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Nightmares, Sunny had said they were called. As the dark creature wriggled through the smear of shadow on the stone floor, West thought it wasn’t too bad a moniker.
Like the small one they’d discovered spying before, this Nightmare seemed made of small black particles, its body more like an amalgamation of tiny insects than solid form in itself. Its humanoid face was mounted on a long snakelike neck and disturbed by two sets of massive tusks protruding grossly from its cheeks. Where neck met a feathery body, the creature held a small set of forelimbs tight against its chest. They were dwarfed by two magnificently thick haunches with three-toed razors for feet. Slithering from the shadow last was a lizard-like tail that curled up and over on itself.
As it pulled free, the shadow under it dwindled and vanished. Nearly two meters high at the shoulder, it gaped its maw widely and dipped its head low, stamping its feet at the ready combatants.
No sense in waiting to see what it would do– West moved first, testing how it would react when he approached. When the Nightmare side-hopped, he pivoted to face it. Its body was out of reach, but he swung a fist at its head, forcing it to rear back. There was an opening now, and he ducked forward into it, slamming both palms into its sternum– don’t overcommit yet, just knock it off balance, and if it’s still open then, come down hard–
The moment he touched it, the world went hazy. Unmoored from his own body and place, West felt himself cast on some faraway shore. Scattered impressions bloomed through his mind– a forest, an ancient one, with a canopy several stories high. He heard gibbering, and screams,. Some of it came from strange beings collected around him, and some were his own. Shadows raced across the ground, squirming through the underbrush, reaching–
He broke back into reality the moment the contact ended. West struggled to reorient on the present danger, the fragmented pieces of the foreign thoughts and feelings yet lingering in his mind.
Oh. That would be why they call ‘em Nightmares, then, West thought. If that happened every time he came into contact with the creature, this was going to be more of a challenge than he’d anticipated.
“On your guard!” Roman interjected himself as the Nightmare tried snaking in a kick during West’s disorientation, catching the strike on his shield. The thunk of the hit smashing on his shield resounded, and the swordsman stumbled. The creature slid back on its off-foot from the force of the rebound, hissing in disappointment.
From the way Roman switched his stance to put his sword to the front, West suspected Roman’s shield arm was bone-sore, if not broken. Recovering his senses, West fell in line with his companion. “Dinnae let the thing touch ye,” he warned, “it’ll muck up yer head.”
“Best let me handle this, then.” True enough, Roman was better equipped with a sword than West with his steel knuckles for an enemy like this. Repositioning to better flank their adversary, West relinquished the vanguard to the swordsman.
The Nightmare lashed out again, jumping and slashing down a one-two kick at Roman, fended off with a fast parry of his sword and a sidestep. Roman stabbed out, grazing the creature’s side. It was impossible to say if the sword’s edge did any damage– any gash was invisible on the Nightmare’s particulate flesh. It squawked angrily in the wake of the blade, but didn’t seem pained.
Undeterred, Roman brought his weapon back to the ready, pushing another pace forward. The Nightmare bobbed its head side to side. Its brow furrowed as though in deep thought, studying the swordsman’s defenses.
Its inattention left it wide open to the Investigator. West lashed out with a heel kick, aiming to crack across the side of the knee, maybe snap whatever passed for a bone. It caught sight of the motion barely in time, turning to face off with him, and his kick landed on the meat of its outsized thigh instead.
A flashing arc of steel took it at the base of its long neck, nearly severing it. West felt a surge of elation, and bared his teeth in a fierce smile. Turning its attention from Roman had been a mistake. Not trusting even that would be enough though, West followed it up with a downward kick, right at the base of its neck, cracking something deep that wasn’t meant to be broken.
The expression on the thing’s face was one of surprise, shifting into horror as it dropped. It struck the ground, bounced once, and then crumbled into a black sand that sunk through the floor, leaving only a fading scar of shadow.
His face still lit with excitement, West locked eyes with Roman. The swordsman smirked and nodded. As one, they scouted about the hall, searching for the next challenger.
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In the meantime, Sunny had been working fast. Through some contrivance of ether, she’d affixed the wands tightly to the wall, bundled in three groups and surrounded by blood-red lines of magic circles. “It’s nearly ready. G-get to a safe distance,” Sunny ordered.
West began a few steps down the hall, but realizing that Sunny didn’t follow, stopped. “What, and yer jes’ gonna be hangin’ ‘round up here?”
“I,” Sunny interrupted, voice made sharp by fear and excitement, “am g-going to be exactly as close as I h-have to be to get the reaction started, and then I will be ex-exactly as far away as I can get before it goes off. You two, on the other hand, are g-going to get CLEAR or I will not….” Confusion overtook her face, and her head swiveled to search up and down both sides of the hall. “Where’s… where’d….”
The swordsman, previously behind him, was nowhere to be seen. That’s nae possible, he was jes’ here! His eyes quested the hall behind him, seeing no trace even up through the bend. Absolutely at a loss, he turned about– and there, he caught sight of Roman disappearing into the far doorway.
“Aw, hell,” West groaned. How had he gotten by him? An illusion? There’s still no way that Roman could have gotten so far, so quickly, from the moment they’d dropped the Nightmare. Had Roman even actually been there during the fight? Would it be like Whistler to fake the whole thing, right down to his Nightmare squaring off against an illusionary swordsman, just so they wouldn’t notice the noble being beguiled?
Sunny spotted Roman at the same moment. She rose to her feet in alarm, ready to follow– but she couldn’t afford to stop her work, not when they were so close–
“Don’t– don’t let him alone!” Sunny yelped, trying to return her focus to her construction. West had already started off, slipping around the corner. “And k-keep at a safe distance!” she called after him.
West barely had to step in the room to see Roman there. The warrior was still near enough for an easy retreat into the hall, but Whistler must be watching for the moment Roman strayed enough that a wall shift would cut him off. “Roman! What the hell?!” West demanded, grabbing for the swordsman's arm. “It’s a damn strange time to be tryna get yerself killed!”
Roman pulled his arm free, turning with a smug smile. He held something between his fingers, presenting it to West triumphantly. The Investigator squinted his eyes as he processed what Roman was showing him– a string. Specifically, the end of the string that Roman unspooled when they’d first walked into the Vaari’s den, up until it had been cut off by that first movement of the walls in the stage room.
“I knew we had to be close,” Roman said smarmily, turning the end of the string between his fingers. “Just that simple. Call that fool of a girl over here before she kills herself, and let’s go while we can.”
“Lad. Yer holdin’ naught.” West spoke softly, but with absolute steel. The flimsy bit of string barely had any shape at all to his doubting eyes, just a little fuzz of illusion. “There’s nae time fer this. Whistler’s about, and yer not so dumb to let him walk ye to an early grave, are ye?”
Roman paused. Thin rays of doubt dawned in his eyes. “It’s… the exit’s right there, West. The string goes right through it.”
West shook his head. “Nae, lad. There’s naught to see but a dark room, and if there’s somethin’ leadin’ ye that way, then–”
<”JUST LEAVE HIM.”> The impulse to turn and walk away washed over West, numbing his thoughts and filling them with an easy buzz. It felt so simple and natural to take the suggestion and glide along with it. Roman was a bastard, it would serve him right….
“... Baugh,” West muttered, planting his feet. “Aye, laddie, yer in right danger here. There’s nae reason that we’d have opened a way out jes’ now, is there? Reason it through, and ye know it has to be a trick–”
<”SUNNY’S THE ONE THAT NEEDS HELP.”> The sourceless urge stirred again. <”DON’T WASTE YOUR TIME ON TRASH LIKE HIM.”>
West couldn’t help calling up Sunny in his mind’s eye– fighting through panic to focus her attention on her task, with Whistler about and no one watching for danger, tampering enough stored magic to reduce her to a bitter dust–
Sunny needs help. Why help Roman? He’d have left her to die. He can't be trusted at all. His thoughts felt blurred now. Which feelings were his own, and which weren’t? The truth was, he didn’t want to be here, trying to argue with a stubborn, selfish know-it-all like Roman. His goodwill toward Roman was barely appreciated– scratch that, it was outright scorned, as though it would never be enough. Meanwhile, he had a genuine friend that needed his help. Why am I still here, instead of helping Sunny?
West felt his throat gum up, taking a subconscious step back. He didn’t have to be here. Roman wanted to follow his damned string so badly, so why not let him?
But a voice inside him stirred. Because Sunny’s not really her name.
West scanned his thoughts quickly. That was right– Sunny wasn’t her name. He called her that here because that’s the way she introduced herself. But Sunny was only the casual name she gave to strangers, people she didn’t know, because it was easier in the common tongue. Her name was Noruiniviani, and among her friends, Norui; and whenever he thought of her, that’s what he called her.
These thoughts that called her Sunny? Those weren’t his.
West planted his feet firmly, and put all his scorn into a biting challenge: “Roman! Are ye jes’ goin’ ta stand there? I thought ye were such a professional! Ye cannae be fallin’ fer an amateur prank like this.”
Roman stared off at the far end of the hall, struggling to see through what wasn’t there. “Couldn’t– how can you be sure that you’re not seeing an illusion of nothing, and the exit is really there?”
West shook his head. “I’m nae so easy to fool, lad. Use yer logic. Why would that string o’ yers connect to the halls out here?” The swordsman stared at the string in his hand, stricken. West pressed on. “Out o’ the two o’ us, who’s more likely to see through a nasty bit o’ illusion? Ye’ve got a sword-arm like I haven’t seen in years, but ye’ve nae seen such magic as this.” Roman hovered on the edge of decision. “Nae time to fuss o’er this, lad. I need ye to trust me, just fer this moment.”
“... Right, then.” Roman opened his hand, dropping the shadow-string that had been leading him along. “Right, then….”
“Atta lad.” West relaxed marginally. “C’mon then.” Roman barely needed prompting– the noble backed away from the dark room, and together they crossed the threshold back into the hall.