William feels the tension of the power returning to his grasp, but not in the way he desires it to be. The lines of crimson are defacto his power anyway, though they seem to handle their flow not quite right.
Under his grasp is the basic concept of what Walker possesses after being sent into the Dream Fog. It is their privilege. A subject that makes them special.It makes them exceptionally durable as well, but something about William is still wrong.
Dream Fog is a weird place that is capable of truly changing many things. By all factors, people or Walkers come here under rare or exceptionally unfortunate circumstances. Being eaten here means nothing good, or a straight-up nightmarish end.
While keeping Walkers here has various implications and differences between them.
Some could be like their human selves; hardly capable of fighting, moving well, or handling anything that this place entails. After all, the variables of this world are endless, while its creatures or dreamy bodies of nightmarish notions of corruption, do make it menacing.
William feels it in his mind more than ever before, or is it what the little creature hopes to give him by coming back to him? What has he felt before this little change? The existence of this place, smearings its aura into his very soul, affecting the mind, and corrupting the emotions?
Feeling the flowing power through him overlaps these effects, allowing him to feel the power that is close to a familiarity of proper Vectors. But they still seem a bit off, as if their mere notions aren't his. Everything still happens without his influence—as these crimson manifestations aren't his doing—while that little spear from the little creature hunts his mind.
It has literally speared him in order to come back in.
Why hasn't it done it sooner? Or differently?
William questions if these acts could mean some difference, but the mere motion of how the little creature hasn't acted before it went out of his body, does seem confusing. At first, he hadn't got a single clue about anything. Shouldn't this power be under his grasp at all times, rather than be out of his touch?
Why and what actions spur the little creature to be defiant and separate? Is it something weird to have?
William realizes he has some interesting topics in his head. And through his clear mind, he regrets the numbness and headage of how dull he used to be like.
Crimson lines are a part of him now, even though he barely understands their flow throughout his cloudy body, cutting and moving around him like worms. Quick yet shaky, they go through him in every possible way: in and out, forming a claw from his right arm that seems so disjointed and messy, it is like clutter of paint. Strands of crimson lines of paint make the claw and fingers.
Half full and with pieces missing, it is trembling as if it's cold. The hand still amasses enough stability to support his body. It definitely has some strength as it moves according to his movements as well. But it makes him confused if this is normal, or if it is something suspicious like the things in his left hand.
Pushing himself to stand up does mean he has more than enough power to do all kinds of other things. Could he make those blades like the little creature has done? Or create a swirling storm of many Molds to attack from a distance?
That smacking and thrashing of that grey shadow figure does put some impression into William's mind. Especially when he takes that grey figure for a menace he would never be able to beat. He felt it back there: utter despair overshadowed by specks of changes that made up the shadowy figure. It moved against the little creature, yet it lost to what is now inside of him.
William knows he can't do anything about what has already happened, or what the little creature could do, or can't.
But one can still dream and overlook some jealousy because this power feels fairly tipsy in his mind. It is as if it is just a layer that he can't point under many others. Like breathing water instead of air and something stirring his body from inside to act outside. There is shock, confusion, lingering pain, and pressure that come at tides as he stands up.
His mind takes this brief comeback fairly well, but the aftereffects from the little creature's return are numerous. He is unable to point them out, however. Accepting them is barely what he is capable of.
But he thinks he can get used to it if it is back, which follows onto the next topic. He should think twice before speaking or complaining, and get moving.
Much of his personality shifts from that numb idiot to the more serious person he should be.
This place has already eaten a part of him, so feeling a bit better lifts his spirit.
William believes that everything about this place is a part of the reality. Or it could be a strange dimension that has some reality-bending explanations that he read in the library. Something about space, dimensions, and weird dynamics in the universe does sound insane; almost like fiction. But what about the Darks or Emblems? If he thinks to find some sense out of this nonsense of a place, he has no clue how unnervingly wrong he is.
His mind is a bit sharper for sure; probably because of the lack of greyish hue that has been surrounding him before. The little creature gets rid of it as it is home. There is no need for nasty neighbors, or straight-up thugs paining its home.
“Well, this is the first thing today that actually helps me without slapping me.” William reckons to his crimson hands, feeling slightly taken aback by what is currently happening in his chest and around him. In his left hand are the foreign Emblem and pendant. He considers both of them interesting; not important to keep them instead of his life.
But he is keeping them just because he can, and the little creature does seem to love this shiny Emblem very much, he wonders why this is the case. Is it because it pursued this gem out of Walker's corpse, rather than found it on a whim? William realizes how doubtful and weird this all sounds, but it seems to him this Emblem is important.
Thinking about this place overshadows anything related to that. William feels how absolutely dreadful this all is in a new light.
With a proper head and free mind, he feels a bit stupid and silly indeed, but not wrong. He doesn't regret anything, so he glances at the shiny Emblem, wondering what secrets it folds.
One or two things about it are strange: it is shiny and in one piece, even though the Walker is dead. It has some quality to it that could point to high-rank Walker, but pretty much all Emblems have unique appearances that don't change very drastically. William barely knows how Emblems work around the others, what their appearance means, and how this one survives the death of its user.
The best one he knows is his Emblem, and even there do seem to be confusing parts.
And the weirdest things are hardly that aloe, as this little creature in this world poses some additional weird questions. Especially when it comes back to him, granting him what seems to be Walker's power.
It is everywhere around him.
This whole place reeks of trouble that no human should take lightly. It isn't some dungeon for sure. He doubts that at all fronts when he pours his mind over every hint, picture, sign, and a little bit of his research about them. They are weird places. That much is true, but their mere presence is often filled with sights of many things. Real thing.
This isn't that. It is all wrong. This place is wrong.
He looks around with much more attention than ever before. The little creature has truly made some good decisions by going back and letting him have his share of power, but who knows what it plans for?
William is certain that the flow of these lines is like an imagination of being a Walker, as this shaky hand feels less real than his clouds. It has no feelings under his clutch, and everything about it feels like an imitation. It almost feels like he is getting groggy, although the pressuring power does seem close to the real deal. That much can little creature imitate fairly well.
“Yes. It does make me shift my head... Are you here? Back in me, little crimson?” William asks as he pumps his chest with his left hand. It is very densely packed with swirling lines of crimson flowing through his clouds. It seems as if it is an internal wound that is bleeding beyond the point of rescue.
William doesn't think it looks that well when he looks at himself, but what he could do? Cry? Complain?
Nothing talks back or acts like the little creature. It is gone, or so he thinks, leaving all of his actions up to him.
This idea ends up as a huge disappointment, because the shaky hand under his cloud hand moves outside of his touch, trying to grab the Emblem from the left hand. William escapes with it, turning it away from the right. “Hey! Stop that!” He wishes he could slap his hand. “Bad. You are bad! Can't speak, but you act like this? You wish for that, but I won't give you that anyway. This Emblem is an important discovery. No way I will give it to you.”
The crimson hand seems to wince a little, swaying in its core as William wrestles for proper domination that he lost a second ago. Something moved it before, acting in a mere shred of movement that he couldn't even detect with his body or mind.
It is mindful.
Everything about these crimson lines is.
William is nervous about becoming a puppet after noticing how those lines are around a significant portion of his body. He checks himself without needing it. There is no harm in any curiosity those lines can give. A proper Emblem is different from a shadow of another. William realizes it soon enough, noticing how outwrestling his own body does come in phases. He can overpower the other force if he uses his body the best.
Like a tool, or true Vectors.
They are very alike in this act alone, and this makes William glad that some real feeling gets into these lines.
“Just like Vectors... So you are my Emblem, but in what way? I got a cloudy body... and my Emblem came out of me in rough sketchy appearance?” William asks a good question that isn't far from a bad idea. It is almost right.
Giving his own body more doubts is no longer fine for him. So he stops the wrestling, forgets the confusion, and stands still for a moment in order to take everything in.
The lines swirl under no desires or his orders, just like Vectors that only follow cycling from Emblem around his flesh or Molds. This is exactly that, but much smaller in scale, while something moves it against his will. Or it moves by itself, which is an even stranger idea.
These lines no longer appear so crazy as he calms down, but they still clutch the emblem from his hand, gripping it tightly just in case.
Just in time.
Going for the head hasn't been done. There is no need for that, as there is no host, no gift, no chance, no trade, no symbiosis, or any other thing. William is just part of something foreign. Something alien that comes from the Emblem of his real body.
It does come out weird looking, Wiliam must say when thinking about it further from the dreams. This truth may not be shocking, but Emblems can vary in many forms. And his Vector and Mutant types are a lot more questionable than he thinks; so are its prior disappearances.
When it comes to appreciating one's stubbornness and Emblem, Dream Fog is a suitable place to look for them on all fronts.
But it is also a nasty idea, filled with many other issues as it is a place that is hard to visit willingly. This is no place for a picnic. The Emblem is a safe net that should always help to its best protective ability when dreams engulf the mind.
William can't see a mirror of himself, but his Velvet Eyes shine as usual, depicting a power that is the only thing that has kept his sanity going. His head is the normal size and mass, without visible ears, nose, or mouth. He can't be sure how he even speaks, but he hears voices coming from somewhere around his mouth whenever he speaks.
The cloudy body does come off as offputting; almost dull when he thinks about it. His head is at least without any crimson lines moving within it, leaving his eyes shining and looking unobscured.
It is enough to give him a nasty surprise when he moves some part of this shaky hand, but some parts of his hand do different things on their own. A finger moves left or right, but the movement of the whole arm is under his overall control. He can turn it by turning his body, shoulder, or forearm.
“Give me a break!” He shouts and slaps the hand to the ground, shaking it and leaving some crevices around. “Show me the way out! OUT!”
It shan't be given.
But other things should definitely help with that, as waking up isn't like going out of the nightmares. One can truly die here and never come back, which turns this place into a true nightmare.
And it is moving. The dark fog and flames throughout this planet wince around, slowly creeping toward him like a mash of rats. Resembling rough and dense water, some parts feel like residues of dead figures on the ground, looking like hands reaching from the ground or jaws biting the air.
William feels their tension just in time, figuring that this place is up to no good.
“So nothing... There is nothing with you?” He asks as his fingers keep clutching the shiny Emblem for safety without giving him anything else. No direction or goal is there, it seems.
But the road to safety does seem to be important since he sees the lurking and hatching dangers. It is coming to him.
Hands reach out for his clutched crimson hand in no time, so William smashes them aside with it, smashing them aside. They reform almost right away, shocking him as he discovers there are more of them coming around many corners.
This place is alive and coming for something that hasn't been uncovered for ages. Without the body or socket, the lonely Emblem is like the nicest meal to pretty much anything Dark-related.
Panicking isn't in his book for the time being, but when it comes to fighting or fleeting, William would rather do one of these things right now. But can't, because the current little planet has its own gravity, disallowing him from going anywhere else. Jumping doesn't provide a way out while slapping himself away doesn't seem to be under his possibilities.
So he fights off the creeping dark waters, thinking if there is some way out, or if he even can get out of here.
This leaves him at the mercy of the dark mess, the hunger of the dreams, and let's not even forget the accumulating mashes of fog gradually turning upside down around the other planets not far off. And the looming large mainland even further doesn't seem to be calm either.
William is stuck fighting for minutes to no end, but at least he doesn't feel the weighting pressure on his shoulders, allowing him to fight at the tipping point of what these crimson lines are capable of getting. That is basically smashing them with the clutched fist since he can't seem to handle any Molds or changes.
He notices right away that his efficiency is lacking consistency. These lines have been doing that alone without him.
It seems there are correlations between the usage, how they act alone, and how well it can flow. It all comes from some instincts that he doesn't have, or it is his body, mind, or those lines that are missing something.
My emblem thinks and acts with Molds and handles itself... Call me a maniac, but this does seem like an odd action to me. William thinks as he backs further away from the corpse of the man not far away. He will forget him for the time being because he can't give him much thought. He would prefer to research him further, seeing if there is anything stranger than what he has already seen.
Time isn't up for that.
Waters of shadows overlap as a bunch of shadow figures come from them, forming what is essentially a sketchy army of a few dozen of them. “Well, fuck me...” William curses. “If... If there is something you do or can, do it.” He complains to his hands without knowing if the little creature can hear or take his words into its lines.
It seems to him the little creature has done it well before, but when inside, it doesn't possess the right toolkit to act so independently or wildly.
But William prefers his domination because being a puppet without control isn't what he wants.
Lurching shadow figures look similar to the grey one he has seen, but they are featureless; without visible eyes.
The truth of the lines is simple: It protects him significantly better than the little creature would've done because there are very few places to hide. William would've gotten overwhelmed without it inside of him, leaving them both to die.
So when those shadows launch at him, William hopes to fleet. He punches the first few into the mash of shadows that dissolves to the ground, but he can't do that to every one of them when they all come at him at once.
They aren't keeping hunt-stricken minds like the Darks. They lurch for him like hungry rats, uncaring for numbers or some morality, obviously.
They simply want a piece of him, which is notable by their sheer dedication, flowy shadows of hands, and slowly creeping maws that form around a few figures, looking like they want to bite his head off. William mostly dodges those, takes the hit from those hands or punches, and deflects others.
It is getting difficult to the point he curses audibly, grunting for the little creature's help which won't come. Not when the Emblem is in its grasp.
William is helpless to assume that half of the current problems are here because of that action. But these figures would form regardless of the foreign EMblem because he is also a piece to consume.
Not a good one, but the lurking dangers here don't make it weird or different. They will eat because they are hungry for something sane.
And William fights it off as best as he can.
Minutes pass as his cloudy body gets slowly berated by the attacks, hurting him. He gets physical and mental pain after swarms of 30 shadows are all around him, blocking him from moving well.
“No way out... huh... Am I going to die? Is dying and being eaten alive a way out of this place?” He wonders but deep down, he doubts this is close to any real answers.
They storm him, swallowing and crushing his legs after he tries to jump and push himself out by punching the ground. It gets almost nowhere because of them, and he feels another piece of him missing. Screaming does nothing. Crying too.
He gets angry and frustrated, unwilling to be consumed when his body slowly cracks in clouds by these lines. Something changes... Something so painful that he feels his body doesn't take it that well.
It crumbles.
And crimson lines take over, which feels similar to flesh being torn away, veins popping, and muscles snapping.
Some of the shadow figures hesitate to gnaw at him because of this action that does possess something weird. William looks like dying, but the process that has been happening for a few minutes already has come to a closing end. A very painful one. The kind that he probably never forgets.
But the bottom line is greater than the pain.
Crimson lines do come at some costs and quality. Pain is one thing. A steady mind is another. William could only dream of an end to this misery, but when it doesn't and more figures approach him, his eyes remain stagnant. His head hasn't exploded yet.
He can still see them, so he looks down, noticing that from the neck down, his body has changed to a hue of crimson clouds and a skeleton made of those lines.
It roughly resembles a proper human figure by now, as his left hand is fine and his right one looks like a singular large claw.
And it moves, smashing the incoming maws to pieces on its own.
William is on the ground by now, half dead, but the lines aren't. They launch him away from a dozen bites that almost bite his head off. The destroyed cloudy legs reform into human crimson legs. He doesn't take those well... It feels like razors come from his torso, while the pain doesn't stop.
His words no longer come out of his mind.
Unlike the shadows of these figures, who start to make noises and screeches. Crushing black ripples come to the ground not far away, coming from the other planets like a dense mess of dark veins.
There is no break to the tide of enemies.
William wishes to be numb to everything... Perhaps dying would seriously be the best outcome.
The shadows stop attacking for a while, as if afraid of those dark veins, so they calm in their slimy and swirling mass. There are few veiny black masses, and most of them are large like an elephant.
William is standing up, surrounded by those shadows, and waits for those blobs of veins to reform.
Shooting from the first one are spikes resembling black Vectors. They move quickly, obliterating some shadows that stand in the way. They don't care for anything but the right surroundings. It hasn't attacked William for some reason.
He watches how the blow swirls into a crawling cocoon until it resembles proper Vectors. Black like the shadows, a figure slowly makes an appearance out of them. Hands long, legs smooth, the head looks like metal with swirling lines of Vector tendrils on top of its head. The figure looks weirdly feminine, curved, and slim. It is at least 7 feet tall.
Stolen novel; please report.
Standing straight, it is the only one that emerges out of half a dozen of those blobs.
Shadow figures lose their will to act, dissolving upon the arrival of some high force.
William doesn't care for either of them. He is standing not because he wants to, but he isn't feeling like a puppet either.
He feels the painful motions of every fiber of those lines in his mind, forming a connection to him that takes a while to finalize. This power is hard to understand under normal circumstances, so being surrounded by foes is even tougher.
Fusion.
Emblem and the dream state of William's will do come to the First Conclusion. It is kind of independent from the norm, as William has no clue what is happening to him.
Or what is before him?
A woman.
A smile creeps on the metallic eyeless face. It walks forward in a smooth and wavy pattern, as if walking is a mere motion like a dance, until it opens its mouth way too much, letting out a shrill scream.
It pounces forth, arriving at William in a blink that even his lines haven't detected. A black hand reaches for his right hand in success, tearing it off from the point of the shoulder. It tosses William and the swirling mash of crimson lines away.
Pain no longer matters.
The right hand does separate well with its reasons intact. It quickly reforms quick lines to connect back to William by thin veins swirling around the ground.
10 feet is between it and William's exploded shoulder.
But the black figure doesn't seem to end this excuse for a fight yet. It stomps the lines that try to come back as if it is an ant eating a piece of its meal.
It grunts some shrill words from its smiling face. They aren't notable if they mean something or not, but it does seem happy and content from the way it stamps those lines or the ground.
The right hand doesn't take it well, so it stands up on its fingers, looking weird as the foreign Emblem rests around the pinky finger.
It launches at the enemy, making a whipping splash of lines into a whip and a few swords. It comes close, but they aren't making a dent in this figure that slaps them aside.
Until the smiling comes to a stop, ending its stomping as it takes a step back. A fist lands in its contorting face that seems to be made of countless little Vectors.
The smile widens, forming a maw that almost chews on the fist, but the hand slips away in time. One whip goes behind this dangerous foe, finding a connection back to William's shoulder.
He is unable to lift a finger, but a thin notion of some metal hangs in his left hand. A pendant... A remnant memory from the dead Walker. A simple heirloom that changes nothing. It is metal alone. The kind that soldiers used to get when performing great merits. A medal, or some trophy, William reckons.
The connections get thicker and thicker until they stop by the figure's hand. It handles the whip, wanting to tear it apart as the maw reforms back to a regular smiling face.
“Not... yet,” it says weakly and roughly, sounding as if those words have taken a great toll.
It smacks the right hand away without destroying the connection.
Turning to William lying on the ground, the figure walks until it overshadows his line of vision.
Velvet Eyes is like a curse, giving him a front-facing and clear picture without distorting a thing. He can't unsee things, so the smile and this figure are there for him to see. It is nasty... and weirdly human, resembling a legend of the Darks that do come in few numbers. Rank 7 or 8 is their starting point, but their names are even stranger. They usually come with nicknames, rather than a proper singular name like a species of an animal.
William is sure this one is a Dark. It resembles a high Rank one at full force, as it has physical-looking dark Vectors that do look the same as in the real world.
Clutching the lines still, disallowing the right arm to connect back, it crouches down to William's torso, creeping down its face on him to look at a painting.
The figure's hand caresses the lines that make up his legs, torso, and left hand. It seems interested, calm, and gentle. Smile is creeping like hunger, however, but it doesn't bite his head off yet.
William shakes his head away when it tries to move its hand towards his face. Clouds still make him lacking, so it hesitates. “Not... yet.” It says in a distinctly feminine tone, unlike before when it had a raspy and weird tone.
In the next moment, it clutches his face like handling a ball, creeping towards his face with its face. A second hand comes at the torso, trying to dig deeper, or it touches simply because it can feel those lines trembling inside much better this way.
A lot of things are lacking.
Mind too.
Body is weak
Thirst...
Thirst and hunger are like unquenchable torment.
Long tendrils sway down from its head, coming down to touch his body but they don't do a thing. Both of these hands are enough for William to feel the nearing end. But it is not coming.
The figure's face is a few inches away, eyeless but for sure watching.
The smile keeps its shape, while the right hand moves around him, with a few fingers going deep into him, crashing him. William doesn't even grunt. This pain is nothing.
And the creeping smile widens.
Until a mistake it does come back in, smashing its head away.
The right hand comes back at it, unwaveringly desiring to smash it away since it let go of its line in its moment of weakness and wonder.
The right hand goes back on its premise, letting the connection work before the face reforms again. The time is crucial. Just a second or two should be enough, but that is like asking for more than it deserves.
It isn't enough, but at least half of the hand connects back into William's shoulder before a dark hand clutches it.
The figure's smile reforms, still creeping closer to William than he prefers. The right hand punches are like pokes, so it hasn't taken it as an offense, which is weird.
“S-stop that...” William mumbles weakly, unwilling to admit who he is talking to. Probably everything? It or it? The figure and his hand?
He doesn't care for either. Getting some point across to them and getting out of here seems like a good idea. He punches the dark figure with his left hand, doing nothing to it whatsoever. It may as well be a gentle pat.
Well, nothing is an understatement. Its smile widens into a clear and open smile, revealing vortexes of Vectors inside of it. It cracks some weird laughing sounds, before slapping his face and torso, leaving shreds of lines in shambles, and causing William's mind to crack in half regret and half numbness.
Yet, his left hand still goes up, trying to get these hands away and stopping the figure's slaps.
It hesitates, or it already has enough punishments for this cheeky brat. It halts the restraints of the right hand, which reforms in under a second before making a punch at its face.
This time, it fails as a palm slaps it, pining it to the ground above William's head.
The figure has enough, but it can see and act however it pleases. It glares at William with nothing, but William can see it all with his eyes suffering the torment. His mood is mostly nonexistent after those slappings that do feel to crack his spirit. Yet his arm still goes up, acting as the remains of his will.
He is still alive... halfway through to the other side, however.
Pinned and with lurching Dark ahead, he wishes to get rid of it. He truly does. It has been his dream to help humanity reform some shred of hope. This could be the start of that wishful thinking. No... He remembers being a parentless child, yet he still kept dreaming.
It is what humans do the best.
And that is still what Darks can corrupt. They are filth that this world doesn't need.
The figure above him doesn't take his actions lightly, but it certainly provides an interest that only it knows. It isn't interested in the Emblem resting in the right hand's clutch. Nor does the pendant in the left fist make it weird.
It already pushes his limits, making it more painful with its dark Vectors that dig deep. Yet this shred of a weakling is still alive and willful? It is funny.
Hilarious.
Laughter echoes from its opened mouth. “Excellent.” It says like a devil and starts to shake in excitement. William begins to feel nauseous, as if something from deep in him moves and his vision starts to waver like trembling in fear. His chest and hands are taking a weird pressure in, and something echoes in his mind. Noises. Whispers of some voices.
The clutch of this figure keeps reaching his body, crushing him like the mood he has. It keeps laughing until it stops to look behind it.
A few others, similar-looking figures, stand there. All dark but in different hues of darker colors, they are waiting for something. Some are male and others are quite feminine, looking like husks of human figures with some qualities about them. They are quite unique with some flaming fog flaring above them like an aura. Not every one of them is large or tall.
“Nox...” one of them grunts a singular word that seems to take all of its power and will.
The one beyond William doesn't care for that, so it returns to him, wishing to take a bite off his head. It seems like a treat, but it hesitates as it caresses its little lines, clouds, and eyes.
William loses the means of his head.
The world turns strange... His head is not his. His vision flickers as if flames reach into his eyes. The power he feels around him makes him sick. As if nothing matters, he feels as if he can't take it anymore.
What he has endured does matter to him. it is a reminder. A painful kind of force that will hunt him for a long time. It will be just another addition to a few others.
But he kids himself. This has been the worst experience he has ever endured, and it is still ongoing like a neverending nightmare.
He believed he already had some power and good chances when the little creature was back in him. He has been naive back then, but he isn't regretting it right now.
It is a reality that changes. A normal thing.
Dream Fog responds to a chain of changes by altering the surroundings as if the word cracks apart like a mirror. It can't take him anymore.
Tripping the dark figure over William as if it goes up and down or sideways, the picture from his eyes seems to go into infinitum of stretching space. The direction no longer seems to matter, as clouds and darkness all mash together. His vision isn't his any longer, while the world of the Dream Fog goes into a vortex, creating a singularity.
Clouds, dark or white, revolve around his vision like a swirling hole.
He falls down into the void again, and from the outside, the world eats him up, leaving the dark figures watching how the Dream Fog engulfs William whole. Even the feminine figure that has been clutching him closely ends up regretting its choices. It let go of him because it can't outwrestle this world. But for some reason, it looks happy or expectant.
William gets away from them, albeit half-broken.
Pain or some power feels like a distant reality or memory. Like waking up...
Dream Fog is starting to refuse him, and it isn't because of him or the dark figure.
“William...” a male voice resounds.
Yet William keeps looking at the slowly distorting hole of the vortex above him, as flashes of that dark figure—that has smiled and laughed at him—berates his mind. This has been a disgusting time. This change of surroundings makes no sense either, pushing weird images into his eyes, and confusing him.
The last trace of the Dream Fog dangers is the Dream Fog itself. It is everywhere around him, surrounding him like flames, water, wind, or the air itself.
It is dense, making it like a separate universe itself.
He keeps looking forth as the Dream Fog looks like a cracked dimension or weirdly stretching cloud that smears the mirror. Leaving those Darks long behind, or have they been there? One has been on top of him a second ago, or has it been a minute?
William isn't sure...
He keeps looking at the breathless picture ahead, uncaring about the echoing voices of his name or other noises that keep reminding him of waking up. This world doesn't make it easy. Not at all.
Then, his head shakes when a crimson hand slaps his face. The right one, full of familiar lines, holding a shiny Emblem.
It reminds him to take the final plunge and not waste an eternity in this corrupting place. Yet William doesn't care or wish for that. The numbness of this place is kind of comforting. He can sleep here without being worried about the Darks.
Another slap shakes his head again, and in that moment, the distortions around him crack apart, breaking everywhere around him.
He takes the last plunge, falling into the unknown, but not because he wants to.
His Emblem saves him once again.
***
In the real world, the Emblem Academy has truly messed up. Dangers and situations around the ruined city—which should be nothing more than a trial place—ruin the Trials after savage and even weirder circumstances happen.
From one of the parks, rising flaring Dream Fog surges out to the starry sky, looking like a dark fog, but more cloudy and mesmerizing because of the stars. This is how the reality warping clouds look in reality, covering almost the whole park.
It is hard to say what occurs down at the dungeon where it starts. How it even changes this entire situation is another variable, because Academy is watching this with dreadful anxiety, shock, and anger.
Deep down in the dungeon overwhelmed by the Dream Fog, there is nothing here that resembles fighting chances. It is a lost cause, but two figures barely clinched their chances to get out before it was too late.
Rozzante sits on the empty and dark ground, surrounded by the Dream Fog that seems to no longer eat him up. He is alive, but bleeding with pretty much every pore in his body and feeling like shit. Beside him is an old man in a loose uniform, breathing haphazardly, sweating bullets, and holding Rozzante's shoulder.
He isn't bleeding, but it sure is tough to handle this damned Dream Fog. Old Mike has only managed to catch Rozzante before the Dream Fog engulfed them whole at the start. It happened untold minutes ago. The flow of the Dream Fog could be over or ongoing like a flash of a few seconds or hours, depending on the might of the individual or quality of the Dream Fog. This one is too savage for this dungeon.
It is senseless, similar to William who is right below them, powerless and full of Dream Fog.
He lays there, collapsed on his back as rising tides of deep and aggressive Dream Fog push their way into his ears, nose, mouth, or eyes. It surrounds him like a cage, but Old Mike knows how the Dream Fog acts. It is an overwhelming power that feels like a cage. It is very lethal unless one knows it already, or they aren't alone.
And Old Mike knows this is worse than he thinks. He doubts the present situation is normal, but he completely fails to respond to anything with his device around his ear. It has some weird stutter and soft noises in it, disallowing the communications to Agatha. At least he has Rozzante, who is awake and not lost like William is.
“Mind... telling me if he is fine?” Rozzante asks between breaths. “This is... insane.”
Darkness doesn't help their eyes for sure, but Rozzante still processes this whole thing with the Dream Fog. He has heard of it from some mentions Outside. That's it. Nothing else.
“I can't be sure...” Old Mike says. “I am already pushing him over my edge. Talk. Let's keep talking to him further and he may hear and wake up.” He insists, feeling overwhelmed by escaping the Dream Fog less than a few minutes ago alongside Rozzante, who has been with him since this whole thing started.
Frankly, he got lucky. Old Mike was far too away to clutch both of these youths, pulling them with him into the Dream Fog.
So when he looks over at stuck William, pouring some of his own Emblem powers over the flowing Dream Fog in and on his body, he feels helpless. He is too tired to drain a third person of the Dream Fog. He should be happy for himself and Rozzante, who thinks this is the most insane thing he has ever felt.
Shuddering, Rozzante ignores his blood loss, knowing that this place is not safe.
Old Mike knows they have a time limit because escaping is only temporary if they stay within the Dream Fog. But William is held hostage by it, disallowing Old Mike to take him back. He shouldn't touch him, escape the dungeon as a whole by getting them all out. William needs to get his mind out of here first before the real body does.
Old Mike does his best to help him, but deep down, he doesn't carry much positivity. For a Rank 1 Walker alone to experience the Dream Fog is basically a death sentence.
“We have few minutes, at best... Keep on the lookout, but if things go south, we go out of here.” He orders Rozzante who briefly talks to William to wake up. He doesn't feel that great either. His Emblem is in shambles like the rest of his body or mind. Without Old Mike, he would've died without any doubts.
William looks like he is sleeping, and even his right hand is kind of dull in its Emblem's shine. It is because of Dream Fog that he is like this, unable to handle a proper form.
Old Mike feels a slow approaching panic. The Dream Fog will remain here for a long time, but what about the rest of the Dark Blobs? If this is here, why can't other things go even worse?
It is just the instinct of an old man that speaks to him, as he is a Rank 6 Walker and a butler who has been with the Academy for as long as he can remember. Though, iterations and their places of influence have changed a lot of times in the past. In recent decades, Emblem Academy has amassed much better results and power.
They aren't alone here. That is a joyful consideration and excuse Old Mike keeps repeating in his mind, while the slowly pushing Dream Fog seems to change slightly.
William winces on the spot as if someone punches him in the face.
“Oy! William!” Rozzante shouts. “Is he getting out of there?”
Old Mike doubts that. There could be a possibility it might be true, or it could be even worse. What about the corruption of the Dream Fog?
He can kill William on the spot if he feels even a speck of hint of corruption, but first, he waits.
Slowly, the tides of Dream Fog cruising within and around William's body vibrate as if an earthquake smacks the ground and the whole cave. Old Mike doesn't know why it goes from William, but it is a fact that is close to him. Dream Fog doesn't take its time that well, as something changes its flow: a return of a helpless kid with a helper that has kept him alive.
Dream Fog explodes out of him like a water splurging out of the drowned person, leaving William shaking as the next thing that happens, is even weirder.
Dream Fog explodes again, pushing Old Mike away like a tidal wave. He pushes Rozzante away just in case, as this is a good sight. The whole cave shudders alongside the Dream Fog, but the darkness makes things confusing for them.
But not for long.
Next, William's Emblem awakens, crushing the Dream Fog apart as crimson light returns to its rightful place. A swirling storm of Dream Fog tries to return to William, but his Emblem returns to a fight.
It takes just a moment for everything to explode in storming light, leaving the Dream Fog helplessly swirling away.
William is waking up, and Old Mike notes it by a couple of things: Dream Fog is dispersing as if running away, and the explosive manner of everything indicates proper built-up and perseverance. If someone dies inside, it would be such a disappointing sight, one wouldn't see this sort of explosiveness.
“No worries.” Old Mike says to Rozzante. “I think I was thinking too badly of this... but again, what is that kid?”
Rozzante barely hears his words. His eyes watch the sight before him, storming the cave and letting the surroundings shine in crimson.
There is the source of the Dream Fog, looking like a bunch of crushed rocks that are constantly letting Dream Fog out of them. And it isn't stopping because William is waking up.
The storm takes not that long to subside, leaving the crimson light slowly receding to the floor, where William opens his eyes.
He has no idea where he is.
What he should do?
Memories and feelings pour into his mind, making him almost crying, shouting, and hitting his head on the floor.
But he has no will left. He feels like laying down and keeps at it for some time. “HEY!” A familiar voice shouts, hitting his ears, and vibrating his brain. It wakes up his awareness.
Rozzante and Old Mike walk towards him after the remains of the Dream Fog leave him completely fine. He isn't even bleeding. Not even one bit, which Old Mike finds disturbing, at best.
“Are you fine, boy?” he asks as he approaches him. “Feeling the body, Emblem, and mind, the Dream Fog is a nasty place. Don't think twice about it. You better forget it and prey twice every day that you got out of there in one piece.”
William is still on the ground, looking at a foreign old man and Rozzante who looks like shit. “Been worse...” William says a lie. He can't get over the trip he has just endured.
“Worse, huh...” Old Mike sights, crouching down to look at him closely. The crimson light coming from his Emblem makes things much easier. Looking further, he almost stumbles away upon discovering something beside him. A shiny Emblem looking like a stick rests on William's open right palm. The left one has the pendant, but that one is normal metal and small; almost unnoticeable.
But the sight of the shiny Emblem spooks Old Mike, forcing some weird noise from his mouth. “What the fuck is that?” he points at it, eying William with scrutiny. “W-what! Dream Fog! You've taken something from a damned Dream Fog?!”
“Is there a time to worry about that?!” Rozzante shouts at the old man. “Look at us. We broke! Can you stand up? Walk?” he storms William in a try to help him up.
William accepts his hand, feeling that his body is foreign after spending what feels like an hour or two in a cloudy body. He feels sick to his stomach, while the crimson shine in his right arm pulls him out of this misery.
A familiar flow of power is great in proper flesh and body. William feels as if he slept through a war, but his body is relatively good. He gets on his feet with Rozzante's help, clutching the shiny Emblem and the pendant in his fleshly hands. Both of them are back in the real world after all that time.
William isn't sure it makes sense, but they are tokens and facts that are part of the reality of his suffering. It is a nasty reminder that the world is a nasty place, hiding many more things he has no clue about.
Old Mike loses his patience and grasps William's shoulder, stumbling Rozzante away. “Answer me, boy!”
“Why?” William mumbles as if he couldn't give a single consideration to this man. Feeling numb isn't that great, but it is useful in some cases.
“You survived weird odds, and came in and out of the Dream Fog with this back? What happened there!? Seen someone? Fought someone? How are you in one piece?”
“Good that I am. True good news, right?” William says in a repeated cold tone. By this point, he realizes this is a butler and the cave is looking weird. it is full of the Dream Fog that looks different from the one he remembers. And at least a dozen feet away from him, not a speck of it is coming close, leaving Old Mike and Rozzante safe as well.
“Good?” Old Mike shouts as he tightens his grip. “Good...” he says as he loosens his grip after realizing that everything is fine and good after all. But additional confusions are never a good thing. He knows this kid is strange, and now, another thing comes at him. He won't like to speak about this to Agatha. He bets she will have trouble believing him now.
But again, there are other troubles besides William, and he has no knowledge about half of them.
William is free from his grasp next, leaving him standing there around the perimeter of the Dream Fog which has a crimson sheen because of his Emblem. Pulling his right arm towards his face, he pinches it just in case. No tear comes from his eyes, but he is glad to feel the sting of pain.
“Alive...” He mumbles. “That was dreadful.”
“At least you got some guts and blood intact,” Rozzante says beside him, not entirely understanding what goes with Old Mike's problems. But he sees the shiny Emblem in William's hand and wonders what is up with that. It isn't enough for him to change his current outlook. He is worried about this whole situation and William alike. They both went through a lot, while William does look a bit different than before.
Rozzante has trouble identifying what is different about him, but his guts tell him that he went through hell.
“I think we should go out of here before...” Old Mike grunts. He realizes just now that the Dream Fog isn't around them anymore because of William. He takes a deep sigh before clutching their shoulders. He readies his Emblem. “I am getting too old for this. Old...”
He lets the watery, almost too thin-looking crystal Arcanite envelop them, performing rudimentary teleportation back to the surface that should be possible. He isn't that far from the surface after all, so any spatial limits—or Emblem problems—shouldn't be an issue.
There is an issue, unsurprisingly.
He can't teleport anywhere. His Arcanite won't let him as interference and shimmering noises spread into his mind and Emblem alike. The whole cave starts to tremble, leaving everyone shocked.
“System?!” Old Mike shouts. “Hurry up and check your System!”
“There is already something before my eyes...” William mumbles a reply. Rozzante is the same. They all reach their conclusions about this dungeon. A thin swirling matter akin to dust flows from the ground, flowing into their Emblem and letting it in against their unwillingness or shakes.
Rozzante knows it is some sort of reward out of this Dungeon, which System grants. William is just angry that something comes and touches his Emblem.
But this is hardly everything, because something else is there.
Old Mike's face is a clear indication that something terrible is before them because he is looking as if someone has betrayed him.
A Breach System has been detected
----------------------------------------
NOX is present
Rank 8 Incursion has started
Old Mike watches the same warning message that both youths have as well, and everyone feels tinges of cold sweat on their foreheads.
“Incursion?” William asks. “Isn't that... catastrophic?”
Rozzante loses his voice. This is common knowledge in this age. Incursions are freaking disasters that have destroyed this world. They constantly shift the current populations in hunts and suffering.
“Rank 8?” Old Mike mumbles as his voice trembles.“No wonder we do feel radio, Arcanite, and spatial disturbances. We wait. Let's hope this will pass on.” He says helplessly, doing the most ideal thing he could: calming the situation down, even though it is a true disaster.
Both youths know the truth, however. He won't change their minds about it, as their System message all appears in their warning signs.
William looks at his with curiosity and doubts. He knows about the Incursions, although he hasn't seen one from the System's point of view, so he hasn't got a clue how many Incursions he has seen or gone through. They depend on their rankings, as they are different from the Hordes that are physical entities.
Incursions can be anything, and often magnified to ridiculous proportions that could affect even small countries.
Current Incursion effects: loss of space transmutations, the effectiveness of Emblems is lowered by the effectiveness of Ranks, Darks, and Rifts.
Difficulty: Nightmare
Rank 8: Apocalyptic
Recommendations: Endure and survive your costs by all means.
William reads his message, thinking that this goes by what he knows when one mentions an apocalypse.
Then the shifts of the pages swirl under additional interferences or disturbances by the entities that make up this Incursion, affecting even the System.
They are here
In this city.
An invasion at the worst possible timing.
Old Mike can't help to feel the weird tension in his mind. Perhaps this whole Dream Fog has started this all? Or it is an effective part of Incursion?
Well, the System usually answers it, but things are getting slightly out of touch.
Warning! Warning to all present Walkers
----------------------------------------
Disturbances of the Rank 8 Incursion have entered the System
Limits and flow have been restricted and put under Quarantine
Incursion is underway.
Time limit: 29 minutes, 39 seconds until the Rifts will dissolve
A universally accepted warning message pops to everyone in the cave, but to pretty much every Walker around this ruined city.
It means something worse under Old Mike's book. “Well...” He mumbles as tremblings intensifies, and both youths around him seem kind of nervous.
This is far out of their touch. Only Rank 8 Walkers could effectively handle such Incursions or many Rank 7s could. There aren't that many of them present. This place should never meet this level of Incursion. Like ever.
Even Tiberion, who Old Mike knows fairly well, shouldn't manage it alone. But perhaps with Agatha and a bunch of butlers, they can outpace this disaster?
“Those are some nasty interferences, mister Mike.” Rozzante reckons to him. “So much worse than I think makes sense.”
“You are speaking too much... Don't do this. Let's wait and see if the System changes.”
“I think there isn't time for that,” William says and points to the Dream Fog that is effectively swirling at a much faster pace. It is getting stronger, closer, and taking some forms because there are Blobs above them that do seem inclined to move or pop apart.
With Incursions, Darks undergo massive changes, while the game of hunters gets much more elevated than anything else.
“I prefer fleeting for safety kids. You are our priorities.” Old Mike says the honest truth. “We are taking this seriously. Safety is always a priority.”
“So running away.” Rozzante wonders. “That doesn't sound bad, but how?”
“By sheer determination and fighting,” he answers. “You get as ready as you can physically or mentally. You too, boy.” Old Mike especially pats William's shoulder.
“I can still fight.” William lies again. Perhaps he could, but should he? His mind has no time for this, albeit something deep within him resounds in a will to fight. It feels like a rising heat, making William hotter and weirdier.
“C-can you tell me about the Dream Fog first? Never heard of it before.” William asks as he suddenly changes the topic.
Old Mike glares a hole at his head and even glances once at his right hand. “I should be asking you how your experience was first. But no. I don't think we have time to worry about that. Darks will come because Incursion happens for some reason all the time. Especially now, because this place is nothing but a bunch of youths in Trials. It is nothing special, you see? Nothing!”
“So it doesn't make sense,” William says. “Noted.” Then, he turns to look around. “This will be a long day.”
Dream Fog destroys the Dark Blobs.