Dream-Hunters - Chapter Seven

Silas Oracle burst through the dream-gate, ready to take names and break bones. He tightened his grip on his sword, as the figure standing in front of him, grinning, was all too familiar.

“Chaser!” he screamed, lunging forward in his pure white armor.

“Oh, come on!” Chaser cackled as he leaned back to avoid the furious slash. “Is that the only way you people know how to say hi?”

“I will murder you,” Silas roared. “I swear it!”

“Whatever you say, Pops.” Chaser vanished, popping up again at the end of the shelf, one hand on his hat. “But I must say, I really can’t fathom your anger. Let’s face it, Alfie wasn’t your favorite, was he?” He laughed as Silas rushed at him in blind rage.

“Ooh, you look pretty mad,” Chaser taunted as Silas missed. “I’ll never be able to beat someone so big, and strong, and-”

Silas felt a blade at the back of his neck. “Idiotic.” Chaser grinned.

Spinning around, Silas swung blindly at Chaser, who blocked with his machete. Breathing heavily through clenched teeth, Silas brought the Sword of Light closer and closer to Chaser’s body.

“Hah,” Chaser breathed, struggling a bit. “You and I both know what we want, old man. May I propose a deal?”

Silas pushed harder in response, grimacing behind his visor. “You will...die!”

With a wet shing, Silas slashed a brutal cut across Chaser’s stomach, spilling black blood along his blade. The well-dressed nightmare stumbled back in surprise. “What-”

Pressing his advantage, Silas rammed Chaser with his shoulder, sending the nightmare flying backwards into a tower of refrigerator boxes.

As Chaser vanished beneath a cardboard avalanche, Silas lowered his sword, looking around. They were in a….department store? More specifically, an appliance store. But most of the shelves were empty….and he only had to look up to see why.

There was John! The blur of red light was battling a giant blue golem, and completely cleaning house. Silas felt the rage leave his body, consumed by the Mask and converted to raw power, fueling John’s onslaught.

With one single, lightning kick, John pummeled the mechanical monstrosity, sending it crashing down into the aisles, its many components falling apart and scattering across the room.

He hung in the air for a moment, observing his beaten opponent. The Mask amplified his voice across the giant store. “It looks like your golem,” -he crossed his arms and nodded- “Malfunctioned.”

“Bravo, bravo!” Chaser leaned Silas’s shoulder, clapping cheerfully. “Wasn’t that amazing, Si? Just one kick….and boom! And that one-liner at the end, ah….” He doubled over, chuckling. His eyes suddenly grew cold, and he smiled maliciously. “I imagine that princess has been swept off her feet.”

Slipping behind the White Knight, he slapped Silas in the back of the head, albeit with superhuman strength. Silas flew forward, smashing into the metal shelves with a resounding crash. “Tag! You’re it!” Chaser sped off at hypersonic speed, racing toward John and the beaten golem.

Silas picked himself up from the mass of twisted metal, his armor hopelessly dented. Pulling the ruined helmet off, he sighed, letting the headpiece fall with a clang. “I hate him.”

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Arachne wandered down the purple halls again, aimlessly traveling everywhere but the dungeon. She didn’t really feel like terrorizing mortals tonight, as fun as it often sounded.

She ignored the other nightmares as they passed her by; she didn’t quite have the composure for greeting. That idiotic boy. That stupid, insolent, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, idiotic, kind-hearted…

Arachne’s cheeks burned as she quickened her pace, striding through the castle halls fervently, letting the gloomy palace take her mind off her troubles. If only she’d paid more attention to where she was headed.

“Hey.” The word slipped out solitarily into the hall. Arachne froze.

Matthew Oracle sat at the back of his cell, in the midst of silken scraps, hands casually working something hidden in the shadows. His gentle eyes looked straight at her, expecting a response.

Arachne quickly turned her nose up, trying hard to exercise authority. “I don’t need to speak to you, you dog.”

He grinned. “But you already are.”

Arachne reddened, turning away briefly. This mortal was beginning to humiliate her! She put on her most imperious look, turning back to face Matthew. “Don’t think so highly of yourself, you human. You’re our prisoner now.”

“Yeah.” Matthew looked depressed. “The cage gets smaller every time I touch the bars. Claustrophobia. Shoulda known.” He gestured to the silver shackles that lay broken around him. “But your cocoon was easy enough to escape.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Guess I am. You’re cute when you’re angry.”

“Shut up.” Leaning closer to the bars, she noticed a glint from the object Matthew held in his hands. “What’s that?” she asked.

Matthew turned his eyes back to his work. “Just a hobby of mine.”

Curiosity piqued, Arachne morphed into spiders, swarming through the bars and reforming on the other side. “What kind of hobby?”

“Oh, it’s just jewelry, actually.”

“Jewelry?” Arachne gave out a haughty laugh, putting her hands on her hips. So this was the mortal’s weak point! “What, are you hoping to woo some lucky lady?”

Matthew scratched the back of his head, turning a bit pink. “Well...I actually made it for you.” He held up a brooch in the shape of a spider. Silken white, its body was inlaid with a beautiful ruby. “I cut up the cocoon you gave me, then put a dream-gem into it.” He shrugged. “Nothing too drastic.”

Arachne fell silent as she took the brooch. She turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the thread. The mortal had made this all for her. “It’s...it’s…”

“Yeah, I know. I make them better when I have my tools, but that’ll do as a token of appreciation.”

Arachne gripped the brooch in her left hand. “For what?”

“I guess….actually talking to me. I’m not really allowed to talk to other people much. You know, with the whole ‘being a Dream-Hunter’ thing.”

“Really,” Arachne said drily. “That’s a shame.” She tilted her head as she said this, mocking the Dream-Hunter. “Such elegant charm put to waste.”

“I suppose so.” Matthew laughed lightly, trailing off to cast his eyes to the beams of moonlight that fell through the window. “The Bow lets me absorb a bit of the dream-world, and manifest it in those stones.” He broke off awkwardly, falling silent for a while. Arachne suddenly wished he’d start talking again. The silence was unbearable.

“Hey,” he said suddenly.

“What now, dog?” Arachne was beginning to feel like herself again. This mortal was really nothing more than a lonely little pup!

“Do you ever wonder if humans and nightmares could-”

“Please.” Arachne constructed an arachnoid throne, plopping down in it haughtily. “I’m a lot older than you, you know. You might not have realized it, but you’re looking at three million years of fear here.”

“And yet your beauty remains undiminished.”

“I...rrgh.” Stupid mortal. Arachne coughed. “Anyway, no. I know your question. Humans and nightmares can’t even live in peace, let alone together. We’re two different planes of reality. So really,” Arachne leaned her cheek on her fist, grinning wickedly. “You never even had a chance with me.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?”

“Perhaps.” Arachne watched as Matthew leaned his head back against the grimy stone wall. He sighed out wearily, his chest falling slightly. She suddenly felt awkward in his presence.

Without a word, Arachne dissipated into an arachnid swarm and seeped back through the bars. Turning back on the other side, she looked at Matthew and saw something that confused her heart to its core.

He was smiling.

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“Degenerate filth,” Sophie spat, goring one zombie through the head. It dropped to the ground in a heap of rotten flesh, its limbs dropping off completely. Sophie flicked its blood off her spear, regarding the other corpses around her, all of which were in similar condition. She knew exactly what it meant.

Her eyes widened as the wind behind her revealed a presence. Ducking back, she barely cleared the axe when it fell. The head bit into the floor with titanic force, sending a flurry of ceramic splinters flying. Its wielder was a heavyset redneck in a hockey mask. Sophie recognized him immediately.

“Necrophobia,” she growled. The fear of the dead.

Necrophobia simply nodded in agreement. He looked the same as always, in his personal favorite form: the well-known Jason Voorhees. That meant never speaking, moving slowly, and generally being a blood-stained bother. Prying his axe from the floor, he swung it around haphazardly, whipping the head around towards her.

Sophie’s wings thrust forward, propelling her back a pace. Raising the Lance, she focused pure confidence into the spear’s tip, causing a stream of yellow light to gush forth from the point. Necrophobia slung his axe into the beam, cutting the pure light in two. Sophie jerked her head back, letting the axe fly past.

She felt a slimy hand grope her neck. Sophie shuddered instinctively, struggling to break free as rotten arms encapsulated her, beginning to drag her down through a pitch-black vortex. She raised her Lance, but a flailing limb that carried another limb in its hand knocked the spear into the darkness below. She inhaled sharply, falling deeper into the undead flytrap.

Necrophobia bent over backwards, shaking as though he were laughing, but no sound escaped his mask. The zombies clustered around Sophie, pressing their rotten flesh against her armor, letting their stagnant blood seep over her wings.

Sophie opened her mouth to cry out, but felt a hand crush against her mouth. She gagged on the putrid stench, her eyes watering.

She thrashed and struggled in the damp cocoon, feeling herself be pulled into another dreamworld. Her muscles ached, and a wave of dizziness washed over her mind, throwing poisoned daggers into her focus.

Looking up through a solitary leak in the rotten shell, she could see the portal, sealing shut above her as the undead dragged her down into the abyss.