Alex's teeth were sharper. He had suspected for a while but it came and went. Sometimes they were normal; in the capacity that pearly white teeth are normal. He had nice teeth and he was always happy to flaunt them. Until he started realizing that they changed.
It had been four days since he started reading in his sleep; he might've developed a newfound hate for books.
School became terribly boring when he knew he'd been introduced to a wider world of supernatural and, if the books are to be believed, he wasn't the only one. He was just one of many people whose only special quality is that he can read in his sleep and that his teeth sometimes grew sharper.
It was scary to imagine people out there who could, with their bare hands, crush another man's skull, and annoying that he had to sit through school each day before he could work on learning more.
"You heard about that guy who went crazy around that Tim Hortons? I'm telling you, I was there 5 minutes before he flipped. Fuck man, can you imagine it? If I had taken too long ordering- or if the line was longer, I could've died."
The boy behind him, Brandon, shook his head after delivering that story.
It struck a chord with Alex. A bubbling his gut (anticipation?) telling him to ask about it. He crushed it under his dislike of Brandon. The guy was a self-important ass with an inflated ego. He didn't want to fan the flames of it. He'd check the paper when he got home.
Of a Dream Past
The books in the dream room made absolutely no sense. To put it simply, they were ramblings. Alex couldn't make heads or tails of them because it seemed like the authors barely knew what they were talking about.
The worst part was that so many authors contradicted each other. Some would say that properly praising the right gods would eventually allow him to ascend himself. Others would say that those same gods are scheming creatures, designed to be killed and overcome.
Scarcely ever were 2 things agreed upon. However, there were consistent topics. Blood, eyes, gods, and seeing.
One of which, he could readily take seriously. He still remembered the boy. He hadn't seen him since that day but every time he tries to picture his meetings with the boy, his eyes throb. He thinks that seeing; straight out of one of Lovecraft's novels.
He tried not to think of Lovecraft much recently. He can't help but think that Lovecraft's stories were actually founded in some semblance of truth. He hated the thought. Moreso, how much it scares him.
But he was working away from fear. Working towards strength.
He squared his shoulder took in a deep breath and walked towards the Tims. Instantly, he could smell something. He could smell the pungent stench of blood but it was stronger. It was same type of blood he'd taste on his tongue when he accidently bit the insides of his mouth.
He had to know how it was all connected to the pale boy. Or he would've learned, had he not heard a crying noise. A child, letting out an ugly wail.
He didn't even get to the yellow tape by the store before he was frozen. Rooted to his spot and all noise fading so that he only heard the baby's wailing. Wailing that soon turned to laughter. It sent lances of wrongness down his spine.
He wanted to scream but couldn't talk. He wanted to run but couldn't move. He wanted to cry and, if only to make him look more pitiful, his tears came out unhindered.
"You're welcome. Next time, when I tell you to read, you read."
The hold on his body came free and he ran back; away from the shop, away from the bloody smells and back to sleep. The books in the dream room made no sense but what did make sense was that the boy wanted him to read.
Self–preservation told him to follow, so he did.
Of a Dream Past
Alex wasn't strong yet; he was nowhere close. He thought experiencing more was the answer but after a few more days of aimless reading, he found out how wrong he was.
Beast infection. He'd found a book on it, written by a man named Willem.
There were men, in times past, who sought the power of Gods. Thought they could reach above their station. In their ignorance, they supped upon an apple that they should not have. Drank the scraps of the Gods, hoping to reach Godhood themselves. In their incompetence, they failed, and we have to deal with their actions' consequence. This, reader, is the origin of beasts. To be infected is to lose one's wits, and to devolve into madness. Blood-drunk madness.
He'd read the symptoms of infection. Often it was a quick thing. A lurch of wrongness in the body and they were gone, their bodies painfully morphed into an abomination. Animal-like but too unseemly to be just so.
However, sometimes, it was slow. A cough, here and there for a few days. A horrible sickness, one rough on the lungs, that racked through their body over the course of hours.
He knew he had that same sickness. His being alive was putting those around him in danger. A more righteous man would've killed himself.
Alex was a boy. A boy only 16. A boy unwilling to die.
He pushed the fear of impending death to the back of his mind, and he read.
Of a Dream Past
It was not only Alex who needed to learn. His powers were flaring; whisking him off to places unknown. His infection was spreading but, at that point, he was wondering how much of either were truly his.
He liked having control. He missed having control. He was a prince so he would have control. Even if he had the force the world to surrender it.
"I can't say for sure what you are, Mergo, but it certainly isn't human."
Mergo rolled his eyes. "I know that already. I only assume human form to better interact with humans. I'd been different, more mortal looking, before. As I willed it, I assumed a mortal form that better reflected my true self."
The Ancient One chuckled. "Oh really? Then change. If you can change as you want to, change."
His brows furrowed. "I am not a show dog. I will not dance to your whims."
She inclined her head slightly. "It was not my intention to imply that you were. But I'm to be your teacher- tutor, apologies." She chuckled, to his chagrin. "If I can not make a simple request of you, I will never be able to impart any knowledge on you. I request again, change. Revert back to your 'more mortal' form."
He understood her train of thought. He was here to learn, in matters which he was ignorant. He would only fail himself in being stubborn.
"I acknowledge your point." She appeared amused at that, for some reason.
He willed himself to change. To return to his old skin. He could not. It confused him. He tried to push harder. Will for it harder. It did nothing. Only then did he realize that he never changed himself. Instead, his powers had changed him.
It incensed him.
He didn't realize when the Ancient One left the isolated room. He didn't realize when blood started to seep down the top lines of the room's walls.
Of a Dream Past
Mergo moved during the night; He knew he struck an odd figure, childish and ethereal as he was. It was always harder for humans to see during the night, in addition to how there were fewer people to gaze upon him. He also liked the moon, of course, but that was a given for any sensible person.
However, precious few people were sensible.
On another day, the moonlight bathing his skin would've resonated with his Dreamself, who'd be bathing in my Dream-Moon much the same, and would serve to keep him comfortable and rational. Instead, he was furious.
In his study of all things mystical under The Ancient One and had found how little of his powers he knew. He'd always known he was Great behind his facade of childishness but what he hadn't realized was how he was owed an inheritance.
In hindsight, it was obvious; he cursed himself for missing it.
"Where are your parents, kid?"
There was a tall man, dark, portly, and with unkempt hair. Mergo instantly took note of the man's flushed face and recognized the waste of space who'd interrupted his reflection for what he was, a drunk.
Many busybodies had come up to Mergo before, wondering what a child would be doing without supervision. Demeaning, yes, but he expected nothing more from the common man so he usually abated his offense and made them leave.
None had incensed him like the drunk. "Know that you've never before in your life, made such a grave mistake." He let the red of his eyes seep out like blood. "And spend the rest of it, repenting."
As the man yelped and scrambled off, Mergo allowed himself to smile. He wasn't in control, yet, but he'd soon be. Such was only a matter of course for one as Great as He.
Of a Dream Past
Alex was peeved. Not enough so that he would act out but he finally had to admit that the the kid, who's name he still didn't know, had been helping him. It was so easy to blame the kid for all that was happening. Blame him for the transformations, for the long nights that never allow his mind to rest but the facts sang out thanks to him.
He would've been turned without the kid. He'd read it in a book, works of a man named Lawrence. He himself had been infected for decades.
A strong, learned mind may abate the Beast Scourge. Such is my mind, for it is opened.
Something the boy made him see had delayed the Scourge but it had not set up a wall to last for eternity. Like Lawrence before him, he'd need to learn. He had decades left of life to live. Who knows? He'd read some crazy stories. He might even have centuries left.
Of a Dream Past
Mergo saw a bit of himself in the boy; fighting for control of his life. It was far from appealing. He didn't want to be synonymous with a mere mortal.
He was floating on a platform in his book storage. He found it somewhat funny, how much the boy had latched onto to the barest dregs of knowledge. The common knowledge any of Yharnam's hunters would've been able to figure out, given time and dedication.
He conceded that there would be little chance the mortal would stay 'mere' should he partake in the greatest knowledge he has to offer. A part of him was giddy at the thought. It was a somewhat lonely world being the only one who could see properly.
Maybe he'd take the boy on as an advisor or butler.
A/N: If it wasn't already evident, each POV has an unreliable narrator.