General Disclaimer: The story and Loben are © 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: Okay, okay, I know that this is shorter or just as short as the first one and that this probably should have been included with the first part in the first place (wow that's a lot of "first's")…to be honest, I write until the movement of the story is finished. But more will be written, that is for sure. Thank you everyone for the reviews!! They made my day. Anyways, on with the story, hey? By the by, this section is rated R for violence and some language. Enjoy!!
Introduction: Part 2
Loben can feel Reala's eyes on him, but he cannot see them—Loben is grateful for that.
He hears Reala's quiet laugh softly brush his ear. "Right…here."
Loben bolts upright with his eyes squeezed shut. Surprise registers in his brain when nothing is behind him. He can still feel Reala's eyes on him, a cold blue—or are they green? Loben could never tell for sure. In this state of vulnerability he wishes that he had something to fight with—a stick, a pocket knife, a stone—anything!! Why—
The laughter stops abruptly and then all of a sudden Reala is behind him. His arm is around Loben's neck in a choke hold. Loben can see the lurid reality of those arms—purplish blue skin, coating the well-developed muscles of a well-trained hunter. There is an additional arm guard on the forearm, a black and red glove-like appendage with a small shield guarding the top of Reala's invisible wrists.
It all registers too slowly in Loben's tired brain for him to react. His body is too awkward for him at times, too foreign to him that it scares him. He grips Reala's unyielding arm. His legs kick out in front of him but his feet hit no ground. He is only a few inches off the floor now, but Reala holds him up tight and prevents him from slipping out of his grasp. Reala leans his head next to Loben's temple.
"Now—to business. I'm going to give you a chance to stop fooling around and save yourself from additional grief."
Loben finds Reala's voice so strangely calm that is only scares him. He can feel the hot air of breath by his ear as Reala talks.
"Now Loben—where is the other dreamer? Please tell me..." Loben feels the choke hold tighten. "I can only be patient for so long."
Loben's voice is strained. "Don't do this!! You can't have the other dreamer!!" He tries to burst forward but is only jerked back.
"Of course I'll find the other dreamer, Loben," Reala continues as if nothing happened. "It's your rightful place...That's the way it's been; that's the way it will be."
"No…no…you don't need the other dreamer—you can take me if you want, but you can't—you don't need two dreamers!" That last remark makes Loben feel lightheaded. Some brief realization passes him, one that is too quick to recall. He stops struggling and asks softly. "Whuh…what would you want with two dreamers anyway?"
Reala's breath catches suddenly, and he leans his head away from Loben. "My dear boy…you don't need to worry about that." Reala hesitates, as if caught a little off guard, and then snickers quietly. The snickering snaps Loben out of his serenity because to him it sounded like it could be a male or a female laugh.
"All you need to know, Loben, is that no great undertaking was ever accomplished without, well, sacrifice. But—if the sacrifice has to be from others, then so much the better right?" Reala snickers with that androgynous voice again, making Loben want to strangle him.
"Go to hell, Reala." He sees his other hand in Reala's black padded claws and a chill of disgust goes up his spine.
"I never understood the need for wrists," Reala tells Loben in a voice of fake interest.
Loben's brain forms a thought that is too fast for him to acknowledge: It's not my fault! This isn't—
Reala interjects: "So worthless!"
There is a funny twist in Loben's joint—he never knew his wrist could bend like that. The jerk of the twist feels light and heavy at the same time, cold and tingly, but then there is a searing grip as his wrist is turned at an absurd angle, is bent back too far. He doesn't hear the crack of his own wrist snapping as he howls in pain, doesn't see the jagged bone stab out of his skin, doesn't see the blood spurting out with each frantic jolt of his heart, doesn't hear Reala's cruel snickering.
Loben feels the ground come to his feet again, feels the hold around him release, but he doubles over like he is about to throw up, his good hand gripping his useless, torn wrist, his mind begging his body not to faint from blood loss. He gropes uselessly in the dark for some kind of support, finds none, uses his good hand to lift himself up. Instinctively he elevates his arm, clutching it and trying to ignore the throbs of the splintered bone and torn skin of his broken wrist. The hand is limp and already has swollen, purple skin. He gulps, finds his voice.
"Reala," he tries to say with authority, but it comes out in a squeaky, pathetic whisper.
A grayish-blue painted face, with no definition of a nose or cheek bones, appears before him—despite the darkness he can see this face all too clearly. Black and red striped tassels adorn Reala's head, though Loben can only assume that they are tassels—they look like goddamned horns growing backwards out of the head. There is a smile on Reala's face, a smile that looks like it was painted on with black oil, just like the black vertical slits that are on Reala's eyelids. Reala's eyes are bluish green now, and they almost look human—almost.
"Reala—!" Loben repeats. "Kill me—and you're damned."
He sees Reala frown for the first time. Reala closes his eyes and turns his head to the side, waves his hand dismissively at Loben. "I can't stop now, Loben…you're just the beginning."
A dizziness makes Loben's knees wobble, makes him plead, "Please…not both of us…''
Reala scorns at loben, "Tell me, Loben. Is the other dreamer so bent on avoiding the inevitable as you are? It's really quite unbecoming."
Loben does not answer, lowers his head with his eyes closed, shakes his head.
"If I found you this fast, then the other dreamer doesn't have a chance. You can't hide forever, right? Still, it would have been better if I could have both of you at the same time. But that doesn't matter anyway, Loben." The smile begins to form again, the yellow jacket fingers curl. "I'll take care of you, now—I'll take care of both of you."
When Loben looks up again Reala's face and arms are even closer than they were before, the eyes glowing intensely green in a second like a whip crack, the black paint of his grin like a mal-shaped funeral wreath around pink gums and stunningly white teeth. There is a suffocating pressure in Loben's sternum and his throat, the pressure in the sternum caves in on his lungs but the pressure in his throat lifts. Loben thinks that he is supposed to lose consciousness from blood loss now, and that when you faint you go deaf—but like a cruel joke all of Loben's senses come alive.
A sound like a soft cracking egg erupts, and the hot pressure from his throat overflows. There is a warm wetness going down Loben's neck, a coppery taste vomiting from his mouth, a foul metallic smell.
Loben can feel an alien movement in his chest cavity, an internal squeezing and pulling apart. There is a splatter of red on Reala's still grinning face. Loben can even see his own blood on Reala's tassels—there is too much of it.
Loben's legs tremble weakly under him, he leaves wet smears of brown reddish on Reala's unrelenting arms as he gropes pointlessly at them. Then Reala's arms go out of reach and Loben feels himself floating down on his back. He thinks that his neck and chest are no longer there—all he feels is an emptiness.
The last thing Loben sees is Reala holding a dark, wet mass in his hand, and it is something that Loben sees throbbing and knows it should be his heart—but the red mass is glowing now, glowing red—
—and then fading away into nothing, like Reala's eyes fading back to blue.