Dream-Hunters - Chapter Eleven

Phobos stepped back from the empty shell of Silas Oracle. He’d cursed Silas with enough fear to immediately rip his consciousness from the dream. “What’s done is done,” he muttered, shaking out his wrist.

Silas’s white-clothed body was kneeling at the center of the throne room, arms splayed out with his head slumped to one side. His mouth gaped open, while his eyes had rolled back into his head, giving him the appearance of a fish. His once valiant, armored form was now that of a defeated hero.

Phobos turned away from the wreckage, fighting the fresh wave of sorrow that pierced his chest. He quickly shook the emotion off, walking back to his deathly throne. He’d not felt something like it in a long time. The Oracles. Even now he regretted involving them. Still, the rush he’d felt when he’d been at Valerie’s side had been enough to make him feel human. Perhaps, in the end, that was all he’d wanted.

A sudden flash lit up the desolate throne room, illuminating the pitch-dark walls. Phobos whirled on the spot, shielding his eyes against the radiance that pulsated from Silas’s body. He gritted his teeth as the White Knight’s aura grew blinding.

After a few moments, the flash died down. Phobos removed his arm from his brow, concerned to see what had happened.

He felt it before he saw it. A rippling madness, pulling at his conscience, whispering slyly at the fringes of his mind. A writhing, heartless aura, tar-black and soulless. Simply looking at it made him feel as though he were sinking into an ocean of oblivion. But his eyes stayed glued to the terrible sight at the center.

A ball of white light congealed within the morbid mire, casting streaks of light upon the darkness. And from the center of the pallid sun, an arm ripped itself out. It waved a machete in its hand.

“No,” Phobos said, shaking in disbelief as Chaser wrenched himself free from the lifeless radiance, spawning and squirming free into the hellish madness that surrounded him. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Chaser cackled, his tarnished soul practically leaking from his body, seeping into the far corners of the room. “Whassamatta? Didn’t see this one coming, Slowbos?” He held his stomach, releasing his fiendish mirth. “Oh man. I finally got one over on you. I feel incredible! Hah! Why would anyone need to drink beer? Seriously. Don’t do drugs, kids.” He gave a thumbs up, winking.

Phobos gritted his teeth, snarling tersely. “I don’t care what you think you’re preaching. In fact, I’ve waited a long time for this.” He raised his hands towards the heavens.

“Ohhh? A Spirit Bomb? Hate to break it to you, but we only get a chapter for this fight.”

“Shut your mouth, you rebellious scum.” Silver light gathered in Phobos’s hands. It formed a shimmering sword in the air, which shot skyward, piercing the ceiling. Moonlight began flowing through, falling on Phobos’s shoulders. “Prepare yourself.”

He hunched over, his bones reknitting painfully. His skin broke open, sprouting fur as his teeth bared, growing into a row of daggers. His plated armor reshaped and melted to his lycan form, becoming his pelt of fur. His red eyes gleamed, his canine mouth dropping open in a fiery howl. He’d transformed into a werewolf.

Rushing forward, he lunged at Chaser with his gaping maw, which the nightmare caught with the edge of his machete.

“Heh,” Chaser said. “I always figured that you were long in the tooth.” With a grunt, he swung his machete in a wide arc, launching Phobos back.

Phobos slid backwards a meter, his heels kicking up dust. “You are a fool to challenge me.” His lycan form faded into that of a bestial vampire, his fangs glistening red. “I am every nightmare that ever lived. I am Fear itself.” He dashed forward, his cape flooding out behind him.

“Well, I’m sure that Franklin Roosevelt is terrified.” Chaser waved his sword, fending off the sudden onslaught. He tossed his machete to the side. “But allow me to raise the stakes.”

A wooden stake and mallet appeared in his hands. “Get it?”

Phobos ducked away from a crushing blow, retreating near the throne. He doubled backwards as the stake spiraled over his head. Spreading his cape wide, he set his hands aflame, casting a torrent of flame across the room. “Pyrophobia, lend me your strength!”

“Ooh, fire,” Chaser mocked, rubbing his hands together. “Well, I have a few surprises of my own.” He cupped his hands to his mouth, drawing a deep breath. “Boom.”

An explosion rocked the Castle, the sheer force of the wind dousing the flames in a second. Phobos was ripped from his stance, tumbling through the air to land in a heap in his throne. He reverted to his original form, the red lights of his eyes flickering. “What….how could you….”

“Surprised, old man?” Chaser laughed, straightening his collar and cuffs. “Let’s just say that I’ve acquired a few allies along the way.” He held up three fingers, counting. “Their names were Me, Myself, and I. Oh, and the all-powerful Hands of Hope that you decided to seal away about an eon ago. So yeah,” he said, raising his middle finger on his other hand.

Phobos sighed, none too discouraged. “Then it seems that I will have to hold back a little less.”

“I’ll show you mine if-”

“Burn in hell, you disgrace.” Phobos melted into the shadows as the Castle dropped away, leaving Chaser in the pitch-black darkness.

Chaser grinned, surveying the impenetrable void. “Heh. I know this is just an illusion, but hey. I’ll humor you this time.” He raised his hands above his head, closing his eyes. “Lilapsophobia, take me to Oz!”

A whirlwind whipped around him, setting his coattails aflutter. It absorbed the darkness surrounding it, taking on an obsidian hue. Chaser shoved his hands in his pockets as his hat flew off, whirling into the shifting murk above. “Strike me if you dare,” he taunted, his sapphire hair frolicking in the wind.

His eyes flashed as Phobos reached through the storm wall to grab him, and he leapt skyward, aided by the tornado’s force. Reaching his hat in the air, he clutched it with one hand, placing it back on his head. With his other, he made a finger gun pointed down at Phobos. “Veteran’s Tempest!”

A scorching fusillade erupted from the tip of Chaser’s finger, raining down towards Phobos in a screeching barrage of bombs, missiles, mortars, grenades, and everything that went ka-boom. Phobos braced himself as they exploded around him, tearing fragments of the shadow around them, breaking through the illusion. The red-hot flares burned on his armor, singing his aura, as the scream of the missiles flooded his ears. He was immortal, and burning to death.

Phobos stared at the ground as the hellstorm abated, paralyzed by the shock that settled over him like nightfall. “That was...Monger’s attack.”

Chaser dropped to the ground gracefully, chuckling. “Yeah, good old War-Monger. He was a positive delight to murder.” He smirked, his tongue flicking out over his lips. “I ran into a couple of friends on the way here.”

“How many?”

“Scuse me what?”

“How many lives have you taken, you scum!” Phobos yelled, lunging forward a hand burning in his silver aura.

Chaser put a finger to his chin, feigning deep thought. “Ah, there were so many. Let’s see, first was-” He thrust out his hand, which morphed itself into the head of a great white shark that clamped down over Phobos’s incoming fist. “Jaws. Second one…”

Phobos grunted as a torrential fist slammed over him, causing Chaser’s shark-hand to dig deep gashes across his arm. “Aquaphobia,” he gasped through the pain.

“Third sucker was Needles.” Phobos screamed as his body was pierced through from all directions, spilling droplets of ebony blood from every vein in his body. The shadow around them dissipated and sunk back into nothing, returning them to the deathly throne room. The moonlight draped lethargically upon the floor.

Chaser grinned, his hand reverting back to normal as he shoved Phobos away. “And many more. Really, I’ve lost track at this point.”

Phobos stumbled and lost his balance, falling to the floor. His helmet slammed against the ground, jarring his vision and crushing the breath from his lungs. Picking himself up, he stumbled dazedly back. “How?” he muttered between shallow breaths. “You haven’t absorbed everyone yet. So...how?”

“A true magician never reveals his secret, nor a chef his secret ingredient.” Chaser brushed his fingers on his chest, smirking. “But the power to fight fear certainly is coming in handy here, now isn’t it?”

Phobos felt iron blood welling up in his throat, forced out by an unseen power. He choked, the blood streaming from the corners of his mouth, running down the front of his armor. He staggered, his stance collapsing inward as a dark pool amassed at his feet.

Chaser dashed forward, lithely ripping through the empty space, placing his hands on Phobos’s shoulders. “There there, Pops. It’s okay.” The hands brutally clamped down with the fangs of sharks, shredding through his skin. “Your son will carry on your legacy!”

Phobos screamed in sheer agony as the flesh of his shoulders burst open like a ripe tomato. A cascade of blood seeped from the open wound as Chaser bit deeper, carving into his bones.

“I’ve put this off for far too long,” Chaser laughed, his eyes glowing maniacal crimson. “But now that I’m doing it, IT’S JUST SO FREAKING FUN!”

He shoved a grenade in Phobos’s open mouth, slamming him with a tidal wave as well. As the bomb exploded in a fulmination of hellish torment, Chaser waved his hands feverishly, conducting a raging tornado with a harmony of syringes thrown into the mix. He cackled with madness as the storm whirled in a blistering allegro, each needle stabbing into Phobos and sapping his energy. The hypodermic hornets swarmed around him, furiously digging into his flesh as the cloud raked across his skin.

The vortex eventually slowed to a fine, the needles blowing out and scattering across the room. Phobos struggled for breath, standing back with his arms raised over his face. He tentatively lifted his head to look at Chaser.

Chaser was slumped in his stance, standing inward with his arms at his sides. Trails of Phobos’s blood ran down his jacket, spattering it black. He was breathing heavily, with his eyes cast towards the moon above. The light reflected in his eyes as his smile widened. “Yes,” he breathed, panting ecstatically. “This is my ambition. My dream. And I hate to say it, Phobos, but-” He fixated his ruby gaze on Phobos, conjuring his machete in his left hand, while his right writhed with the tainted curse of Hope. “This is your nightmare.”

Chaser lunged forward, his machete thrusting out in front of him. His coattails streamed in the moonlight as his lips curled off of his razor-sharp teeth. His eyes blazed with remorseless insanity as he closed in for the kill. “Die!”