A young man cladded in bloodied armor flopped on the ground and leaned back against the cold stone wall, steel gauntlets tightly clenching his long, brunette hair. His head sorrowfully hung below his raised knees as strands covered his faded emerald eyes.
Despondence contorted his face while he subtly rocked back and forth, the shuddering of his emaciated arms concealed by his mantle. Anyone around him wouldn't have noticed his erratic shaking, nor his vulnerable tears if he had is helm summoned, something he sorely wish applied to his mother.
"You're just gonna cry?"
Michael hesitated with a response to her mocking voice grating his ears, struggling to even open his mouth out of fear of showing his weakness. It would be so easy to just hide behind something that would cover his poor attempts at appearing stoic. He never was good at putting up a facade, only adept at sounding like he was alright. Sometimes, her blindness really was a gift.
None of that mattered with her now though, he could never hide his thoughts.
"P-please... just leave me alone."
His mother's previous ridiculing expression softened as she kneeled, caressing his head with her rotten hands.
"I'm here for you, Michael. You know I love you, right?"
"Yeah, I do..."
She rested her delicate hands on his cheeks, making him shiver from her cool touch. She wasn't real, after all. She was dead.
"C'mon, show me your face. Let me see my beautiful son."
Michael slowly raised his face guided by her deceptively soothing hands, bearing his tears to the faint breeze. The sight of her decomposed face frightened him, it looked so... detailed.
"I'm sorry for never holding you like this, I really wanted to."
"I... also wanted it."
She slightly tiled her head with a small grin, little clumps of withered hair falling to the ground.
"You look just like your father, you reflect him in so many ways."
Michael's expression eased as his mouth turned into a desperate smile, revealing his crimson stained teeth.
"R-really?"
"You both tried so hard. You both went through so much..."
She exhaled a fragile breath, icy air escaping her mouth.
"...Well, you both at least told yourself that."
Michael eyes widened in surprise at her words.
"Wha-"
"Why... why did you both have to break my heart? Why did you both have to destroy my dreams?"
Her smile lingered for too long as she whispered in a soft, spiteful tone.
"Why did you kill me, Michael? Was I a bad mother?"
Michael grabbed her lifeless hands, his face quivering in despair.
"No, no, no, no, no you were... you were the best."
"Then why did you kill me?"
Michael choked on his words.
"I-I never... I never k-killed you. I just couldn't a-afford-"
"I died because you couldn't afford to keep me alive?"
His eyes danced as he attempted to find the words.
"No! Please... please f-forgive me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Her face grew passive and her voice inhospitable.
"Oh, Michael. You know I won't forgive you... that would be too easy."
She stood up and turned, her scrawny figure clothed in stained rags calmly walking into the room's darkness. Michael's tears flowed as he crawled after her, his cries screeching.
"I'm sorry! Please! Don't leave me!"
He paused his longing chase when she turned around, his face tinted in hope.
"How can you be so selfish? What did I do to deserve a boy like you?"
Michael looked down at his trembling hands, drops falling on the lusterless, black steel. He curled onto the ground, weeping and wailing.
"I just want to go home..."
He was so tired of being awake. All he wanted to do was just sleep and forget everything, lose himself in the peaceful embrace of the softest dreams, but he couldn't. There was no escape.
'What do... I do?'
What else could he do? The only way to move forward was to keep walking, and so, fighting against the urge to sleep, he kept walking.
=====
Michael carefully made his way through the vast camp, hiding in the shadows while wielding [Wolf's Wrath]. The labyrinthine of converging streets and pathways were overwhelming for his anxiety, as danger could emerge from any tinted window or dark alley.
The cobblestone streets illuminated by ethereal lamps were empty, an eerie silence flowing through that whistled in Michael's ears, even through his helm. It was still awkward to look through the horizontal slit, but everything took practice, and it was worth it for the protection.
He approached one of the lamps stood high above him, stepping on tools that sparingly laid on the floor. The lamp was only a simple, tall pole with a case for the light, but looking closer, he noticed intricate engravings carefully carved on the metal post. He wasn't really one to appreciate art, mostly because he didn't know much, but even he was left in awe.
Michael took a step back to have a better look at the source of radiance. Thin threads of light wove in and around the gilded glass chamber, casting the surroundings in a pale glow. It looked like a flame, but it was... restrained and quiet, as if it was something unnatural.
It had to be something unnatural, since it would be impossible for fire set aflame by an ancient civilization to still be lit, and Michael knew of no fire to emit such a spectral presence instead of warmth.
'Magic?'
It could be, but he didn't know much about the Dream Realm. Perhaps there were things such as magic, and maybe even sorcery. He wouldn't completely disregard such a possibility, since if humans were able to wield such magical powers, why could a fire not be eternal?
Either way, his original hopes of using it as warmth proved fruitless. Using it as light would still be useless, since darkness was irrelevant with his blood sense.
Michael glanced at his feet where some tools laid and picked one up. It was just a simple hammer infected with age, the metal head rusting and the wooden grip cracking. There were dozens, possibly hundreds of tools scattered around the areas he had explored, indicating that whoever was here, whatever they were, they never finished construction. The unfinished buildings further proved this probability.
'Just what happened? Did they run from those fleshy abominations I faced earlier?'
He couldn't blame them, those creatures were terrifying.
The tool fell to the cold stone with a ting as he continued his exploration. The onyx buildings towered over him, shrouding the surroundings in ancient shadows, making his life so much easier. He couldn't even look up at the soaring peaks, unless he wanted to aggravate the pain from his neck wound.
So far, he had not encountered any hint there were nightmare creatures. There were no startling sounds nor horrendous figures, or even remains of corpses, just him alone in the streets. The thought of him being safe was alluring, who wouldn't want to stop being tense and not have to constantly look over their shoulder?
Maybe he crept under their senses with his stealthy approach, or maybe they were already stalking him like prey, waiting for him to relax before striking?
Weirdly, knowing that something could be out there, watching him, was more calming than the opposite. If there were no abominations prowling the expansive camp, that only meant one thing.
'Something stronger is warding them off.'
Or his paranoia could be getting the best of him and they're simply sleeping in the buildings. A part of Michael was actually curious to find out, but his rationality screamed against it.
'If I can't find an exit, I need something to survive on...'
Fighting nightmare creatures and mauling on their carcass was his only option to satiate his hunger and thirst. He didn't have a utility memory to solve those problems, and one that could cook food was also not in his possession.
The only way to solve his problems, and possibly acquire alternative solutions to his problems in the form of memories, would be to slay abominations.
In fact, Michael was just outside one of the many structures, the handle of the dark wooden door embellished in blackened iron and stone just within his grasp.
Michael was torn between his interest and sanity.
'But... I really only have one choice, don't I?'
He summoned and looked at a particular set of runes.
___
Blood Fragments: 46/1000
___
Every time he mauled a nightmare creature, pushing it all down his throat, the Spell would whisper the same line into his ear, as if praising and scorning him.
[Your blood grows thicker.]
And every time he looked at his runes in confusion, the counter of his Blood Fragments would go up at varying levels.
'I had thirty-four by the time I entered the abyss, and now I have forty-six. I got twelve from eating that bat?'
If that was all there was to it, he wouldn't bother even looking at it. He liked seeing numbers go up, yet the price was simply too high.
But after tensing his muscles and moving around, he felt... different, as if he was stronger. Like he could jump higher and run faster. It wasn't notable, but there was no doubt subtle changes could snowball into drastic effects overtime. Even then, there was a chance the pain that lingered in his body was concealing most of his new strength.
If there was an opportunity to grow stronger and survive, Michael really wanted to take it, he just didn't know if it was worth... becoming an abomination himself, one who feeds on their prey's still warm body.
He wasn't some hardened warrior or an experienced survivalist, he was just a young man who wasn't even seventeen yet. Going from surviving in the outskirts to surviving in the Dream Realm against frenzied beasts wasn't exactly the smoothest transition.
He didn't know if he had it easy or not, does he really deserve to complain about his suffering? He achieved a Divine Aspect, acquired an Attribute that takes shape of an incredible armor from his Aspect Legacy and can manipulate his own blood, something that will always be there.
'Other people have it worse, I don't have the right to complain after what I've been given and what I've done. I have it easy.'
Michael threw his thoughts away and knew what had to be done. He carefully made his way to the door and gripped the handle, the ancient wood creaking with a deep resonance. As it opened, the pale light encroached the darkness and easily pushed it back, revealing a good portion of the room.
He warily took a step inside, the planks vaguely bending from his weight, and his eyes readjusted to the foregone shadows. It appeared he entered an entryway transitioning into a hallway with several doors and pathways. Even the houses were perplexing.
'These architects...'
Michael walked forward and turned into an archway leading to another room, chilling his anxious bones at the sound of the door loudly closing shut. He found himself in a kitchen with large counters made from dark wood and stone, with a large, ornate wooden table in the center.
By the look of it, no one had lived here. The placement of the furniture and chairs were too perfect, and there was no clutter in sight.
'This is going to suck.'
Michael continued exploring the building, finding the living room with a grand fireplace and a surprisingly comfortable, and a study with no signs of use. He hoped that was it, at least until he saw stairs leading to the next floor.
'That's never a good sign...'
He delicately walked up, paying close attention as to not make a sound, and reached the second floor. It was much of the same as the first, but instead there were bedrooms, each with basically nothing.
Michael opened the final door, but this time it was... too full. It was a small room filled to the brim with stuff covered in dusty, white blankets. He entered the room and instantly noticed a figure in the corner of his eye.
He yelped and swung his dagger, beheading the creature as its head rolled on the floor. Michael looked at it with a frightened expression, only to realize the head was made from wood.
'Fucking mannequins!'
After inspecting what hid under the covers, nothing proved of interest to him. It was just useless furniture like chairs.
"If someone could find an offensive use for a chair, color me impressed."