Dreams Versus Nightmares
Frein quickly adapted when the first lesser Nightmare pulled out a sword. It swung in a wide arc. Whatever sort of training or technique this poor soul cultured throughout its lifetime didn’t matter once it was turned. The Visitor stepped to the side, positioned his feet, and in a single heartbeat, performed a spinning roundhouse kick straight to his opponent’s neck.
He felt a crack and heard a crash, but he didn’t have time to check how effective the attack was. Frein jumped just in time as another lesser Nightmare lunged at him, thrusting a spear. It was a surprisingly sharp and precise assault, but it lacked in recovery. He spun midair and pried the weapon out of its grip before returning the favor. There was no technique or Meiyal Art involved, since he had never touched a spear in his entire life. Fortunately enough, there was no need for such a thing against lousy opponents.
“If you don’t use fire, we can’t kill them,” Elizzel reminded him.
“We don’t have one, so we’ll just disable them as much as we can.”
Lesser Nightmares regenerated much slower compared to their greater varieties. The influence also affected the rate in which they recovered, but the Tower’s rules might’ve changed it completely.
In any case, the best move was to not linger. Frein kept his eyes on the outpost while deflecting another Nightmare trying to pounce at him. He made a practiced spin while pulling its arm, effortlessly throwing it at the mob behind him.
Four more lesser Nightmares appeared from the outpost, carrying with them massive bows. Their weapons were almost as large as they were. They looked ancient, nothing like the ones he had seen in Irista Nation. In fact, they resembled the traditional bows he had seen back on Earth. It prompted Frein to check the other weapons.
All were mundane. Neither Drawn nor Forged. Their clothes too, particularly their accessories, became obvious to him. Wrist watches, headphones, wireless earpieces, damaged phones dangling on their waists, and he even saw one swinging a skateboard as an improvised weapon.
Humans from Earth?
The notion that Earthlings were brought to Brymeia and subsequently turned into lesser Nightmares was simply impossible. Not only were Schrodie and Katherine’s integrity at stake, it also went against everything Frein knew.
“This is one sick Tower,” he said while dodging a volley of arrows and crushing three heads with a single haymaker.
Frein assumed that the Keeper’s Tower was taking parts of his memories or experiences as details for its challenge. It was subtle enough that the lesser Nightmares remained nondescript, but obviously the Tower hadn’t considered that someone from outside Brymeia could be taking its simulated trials.
He had no proof, but it was the only logical conclusion he could come up with. In the grand scheme of things, it hardly changed anything. A mob was still after him, and he still had to complete the challenge if he wanted Palar’gog’s reward. Assuming the Tower didn’t have any surprises in that regard, this was supposed to be the only challenge he had to complete.
The trick was to never stay in one place and keep throwing the closest lesser Nightmare on top of the others. Smashing their heads or breaking their legs was also on the table, if he could make enough space to afford it. He gained ground while smartly outmaneuvering the Nightmares.
“If this was Katherine, she’d be done already,” he said disappointedly. Frankly, she would’ve just used Rivasia and flew over everyone, but Frein had an inkling that the Tower wouldn’t give her such an easy challenge.
“You shouldn’t compare yourself to someone who literally grew up dealing with these things,” Elizzel said. “We’ve also spent a good chunk of meiyal already, so you should probably get a move on.”
She was right. It was time for a change in tactics.
Frein moved like a blur, emphasizing his Siffera with four-meiyal, and tackled through every lesser Nightmare in the way. His defenses served to deflect any stray attacks that he didn’t bother to consider as he plowed through them like a piercing bullet. He reached the outpost in a straight line, jumping on two archers who were standing side by side. He slammed into them, using their malformed bodies to breach through the walls of the structure.
Frein rolled and turned quickly, expecting the lesser Nightmares to follow, but it was immediately quiet as soon as he was inside. Even the two archers were gone. He blinked, trying to analyze what he was looking at.
The interior of the outpost wasn’t anything like he expected. For one thing, it was much larger, much wider. Blue tinted lights danced on the ceiling which looked more like a floor with upside down chairs and tables. The floor looked like the ceiling, complete with its own chandelier, lamps, and other hanging furniture that, instead of sprawling down due to gravity, stood up straight instead.
He was looking down from a balcony which was surprisingly arranged incorrectly with regards to the entire orientation of the interior. But the weirdest thing of it all was how the design looked like a chapel. The interior, both in size and in shape, completely ignored what should be allowed based on how the outpost looked like from the outside. Inverted stained glass windows were proportionally installed on each section, which only appeared inside. Peering through the scenery of the desolate land where he came from, refracted and painted on by the window’s colors, added an eerie veil on top of the already hopeless landscape.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Frein stopped himself from getting confused and decided that the floor and the ceiling should maintain their classification respective of their orientation, regardless whether they looked to be the inverse of what they were. As such, he viewed the floor—which looked like the ceiling—with curious eyes, observing the particularly black smoke swirling in the middle right on top of the inverted chandelier.
“You know what that is?” he asked Elizzel telepathically, avoiding any noise. Despite the crashing sounds he caused earlier, the fact that his surroundings instantaneously and unnaturally became quiet made him consider the stealthy approach.
“No clue,” the faunel replied. “But as far as I know, it’s a Deep Nightmare. It’s one of their ways to conceal themselves. Most people from the Order of the Void know about it, but it barely helps them since it doesn’t provide them any clue as to what type of Nightmare it actually is.”
“What about the surroundings?” Frein mentally pointed out the inverted orientation of the room and the disproportionate size and scale of the interior compared to the outpost outside. “You think this might be something a Deep Nightmare is capable of? Or do you think it’s just the Tower?”
Elizzel was silent for a while, trying to recall every Deep Nightmare she knew. He could feel it through the Tether, so Frein patiently waited and observed more of his surroundings in the meantime. He looked back to where he came from only to find out that the breach he made was replaced by a completely shut door. He pondered whether to open it or not. Ultimately, he waited for his internal companion to answer first.
“I don’t know exactly, Frein. I think it’s just the Tower,” she replied finally. “But I won’t dismiss the fact that it could be some Deep Nightmare still. I don’t venture too far from Irista Nation and have only been on the other side of the Great Sea Dividyr a few times. If I ever frequented outside or know more Deep Nightmares, I probably met them with a previous Visitor and have forgotten about them.”
Frein agreed. For the sake of his curiosity, he silently checked the door behind him first, opening it ajar. To his surprise, he only found the exact same room, showing the other side. In fact, he could see his crouched back at the opposite end.
We’re trapped, he concluded. “Looks like we have to deal with this one after all.”
But how to approach?
Frein considered his options and prepared. He refreshed himself with everything he knew about Nightmares.
Their influence came first, which he could mitigate by calming his mind with Siffera and with Elizzel’s assistance. Their unpredictable attacks were another problem, which he could analyze on the fly by keeping his distance. Their Negating Roar was last, which was possibly the most difficult conundrum to solve so far, requiring a lot of concentration and meiyal to bypass. It might be more efficient to avoid it instead, but there might not be enough space in the room for him to run away.
Frein sighed. No matter how he spun it, he lacked enough research on Deep Nightmares. Too varied, too out of his reach, and the chances of meeting one so soon after he arrived on Brymeia were abysmal at best. Well, that was, of course, until today.
“We’ll just have to wing it,” he decided.
“Keep the pearl handy?” Elizzel asked. “I can probably use it from within your Mind Palace. Su’karix gave me one as well.”
“That’s good to know.” The option for a quick and absolute escape gave him the confidence to try. Though, that was giving a lot of stock in Su’karix’s integrity. But given that he had witnessed what the Thousand-Year Storm was capable of, to the point where she literally gave Frill a meiyal-charged material by simply hugging her, Frein didn’t have a problem placing his trust in the Deitar.
“If you think we’re in danger, you don’t have to ask me. Just use it.”
“Roger that.”
With that decided, Frein jumped off the balcony, landing face to face with the concealed Deep Nightmare. Quickly the smoke coalesced at a point in the center, which expanded as it absorbed more and more. Meiyal pressure slammed on him at the same time as a large scythe arced towards his neck.
Frein forced himself forwards while lowering his stance, raising both hands to guard his head when the scythe curved low to match him. His advance brought him out of the blade’s range, but the shaft collided with his defense. The impact threw him spinning, crashing towards chandeliers, lamps, and the wall.
Getting thrown around didn’t bother Frein at all, he barely felt slamming on to helpless furniture. Even glass couldn’t scratch his Siffera-enforced skin. The damage was on his arms. If he hadn’t specifically fortified them with the enhancement Meiyal Art, they would’ve broken the moment they made impact with the scythe if not totally ripped out of their sockets.
Frein pulled himself out of his crater, his glow, the indication of his Dream manifestation, significantly dimmed. About half its brightness. He didn’t spend too much attention to it, focusing instead on the formation of the Deep Nightmare finally appearing.
“I’m sure now, Frein. It was the Tower turning this place upside down,” Elizzel said. “A Haunting Death can’t rearrange space or infrastructures.”
An excessively large, black cloak fluttered in the nonexistent wind. A chill of air, like dry ice flowing down the stage, expanded into mists from within its skeletal feet. Four skeletal arms held an unwieldy large scythe. And three skulls looked at him, mocking him like a laughing trio.
Each skull had gems engraved in their sockets, each possessing colors of their own. The left had blue aquamarines, the right had red garnets, while the middle had purple amethysts. They all glinted as if to wield their powers, causing the scythe to separate into three blades corresponding to the colors of their gems.
The Haunting Death stood at five meters tall, holding a three-headed scythe that was at least twice its height. With one seemingly indiscriminate slash, it unleashed waves of sharp meiyal that eradicated the entire room.
Frein didn’t need to dodge. The Deep Nightmare purposefully left him out as a show of strength. The entire building exploded outwards, revealing the blackness of the night. The lava, the bloody river, the wastelands, and even the lesser Nightmares were all gone.
It was just him, Elizzel, and the Haunting Death, in the cold isolation of the night.
Frein prepared himself. No words to hype himself up, no attempt at a peaceful conversation. He was silent, focused on the target, meiyal running in a calm flow.
A chill ran up his spine when his target, the Haunting Death, completely vanished from his sights.
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