000 - Dreamshare [open to all]
It's dark, and the shadows fall long and straight from the little streetlamps mounted on the sides of buildings and dotting the road. They're everywhere, on all sides, the strange black creatures that look like bugs. They have great bulbous heads and eerie glowing lightning-yellow eyes, tiny arms with sharp clawed hands, and no mouths. They have no mouths, and yet the square is a cacophony of sound, of scraping and hissing and whispering. How can whispers be so loud? They shimmer away, fading into the pavement and slipping into the darkness like they're part of it, only to pop up elsewhere. Unpredictable, ever-moving and shifting, they are like darkness itself.
There are weapons in your hands, smooth bladed circles of steel and wood. You fashioned them yourself--frisbees weren't enough anymore. Were they ever enough? Was anything enough? There's a hatred and a hunger that radiates from these shadow beasts unlike anything that can be described, like their entire existence is rooted in absolutely nothing and the only thing that keeps them moving forward is that need to fill the void they exist in.
The monsters seem smaller these days--or maybe you've gotten taller. You're stronger now--not that scrawny kid who showed up alone and afraid all those years ago. You've been training every day, fighting them every day, looking for fights instead of just waiting to see if any show up. They tell you you're too angry, you need to stop living in the past, you're going to get yourself killed if you keep going after them. ... You don't listen. You know why you fight. If the monsters can move between worlds, then why can't you? You have to find out their secret, you have to figure out how they do it, where they come from. You have to go with them.
You have to find him.
It's been several years now. Years. He's still alive; you're sure of it, and as the first of the shadow beasts lunges at you, its claws open and its eyes blazing, you whirl and drive the bladed edge off your weapon through its body. You will never stop being surprised by how substantial the creatures are. The way they flit in and out of shadow like they're part of it always leads everyone to believe they're little more than smoke and mirrors and obscurity, but once you fight one you understand. They're not just shadows, they're darkness. They're everything and nothing all at once, falling heavy like night as you knock them aside, their shivering bodies emitting a hissing black smoke that curls away into the air as they vanish, quaking in silent death throes.
You aren't afraid of them anymore. The first time you fought them, you didn't know what to do. You scrambled and flailed and if it hadn't been for that other boy who had heard your screams, you probably would have died. You know better now. You don't flail, you dance, your blades spinning and twisting in a flurry of red and black and silver. The others tell you magic is much more efficient, that you can't hurt them with physical power alone, but there's so much more satisfaction in striking them down this way. The sensation of ramming the blades through their bodies--it's like a little bit of vengeance, every time, even if you know it means they just pop back up again elsewhere. Vengeance--were you always so vengeful? Once upon a time you were just as happy and carefree as the others, the stupid foolish children in the first district, where the shadow monsters don't run rampant through the twilight. They haven't yet grasped what it all means--they're orphans now, all of them, even you, with no family, no friends, not even a world to call home. This place is nothing but a mishmash, a motley patchwork scrapbook of memories, broken worlds, and lost souls cast aside from crumbling cities like insect carapaces. Hollow, you're all hollow, all of you, and those who aren't just don't know any better.
There are more of them this time--more than you've ever fought. They're getting bigger, getting stronger. Every day, every night, you fight them, until your hands bleed and you can't move anymore, and they've stopped scolding you and chiding you and clicking their tongues because they know they can't stop you. You have to find him. You have to go home. You failed him--don't they understand that? You failed and now you have to fix it and you'll never be satisfied until you do. But there are so many of them... they move around you like a sea of pitch, an opaque sky dotted with sick yellow stars, and for every one you strike down two more seem to appear in its place.
Maybe this is it. Maybe it's really the last battle for you now. They always told you you were going to get yourself killed, they told you, but you never listen. You never did, and you never will. You grip the weapons tighter, spinning and twisting, fire in your eyes and hatred in your heart as you plow through the shadow monsters that took your home away, took your friend away. Maybe they'll take you now, too, but at least you'll take a few of them with you.
You are struck from behind, and pain sears across your back. You stumble, and they take the opening. Suddenly they are on top of you, pressing you to the ground, grinding your face into the road, clawing at your legs, your arms, pulling at your hair, tugging at you like they could wring whatever it is they're looking for from you with their bare hands. You struggle, but they are heavy, so heavy, and it's hard to breathe. You can't see, you can't move, and your hands loosen, your weapons falling from your fingers. Maybe they'll take you away. Maybe they'll take you wherever they go. Maybe you'll find him there.
A new sound meets your ears through the din of whispers--a crashing sound that blooms into something like the noise of a strong wind against the eaves of an old house, and you hear footsteps. Before you can wonder what has happened, the heaviness is gone, the darkness has lifted, and you are left sprawled on the road, gasping for breath. Your arms are bleeding, your face is cut, your clothes are torn, and as you glance up, craning your neck, you see your unlikely savior. It's not the other boy from town who thinks himself the spiritual leader of the community. It's not his surly blond sidekick, either. No, it's a man, tall and broad and cloaked in black from head to toe, his expression hidden within a hood. Behind him is a black and purple bloom of nothingness, swirling in the air, tall as he is and wide enough to walk through. The edges curl and undulate, draped by jagged silver tendrils that look like they belong in a briar patch.
Pushing up onto your elbows, you regard the man darkly. If he's waiting for gratitude he can shove it--you didn't ask for his help.
"Why did you save me?" you demand, and the man tilts his head, though you can't see his face.
"You're finally ready," he says, and you are startled. That voice... it almost sounds like... No, no it can't be. "Will you come with me?" he asks, extending one hand, and you stare at it a moment, unsure. The man takes one step back, moving toward the black emptiness whorling behind him. "I will not come again," he says. "If you want to see our plans through, you will have to come with me. Our goals do not have to die the way our world did."
And you know now--it is him. How did he find you? Where has he been all these years? What is the strange doorway of darkness he stands before? Why does he hide his face within the folds of the black hooded coat?
"This is your last chance, Lea."
His voice jerks you from your thoughts, and you shake your head fiercely, ignoring the stinging wounds on your arms and legs as you get to your feet, retrieving your weapons and moving purposefully toward him. You want to be angry, but all you can feel is relieved. The others were wrong--it wasn't a useless fight. You found him! After all these years, you found him, and maybe you're finally going home!
The man steps into the whorling darkness, and beckons you to follow.
You hesitate. What is it about this portal that makes you so uncomfortable? The other man--no, your old friend--walks through it with no trouble. He wouldn't lead you into something dangerous, would he?
"Where are we going?" you ask.
"A new home," he replies, "with a far greater castle to overcome."
You reach out, your hand inches from the portal now, and you can feel something pulling you toward it, tugging not at your skin, but at something beneath it. You hesitate once more, looking up at your old friend, your eyes searching the shadows within his hood to see his face, his eyes... Why won't he show you his face?
"Will it hurt?" you ask, sounding younger than your years, and you can feel a smirk crack your friend's expression.
"You won't feel a thing."
Stepping into the portal, you believe him for an instant. The world within the nothing is bright turquoise and shifting blue, and it's infinite and beautiful and it doesn't feel like anything. Not at first, but as you move forward, you realize something is wrong. It doesn't hurt--not exactly--but something is definitely wrong. You feel an emptiness creep over you, from your bleeding fingertips up your arms, crawling over the back of your head and swirling around your legs. It's like being submerged in cold oil extremities-first, it's a strange hollowness, like maybe you're hungry, but everywhere.
The portal closes behind you, and you struggle to catch up to your old friend.
"Wait," you call, stumbling, your limbs feeling leaden. Maybe it's bloodloss. Maybe you're just tired.
You stagger to your knees and clasp a hand over your heart, gasping suddenly. It's hard to breathe again. That tugging sensation is so strong now, like whatever is in this nothingness is trying to pull your bones from beneath your skin. You feel as if your whole body is just smearing, pulled in every direction all at once, and it doesn't hurt and you can't figure out why. You feel heavy, tired, lost, and for an instant you truly understand that hatred and hunger that radiates from the black shadow creatures. You can feel it, in your body, in your head, in your heart... like you're empty and nothing will ever be able to fill the void, and you hate hate hate hate--
No! No you don't! What the hell is going on?? When you look up, your friend is standing there, just a few feet from you. "What's wrong with me?" you ask, clutching at your chest. Your friend will help you, won't he? You've been looking for him for so long, he's not just going to watch you collapse here, now that you've finally found one another again. ... Right?
"Nothing," he replies. "I'm surprised you lasted this long, really." His voice is flat, emotionless, and you can't understand why. Why doesn't he help you? Can't he see that something is wrong? Was this all a trap?
"Why won't you help me?" you cry, your voice thin, and you feel yourself falling as the cold oil finally reaches your heart.
"Don't you want this power?" your friend asks. "The power to destroy the ones who destroyed our home?"
"Am I dying?" you wonder--did you say it out loud?
"Only part of you," comes your friend's voice, and as the blackness closes in on you, you hear the sound of footsteps once more. You feel your heart stop--you feel your heart stop--and then...
Then you feel nothing.
[This is headcanon so I can't in good conscience make it a memory. Hurray for loopholes.]