General Disclaimer: Loben is © 2003 by me, JetherWing, and cannot be used without permission. The characters Reala, NiGHTS, and all other related characters are registered trademarks of SEGA of America, Inc.
Author's Note: Let it be known that I am not following the plotline of the NiGHTS into Dreams comic religiously, as I wrote that Reala is back in the dreaming world with no explanation as to how he got back from the last comic (for those of you who don't know, I think he dissipated or something—I am not sure). But you never know—I might write an explanation as to how I think Reala got back into the dreaming world—it all depends on how far this story gets and what you, the readers, make of this story. I would GREATLY appreciate reviews of this story, so I can see where I can take it.
Thank you all so much and I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it!! ^ _ ^
Introduction: Part 1
If only he knew that he would end up back where he started.
For now, though, he is somewhere new. There are dead brown hedges, too tall for anyone to see over. These are not crumbling to ashes--they are strong as if alive. Studded all around them are thorns, as thick as nails and even sturdier than the hedges themselves. There is no moss covering the crumbling stone statues in the waterless fountains. There are animal carcasses strewn on the floor, the flesh long gone and the bones unidentifiable. Over head, the sky is a toneless gray, but rain will never fall. It is neither too hot nor too cold; the weather is motionless, like a still cup of water left to gather murk and dust.
But he didn't know that he would end up back where he started. For now he just runs, this young man—a scrawny, long legged boy running in the hedge maze: some would say he looks easy to break. He pants heavily, and his hair is matted with sweat, the brown bangs now black and glued to his sticky forehead. His clothes are torn, and he is bleeding from somewhere, though he feels no pain. He is afraid, but there is nothing wrong with that—he is not panicking yet. But he is exhausted.
He is running from something. He keeps looking over his shoulder, and that costs him some balanced footfalls. He thinks he will never stop, as his pursuer is relentless. The hedges are also unfavorable, as they scratch against his cheeks, scratch against his collarbone, scratch against his hands. They leave red swollen trails.
There is a strange howling in the distance, something deep and rhythmic. He lies to himself that it is the wind. It comes back and this time he can't ignore it. He can hear the whisper of his own name in it.
"Loben…"
He slips in black sludge and lands on his side. He feels impact that knocks his breath away in a hiccup. Trying not to get the black waste in his mouth, Loben claws at the ground desperately. He digs his hands in the mess for some kind of solid ground but only sinks up to his arms and thighs.
"…My dream host…"
Loben finally skids free out of the oily mess, loses a shoe in it, gets the rest of his clothes snagged and torn. He feels a jerk on his back, something that grips and won't let go.
"…Forever dreaming…"
NO!!!
He pushes forward and feels a squeezing on both his arms, hears a sharp ripping, feels the remainders of his jacket flutter off him. There is a gash on his right eyebrow now, the blood leaking and blinding that eye.
And following slowly but steadily is Loben's pursuer, a gangly predator with blue ice chips in its irises. A good portion of Loben's coat now dangles on one of the dead branches of the hedges. His pursuer catches sight of that coat and stops briefly, eyeing it with earnest interest. It reaches for the coat with a hand that is undaunted by the sharp thorns on the branch, a hand that looks like a human hand but has inhumanly yellow skin on the fingers and black skin on the rest of the hand...those hands somehow remind Loben of hornets and yellow jackets. It rubs the material of the coat between its fingers, sniffing slowly, taking in the scent. Loben's blood accumulates in its nails and turns the tips a dark brown. When it looks up and over the scene, it smiles—a soft, reserved smile that is almost paternal. It will stay where it is.
But Loben keeps running. His arms are held out in front of him like a futile shield, slapping away the dead hedges and the soft masses of dust. He keeps running even though he feels a painful pulling in his leg muscles, he keeps running even though he has lost his sense of direction. He barely notices the stinging itch as more blood leaks into his right eye, he is oblivious to the sticky cobwebs plastered to his head like a bonnet—he doesn't care about the choking sounds that emit from his mouth like vomit. He only thinks about mustering enough energy to burst through the wall of cobwebs and thorns, hoping that he will not slam his breaking body into a stone wall. Loben turns his aching head to the side, lowers it, emits a screaming plead, and charges the wall. The wall breaks with little effort, making a loud tear that he thinks is the rest of his shirt being stripped away.
Loben stumbles forward and he finally notices the unusually cold temperature of the floor on his shoeless foot. His legs go in exaggerated steps to keep from falling over. He finally comes to a stop and lets his hands grasp his knees, trying to catch his breath but only coughing. He wipes away the blood from his eye, and then wipes the rest of his face with his shirt that didn't tear off after all. With both of his eyes able to see, he wonders if there are anymore cobwebs in his face—it's so dark. Wet strands of hair brush back and forth against his forehead.
There was no wind in the hedge maze.
He loses the strength in his arms, and he sinks to the cold floor. He knows this place.
The sky in the hedge maze was gray.
There is nothing in his eyes anymore but the place is too dark to see more than a few inches in front of him.
I'm back.
The floor is not soft mud or rough stone but shiny marble, black marble with dusty bits of silver in uneven clumps like galaxies. Loben clenches his fists, trying to claw at the hard floor.
I'm back where I started…BACK WHERE I STARTED!!!!
The whole place is so cold now, and he shivers. He is not sure whether the dust clouds are moving and changing or his vision is blurring.
I didn't know—
Before he can finish that thought he screams again, a scream of agony that causes a painful buzzing in his temples, a scream of frustration that makes him sound like a child, a scream of anger that echoes in the dark room and registers in the ears of his predator.
"REEEEEAALAAAAA----!!!"
And in this darkness—trying to contain the delight of gloating at the trap it set and the sadistic satisfaction of hearing the boy's suffering—Reala answers him.
"Hello Loben…I'm right here…"
End of Introduction: Part 1