Vecna sprawled within the grotesque expanse of his lair, his body a ruin of its former self. Around him, the organic tangle of tendrils pulsed faintly, the air heavy with spores glowing dimly in the oppressive gloom. Burn marks marred his monstrous form, and shredded tentacles oozed thick, dark ichor that dripped sluggishly onto the pulsating floor beneath him.
His wounds refused to heal at their usual pace, the torn remnants of his tentacles resisting regeneration. The once all-powerful energy of the Hive Mind barely stirred, its responses dull and faltering as he strained to command it.
The weakness gnawed at him, feeding a rage that burned hotter than his injuries.
He was unaccustomed to this— powerlessness, delay, pain. The humiliation of his defeat by the Traveler weighed on him. He had never known a foe who could match, let alone injure, him so profoundly. Anger roiled in his chest, blending with an insatiable obsession.
The Hive Mind hummed faintly, its sluggish response mocking his efforts. The tendrils around him pulsed dully as his body sagged deeper into the grotesque mass of his throne. Exhaustion clawed at him, more insistent than the pain.
His head tilted back, his clawed hand slipping limply to his side. The dim red glow of his lair blurred at the edges of his vision. Slowly, like an oppressive wave cresting and crashing, the weight of unconsciousness overtook him.
And then, the dream began.
The boundaries of the lair dissolved as Vecna's mind conjured a vision. The scene unfolded as a blend of memory and fantasy, shifting between clarity and abstraction.
He saw himself as he once was, long before the decay of the Upside Down. In this dreamscape, his human form stood tall and commanding. Pale skin, unblemished and luminous, framed a face both sharp and hypnotic. His piercing eyes carried an intensity that could command fear and awe. He was whole, untouched by rot, a figure of elegance and raw power.
From the shadows, she emerged-the traveler. No longer cloaked in psychic resistance or hidden by distance. She appeared as she had in that fleeting moment when he glimpsed her true form: alive, vibrant, and breathtaking.
Her wild hair, a cascade of brilliant turquoise, shimmered as though it held the glow of a starlit sky. Her piercing eyes were fierce yet mesmerizing, twin beacons that seemed to cut through his defenses. Her presence was a contradiction-rebellion and grace, fire and beauty, bound together in perfect harmony.
She wore a gown the same shade as her hair, the fabric moving like liquid silk, catching an unseen light that made it ripple and gleam. She seemed ethereal, otherworldly, her figure carrying the regal poise of a queen and the untamed edge of a storm.
She was perfection incarnate-a being that filled his mind with both fury and fascination. The vision of her drew him deeper into the dream, fueling the dark fire of his obsession.
Vecna stood towering above her in his dream, every detail impossibly vivid. The scene unfurled in his mind like an orchestrated masterpiece of dominance, raw and intoxicating. She was on her knees, her vibrant turquoise hair spilling over her shoulders like liquid fire, her defiant eyes dulled by submission. Every inch of her being radiated life, energy, and spirit—all of it meant to be his, drained into him until there was nothing left but the empty vessel he envisioned her to become.
Her wildness, once a hallmark of rebellion, was stilled under his imagined control. She was silenced, her voice a faint echo of the resistance he so desired to snuff out. The fantasy was not one of partnership but of possession. She existed here for him alone, to be consumed, her vitality siphoned and her will annihilated.
Her body, ethereal in its strength and beauty, lay inert in his mind's eye. The gown of turquoise she wore clung to her form, the very color mocking her freedom as he envisioned his dark grip pulling it into his dominion. The warmth of her skin, the taste of her defiance—it all tantalized him in the vividness of the dream.
Unlike Eddie's quiet dreams of holding her hand, of a love that sought to nurture and protect, Vecna's desire was twisted and violent. This was not about love or connection; this was about dominion. To devour her completely. To bend her will until her essence belonged entirely to him. To make her nothing but an extension of his power, emptied of her brilliance and fire.
He reached for her in the dream, and in his fantasy, she did not resist. Her resistance, in truth, was everything he feared and hated about her. But here, in this fractured, vile vision of conquest, she bent, her defiance crumbling like ash beneath his hands.
But then the dream betrayed him.
As his clawed fingers brushed her throat, claiming the power that had eluded him, she burned brighter. Her form glowed with searing defiance, blinding in its intensity. The air around her shimmered with an unyielding light, a final act of rebellion that cut through his fantasy like a blade.
A jolt of agony shot through him, wrenching him from the dream.
Vecna awoke violently, his decayed body twitching as his mind reeled from the split between fantasy and reality. The lair pulsed weakly around him, a cruel reminder of his faltering strength. His tentacles shuddered, unable to regenerate at their usual pace, their sluggish response mocking his once-unyielding control.
His dream lingered, the imagined warmth of her skin juxtaposed against the cold ichor pooling beneath him. The echo of her resistance, that final unspoken rebellion in the dream, gnawed at him with relentless fury.
Reality was an unrelenting tide of pain and hunger.
He could still feel the memory of the dream—of her submission, her vibrance extinguished—but the truth was far more cutting. She had burned him, wounded him, defied him. And the searing pain of her defiance had not ended, even in his dreams.
Vecna's chest heaved, and his lips pulled back into a snarl.
Vecna groaned, trying once more to summon the energy of his domain, but the tendrils and spores of the Upside Down flickered weakly in response. It was as if his surroundings reveled in his humiliation.
With a guttural snarl, his fury erupted.
The air quaked as his psychic energy exploded outward, obliterating a section of his lair in a chaotic storm of shattering vines and ruptured flesh. His screams tore through the unnatural landscape, reverberating like a twisted symphony of pain and rage, sending nearby creatures scattering.
Yet, in the wake of the destruction, his breath rasped and his body sagged against the fleshy throne, no closer to relief.
The realization hit him like a blade twisting in his chest.
She had done this. The Traveler. She was more than a fleeting nuisance— more than another Eleven. This woman had struck him in a way no one else ever had. The depth of the wound she left wasn't merely physical; her defiance, her fire— it had burrowed into him, festering into a fixation he couldn't shake.
The thought of her infuriated him even as it intrigued him. She had resisted him, defied him. She had dared to humiliate him. But worse than that? She lingered.
Her image, her presence, her power, clung to the dark corners of his mind like a whisper he couldn't escape. She was not just a Traveler. She was a threat. A danger.
But she would not remain one for long.
Vecna's resolve hardened like molten metal cooling into steel. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself upright, his clawed hand gripping the edge of his throne. His body shook with the effort, but his glowing eyes burned with a renewed, venomous intensity.
"I will heal," he rasped, his voice raw yet steady. "I will find you."
The vision lingered as his trembling, mangled hand clenched into a fist, the veins bulging with effort as the Hive Mind finally began to hum faintly around him. His voice dropped into a low, venomous growl, the words dripping with possession and promise:
"You will be mine."