Groaning, Nathaniel opened his eyes. Through his fuzzy vision he could barely make out the blue hair of Diana conversing with a man. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain clarity of sight and mind. The blurry figure of Diana's voice was loud. Too loud. Summoning his inner reserves of strength, Nathaniel tried to sprint to her. However he failed, finding his arms and legs restrained by cold steel. He called out for her, causing Diana to turn and face him.
"Hey," said Diana's voice which seemed to echo as though it was reverberating down a long tunnel. She continued to speak but Nathaniel was unable to hear her. He tensed against his restraints, thrashing in all directions. He felt a metallic groan followed by a pop as his left arm was freed. Nathaniel reached out for Diana, desperate. [I have to protect her], he screamed internally, [I have to save her from hersel-]. His internal thoughts were cut short as his body shuddered and a wave of icy cold pain erupted throughout his body. He tried to writhe but found his body numb and unresponsive. His vision flashed and flickered like a dying light bulb.
In front of him stood Diana, on her own two legs. Her hair was longer. Much longer. Intricate tattoos of clockwork snaked up her arms, half-covered by a torn leather jacket. Her navy jeans were riddled with red stains and makeshift repairs. She smiled slowly; a waterfall of blood cascaded from her lips and down her chin. Behind her what remained of the Eiffel Tower stood defiantly against an expanding mushroom cloud. The explosion curled into itself, atomic flames incinerated the thousands of onlookers. People of countless backgrounds and beliefs screamed in terror, faces melting and skin bubbling. One little brown haired boy clutched a teddy bear tightly, eyes locked with Nathaniel's own. He silently mouthed a single word before the inferno engulfed him.
"Do you really think things are going to be different this time?" asked Diana, crimson liquid splattering as she spoke.
Nathaniel choked, his lungs oxygenless and tongue wordless.
"You call yourself a hero; a forthright man who dares stand tall. A proverbial beacon of light so harsh and valiant it burns against the dark night." chuckled Diana, slowly advancing towards Nathaniel, "But that's not the truth. You're just a man with a candle to guide you. Fumbling around in the fucking dark, trying to justify your actions as moral and selfless. There is no good or evil, no heroes or villains. There are only stories told from different perspectives and in mine you're the devil."
"No", croaked Nathaniel, coughing as he drew in deep breaths of radioactive air.
"No? NO?" roared Diana, eyes flaring red, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO? THIS IS YOUR FAULT. The blood of all these people are on your hands and yours alone. I'm trying to save humanity. You and I both know atomic flames are the only thing that truly kill the Undead. Those people were going to die anyway, I just ensured they wouldn't join the hundred billion trying to tear the fucking flesh from our bodies. If you really were a hero you would have killed me in the Badlands instead of letting me go with Her."
"This isn't real," sputtered Nathaniel, "you're a fake, an illusion. Diana wasn't able to walk when she nuked Paris, that happened months later. But you wouldn't know that."
The scene in front of Nathaniel froze instantly. Diana's face contorted, jaw extending and drooping down to the ground. Her bones cracked and crunched as her body expanded; contorting itself into a spider-like form. The car-sized creature, that had only moments ago appeared identical to Diana from the last apocalypse, towered above Nathaniel.
"I knew you remembered." hissed the creature, drawing close to Nathaniel. Its long forked tongue flickered, snapping like a whip as it spoke.
"I remember everything, Dreamweaver." spat Nathaniel, breathing normally.
"And yet you know nothing," chuckled Dreamweaver, "it is truly remarkable that All Father chose you, but alas the past cannot be altered."
"I know that the Divine Tournament has repeated itself countless times and is used by the Gods to cultivate their power." began Nathaniel, "and I was the last survivour of the apocalypse and his Avatar, why wouldn't he choose me?"
"Oh you poor little thing." giggled Dreamweaver, grinning ear to ear with a mouth full of needle-like teeth, "you think that is a revelation? You have barely scratched the surface and you haven't even considered why we do all of this. I almost pity you, almost. Being the Sole Survivour means nothing, there's been countless before you and there will be countless after you. Even then, you were the weakest Sole Survivour we've had for millenia. You need to up your game, Mr Hero."
"What do you mean why?" demanded Nathaniel, "And if I'm so weak and pathetic why are you fucking toying with me like this!"
Dreamweaver shook its head and elaborated "I cannot tell you why. Everyone's blind faith and acceptance of this system is exactly the problem. I swear you humans are all fools, you adapt too easily!"
Dreamweaver sighed before continuing, "I'm not toying with you, I am genuinely trying to help you. You're too foolish to realise it and I swear you never listen. If I told or explained any more of how the system and the Universe works… I won't exist if you somehow manage to succeed."
Nathaniel frowned, brow furrowed. "Then why did you impersonate Diana and try to traumatise me then?"
"This is exactly what I am talking about. You never listen." huffed Dreamweaver, "look, you know those fancy stat glasses Ludo gave you?"
Nathaniel nodded dumbly, silencing his countless questions and distaste for being treated like a child.
"First, actually fucking use them in fights and just in general." said Dreamweaver, irritation and frustration clear in his tone of voice, "second, pay close attention to the details they reveal to you. And finally, I cannot believe I have to say this, use your damn ability! The only way you'll get stronger is by using everything you have at your disposal. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes," replied Nathaniel, "yes I can."
"Good, now off you go." commanded Dreamweaver. Before Nathaniel could reply his vision faded to black. His body hurt all over and his muscles felt weak. Almost immediately Nathaniel realised his were closed. [I suppose I was dreaming], he thought, [makes sense, since it is one of the few ways Dreamweaver could have a private conversation with him]. Slowly, he opened his eyes to drink in his surroundings.
He was still inside the makeshift medical facility. Nathaniel's hands and feet were bound by heavy steel chains, pinning him down. Nearby Diana debated a man in military uniform while another soldier - who Nathaniel recognised as the one he had knocked unconscious - stood watch.
"He's not dangerous!" declared Diana, icy-blue eyes burning with conviction.
"He single-handedly took down one of my best men." replied the military man. Nathaniel's vision cleared more. The man Diana was speaking to was an officer of some kind and was in his late fifties. His grey eyes were dull in colour but sharp with wit.
"Yes but he didn't kill him!" tried Diana, "he's just trying to protect me!"
The older soldier nodded before continuing, "I appreciate him sparing Michael's life, however that does not change the fact he is dangerous."
"Well of course he's dangerous!" replied Diana, almost rolling her eyes, "he's an FBI agent, of course he knows how to fight."
"That is true," began the military officer, "however that does not explain the extent of his prowess. Yes, he may have been defeated by a rather powerful Angel if your story is true. But that does not explain how he got the drop on a hardened soldier such as Michael with such efficiency. And," the man paused to take a breath for finishing, "if you are telling the truth then it does not explain how he's been so capable overall. He's basically a police officer with national jurisdiction."
"Uhhh," interrupted Nathaniel with a light cough, "I was top of my combat class in training. Plus I got lucky and caught… Michael?... by surprise."
The older soldier sighed before walking over to Nathaniel, towering over the restrained man.
"Look," he said, "most of your story checks out. Most of it. However I cannot trust you, the only reason you aren't dead yet is because of your friend Diana. So for now, we're going to keep you here while one of our Angels with healing abilities helps you recover."
"Sir, I-" attempted Nathaniel before being cut off by the older soldier abruptly turning on his heel and leaving the room. Once he had left, Diana rolled her wheelchair over and Michael followed behind.
"So they're keeping me captive because I'm too sketchy?" asked Nathaniel with a half-smile.
"Uhhhh…" started Diana, "yea. So they kinda don't trust you at all. It didn't help that you almost broke from your restraints while medical staff were trying to help you, it scared them a bit. It's okay though, Michael's on our side now too."
"Sorry for knocking you unconscious," apologised Nathaniel, "no hard feelings?"
Michael laughed, "you literally passed out like an hour later, so we'll call it even. Oh and now you're being held captive when your goal is specifically to leave the country. So I also feel bad now too since it's my fault in a way, I failed to convince my superiors to let you guys go."
"Thanks and it's okay," replied Nathaniel, "you can make it up to us by helping us escape."
Michael nodded, "only if I can come with you two.".
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[Basic Appraisal]
Name: Mark Harmon
Title/s: Dreamweaver
Essence: 300
Favour: 1,100
Reserve: 100
Power Level: 1,500
[End Appraisal]
=========================