The Hollow Dreaming
“It begins and ends the same way every time, doesn’t it?”
Together they looked down upon what could have been a perfect stranger or the perfect ally. From a credibly handsome face the amber eyes of a young man peered at them through the bleak haze of oblivion. Straggles of ebon hair strayed over the firm cheeks of an artists’ dream. He was a stilled painting that might have passed for something truly beautiful made even more perfect with the slow dust of death touching those attractive features and framing them in eternity’s chilled grasp. Kneeling, she stroked the gently parted lips of the male and wondered how his voice had sounded before it had been frozen in time. The tender smell of something wildly foreign to the Waking World hummed in the atmosphere. She licked her lips and tasted the beginnings of a very unique signature of death.
“I think they’re getting younger, Albronth.”
At her side, a towering shadow of a being loomed within the almost reluctant touch of the afternoon sunlight. The stylish chrome shoulder and rib plates of his uniform-cut jacket clung to a solid frame that spoke volumes towards suppressed power. Albronth was built in tight, lean compacts of muscle that rarely needed to be exerted to the full of their ability--a useful quality that she’d always appreciated. Her assumed ally was a series of harsh expressions and disdainful grunts. Now was no different. Vividly felt at her back, the obsidian glare of her companion bored holes into her shoulders as she allowed her hands to trace down the youth’s throat, curiously exploring familiar anatomy with unproclaimed duty.
“Iriza…”
Her name.
A smirk touched her lips and slowly she straightened, glancing sidelong at the beast she’d brought with her. “You seem uncomfortable,” she mused quietly, “am I really taking too long again?”
That expression on his face never seemed to alter to anything beyond mild agreement or incredulous association. “I don’t understand your fascination with these things,” came the grunted response. “Phantasmal will want you back as soon as possible and you’re wasting time here.”
She shifted by him without exposing her train of thought, moving only a few paces away before stopping once more and taking a kneel. From the depths of her own gothicly attractive jacket she withdrew a thin bladed knife and plunged it into the heated asphalt at her feet. Somewhere in the distance not too far off from their position, there was the lively drone of a fully active crowd going about their regular business as though completely separate from their reality. Paying the distanced sounds no mind she began to etch intricate runes into the solid material of the street effortlessly. “I don’t need to be chained to that individual,” she muttered. “When I joined the Hunters and agreed to the terms of the Waking and Reminisce, I did it with the promise that there would be no supervision as a human or worse--a Dreaming.” Behind her the discomforted rustles of her companion’s slow shifting was ignored. “You mean to tell me that Phantasmal is going against our contract?”
“I was only making a statement.”
She didn’t bother to so much as look back at him. And disregarding his amendment to their conversation she blindly gestured over her shoulder to the corpse she’d finished inspecting. “Do me a favor and separate them,” she mumbled distractedly as she continued to expand her drawing into a strict and detailed series of complicated spirals and spheres, “I suck at dividing Nightmare from the dead.”
Despite the hesitated quiet that followed her request, she was less than concerned and knew well that he would oblige. After so much time working by obligation as a team, they were both equally aware of the consequences of division and ignorance when it came to obeying one another’s demands while functioning in their particular field of expertise.
After all, they were the Waking.
She worked quickly and efficiently these days. The blaring light of the afternoon sun was an obnoxious glint on her blade while she toiled with meticulous practice to complete a ridiculously detailed series of symbols that seemed to flow from her memory and hands as naturally as breath did into her lungs. And when at length she had completed her task and rolled back onto her heels, Iriza couldn’t help but smirk a little.
“I’m getting better at this, Al,” she called over her narrow shoulder.
She wasn’t spared his attention. At her back a blood curdled shriek resounded through the air. Paying no mind to the otherwise hair-raising distraction she extracted her blade from the ground and eased herself to her feet. Tucking the unique blade away into the inner pocket of her coat Iriza cast her violet gaze in the general direction of her clearly preoccupied partner just as another scream shattered the quiet of their sparingly populated surroundings.
“Condemner Seal is in place. How’s the Anti?”
As if there was any reason to ask.
Albronth stood hovering over the youth she’d left mere minutes before. Back to her, she could see the tightened muscles running the length of his spine while he kept the receiving end of a sleek, custom made hand gun trained on the suddenly animate body at his feet. Narrowed and nearly iridescent, gold eyes glared distantly up at her ally from a face she’d remembered frozen with the seal of death upon it. From behind a thin curtain of obsidian hair the soft flesh of the male’s cheek was rapidly receiving black stains of spidery scrolling that seemed to drip like inky tears until they melted into the creases of his thin lips. A chill of anticipation floated along the nerves of her body until she was practically giddy.
“It’s a Nightmare--rook class,” Albronth’s naturally harsh tones interrupted her processing.
She absorbed his information and took up a place closer to him without removing her attention from the kid. Her intention was to pause behind her companion…instead she found herself mere inches from their target. Those gold eyes switched to her with remarkable speed and underestimated intelligence. Entertained, she watched the part on those chapped lips spread as the creature worked its mouth fluidly. “Evening, Hunter.”
Her heart caught for a moment. The voice was overlapped with another’s…
Cadence tongue. She could feel the deep lines of a frown etched between her brows. Of course…“He’s a puppet.” Fingers twitching a minor signal to her ally who was grumbling his urgency over her shoulder, Iriza bowed forward over the male with a wide smile. “Nice trick,” she mumbled. Rook class…it’s nearly a knight. Her fingers itched for one of the several weapons hidden cleverly on her person. Something like a Nightmare had to be handled delicately. “How fast can you fully separate it from the shell?” The human was dead, ri--
As though aware of her every thought Albronth’s powerful voice sliced through her hesitation. “He was too young to be used for their purpose and likely died in the process of slipping into Reminisce,” he said mildly. “Don’t worry, separating them this time doesn’t count as murder.”
That wasn’t encouraging. A glitch of motion stole her attention away from her companion and before she could so much as take another breath, chaos had ensued. Bolting up in a display of full out animation neither of them had expected, the corpse managed to land a brutal upward slash on her partner, shoving him back with ferocious strength and cruelty. Albronth was no novice and recovered in a short series of backward skips, cocking his gun and locking onto his rapidly moving target while it bounded about in unnerving quiet. There couldn’t be a single flaw in the execution of their plan to dispatch the fiend and realizing this, Iriza was rushing rampantly to her ally’s side. Another fragment of twitched movement and she was snatching up Albronth’s forearm and dragging him to the ground with her. It was only a split instant later that the Nightmare swept over them taking a wild leap back towards the city populous only a few blocks away.
“It’ll reach the city!”
He jolted to his feet and whipped about, flashing his freehand across the grimace that split his lips and exposed the wolfish jut of his canines, slicing open a defenseless fingertip. “I know that!” She could hear his snarl as a trickle of fresh red inched down his index finger. She watched with a feeling of dread while her companion switched firing hands. The feeling only escalated upon seeing his weapon of choice writhe and twist within the blood stained flesh of his palm when his cut finger was soothed patiently against the trigger. “Set a shield.”
She didn’t need a second warning.
Slamming both hands down flat against the roughly textured asphalt Iriza pushed a unique source of power from the very core of her being into a small radius about her. Time shut down into a tiny pinpointed area enclosing them within its embrace. In her ears like the light touch of a whispered familiar voice she heard the low drum of her nearly stilled heart. Her breaths caught in the air, visible in gravity stopped warps of near transparent huffs of air right before her face. Pressure slammed down on them from all sides making even the slowest movements excruciating. In the sky over her head a single mourning dove was stilled mid flight like a pinned display on the cerulean canvas.
Yet Albronth moved without sparing an ounce of his elegance to the altered state of reality and she watched him jerk back the trigger of his warped weapon with all the ease in the universe.
It was like witnessing silence in a room so loud it hurt to even think. A blaze of pitch black scorched through the air to consume its target nearly forty yards away. There was silence in the wake of oblivion.
She closed her eyes and listened to her pulse gradually regain a normal rhythm. The suffocating weight of her shield ebbed and swayed with the limit of her energy and the delayed scream of a bullet shattered through the suddenly obsolete quiet. Dropping the shield completely she winced a little as sound returned to their world in a wild rush. Her head throbbed strong enough to be noticed but weak enough to be discounted. Even when she lurched painstakingly to her feet to sway dangerously over to the sketch of runes she’d left on the ground, Iriza couldn’t deny the pain of overexerting herself. Large hands reaching to stop her, her companion was making movements to assist.
“I--don’t, I can do it this time.”
She shook her head slowly reaching out with a shaking hand to touch the web-like scrolling embedded into the black tar. “Your casting sucks,” she mumbled. With her touch the seal flared a vibrant yellow. From the rune a single shot of luminance bolted sideways to the crumpled mass of worn denim and wildly sprawled limbs collapsed several yards from them, a massive shard of ebon crystal rammed between the exposed nodes of its spine. In a sear of gold the thing twitched. And as they watched, a tangled web of black thread bled from the creature’s charred flesh, writhing in the light as though it were a living organism perishing in the spell’s grasp. The screams returned to scar the air with their high pitched blares bordering on inhuman. There was no pause in the sound and while they listened to the final breaths being torn from their target’s throat and lungs she felt waves upon waves of icy terror crashing over her.
Bewildered gaze glitching in her direction she heard Albronth shuffling his weight in an exceedingly rare display of absolute discomfort. “What is…?” at a loss for words his voice rose and cracked.
He couldn’t be blamed.
Snapping her eyes from the sight Iriza slammed her freehand down on the seal and shouted the final words to complete the cast.
“CONDEMN THE LOST!”
The screams cut so abruptly that the silence that followed was truly numbing.
All that issued into the air between them for the longest time was the sound of her labored breath wheezing past her parched lips. Never. Not ever had she seen that… That was a Dreaming….it…it was a human being… Reminding herself of the lost humanity of something wasn’t helping her condition. Unable to do anything more than stare stupidly at her rampantly shaking hands left forgotten on the dissipated seal, she tried to gain some small fragment of her sanity.
“Iriza?”
To dement something from the Waking World so drastically…. “It’s sick.”
An unnoticed hand fell upon her shoulder. “Riza!”
She was dizzy, exhausted. Already she’d performed three castings. But this--what in the world was going on?!
“--a…Are you alri--”
She slipped off into unconsciousness she had never even noticed was awaiting her fall.
…What in the world is happening here?
{Hunter’s Tryst}
She started, blinking a little idiotically at the black weave of tangled threads cluttering her tiny fingers in their intricate mesh. Amid the flustered knotting, a single strand dangled loosely and utterly disconnected from the mass. “It snapped.”
“What are you mumbling about over there?” the voice was one of quiet inquiry; sleek and omnipresent in the hollow atmosphere of their environment, ringing clearly male and deliciously enigmatic. From somewhere near her side she could hear the slow, paced approach of something similar to her kin.
She was approached with an unseen smirk and placed immediately under unnoticed scrutiny.
Catlike. That was the only way to describe the child’s near predatorial crouch as she teetered with remarkable balance upon the balcony railing of an impressive structure. Large eyes fixed on a milky horizon there was a glint of humor to her gaze. “They found your toy, Krothin.”
“That so?”
Wildly entertained the youth lithely picked herself up from her stunted position until she stood with feline grace on the thin iron of her perch. Brandishing a snapped thread to the creature beside her, she giggled a little maliciously. “It’s dead, you see?” In the soft breeze of her movements that swept up the silver spirals of her silken hair, the thread swayed worthlessly from the long digits of her hand, tangled in her loosed hold.
From the depths of a shadow that stretched lazily across the back wall, a glitter of twilight colored attention scanned over her tiny limb. “A shame--you spent so much time making that for me to play with.”
She shrugged and turned to plop back down on the railing with a mild sigh. “She’ll want to know about this.” Yawning she rocked absently back and forth listening to the light tinkle of the frosted glass chess piece hooked through her right ear in the bright tangle of her hair. “Those silly hunters are getting in the way of her plans already.”
“The Waking have never posed a threat,” came the gently issued reply.
The voice was all too familiar to her--a sweet snarl to her otherwise preoccupied thoughts. Without effort she tipped backwards over the railing and landed squarely on the lower level of an intricate floor plan several feet down. Recovering she gazed up at the upper expanse of her surroundings and leered playfully at the hellish form that slowly sleeked over to her previous place of perch to target her with its penetrating stare. “I’ll tell Fadist of the new development! You stay here and wait, won’t you?”
A simple nod gave her the permission she wasn’t allowed to so much as draw breath without, and unwilling to waste time the child dashed off towards the next line of iron railing and promptly vanished over its edge as well in a way that only she seemed able.
Twilight watched her escape and studied with admiration the almost serene float of her gothicly beautiful dress. Like streamers of freshly spilt blood frozen in time, the crimson ribbons that tied the black lace of the dollish dress fluttered in her wake; a haunting contrast to the tightly curled spirals of silver hair that bounced at her waist. The child herself moved like liquid venom. With each playful skip off towards her set destination he took note of the sheer power and absently placed cruelty that seemed to emanate from her tiny frame.
Left in her wake a monster of unfathomed creation turned its attention elsewhere, bored. “The next move I cast,” his hissed whisper echoed off the looming, crystal walls of a twisted castle, “rook to A3.”
“--Always looking at our mission as a chess game,” a woman’s soft voice mused sharply over his shoulder, “you’re just like her.”
There was no reason for him to turn and address someone he’d been aware of all along. Droning lazily, he toyed with the dark silk sleeve at the cuff where it shielded his wrist flopped mindlessly over the banister. “Does it really concern you? We’re all pawns in some way.”
The chime of glass against metal resounded between them and he felt his attention sharpen upon her. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she chuckled, “you and I are Bishops.”
He grunted.
“Let the rest of her pieces be pawns on the board. We are destined for something much greater.”
Glass buttons. He rushed nimble fingers over the smooth, hollow knobs that secured his cuffs and wondered how something could seem so perfect. “The world is divided into two dimensions,” he began slowly, reciting a script they all knew in some distinct aspect. “The World of the Waking is meant for Humans, while a reality called Reminisce is meant for their dreams, memories, and fears. Keeping the two divided is the only way to secure both worlds; having them conjoined would mean a war between what is real and what is not. It is in this light of realization that a faction was created to ensure such chaos would never become a possibility.”
Sighing with exasperation she drew up beside him with mindful distance. “The faction was known as the Waking. However, when the defense of the Waking World took priority over the existence of Reminisce, another faction was created composed of rebellious individuals who opposed the theories instituted by the Waking. These individuals who held the ability to manipulate aspects of their reality counterparts began to perform malicious acts against the Waking world, and were quickly identified and hunted by the original faction.” she glanced sidelong at him with a look of distain, “The amount of time you spend mulling over our origin is frightening, Krothin.” Her eyes were diverted elsewhere while a thin line set her lips. “Even with the Hunters wandering about like patrol guards, this revolution will happen with or without your petty sentiments.”
Expressionless his caress upon the button he’d been amusing himself with abruptly turned vicious. Snapping the defenseless, hollow bead of glass, he teased it between two fingers and with no hint to his thoughts dropped it over the edge of their floor to the bottom level where it shattered worthlessly. “Yet we are ‘destined’ for greater things.”
He was ignored.
“Just watch. Dema will shift the powers of the dimensions. This boundary between Reminisce and the Waking World dissipates with every Dreaming we create and every Waking we destroy. With her plans we will become the supreme justice of the realities and there won‘t be any need for order or petty consent by way of histories and past faults.”
“But I’m the heretic?”
Crisp and harsh the sound of approaching footsteps and the low chatter of unexpected company echoed about the hollowed expanse of the castle. “You,” a new voice introduced itself into their conversation with the familiar hum of sadistic lure that he’d become accustomed to long ago, “are more than just a heretic, Kroth.”
Lifting his dimmed orbs of twilight blue to the slender individual approaching them from the base level in escort to his previous company, Krothin arched a dark brow at the familiar face. Even at distance, Fadist De’fleur was a skeletal figment of demented imagination. The short crop of the creature’s honey blonde hair slunk low over the heavily pierced tips of his wickedly angled and curved ears. His black stained lips were a wide sneer that exposed the wolfish glitter of his bleached teeth and cast an icy breeze to the atmosphere. And of course, no matter how much space was left between them, Kroth couldn’t avoid the monster’s insanely bright, orange glower. That borderline, escaped-psych-ward-patient wardrobe of his didn’t improve the creepy mood floating about him either. And as the monster leaned down to snake nimble fingers over a scatter of glittering fragments near his feet, there could be no overlooking the wicked-looking, crescent blade sheathed in a gleaming tangle of buckles at his thin hip.
An uninvited hand slipped against his shoulder and suddenly Krothin was a supportive brace for his female company while the bishop class at his side leaned over to wave childishly down at their bewildering ally. “Fadist!”
A kiss was blown up to them as their dementia-imposed counterpart straightened. Licking a fresh smear of red from his cut fingertips a wide leer parted the Nightmare’s lips. “Beautiful as always, Septis,” he called up to them in a more or less sincerely charming cry before redirecting his attention to a quietly annoyed Kroth. “Now then, what’s all this news about Hunters in the Waking World messing with our plans, bishop?”
Shoulder cramping under the weight of the woman and senses overwhelmed by her scent of gardenias and jacaranda, he tried to manage a response without suffocating or collapsing under her thoughtless assault. His determination was somewhat obscured when tickling threads of her amber hair stroked over his nose. “The Waking found one of our portals and did away with it before it could be used for greater means,” he began quietly.
The pair had stopped short of the multiple balconies that composed well over half the room’s excess space. “And your plans for this insanity? Dema isn’t the sort of beast to idly take being herded towards goals not already on her intended path.” His grin flourished to cruel amusement. “How our king does loathe unscheduled change…”
There was no arguing with that comment. Rushing subconscious fingers through his hair, the Nightmare shoved away the excess weight of his flirty counterpart with a mild growl of aggravation. “Act your implied age.” He ignored the narrowed beams of yellow that glared bitterly at him. “Harquin.” Responding to his bark, the youngest in appearance amid their party glanced up from the floor where she’d absently left her attention. In the eerie light the child’s pallor stricken face was a full moon crested by a deviant smile. Privately he found a moment to appreciate the creature he’d declared as his own kin. “Collect more Dreaming and warp their Materia into something useful so we can place a Queen on our board.”
Without waiting for a second chance to be dismissed, the youth nodded energetically and turned to skip off and away from their company happily.
In her absence, the narrowed glint of orange eyes shot their silent daggers at the bishop piece. “You’ll send a child but not your knight.” Fuming dramatically Fadist turned his head away with the glass chess horse in one of the several holes of his right ear clinking gently. “Do what you want then. I’m sure to find a far better role to play in your little match.”
“I’m glad you’re in compliance.”
The other male merely shrugged and turned heel to leave, the oversized buckles on what Krothin only then realized to be a loosed straight jacket jingling loudly as the Nightmare stalked off. “I don’t comply, dear bishop, I simply spectate.”
{Hunter’s Tryst}
She could smell…amber and rain.
He had always smelled of amber and the world after a good rainstorm. It was something about him she could never forget because that smell clung to the soft cottons of his average t-shirts everyday he returned to her. If she thought hard on the memory, she could almost recall his name--something that had proved difficult ever since she’d…since she’d…
“--a…”
Had he smiled the last time they’d seen one another? Their fight had been so trivial, hadn’t it? It was such a stupid thing to fight over but it seemed as though lately they’d been having nothing but idiotic tussles. That had been the last thing about him she could really remember. A stupid fight.
“…Riza…”
Because you called me a child.
The touch was so light she almost couldn’t feel it. There was no warmth to the fingers that hesitantly traced the crease between her brows as she stirred and struggled through a numbing dark that she finally registered as uncommon and uncomfortable. She hated the dark. She hated to sleep.
Stirring Iriza clawed viciously at the hand that attempted to comfort her, prying back on the long, strong fingers lain at rest upon her overheated skin. “Piss off.” The reaction was automatic. Perhaps because of this there was no revolt in response to her rudeness.
Of course, that didn’t seem to prohibit the harsh, verbal reproach. “Iriza.”
By some unexplained reflex the strict summons sent an electrical jolt skipping along every nerve in her body and before she could manage the energy to open her eyes, she found herself sitting upright and more than awake. Taking her time to force her lazy lids back up she took automatic registry and inventory of any abnormal conditions plaguing her body, and found little to express concern over beyond minor aches and a torn upper lip.
No warning given, a finger was whisked under her nose. “You’re bleeding.”
She muttered a minor obscenity under her breath, while pushing away his touch and lifting a hand to wipe away the slick heat soothing from her nose, she took in the dusky twilight of a remotely familiar surrounding. “I opened a port again, didn’t I?”
There was the more or less bemused rush of a low sigh. “Well,” she recognized Albronth’s monotone, “at least you managed to complete the task and return us to Reminisce.”
She wasn’t paying attention. They were in a room with the serene and strange violet of an otherworldly sky visible through the oversized portal of a wall-length window. Her new surroundings reeked of lavish herbs and the spicy twinge of sandalwood. All about her the smooth hues of creamy blue and soft gold swirled into one indefinable shade of dreamy silver. White silk composed and sheathed nearly every surface in the room from the nightstand to the ghostly caress of sheets tangled about her slender form as she pushed herself up into a sturdy sit in a bed far too large for her liking.
Putting two and two together she adhered the full rage of her glare to her idle companion. “Traitor.”
His eyes refused to meet hers. “By the time we arrived you were so out of it I had no choice but to bring you here.”
Iriza wasted no time, ignoring her personal ails to all but leap out of bed. Her bare feet touched lightly down on the polished red wood floors of the one place she loathed to be. “You should have just left me in the Waking World,” she snarled under her breath, storming over to a white marble vanity at the other end of the room as she snagged the mass of her thick mane and dragged it into something remotely resembling a ponytail.
When had she been changed out of her Hunter’s uniform into a moon robe?
As though reading her thoughts the monster at her back said quietly enough to be heard and no louder, “Redice is here. She helped make you a little more comfortable when we arrived.”
The floor length robe slicked like fluid over her slender frame in a truly attractive sheen of the same unique color dousing the walls of the large enclosure. The material was like liquid ice, cooling and refreshing after overexerting herself. Of course, she wasn’t about to tell him that. Looking up into the mirror with a grimace for show she studied herself for a long moment.
Nothing about her had changed. Not that she had anything to go by, but for as long as she could remember; she had always looked the same. Her shoulder length of ink black hair shimmered with the dark rainbow seen in a raven’s wings and sketched over her moderately high forehead in a messy array of feathery clusters. Her face looked so astonishingly foreign to her at times but nonetheless she found the Nubian Goddess features attractive. In her own eyes the full, naturally red lips placed delicately below her violet gaze were bothersome--too feminine; especially when set in contrast against her gently darkened skin. Otherwise, she supposed she could be beautiful in anyone’s opinion.
Her eyes flashed away and she reached for one of the multiple drawers tucked neatly into the sturdy marble furniture.
“What are you looking for now?”
She refused to be interrupted. His advance upon her was seen at the very limit of her gaze reflected in the mirror long before he could reach her. Snatching something small enough to be stuffed into the cascading sleeve of her robe she whipped around and automatically shot a firm hand against his chest. “Don’t,” she warned, pushing him back. “Clearly your obligations to Phantasmal supersede my intentions to perform my duties as the Waking.” Ducking around him she let her eyes sweep the room expectantly. Where the hell was her clothing?
“You can’t be serious.”
Distractedly she shrugged, “After seeing what we just did I don’t think I can get much more solemn.” Giving up on the search her next task was heading out the door into the expansive hallway that was only a minor vein in a manor she knew from experience to be far vaster than any built in the Waking World.
True to his nature as a Hunter Albronth was fast on her heels no doubt with a rising temper at her curt rebellion. “Do you realize that your current form can’t take the strain you’ve been forcing it under without his help?”
She rolled her eyes and made a sharp left at the end of the corridor down a spiraled flight of chrome steps. “By him,” she called over her shoulder, “you must mean Phantasmal.” The instant her feet touched down on the polished marble of the next floor she’d picked up the dragging length of her robes and was quickening her pace.
He was storming down the stairs as expected of a roused beast. “You know damn well you can’t go anymore than a few hours without his aid.”
“What I know,” she returned sharply, “is that the Nightmare we encountered today wasn’t like the others we’ve been hunting this entire time.” They were nearing an antechamber and a small fraction of the occupying security personnel that up until that very instant she’d completely forgotten. Slowing gradually as she came upon the series of armed individuals in their cerulean overcoats and white silk slacks, Iriza felt some of her frustration stagger. “Damn…”
Oblivious to the unyielding obstacle blocking the twin doors to the antechamber that was the main artery of the entire network of lavish halls and impossibly tangled junctions, Albronth was the fool that came up to her side blaring his protests in her selectively deaf ears. “A Nightmare is a Nightmare. And to top it off you’re not strong enough right now to go rushing head long into a fi….ght.”
Seven. She’d counted seven. The group was far larger than what she’d normally seen occupy select corridors of the manor. In the very corners of her mind she began to size up each of the individuals. Every guard was a knight in his or her own class. Despite the dazzling array of flawlessly beautiful faces that turned towards her, the elite that defended Phantasmal’s fort were hardly to be underestimated. Female or male--no matter the gender, there had always been a distinct allure to the creatures that took human form and were assigned to the security of the fort that was the housing unit for the Waking. Each was nearly identical in some unexplained fashion to the other. From their deceptively perfect faces to the night black of their hair and the intelligent auburn of their eyes; not a single one held individual definition. All seven sets of darkly lit ginger eyes tracked their movements from breath to breath and she knew without any sense of naivety that even the slightest hint of hostility would trigger a bloody event…
Even if they were on the same side.
Movements stuck between a delicate float and the predatorial stalk of a carnivore, one of the guards was easing towards her and didn’t bother to pause until they stood only a third of a foot away. “Materia Caster Iriza.”
It was a little difficult to try to suppress the reflexive flinch she’d acquired in response to that title. Even so she wasn’t about to play the role of a scared little victim before creatures of the same make as her. “I need passage to the outer districts,” she said curtly without paying mind to the weak sound of protest behind her back.
That deceptively docile gaze washed over her before snapping to the male hovering defensively over her shoulder. “We were placed here to keep you and your escort within this specific boundary until the Lord Phantasmal arrives with further instruction.”
Of course they were. She cocked her head to one side and grabbed the guard’s attention away from Albronth. “Then you misunderstand my request. I will be allowed to return to the outer districts so that I and my escort can resume our duties as the Waking.” She didn’t mention the fact that her urgency to escape was in part due to her attempt to avoid encountering Phantasmal. Of course the information was strictly a need-to-know piece of knowledge.
Her companion didn’t seem to think so. “We understand--it’s vital that she see Phantasmal.”
Blanching Iriza considered whipping around to knee him in the stomach but decided promptly against it after factoring in the nature of their company. Gritting her teeth against the urge to raise her voice at the male she said with grating patience, “In the event that you continue to interfere with the progression of Hunter business, you can be--”
“Goodness, are you still trying to revolt even in your present condition?”
Something in her glitched uncomfortably. That voice was no doubt the siren’s call of a very familiar character--one of which she had no intention of crossing any time soon. Subconsciously falling back a step until she stood once more at her partner’s side she swallowed the knot climbing her throat. Now that she’d heard the voice she was also aware of the lightly clicking steps approaching them from behind the blockade of armed guards. Smooth and even; the steps of a lion truly confident in its lair.
Gradually the mass of seven began to part to give way to another of their kind. Oh, but the woman that approached them then was something utterly independent of the others….at least in appearance.
She frowned. “Redice.” Phantasmal’s left hand if he ever claimed one. The red head was never far from her puppet master’s side for very long. With the impossibly lovely face of the goddess of chaos and her temper to boot, the woman was known for her uncommonly vicious nature. All passed off with a smile from those seductive lips nonetheless.
A smile was flashed at them then with devious intentions swarming behind a shallow mask of kindness. “Even with your frequent absence from home you still remember my name.”
It wasn’t that she remembered willingly. Not that she had the power to say so aloud without ending up in worse wear. Instead she let her gaze glitch about looking for any signs of…
“Phantasmal is soon on his way here to see you,” Redice cooed gently.
From her side she heard Albronth’s relieved sigh and thought even less of her guardian. There wasn’t going to be any quick escapes for her if she didn’t find a route away from the guards and Redice. “I need to get to the districts beyond the fort for a short time.”
“What for?”
What did it matter? “We encountered a Nightmare in the Waking World. Redice, it was under the control of a Rook Class and something was completely wrong this time--it was warped, demented so far from humanity…” her voice rose and broke with the recollection. Regaining herself to a small degree she added flatly, “Whatever that was when we killed it, it had been a human before; a child—no older than his mid teens.”
Unfazed hazel eyes regarded her as though looking upon a lesser being. “If it was a Nightmare when you killed it, then why should you care what it was before? The dead don’t rise once they’re down; and if it was killed for a good reason then what use is it to you now?”
Iriza felt her expression fall to dumbfoundment. “A-are you serious?”
The woman shrugged. Long, spiraled clusters of her fiery hair slipped from her shoulder and swatting them away impatiently, she turned to leave. “Stay in this area until Phantasmal arrives to help you with your…problems,” she muttered in retreat.
Not even bothering to control her temper, Iriza slapped a hand against her shoulder where her dagger had been placed before she’d been taken back to Reminisce. Finding nothing there now but empty space she scowled and let her fingers fall away. Sidelong she glanced at Albronth to confirm he hadn’t seen her attempt at treason. Realizing that her plot had gone unnoticed she snarled curses under her breath and finally gave in to the deterrent. If it was going to be this difficult just for her to escape these damned people she had no choice but to accept the fact that she was being overruled…
Or did she?
In a movement nearly too quick to be tracked by sight alone Iriza snapped around to Albronth, ramming a fierce elbow into his ribs, and snatching the sleek gun held captive in the chrome holster across his chest. Move…move! Time couldn’t be afforded and taking this into account she took aim for the guard that had approached them first. Praying she could do this without too much damage, she fired a shadow clad round straight into his shoulder before ducking under the scarcely avoided, horizontal sweep of another guard’s weapon as an impressive blade soared over her head. Her chest hit the floor with a wicked crack but she couldn’t slow her movements if she intended to survive this. Recovering with barely enough air left in her lungs to breathe, Iriza took a running leap at the next set of guards fast approaching, their revealed sabers glittering in the soft light of the room. Faster! MOVE! Her bare feet touched down on the broad shoulders of one of her opponents. In a leap of faith she managed to jump over the male to the corridor beyond their defense. On reflex she hit the ground running for her life.
Her heart was up in her mouth as she sprinted the length of the hall to the next stairway in a labyrinth almost too intricate to escape. But she knew the floor plan perfectly. If she took a left here it took her down to the second floor and into the fort lobby. Her feet skidded painfully on the cobalt carpet but the pain was easily ignored in her haste. She could hear them calling for more security behind her. She had to move faster!
A distracting tangle of her maddened hair flopped into her face with the haste of her movements. She didn’t even pause to clear the distraction from her eyes. Her navigation included a stray series of crafty shortcuts that she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of. On the fourth right she was upon the final spiral of iron steps that would deliver her into the main room and freedom’s door just a few yards away. This time she skipped the stair completely, throwing herself over the railing to a potentially fatal one story drop. The impact of her feet hitting the chilled marbled floors of the first floor did nothing to slow her down and in a split instant she was upright and dashing madly for the door. Just a little further! FASTER! The final yards were too easy to close and…
Time slowed.
The world paused.
And before her eyes, seemingly appearing from nowhere at all…
God…no.
It was like taking a deep breath and holding it in of her own volition simply because she feared losing herself if she ever let the air escape from her lungs. As though she were taking a final breath and refusing to release it; looking at that man was suffocating. Beauty came in so many shades and views it was impossible to discern what was truly beautiful and what was just a plaster casting. Looking upon the man that moved slowly to block her further, it could have been that his shoulder length sway of platinum hair was pretty to only some. Maybe those multi-faceted, lime green eyes were attractive to a select few when placed on that wildly exotic face of smooth complexion and unbelievably suave features. It might have been possible that full lips were not handsome to some when placed on a man. His slender frame of lean muscle could have been viewed by someone else as merely scrawny and strange. Perhaps men in black clothing were unattractive in another’s eyes. However…Phantasmal was beautiful no matter what reality he existed in or who it was that dared to look upon him.
In the very back of her mind she could hear the cavalry finally catching up to her. She just couldn’t bring herself to care. Under her suddenly unbearable weight, her legs were trembling from the strain she’d forced on them. Her body was finally feeling the hell she’d just put it through. He must have seen it too, then.
Why else would he suddenly step forward to embrace her silently?
This man…
This man.
She felt like screaming at him. She felt like kicking him, and biting him, and clawing for the escape he’d once again denied her. The freedom from his hold. Standing there in his arms barely able to support her own weight, Iriza felt more than anything…
“Silly girl. Where did you think you were running to?”
Like crying.
Instead she found herself staring blankly over his broad shoulder at the door just barely beyond her grasp. He knew I was running. He was here all along and waited just to catch me here and prove I’m still under his reign. He always knew.
She acknowledged the sound of the others’ arrival and gave up entirely; turning lifeless in his embrace until only his arms were holding her up.
“Phantasmal,” Albronth’s pained voice drew into the stifled air suddenly, “you found her.”
Of course he did. “I’ve always known where she was.” When no one tried to make further comment he added almost tenderly, “You look ill, Hunter.”
The slightest hint of guilt echoed in her gut and she remembered the “Obsidian Oblivion” still clasped loosely in her hand. Apparently, so did her captor for she felt his lukewarm touch coax the weapon from her grasp. Lain worthlessly at rest on his shoulder, her chin tilted and jerked as she felt him toss the gun back to its rightful owner. When his arm returned to drape casually about her waist she felt her skin crawl.
“Master Phantasmal,” Redice’s naturally stern tones bit abruptly into the quiet, “that woman assaulted multiple defense members and even turned a Materia piece on one of her own kind. You can’t continue to indulge this sort of outlandish behavior.” The words were so nonchalantly birthed they seemed more venomous than they would have had she been shouting.
It was one of the woman’s rare talents, Iriza could give her that much.
Her chest brushed sensually against his as Phantasmal heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’m ignoring you for time reasons,” he muttered and suddenly she was being lifted off her feet and into the steady cradle of his arms. “I’m aware of a peculiar movement amid the Nightmare that I must discuss with you all as Hunters--not little boys and girls pointing deadly weapons at one another for the sole purpose of minor squalls.”
Little more than an empty shell in his arms she stared at the bottom of his chin and the cream flesh of his throat. As he spoke she tracked the slow bob of his Adam’s apple. Her vision had already begun to sway and drizzle down into a bottomless scene of black that amused and vexed her. She was losing it again. Damn. Just when she thought she might be able to make it for a few more hours without his help. Could Albronth have been right? Her eyelids drooped and she only just realized that they were in motion, going back the way she’d taken all that energy sprinting from.
They were still talking.
“--ture that may have greater influence on the Nightmare.”
Why was Albronth walking so close to Phantasmal like that? From the verge of her gaze she watched him rushing his fingers back through his hair. “Another piece.”
“Possibly of higher rank than the pawns and Rooks we’ve been encountering thus far,” his voice murmured against her ear.
“Nightmare haven’t obtained greater pieces since the Hollow Dreaming was slain,” Redice submitted quickly. “And that was well over three decades ago.”
Where were they going? “In that amount of time it’s possible they might have found another Hollow.”
Hollow? What’s a Hollow? She was getting cold. Exerting even more power to press closer to the low radiance of heat sleeking through the fine material of Phantasmal’s shirt, she listened as carefully as she could while more and more of herself seemed to ebb away into oblivion. God, she felt weak.
“That can’t have happened. We would have noticed if a human from the Waking World had obtained that sort of status.”
“It doesn’t have to be a human anymore, now does it?”
There was a pause.
“Today,” she could hear Albronth beginning carefully, “Iriza and me encountered a puppet type Nightmare that had been warped to unimaginable levels…”
Phantasmal’s head bobbed understandingly above her. “That could have been a small taste of whatever it is the Nightmare are starting to uncover. And if they’ve gone so far as to resurrect individuals of a higher rank than the ordinary Rook, we may be facing the discovery of another Hollow Dreaming.”
“It means a race then--we have to find this thing before they do.”
Another pause. “What about her?”
Who? Were they talking about her? She couldn’t tell anymore. All the voices had become a single, meshed idea of sound that clogged her senses with its noise. Her eyes had shut long ago and she wasn’t quite sure whether or not she was still breathing.
“She’s getting to a dangerous level at this point. I’ll revive her--Take Albronth and return to the Waking World to dig up some more evidence of our suspicions. I doubt there was only one of whatever it was you found today.”
“I n--d a Ca…”
“--ll…vide one for y…”
What? What were they…say…
{Hunter’s Tryst}
He blinked down at the young thing in his arms and frowned slightly. He wondered--when had she stopped understanding the nature of his cruelty towards her? She had grown up much too quickly in this world and it showed sometimes when she pulled such childish stunts as what she had today. Yet sleeping in his arms, he saw through the illusion she’d created for herself in Reminisce. Though, he didn’t say so to the company in his presence.
Albronth--the escort he’d granted her after her decision to become a Nightmare Hunter, was hovering over him like a lost dog. The concern the man could hold for someone who’d so obviously assaulted him was inspiring. He had to hide a smile at the compassion the male was displaying towards his unconscious partner.
“I can grant you a temporary Caster for the time,” he continued quietly.
Ebon eyes slicked up to his face only for a moment before returning to Iriza. “Thank you,” he mumbled, “but Iriza is the only Caster I’ll work with.”
“Not at all. Redice can get you into the Waking World with her own Casting,” before the other man could protest further he added gently, “I’ll send you a guide shortly after. Until then I expect you to recover information about the Nightmare activity from your own resources.”
His nod was absentminded but Phantasmal didn’t mind the distracted response for the time being. Resuming towards the upper level on his own and leaving his two subordinates with his instructions as a predetermined course of action, he added mildly, “If you get the chance, do check in on that child as well, won’t you?”
There was a sliver of hesitation in his movements as he shifted to follow through on the orders but nonetheless, Albronth managed a solemn nod before slipping back down the stairs with his new escort.
Lifting a bemused brow at their retreating backs, Phantasmal considered saying something more but then decided against it.
Things were going to get harsh very quickly.
He glanced down at Iriza. She was losing herself to Reminisce without his help. Already he could see her fingertips starting to take on an almost ghostly existence. Her soft hair was going gradually silver and beneath the cream shield of her eyelids, her eyes were mimicking REM characteristics. The only reason the girl even survived the fate most of the other Dreaming had encountered in this reality was because he chose to keep her with him. Here, in this place that she so clearly loathed, was the only place she was truly safe. If only she could remember the purpose of his cruelty.
Bowing his head down to the soft strands of ebon straggling across her cheek, he took a deep breath. That scent still lingered in her aura like a fading memory. He’d noticed it the very first time he’d encountered her here in Reminisce. Not for the first time was he eager to detach her from that smell--that memory that would only serve as a path into utter danger so long as she kept it close. Closing his eyes, he felt the wash of terror flood him in a renewed version of what he’d felt nearly five years ago.
Seeing her he’d hoped for only one thing…
Don’t end up like me.
“It begins and ends the same way every time, doesn’t it?”
Together they looked down upon what could have been a perfect stranger or the perfect ally. From a credibly handsome face the amber eyes of a young man peered at them through the bleak haze of oblivion. Straggles of ebon hair strayed over the firm cheeks of an artists’ dream. He was a stilled painting that might have passed for something truly beautiful made even more perfect with the slow dust of death touching those attractive features and framing them in eternity’s chilled grasp. Kneeling, she stroked the gently parted lips of the male and wondered how his voice had sounded before it had been frozen in time. The tender smell of something wildly foreign to the Waking World hummed in the atmosphere. She licked her lips and tasted the beginnings of a very unique signature of death.
“I think they’re getting younger, Albronth.”
At her side, a towering shadow of a being loomed within the almost reluctant touch of the afternoon sunlight. The stylish chrome shoulder and rib plates of his uniform-cut jacket clung to a solid frame that spoke volumes towards suppressed power. Albronth was built in tight, lean compacts of muscle that rarely needed to be exerted to the full of their ability--a useful quality that she’d always appreciated. Her assumed ally was a series of harsh expressions and disdainful grunts. Now was no different. Vividly felt at her back, the obsidian glare of her companion bored holes into her shoulders as she allowed her hands to trace down the youth’s throat, curiously exploring familiar anatomy with unproclaimed duty.
“Iriza…”
Her name.
A smirk touched her lips and slowly she straightened, glancing sidelong at the beast she’d brought with her. “You seem uncomfortable,” she mused quietly, “am I really taking too long again?”
That expression on his face never seemed to alter to anything beyond mild agreement or incredulous association. “I don’t understand your fascination with these things,” came the grunted response. “Phantasmal will want you back as soon as possible and you’re wasting time here.”
She shifted by him without exposing her train of thought, moving only a few paces away before stopping once more and taking a kneel. From the depths of her own gothicly attractive jacket she withdrew a thin bladed knife and plunged it into the heated asphalt at her feet. Somewhere in the distance not too far off from their position, there was the lively drone of a fully active crowd going about their regular business as though completely separate from their reality. Paying the distanced sounds no mind she began to etch intricate runes into the solid material of the street effortlessly. “I don’t need to be chained to that individual,” she muttered. “When I joined the Hunters and agreed to the terms of the Waking and Reminisce, I did it with the promise that there would be no supervision as a human or worse--a Dreaming.” Behind her the discomforted rustles of her companion’s slow shifting was ignored. “You mean to tell me that Phantasmal is going against our contract?”
“I was only making a statement.”
She didn’t bother to so much as look back at him. And disregarding his amendment to their conversation she blindly gestured over her shoulder to the corpse she’d finished inspecting. “Do me a favor and separate them,” she mumbled distractedly as she continued to expand her drawing into a strict and detailed series of complicated spirals and spheres, “I suck at dividing Nightmare from the dead.”
Despite the hesitated quiet that followed her request, she was less than concerned and knew well that he would oblige. After so much time working by obligation as a team, they were both equally aware of the consequences of division and ignorance when it came to obeying one another’s demands while functioning in their particular field of expertise.
After all, they were the Waking.
She worked quickly and efficiently these days. The blaring light of the afternoon sun was an obnoxious glint on her blade while she toiled with meticulous practice to complete a ridiculously detailed series of symbols that seemed to flow from her memory and hands as naturally as breath did into her lungs. And when at length she had completed her task and rolled back onto her heels, Iriza couldn’t help but smirk a little.
“I’m getting better at this, Al,” she called over her narrow shoulder.
She wasn’t spared his attention. At her back a blood curdled shriek resounded through the air. Paying no mind to the otherwise hair-raising distraction she extracted her blade from the ground and eased herself to her feet. Tucking the unique blade away into the inner pocket of her coat Iriza cast her violet gaze in the general direction of her clearly preoccupied partner just as another scream shattered the quiet of their sparingly populated surroundings.
“Condemner Seal is in place. How’s the Anti?”
As if there was any reason to ask.
Albronth stood hovering over the youth she’d left mere minutes before. Back to her, she could see the tightened muscles running the length of his spine while he kept the receiving end of a sleek, custom made hand gun trained on the suddenly animate body at his feet. Narrowed and nearly iridescent, gold eyes glared distantly up at her ally from a face she’d remembered frozen with the seal of death upon it. From behind a thin curtain of obsidian hair the soft flesh of the male’s cheek was rapidly receiving black stains of spidery scrolling that seemed to drip like inky tears until they melted into the creases of his thin lips. A chill of anticipation floated along the nerves of her body until she was practically giddy.
“It’s a Nightmare--rook class,” Albronth’s naturally harsh tones interrupted her processing.
She absorbed his information and took up a place closer to him without removing her attention from the kid. Her intention was to pause behind her companion…instead she found herself mere inches from their target. Those gold eyes switched to her with remarkable speed and underestimated intelligence. Entertained, she watched the part on those chapped lips spread as the creature worked its mouth fluidly. “Evening, Hunter.”
Her heart caught for a moment. The voice was overlapped with another’s…
Cadence tongue. She could feel the deep lines of a frown etched between her brows. Of course…“He’s a puppet.” Fingers twitching a minor signal to her ally who was grumbling his urgency over her shoulder, Iriza bowed forward over the male with a wide smile. “Nice trick,” she mumbled. Rook class…it’s nearly a knight. Her fingers itched for one of the several weapons hidden cleverly on her person. Something like a Nightmare had to be handled delicately. “How fast can you fully separate it from the shell?” The human was dead, ri--
As though aware of her every thought Albronth’s powerful voice sliced through her hesitation. “He was too young to be used for their purpose and likely died in the process of slipping into Reminisce,” he said mildly. “Don’t worry, separating them this time doesn’t count as murder.”
That wasn’t encouraging. A glitch of motion stole her attention away from her companion and before she could so much as take another breath, chaos had ensued. Bolting up in a display of full out animation neither of them had expected, the corpse managed to land a brutal upward slash on her partner, shoving him back with ferocious strength and cruelty. Albronth was no novice and recovered in a short series of backward skips, cocking his gun and locking onto his rapidly moving target while it bounded about in unnerving quiet. There couldn’t be a single flaw in the execution of their plan to dispatch the fiend and realizing this, Iriza was rushing rampantly to her ally’s side. Another fragment of twitched movement and she was snatching up Albronth’s forearm and dragging him to the ground with her. It was only a split instant later that the Nightmare swept over them taking a wild leap back towards the city populous only a few blocks away.
“It’ll reach the city!”
He jolted to his feet and whipped about, flashing his freehand across the grimace that split his lips and exposed the wolfish jut of his canines, slicing open a defenseless fingertip. “I know that!” She could hear his snarl as a trickle of fresh red inched down his index finger. She watched with a feeling of dread while her companion switched firing hands. The feeling only escalated upon seeing his weapon of choice writhe and twist within the blood stained flesh of his palm when his cut finger was soothed patiently against the trigger. “Set a shield.”
She didn’t need a second warning.
Slamming both hands down flat against the roughly textured asphalt Iriza pushed a unique source of power from the very core of her being into a small radius about her. Time shut down into a tiny pinpointed area enclosing them within its embrace. In her ears like the light touch of a whispered familiar voice she heard the low drum of her nearly stilled heart. Her breaths caught in the air, visible in gravity stopped warps of near transparent huffs of air right before her face. Pressure slammed down on them from all sides making even the slowest movements excruciating. In the sky over her head a single mourning dove was stilled mid flight like a pinned display on the cerulean canvas.
Yet Albronth moved without sparing an ounce of his elegance to the altered state of reality and she watched him jerk back the trigger of his warped weapon with all the ease in the universe.
It was like witnessing silence in a room so loud it hurt to even think. A blaze of pitch black scorched through the air to consume its target nearly forty yards away. There was silence in the wake of oblivion.
She closed her eyes and listened to her pulse gradually regain a normal rhythm. The suffocating weight of her shield ebbed and swayed with the limit of her energy and the delayed scream of a bullet shattered through the suddenly obsolete quiet. Dropping the shield completely she winced a little as sound returned to their world in a wild rush. Her head throbbed strong enough to be noticed but weak enough to be discounted. Even when she lurched painstakingly to her feet to sway dangerously over to the sketch of runes she’d left on the ground, Iriza couldn’t deny the pain of overexerting herself. Large hands reaching to stop her, her companion was making movements to assist.
“I--don’t, I can do it this time.”
She shook her head slowly reaching out with a shaking hand to touch the web-like scrolling embedded into the black tar. “Your casting sucks,” she mumbled. With her touch the seal flared a vibrant yellow. From the rune a single shot of luminance bolted sideways to the crumpled mass of worn denim and wildly sprawled limbs collapsed several yards from them, a massive shard of ebon crystal rammed between the exposed nodes of its spine. In a sear of gold the thing twitched. And as they watched, a tangled web of black thread bled from the creature’s charred flesh, writhing in the light as though it were a living organism perishing in the spell’s grasp. The screams returned to scar the air with their high pitched blares bordering on inhuman. There was no pause in the sound and while they listened to the final breaths being torn from their target’s throat and lungs she felt waves upon waves of icy terror crashing over her.
Bewildered gaze glitching in her direction she heard Albronth shuffling his weight in an exceedingly rare display of absolute discomfort. “What is…?” at a loss for words his voice rose and cracked.
He couldn’t be blamed.
Snapping her eyes from the sight Iriza slammed her freehand down on the seal and shouted the final words to complete the cast.
“CONDEMN THE LOST!”
The screams cut so abruptly that the silence that followed was truly numbing.
All that issued into the air between them for the longest time was the sound of her labored breath wheezing past her parched lips. Never. Not ever had she seen that… That was a Dreaming….it…it was a human being… Reminding herself of the lost humanity of something wasn’t helping her condition. Unable to do anything more than stare stupidly at her rampantly shaking hands left forgotten on the dissipated seal, she tried to gain some small fragment of her sanity.
“Iriza?”
To dement something from the Waking World so drastically…. “It’s sick.”
An unnoticed hand fell upon her shoulder. “Riza!”
She was dizzy, exhausted. Already she’d performed three castings. But this--what in the world was going on?!
“--a…Are you alri--”
She slipped off into unconsciousness she had never even noticed was awaiting her fall.
…What in the world is happening here?
{Hunter’s Tryst}
She started, blinking a little idiotically at the black weave of tangled threads cluttering her tiny fingers in their intricate mesh. Amid the flustered knotting, a single strand dangled loosely and utterly disconnected from the mass. “It snapped.”
“What are you mumbling about over there?” the voice was one of quiet inquiry; sleek and omnipresent in the hollow atmosphere of their environment, ringing clearly male and deliciously enigmatic. From somewhere near her side she could hear the slow, paced approach of something similar to her kin.
She was approached with an unseen smirk and placed immediately under unnoticed scrutiny.
Catlike. That was the only way to describe the child’s near predatorial crouch as she teetered with remarkable balance upon the balcony railing of an impressive structure. Large eyes fixed on a milky horizon there was a glint of humor to her gaze. “They found your toy, Krothin.”
“That so?”
Wildly entertained the youth lithely picked herself up from her stunted position until she stood with feline grace on the thin iron of her perch. Brandishing a snapped thread to the creature beside her, she giggled a little maliciously. “It’s dead, you see?” In the soft breeze of her movements that swept up the silver spirals of her silken hair, the thread swayed worthlessly from the long digits of her hand, tangled in her loosed hold.
From the depths of a shadow that stretched lazily across the back wall, a glitter of twilight colored attention scanned over her tiny limb. “A shame--you spent so much time making that for me to play with.”
She shrugged and turned to plop back down on the railing with a mild sigh. “She’ll want to know about this.” Yawning she rocked absently back and forth listening to the light tinkle of the frosted glass chess piece hooked through her right ear in the bright tangle of her hair. “Those silly hunters are getting in the way of her plans already.”
“The Waking have never posed a threat,” came the gently issued reply.
The voice was all too familiar to her--a sweet snarl to her otherwise preoccupied thoughts. Without effort she tipped backwards over the railing and landed squarely on the lower level of an intricate floor plan several feet down. Recovering she gazed up at the upper expanse of her surroundings and leered playfully at the hellish form that slowly sleeked over to her previous place of perch to target her with its penetrating stare. “I’ll tell Fadist of the new development! You stay here and wait, won’t you?”
A simple nod gave her the permission she wasn’t allowed to so much as draw breath without, and unwilling to waste time the child dashed off towards the next line of iron railing and promptly vanished over its edge as well in a way that only she seemed able.
Twilight watched her escape and studied with admiration the almost serene float of her gothicly beautiful dress. Like streamers of freshly spilt blood frozen in time, the crimson ribbons that tied the black lace of the dollish dress fluttered in her wake; a haunting contrast to the tightly curled spirals of silver hair that bounced at her waist. The child herself moved like liquid venom. With each playful skip off towards her set destination he took note of the sheer power and absently placed cruelty that seemed to emanate from her tiny frame.
Left in her wake a monster of unfathomed creation turned its attention elsewhere, bored. “The next move I cast,” his hissed whisper echoed off the looming, crystal walls of a twisted castle, “rook to A3.”
“--Always looking at our mission as a chess game,” a woman’s soft voice mused sharply over his shoulder, “you’re just like her.”
There was no reason for him to turn and address someone he’d been aware of all along. Droning lazily, he toyed with the dark silk sleeve at the cuff where it shielded his wrist flopped mindlessly over the banister. “Does it really concern you? We’re all pawns in some way.”
The chime of glass against metal resounded between them and he felt his attention sharpen upon her. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she chuckled, “you and I are Bishops.”
He grunted.
“Let the rest of her pieces be pawns on the board. We are destined for something much greater.”
Glass buttons. He rushed nimble fingers over the smooth, hollow knobs that secured his cuffs and wondered how something could seem so perfect. “The world is divided into two dimensions,” he began slowly, reciting a script they all knew in some distinct aspect. “The World of the Waking is meant for Humans, while a reality called Reminisce is meant for their dreams, memories, and fears. Keeping the two divided is the only way to secure both worlds; having them conjoined would mean a war between what is real and what is not. It is in this light of realization that a faction was created to ensure such chaos would never become a possibility.”
Sighing with exasperation she drew up beside him with mindful distance. “The faction was known as the Waking. However, when the defense of the Waking World took priority over the existence of Reminisce, another faction was created composed of rebellious individuals who opposed the theories instituted by the Waking. These individuals who held the ability to manipulate aspects of their reality counterparts began to perform malicious acts against the Waking world, and were quickly identified and hunted by the original faction.” she glanced sidelong at him with a look of distain, “The amount of time you spend mulling over our origin is frightening, Krothin.” Her eyes were diverted elsewhere while a thin line set her lips. “Even with the Hunters wandering about like patrol guards, this revolution will happen with or without your petty sentiments.”
Expressionless his caress upon the button he’d been amusing himself with abruptly turned vicious. Snapping the defenseless, hollow bead of glass, he teased it between two fingers and with no hint to his thoughts dropped it over the edge of their floor to the bottom level where it shattered worthlessly. “Yet we are ‘destined’ for greater things.”
He was ignored.
“Just watch. Dema will shift the powers of the dimensions. This boundary between Reminisce and the Waking World dissipates with every Dreaming we create and every Waking we destroy. With her plans we will become the supreme justice of the realities and there won‘t be any need for order or petty consent by way of histories and past faults.”
“But I’m the heretic?”
Crisp and harsh the sound of approaching footsteps and the low chatter of unexpected company echoed about the hollowed expanse of the castle. “You,” a new voice introduced itself into their conversation with the familiar hum of sadistic lure that he’d become accustomed to long ago, “are more than just a heretic, Kroth.”
Lifting his dimmed orbs of twilight blue to the slender individual approaching them from the base level in escort to his previous company, Krothin arched a dark brow at the familiar face. Even at distance, Fadist De’fleur was a skeletal figment of demented imagination. The short crop of the creature’s honey blonde hair slunk low over the heavily pierced tips of his wickedly angled and curved ears. His black stained lips were a wide sneer that exposed the wolfish glitter of his bleached teeth and cast an icy breeze to the atmosphere. And of course, no matter how much space was left between them, Kroth couldn’t avoid the monster’s insanely bright, orange glower. That borderline, escaped-psych-ward-patient wardrobe of his didn’t improve the creepy mood floating about him either. And as the monster leaned down to snake nimble fingers over a scatter of glittering fragments near his feet, there could be no overlooking the wicked-looking, crescent blade sheathed in a gleaming tangle of buckles at his thin hip.
An uninvited hand slipped against his shoulder and suddenly Krothin was a supportive brace for his female company while the bishop class at his side leaned over to wave childishly down at their bewildering ally. “Fadist!”
A kiss was blown up to them as their dementia-imposed counterpart straightened. Licking a fresh smear of red from his cut fingertips a wide leer parted the Nightmare’s lips. “Beautiful as always, Septis,” he called up to them in a more or less sincerely charming cry before redirecting his attention to a quietly annoyed Kroth. “Now then, what’s all this news about Hunters in the Waking World messing with our plans, bishop?”
Shoulder cramping under the weight of the woman and senses overwhelmed by her scent of gardenias and jacaranda, he tried to manage a response without suffocating or collapsing under her thoughtless assault. His determination was somewhat obscured when tickling threads of her amber hair stroked over his nose. “The Waking found one of our portals and did away with it before it could be used for greater means,” he began quietly.
The pair had stopped short of the multiple balconies that composed well over half the room’s excess space. “And your plans for this insanity? Dema isn’t the sort of beast to idly take being herded towards goals not already on her intended path.” His grin flourished to cruel amusement. “How our king does loathe unscheduled change…”
There was no arguing with that comment. Rushing subconscious fingers through his hair, the Nightmare shoved away the excess weight of his flirty counterpart with a mild growl of aggravation. “Act your implied age.” He ignored the narrowed beams of yellow that glared bitterly at him. “Harquin.” Responding to his bark, the youngest in appearance amid their party glanced up from the floor where she’d absently left her attention. In the eerie light the child’s pallor stricken face was a full moon crested by a deviant smile. Privately he found a moment to appreciate the creature he’d declared as his own kin. “Collect more Dreaming and warp their Materia into something useful so we can place a Queen on our board.”
Without waiting for a second chance to be dismissed, the youth nodded energetically and turned to skip off and away from their company happily.
In her absence, the narrowed glint of orange eyes shot their silent daggers at the bishop piece. “You’ll send a child but not your knight.” Fuming dramatically Fadist turned his head away with the glass chess horse in one of the several holes of his right ear clinking gently. “Do what you want then. I’m sure to find a far better role to play in your little match.”
“I’m glad you’re in compliance.”
The other male merely shrugged and turned heel to leave, the oversized buckles on what Krothin only then realized to be a loosed straight jacket jingling loudly as the Nightmare stalked off. “I don’t comply, dear bishop, I simply spectate.”
{Hunter’s Tryst}
She could smell…amber and rain.
He had always smelled of amber and the world after a good rainstorm. It was something about him she could never forget because that smell clung to the soft cottons of his average t-shirts everyday he returned to her. If she thought hard on the memory, she could almost recall his name--something that had proved difficult ever since she’d…since she’d…
“--a…”
Had he smiled the last time they’d seen one another? Their fight had been so trivial, hadn’t it? It was such a stupid thing to fight over but it seemed as though lately they’d been having nothing but idiotic tussles. That had been the last thing about him she could really remember. A stupid fight.
“…Riza…”
Because you called me a child.
The touch was so light she almost couldn’t feel it. There was no warmth to the fingers that hesitantly traced the crease between her brows as she stirred and struggled through a numbing dark that she finally registered as uncommon and uncomfortable. She hated the dark. She hated to sleep.
Stirring Iriza clawed viciously at the hand that attempted to comfort her, prying back on the long, strong fingers lain at rest upon her overheated skin. “Piss off.” The reaction was automatic. Perhaps because of this there was no revolt in response to her rudeness.
Of course, that didn’t seem to prohibit the harsh, verbal reproach. “Iriza.”
By some unexplained reflex the strict summons sent an electrical jolt skipping along every nerve in her body and before she could manage the energy to open her eyes, she found herself sitting upright and more than awake. Taking her time to force her lazy lids back up she took automatic registry and inventory of any abnormal conditions plaguing her body, and found little to express concern over beyond minor aches and a torn upper lip.
No warning given, a finger was whisked under her nose. “You’re bleeding.”
She muttered a minor obscenity under her breath, while pushing away his touch and lifting a hand to wipe away the slick heat soothing from her nose, she took in the dusky twilight of a remotely familiar surrounding. “I opened a port again, didn’t I?”
There was the more or less bemused rush of a low sigh. “Well,” she recognized Albronth’s monotone, “at least you managed to complete the task and return us to Reminisce.”
She wasn’t paying attention. They were in a room with the serene and strange violet of an otherworldly sky visible through the oversized portal of a wall-length window. Her new surroundings reeked of lavish herbs and the spicy twinge of sandalwood. All about her the smooth hues of creamy blue and soft gold swirled into one indefinable shade of dreamy silver. White silk composed and sheathed nearly every surface in the room from the nightstand to the ghostly caress of sheets tangled about her slender form as she pushed herself up into a sturdy sit in a bed far too large for her liking.
Putting two and two together she adhered the full rage of her glare to her idle companion. “Traitor.”
His eyes refused to meet hers. “By the time we arrived you were so out of it I had no choice but to bring you here.”
Iriza wasted no time, ignoring her personal ails to all but leap out of bed. Her bare feet touched lightly down on the polished red wood floors of the one place she loathed to be. “You should have just left me in the Waking World,” she snarled under her breath, storming over to a white marble vanity at the other end of the room as she snagged the mass of her thick mane and dragged it into something remotely resembling a ponytail.
When had she been changed out of her Hunter’s uniform into a moon robe?
As though reading her thoughts the monster at her back said quietly enough to be heard and no louder, “Redice is here. She helped make you a little more comfortable when we arrived.”
The floor length robe slicked like fluid over her slender frame in a truly attractive sheen of the same unique color dousing the walls of the large enclosure. The material was like liquid ice, cooling and refreshing after overexerting herself. Of course, she wasn’t about to tell him that. Looking up into the mirror with a grimace for show she studied herself for a long moment.
Nothing about her had changed. Not that she had anything to go by, but for as long as she could remember; she had always looked the same. Her shoulder length of ink black hair shimmered with the dark rainbow seen in a raven’s wings and sketched over her moderately high forehead in a messy array of feathery clusters. Her face looked so astonishingly foreign to her at times but nonetheless she found the Nubian Goddess features attractive. In her own eyes the full, naturally red lips placed delicately below her violet gaze were bothersome--too feminine; especially when set in contrast against her gently darkened skin. Otherwise, she supposed she could be beautiful in anyone’s opinion.
Her eyes flashed away and she reached for one of the multiple drawers tucked neatly into the sturdy marble furniture.
“What are you looking for now?”
She refused to be interrupted. His advance upon her was seen at the very limit of her gaze reflected in the mirror long before he could reach her. Snatching something small enough to be stuffed into the cascading sleeve of her robe she whipped around and automatically shot a firm hand against his chest. “Don’t,” she warned, pushing him back. “Clearly your obligations to Phantasmal supersede my intentions to perform my duties as the Waking.” Ducking around him she let her eyes sweep the room expectantly. Where the hell was her clothing?
“You can’t be serious.”
Distractedly she shrugged, “After seeing what we just did I don’t think I can get much more solemn.” Giving up on the search her next task was heading out the door into the expansive hallway that was only a minor vein in a manor she knew from experience to be far vaster than any built in the Waking World.
True to his nature as a Hunter Albronth was fast on her heels no doubt with a rising temper at her curt rebellion. “Do you realize that your current form can’t take the strain you’ve been forcing it under without his help?”
She rolled her eyes and made a sharp left at the end of the corridor down a spiraled flight of chrome steps. “By him,” she called over her shoulder, “you must mean Phantasmal.” The instant her feet touched down on the polished marble of the next floor she’d picked up the dragging length of her robes and was quickening her pace.
He was storming down the stairs as expected of a roused beast. “You know damn well you can’t go anymore than a few hours without his aid.”
“What I know,” she returned sharply, “is that the Nightmare we encountered today wasn’t like the others we’ve been hunting this entire time.” They were nearing an antechamber and a small fraction of the occupying security personnel that up until that very instant she’d completely forgotten. Slowing gradually as she came upon the series of armed individuals in their cerulean overcoats and white silk slacks, Iriza felt some of her frustration stagger. “Damn…”
Oblivious to the unyielding obstacle blocking the twin doors to the antechamber that was the main artery of the entire network of lavish halls and impossibly tangled junctions, Albronth was the fool that came up to her side blaring his protests in her selectively deaf ears. “A Nightmare is a Nightmare. And to top it off you’re not strong enough right now to go rushing head long into a fi….ght.”
Seven. She’d counted seven. The group was far larger than what she’d normally seen occupy select corridors of the manor. In the very corners of her mind she began to size up each of the individuals. Every guard was a knight in his or her own class. Despite the dazzling array of flawlessly beautiful faces that turned towards her, the elite that defended Phantasmal’s fort were hardly to be underestimated. Female or male--no matter the gender, there had always been a distinct allure to the creatures that took human form and were assigned to the security of the fort that was the housing unit for the Waking. Each was nearly identical in some unexplained fashion to the other. From their deceptively perfect faces to the night black of their hair and the intelligent auburn of their eyes; not a single one held individual definition. All seven sets of darkly lit ginger eyes tracked their movements from breath to breath and she knew without any sense of naivety that even the slightest hint of hostility would trigger a bloody event…
Even if they were on the same side.
Movements stuck between a delicate float and the predatorial stalk of a carnivore, one of the guards was easing towards her and didn’t bother to pause until they stood only a third of a foot away. “Materia Caster Iriza.”
It was a little difficult to try to suppress the reflexive flinch she’d acquired in response to that title. Even so she wasn’t about to play the role of a scared little victim before creatures of the same make as her. “I need passage to the outer districts,” she said curtly without paying mind to the weak sound of protest behind her back.
That deceptively docile gaze washed over her before snapping to the male hovering defensively over her shoulder. “We were placed here to keep you and your escort within this specific boundary until the Lord Phantasmal arrives with further instruction.”
Of course they were. She cocked her head to one side and grabbed the guard’s attention away from Albronth. “Then you misunderstand my request. I will be allowed to return to the outer districts so that I and my escort can resume our duties as the Waking.” She didn’t mention the fact that her urgency to escape was in part due to her attempt to avoid encountering Phantasmal. Of course the information was strictly a need-to-know piece of knowledge.
Her companion didn’t seem to think so. “We understand--it’s vital that she see Phantasmal.”
Blanching Iriza considered whipping around to knee him in the stomach but decided promptly against it after factoring in the nature of their company. Gritting her teeth against the urge to raise her voice at the male she said with grating patience, “In the event that you continue to interfere with the progression of Hunter business, you can be--”
“Goodness, are you still trying to revolt even in your present condition?”
Something in her glitched uncomfortably. That voice was no doubt the siren’s call of a very familiar character--one of which she had no intention of crossing any time soon. Subconsciously falling back a step until she stood once more at her partner’s side she swallowed the knot climbing her throat. Now that she’d heard the voice she was also aware of the lightly clicking steps approaching them from behind the blockade of armed guards. Smooth and even; the steps of a lion truly confident in its lair.
Gradually the mass of seven began to part to give way to another of their kind. Oh, but the woman that approached them then was something utterly independent of the others….at least in appearance.
She frowned. “Redice.” Phantasmal’s left hand if he ever claimed one. The red head was never far from her puppet master’s side for very long. With the impossibly lovely face of the goddess of chaos and her temper to boot, the woman was known for her uncommonly vicious nature. All passed off with a smile from those seductive lips nonetheless.
A smile was flashed at them then with devious intentions swarming behind a shallow mask of kindness. “Even with your frequent absence from home you still remember my name.”
It wasn’t that she remembered willingly. Not that she had the power to say so aloud without ending up in worse wear. Instead she let her gaze glitch about looking for any signs of…
“Phantasmal is soon on his way here to see you,” Redice cooed gently.
From her side she heard Albronth’s relieved sigh and thought even less of her guardian. There wasn’t going to be any quick escapes for her if she didn’t find a route away from the guards and Redice. “I need to get to the districts beyond the fort for a short time.”
“What for?”
What did it matter? “We encountered a Nightmare in the Waking World. Redice, it was under the control of a Rook Class and something was completely wrong this time--it was warped, demented so far from humanity…” her voice rose and broke with the recollection. Regaining herself to a small degree she added flatly, “Whatever that was when we killed it, it had been a human before; a child—no older than his mid teens.”
Unfazed hazel eyes regarded her as though looking upon a lesser being. “If it was a Nightmare when you killed it, then why should you care what it was before? The dead don’t rise once they’re down; and if it was killed for a good reason then what use is it to you now?”
Iriza felt her expression fall to dumbfoundment. “A-are you serious?”
The woman shrugged. Long, spiraled clusters of her fiery hair slipped from her shoulder and swatting them away impatiently, she turned to leave. “Stay in this area until Phantasmal arrives to help you with your…problems,” she muttered in retreat.
Not even bothering to control her temper, Iriza slapped a hand against her shoulder where her dagger had been placed before she’d been taken back to Reminisce. Finding nothing there now but empty space she scowled and let her fingers fall away. Sidelong she glanced at Albronth to confirm he hadn’t seen her attempt at treason. Realizing that her plot had gone unnoticed she snarled curses under her breath and finally gave in to the deterrent. If it was going to be this difficult just for her to escape these damned people she had no choice but to accept the fact that she was being overruled…
Or did she?
In a movement nearly too quick to be tracked by sight alone Iriza snapped around to Albronth, ramming a fierce elbow into his ribs, and snatching the sleek gun held captive in the chrome holster across his chest. Move…move! Time couldn’t be afforded and taking this into account she took aim for the guard that had approached them first. Praying she could do this without too much damage, she fired a shadow clad round straight into his shoulder before ducking under the scarcely avoided, horizontal sweep of another guard’s weapon as an impressive blade soared over her head. Her chest hit the floor with a wicked crack but she couldn’t slow her movements if she intended to survive this. Recovering with barely enough air left in her lungs to breathe, Iriza took a running leap at the next set of guards fast approaching, their revealed sabers glittering in the soft light of the room. Faster! MOVE! Her bare feet touched down on the broad shoulders of one of her opponents. In a leap of faith she managed to jump over the male to the corridor beyond their defense. On reflex she hit the ground running for her life.
Her heart was up in her mouth as she sprinted the length of the hall to the next stairway in a labyrinth almost too intricate to escape. But she knew the floor plan perfectly. If she took a left here it took her down to the second floor and into the fort lobby. Her feet skidded painfully on the cobalt carpet but the pain was easily ignored in her haste. She could hear them calling for more security behind her. She had to move faster!
A distracting tangle of her maddened hair flopped into her face with the haste of her movements. She didn’t even pause to clear the distraction from her eyes. Her navigation included a stray series of crafty shortcuts that she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of. On the fourth right she was upon the final spiral of iron steps that would deliver her into the main room and freedom’s door just a few yards away. This time she skipped the stair completely, throwing herself over the railing to a potentially fatal one story drop. The impact of her feet hitting the chilled marbled floors of the first floor did nothing to slow her down and in a split instant she was upright and dashing madly for the door. Just a little further! FASTER! The final yards were too easy to close and…
Time slowed.
The world paused.
And before her eyes, seemingly appearing from nowhere at all…
God…no.
It was like taking a deep breath and holding it in of her own volition simply because she feared losing herself if she ever let the air escape from her lungs. As though she were taking a final breath and refusing to release it; looking at that man was suffocating. Beauty came in so many shades and views it was impossible to discern what was truly beautiful and what was just a plaster casting. Looking upon the man that moved slowly to block her further, it could have been that his shoulder length sway of platinum hair was pretty to only some. Maybe those multi-faceted, lime green eyes were attractive to a select few when placed on that wildly exotic face of smooth complexion and unbelievably suave features. It might have been possible that full lips were not handsome to some when placed on a man. His slender frame of lean muscle could have been viewed by someone else as merely scrawny and strange. Perhaps men in black clothing were unattractive in another’s eyes. However…Phantasmal was beautiful no matter what reality he existed in or who it was that dared to look upon him.
In the very back of her mind she could hear the cavalry finally catching up to her. She just couldn’t bring herself to care. Under her suddenly unbearable weight, her legs were trembling from the strain she’d forced on them. Her body was finally feeling the hell she’d just put it through. He must have seen it too, then.
Why else would he suddenly step forward to embrace her silently?
This man…
This man.
She felt like screaming at him. She felt like kicking him, and biting him, and clawing for the escape he’d once again denied her. The freedom from his hold. Standing there in his arms barely able to support her own weight, Iriza felt more than anything…
“Silly girl. Where did you think you were running to?”
Like crying.
Instead she found herself staring blankly over his broad shoulder at the door just barely beyond her grasp. He knew I was running. He was here all along and waited just to catch me here and prove I’m still under his reign. He always knew.
She acknowledged the sound of the others’ arrival and gave up entirely; turning lifeless in his embrace until only his arms were holding her up.
“Phantasmal,” Albronth’s pained voice drew into the stifled air suddenly, “you found her.”
Of course he did. “I’ve always known where she was.” When no one tried to make further comment he added almost tenderly, “You look ill, Hunter.”
The slightest hint of guilt echoed in her gut and she remembered the “Obsidian Oblivion” still clasped loosely in her hand. Apparently, so did her captor for she felt his lukewarm touch coax the weapon from her grasp. Lain worthlessly at rest on his shoulder, her chin tilted and jerked as she felt him toss the gun back to its rightful owner. When his arm returned to drape casually about her waist she felt her skin crawl.
“Master Phantasmal,” Redice’s naturally stern tones bit abruptly into the quiet, “that woman assaulted multiple defense members and even turned a Materia piece on one of her own kind. You can’t continue to indulge this sort of outlandish behavior.” The words were so nonchalantly birthed they seemed more venomous than they would have had she been shouting.
It was one of the woman’s rare talents, Iriza could give her that much.
Her chest brushed sensually against his as Phantasmal heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’m ignoring you for time reasons,” he muttered and suddenly she was being lifted off her feet and into the steady cradle of his arms. “I’m aware of a peculiar movement amid the Nightmare that I must discuss with you all as Hunters--not little boys and girls pointing deadly weapons at one another for the sole purpose of minor squalls.”
Little more than an empty shell in his arms she stared at the bottom of his chin and the cream flesh of his throat. As he spoke she tracked the slow bob of his Adam’s apple. Her vision had already begun to sway and drizzle down into a bottomless scene of black that amused and vexed her. She was losing it again. Damn. Just when she thought she might be able to make it for a few more hours without his help. Could Albronth have been right? Her eyelids drooped and she only just realized that they were in motion, going back the way she’d taken all that energy sprinting from.
They were still talking.
“--ture that may have greater influence on the Nightmare.”
Why was Albronth walking so close to Phantasmal like that? From the verge of her gaze she watched him rushing his fingers back through his hair. “Another piece.”
“Possibly of higher rank than the pawns and Rooks we’ve been encountering thus far,” his voice murmured against her ear.
“Nightmare haven’t obtained greater pieces since the Hollow Dreaming was slain,” Redice submitted quickly. “And that was well over three decades ago.”
Where were they going? “In that amount of time it’s possible they might have found another Hollow.”
Hollow? What’s a Hollow? She was getting cold. Exerting even more power to press closer to the low radiance of heat sleeking through the fine material of Phantasmal’s shirt, she listened as carefully as she could while more and more of herself seemed to ebb away into oblivion. God, she felt weak.
“That can’t have happened. We would have noticed if a human from the Waking World had obtained that sort of status.”
“It doesn’t have to be a human anymore, now does it?”
There was a pause.
“Today,” she could hear Albronth beginning carefully, “Iriza and me encountered a puppet type Nightmare that had been warped to unimaginable levels…”
Phantasmal’s head bobbed understandingly above her. “That could have been a small taste of whatever it is the Nightmare are starting to uncover. And if they’ve gone so far as to resurrect individuals of a higher rank than the ordinary Rook, we may be facing the discovery of another Hollow Dreaming.”
“It means a race then--we have to find this thing before they do.”
Another pause. “What about her?”
Who? Were they talking about her? She couldn’t tell anymore. All the voices had become a single, meshed idea of sound that clogged her senses with its noise. Her eyes had shut long ago and she wasn’t quite sure whether or not she was still breathing.
“She’s getting to a dangerous level at this point. I’ll revive her--Take Albronth and return to the Waking World to dig up some more evidence of our suspicions. I doubt there was only one of whatever it was you found today.”
“I n--d a Ca…”
“--ll…vide one for y…”
What? What were they…say…
{Hunter’s Tryst}
He blinked down at the young thing in his arms and frowned slightly. He wondered--when had she stopped understanding the nature of his cruelty towards her? She had grown up much too quickly in this world and it showed sometimes when she pulled such childish stunts as what she had today. Yet sleeping in his arms, he saw through the illusion she’d created for herself in Reminisce. Though, he didn’t say so to the company in his presence.
Albronth--the escort he’d granted her after her decision to become a Nightmare Hunter, was hovering over him like a lost dog. The concern the man could hold for someone who’d so obviously assaulted him was inspiring. He had to hide a smile at the compassion the male was displaying towards his unconscious partner.
“I can grant you a temporary Caster for the time,” he continued quietly.
Ebon eyes slicked up to his face only for a moment before returning to Iriza. “Thank you,” he mumbled, “but Iriza is the only Caster I’ll work with.”
“Not at all. Redice can get you into the Waking World with her own Casting,” before the other man could protest further he added gently, “I’ll send you a guide shortly after. Until then I expect you to recover information about the Nightmare activity from your own resources.”
His nod was absentminded but Phantasmal didn’t mind the distracted response for the time being. Resuming towards the upper level on his own and leaving his two subordinates with his instructions as a predetermined course of action, he added mildly, “If you get the chance, do check in on that child as well, won’t you?”
There was a sliver of hesitation in his movements as he shifted to follow through on the orders but nonetheless, Albronth managed a solemn nod before slipping back down the stairs with his new escort.
Lifting a bemused brow at their retreating backs, Phantasmal considered saying something more but then decided against it.
Things were going to get harsh very quickly.
He glanced down at Iriza. She was losing herself to Reminisce without his help. Already he could see her fingertips starting to take on an almost ghostly existence. Her soft hair was going gradually silver and beneath the cream shield of her eyelids, her eyes were mimicking REM characteristics. The only reason the girl even survived the fate most of the other Dreaming had encountered in this reality was because he chose to keep her with him. Here, in this place that she so clearly loathed, was the only place she was truly safe. If only she could remember the purpose of his cruelty.
Bowing his head down to the soft strands of ebon straggling across her cheek, he took a deep breath. That scent still lingered in her aura like a fading memory. He’d noticed it the very first time he’d encountered her here in Reminisce. Not for the first time was he eager to detach her from that smell--that memory that would only serve as a path into utter danger so long as she kept it close. Closing his eyes, he felt the wash of terror flood him in a renewed version of what he’d felt nearly five years ago.
Seeing her he’d hoped for only one thing…
Don’t end up like me.
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