Author's Notes

A dream chapter, and an important one, maybe equally important to Hajime's awakening.

I'll just leave it at that.

No ETA for Chapter 14.

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Chapter 13

Blind

Utter silence.

Complete emptiness.

Behind me was my dormitory. I was definitely standing outside of it, staring at the same mid-rise apartment that stood across the street as I did every morning, when I leave for school.

I was standing on the sidewalk, like every morning.

But I was definitely dreaming.

All the buildings were bright in the sun—but curiously, everything seemed to be whiter—as if covered by a dusting of chalk. Cars laid parked and stopped on the road, and bicycles laid on the ground, fallen onto their side. I could see papers on the ground, briefcases standing still on the ground, balanced. This was a normal day.

But it was completely empty.

There was no sound beyond the sound of my own footsteps, which reverberated and echoed from the world unnaturally, as if I was in a giant cave. As I walked further, more signs of life—or rather, the lack thereof—appeared. A leash laid on the ground, perfectly still, and outstretched to the spot on the ground below which I assumed the neck of an animal once was.

It was almost as if everyone suddenly vapourized.

As it turned out, the door to the dormitory was locked. As I peered in through the windows, I found that it was near pitch black inside. Nobody was inside. Tadashi wasn't going to be here to help me.

"Hajime-san, there you are."

Absolute panic gripped my heart. I spun around on the spot, looking where the voice came from—directly behind me.

And of course, there was no one there, but I don't think I had to say that.

I walked further. This was a dream, yes. However, this wasn't like any before. This deserved exploration. I walked over to a toppled bicycle—a nice one, with a little bell and small tassels on the handles, and put it upright. As my fingers touched the cool metal of the bicycle's body, and I gripped it, it simply crumbled away, as if it were a fine simulacrum, made of wet sand. This was starting to get creepy.

"Get over here, Hajime-san, what are you waiting for?"

The voice came directly in front of me. On the other side of the road, I saw Shinako, standing, and waiting for me impatiently.

I ran over. "Sorry, but where were you?"

A wind began to blow. Slowly, Shinako crumbled away, like sand held against a fan.

Again, I was alone.

I stared at the spot where Shinako had once been. Nothing remained. Nothing indicated there was anything that had even been there, anything that had ever called out to me. This was starting to become too much.

Man, that was random.

The city was empty. I knew it.

But this was becoming increasingly uneasy.

Once again, I set out to look throughout the town.

What was I even looking for?

Who was I looking for?

"Why are you still here?"

A small whisper fluttered by my ears, accompanied by a small gust of warm air.

I wheeled around.

Standing in front of me was a man I had never seen. He looked like the kind of man who would be in a movie—not the hero of an action movie, but rather the everyman who would soon find out he was anything but, in terms of attire. His hair was a pale greyish blue, of moderate length, worn ragged and wild, as if he had just been in a face-brawl against a lion. He wore a thin long-sleeve shirt, white, and absolutely plain, the stitching itself even being next to impossible to notice. His pants were simple blue jeans, but worn, and faded as a result. On his face, he wore a small white mask—a mask depicting tragedy.

"Why are you still here?"

His voice sounded warm, yet I could detect none behind it. It was almost as if he was conditioned to be a polite man—but secretly, his mind had resisted.

I caught myself surprised, shooting "What do you mean?" before I could even think about what I was asking.

"You're dreaming."

...what was he onto?

"You're dreaming. None of this is real. But, even still, you fight, like it was. You ran to save the girl, and yet, you stand idly, and let real life slip through your fingers...

"Like grains of sand.

"So, what is this dream to you? Wish fulfillment? A chance to get away?

"But no, I can tell it's none of that. I can tell that this dream is nothing to you."

Stuttering. Surprise. That was true. There was nothing I could say. It was true, true, true...

"So, what is this dream for you? A plaything? A chance to get away from your horridly inadequate life? Have you ever considered you're intruding where you don't belong?"

...I had to say something.

"I don't need a reason to be here. In fact, I don't need a reason to attack you here. It's just a dream, right? I don't have to hold back, and I can just give it my all—when everyone wakes up, it wouldn't matter if you had died. You're just a dream."

I quickly got ready to summon Hotherus, but the man caught my eye again—in a way that I simply did not continue, too intrigued to do so.

"If you stay for no reason—fight for no reason..."--he reached into his shirt, pulling something out literally through it--"...then why are you still here? You seek to dream for no reason. You do not know what you dream of, you idiot."

There was a flash of silver as he quickly raised his hand. He held a pistol—akin to the kinds in action movies. I recoiled. He first pointed it straight at me—causing me to recoil in alarm—and then slowly raised it. His arm curled around, and his hand twisted, as he began to position it beside him—over the shoulder—straight at his forehead, from a side—which is to say, a bit above his right ear.

He mocked pulling the trigger, before pulling the gun and mockingly saying "pa-schew!"

"And even still, you're horrified by this thought—you thought I would pull the trigger, and you flinched. True, when everyone wakes up, it wouldn't matter if I had died. Yet, it would matter to you—to live with the idea that you had killed someone—a person."

"HOTHERUS!"

"Loki."

It was a sight to behold. As Hotherus bounded out of my mind—another creature bounded out of his. It wore ghost-white robes, with a translucency to match—shimmering manically. From that robe grew a purple body, stylistically quite similar to Hotherus—toned, yet still, remarkably—and no matter how many times I reminded myself, the shock never quite subsided—purple. His head was gross and mishappen, or perhaps rather more misformed and twisted than anything. Ragged black and white hair ran from his head—and thinking back, they reminded me greatly of horse tails.

Hotherus raised his arm as always, and I grinned in satisfaction as the green sphere of air formed around the man—and even Loki; escape was impossible now.

At the same time, Loki simply flicked his cape, and his eyes flared dangerously. The green sphere of air—then compressing—simply dissipated, and diffused into the air harmlessly. Still surprised, I could hardly react in time to his own counter attack.

Almost without a second thought, Loki raised his arm, and pointed two fingers at us—in a V formation. From the two fingers, massive pillars of lightning sprang forth. Massive tongues of lightning sprang through the air, slicing it cleanly with a blast of thunder—and both descended on myself—each perhaps as thick as a telephone pole.

Needless to say, it was not pleasant.

As a child, I was never stupid enough to do something like sticking a screwdriver into an electrical outlet, so I have no frame of reference to compare that sensation.

At the points of entry, it felt like molten metal spears had plunged through my skin—heat beyond anything imaginable, and simply spread. I could feel nothing wrong with my skin, but the heat simply spread inside. Moreover, for what must've been a thousand times, for split seconds everything would go black, then white, as every single sensation was overloaded and overdrived before simply dying again. My muscles twitched and spasmed sporadically—what could be considered closest as complete loss of your body.

And in a split second, it was over.

For the shortest split second, Hotherus was in my mind's eye, and for a split second, I had considered ordering him to attack again—but I had seen that he was no longer existent—as my charred form on the floor would soon find out.

"Surely whatever you stay here for cannot be worth enduring this—think about it, escape is yours. Just... open your eyes."

Words rushed through my mind. What could I say back? Would would I say back? That it was? That it wasn't? Was it? Wasn't it? I didn't even know any more.

Silence.

I heard a chuckle. Loki had disappeared, and if I could see the man's face, I'm sure he would've smiled. He turned around, back facing me, and began to melt away into a black ichor—the very same that my shadow had been.

There was a dreadful roar, and moan. I looked at the puddle that had once been the man—and discovered to my horror it was no longer a puddle.

The ichor burst upwards, as if expelled by the ground of the empty plaza I laid in. It rose up, in a way that could be best described as lifting your finger in the centre of a napkin. It simply expanded, and grew, as the tar-like substance seemed to gain a life of its own.

Then it burst.

What was left in its spot was a horrid creature, making me think of a melting scoop of black ice cream. From it sprouted innumerable arms, on which there were nine misshapen fingers. Many hands held masks—I could guess at most about 30 of them, while many remaining held small silver knives. It crawled along the ground with its many arms—straight at me.

I scrambled to my feet—which was extremely difficult, injuries considered. I simply ran, and sprinted as far and as fast as I could. Many times, I closed my eyes, in an attempt to summon Hotherus, but it was in vain. I found myself sprinting through the city, the roads seeming to stretch at my feet, going to an infinite distance as the shadow began to chase unnaturally fast.

I spun my head to look at the shadow. It was beginning to gain on me. It was then that I realized what its masks really were.

Staring back at me were blacken-eyed caricatures of people...

Not people, no.

People that meant something to me.

There was Shinako, there was Toshiro, Tadashi, Shichiro...

There were my friends from before I moved, Isamu, Hideki...

And there was my own face, in the middle of them, looking the most dead.

I tripped.

The shock was jolting—seeing the faces, and then falling. I looked at the shadow as it simply clawed its way to me. It seemed to slowly gain mass.

"Why are you still here?"

"I... don't know."

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Hopefully, this is where the story gets more serious. As for whether this was a genuine dream or a trip to the dream world—well, I'll leave that ambiguous for now.

Hideki and Isamu will not appear in person, but remain in occasional namedrops.

Since copy and pasting is great...

And as with before, please do review. Not to beg or anything.

But seriously. Please do. If you enjoy the story, please do. I'm a shallow being, and that can give me motivation.