundings. The night was his time, and in Nightmare, night was truly night. For a few hours, it seemed that all light in the world had been completely blotted out. Darkness, in its fullness had blanketed the world of Nightmare in its cold embrace.
NiGHTS loved that time. He would fly and fly and fly, for hours, until the dawn came. The fiery rays of the sun would warm his skin, but chill his soul to its core; NiGHTS was a Nightmaren, a being of evil, with no thoughts of good in his soul. His duty, his purpose, was to take from the children what his master desired: their wishes, their love, their hopes, and if he was lucky, their souls.
The purple-clothed jester came to rest on a spire, high above the rest of them. He looked down upon the twisted, shadowy landscape below. Rocks formed roller-coasters from spires, corkscrews, and loops. Each surface glittered in the pale moonlight like it was imbedded with tiny rubies and sapphires, causing NiGHTS’s eyes to light up as he gazed upon them. In ultimate darkness, he waited.
Darkness was not only the lack of light for NiGHTS. Darkness made his soul feel right. This was where he was born: in the very womb of darkness. When he stood alone in the deepest night, it was akin to being held by the arms of a loving mother, comforting, whisking his problems away. There was nothing that could ruin this time for him. The only thing that interrupted his deep thought in this time was the rising sun.
However, that wouldn’t be for some time yet. He looked up at the moon, shaped like a sickle, and smiled widely at it. His fangs gleamed like fresh blood under its glow; his eyes turned to diamonds under its blessing. He floated slowly up toward it, holding one hand out, ever-so-carefully caressing the starry sky above with a single finger. With little cause, he jumped and flew straight down at the ground, corkscrewing around the spire in a dangerous game of chicken with the ground. A moment before he collided with the gem-encrusted earth, however, he spread his hands out and took off straight ahead. He imagined what it was like for humans who jumped from buildings. That split second of feeling as though you can fly, when your entire life you’ve been grounded. But then, suddenly, the helplessness of being unable to turn away from the ground as you hurtle toward it, and finally, perfect, permanent darkness.
NiGHTS dreamed of this often, but knew that any efforts in ending his life would be for naught. Being a Nightmaren, his master would simply return him to life the very second he died. It was not necessarily that NiGHTS wished to die, but rather that he wanted this sort of peace at every moment. If he were to die, there would be no more sun, no more dawn, no more noon. If would be all night, and only night. He would certainly miss the moon, and the stars, though. Such wonderful things, they were, hanging there in their splendor, as if they were the kings and queens of Nightmare itself.
He would also miss flying. Flying made NiGHTS himself. He loved to fly, to do loops, to feel the wind against his face; and most of all, the near-orgasmic thrill of falling from the air in a dead drop. He longed greatly to fly with someone else of equal skill. To hold their hand, in perfect, inky blackness as they loop endlessly into the abyss: that would be the perfect nirvana for NiGHTS. Unfortunately, the only other Nightmaren capable of flying as well as he would was Reala, his cold, unfeeling sister. She refused to allow any sort of happiness invade her lifestyle. NiGHTS was unsure exactly why this was the case, but felt as though she was afraid of invoking the wrath of their master; something NiGHTS had done several times. Reala preferred working to play, which balanced the pair out quite evenly. Despite their differences, the two were incredibly close, and even shared a somewhat romantic relationship, even if only to appease their cries of loneliness in the day. Reala would often pine to go with NiGHTS on his nightly excursions, but feared reprimand from her master.
Such a thing was not frowned upon, of course, as Nightmare was the epitome of evil; not that it mattered, anyway. NiGHTS and Reala shared no genes, no traits, no DNA; Nightmaren had no such things. Creating a child of their own was impossible; their master reserved the power of creation exclusively to himself.
Reala perplexed NiGHTS, in a way. She was muscular (more so than he, anyway), had claws on the tips of her fingers, and was in many ways much more intimidating than her brother. So why was she so much meeker? It was only near her master that she was meek, however. Out of his influence, she would dabble in anger and violence the way Van Gogh dabbled in surrealism. Reala was a very merciless Nightmaren, and would hunt children that wandered into Nightmaren like a cat hunts a mouse. It could be said, however, that Reala was much more cruel than any cat.
The pair had a third sibling, though less talked about that the first two. He was very different; not in appearance, but in mind; he had escaped reality and sanity into perfect detachment from this realm. Jackle, as they called him, was really quite mad, and not in the least in a way that made him creative or enjoyable to be around. Jackle was quite the opposite. Even NiGHTS was frightened of him. He sat in his chamber, both day and night, mumbling nonsense to himself and playing cards with unseen forces. Unlike his siblings, his face was frozen into a mindless stare, his fangs born at all times. His smile was entirely unnerving.
Although Jackle, for the most part, had reached complete peace within his own mind, it was perceived as complete lunacy by his brother and sister. In all hours, NiGHTS and Reala would hear him sobbing, moaning, and screaming to himself. He demanded a cape to wear, to further hide himself from the world that caused such trauma to his broken soul. He hid his already invisible body further from the world in his so-called “mantle”. In the worst of times, however, Jackle would be forced back into reality. He would dig into his unseen arms and legs with his claws, causing blood to pour from wounds that weren’t there. When confronted on such acts, he claimed that “he had to make sure he was still there”.
Jackle wasn’t the only one with self-inflicted wounds. Reala would constantly carve herself with her claws as punishment for wrongdoings to her master. Her pale skin was covered in dark scars; there wasn’t an inch left unmarked. NiGHTS, however, was much more dangerous in his habits. Using pieces of crystal from the outside, he would pour his blood out in an attempt to escape from the harshness of the daytime. He would hack away until he finally blacked out, returning to the night he so loved. For whatever reason, the sun caused him such pain, fear, and anguish that he would rather be unconscious than have to deal with it even another moment. He envied Jackle in several ways, who had lost the ability to discern day from night. Though, he had more problems than NiGHTS would ever want to deal with.
Reala, perhaps, was the most pitiable of the three; she found no solace in anything. Her mindset was entirely on pleasing her master, and although she and NiGHTS made love during the darkest hours of night, she attained no pleasure from such things. At all other times, she was busy destroying her own body.
And, as such was life for the three Nightmaren and their wicked ruler.