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Abraham 'Nightmare' Ulren
I couldn't stand that duel any longer. The moment I heard Wyatt was fine, I ran back to the city. I needed to be alone. I needed to think. And the only thing I could think about was just how pitiful I am. Just how weak I am. So, I locked myself away from the others. I have to become better—more. And despite the silence of this room I managed to snag only minutes ago after 'charming' the innkeeper with Allude, I can't stop the bobbing of my knee. This is... probably an undeniably awful decision. But when will I stop simply going with the flow?
I never take the initiative. I'm solely... here.
My hand reaches into my shirt, retrieving the only thing I have left of my mother besides the color of my eyes. It's a scale at the end of a pendant balanced perfectly on both sides. I wear it always, regardless of the dangers that are coming. My father tried to take it from me, but I never let him see that I had it. I couldn't lose this thing, too.
Life isn't fair.
I suppose that's why Mother reached out to the Devil when she was young. So many fear him. Almost everyone, in fact, regards him with shivers and hushed tones. It's not because he's malevolent.
The Devil is one of the kindest Gods out there. He always has been, but then again, that is a very low bar. A turtle could do better than most of them.
People fear the Devil for the prices he exacts for the things he asks. They always dig the deepest, biting into the very essence of a person. No one even walks away from a conversation with the God without losing something of them, as even the knowledge the Devil bestows is a boon.
A boon bestowed, a price exacted.
All is fair between the balance and the blade.
My breath comes out in stuttering phases as I attempt to rationalize what I'm about to do. Yet, I can't help but eye the preparations once more.
I've meticulously organized the room for this attempt to commune with the Arbiter Of Chaos. In homage to my mother's forced practice in the dark, I've left without telling anyone. I doubt any will be... happy to see what I'm doing. Mother had to hide every single prayer she gave from my father. Irham... he did all he could to beat the faith out of her.
In the end... he couldn't.
The room is aglow with the soft flicker of countless candles, casting dancing shadows across every surface. And at the heart of the space, only two elements command attention. In the room's center, a bowl rests, poised with quiet anticipation. Above it, a delicate metal beam hovers, suspended with an almost fragile equilibrium.
The Devil's Rite is simple. A perfectly balanced object and... the blood of a human. Hopefully, a half-human will suffice. Otherwise... I'm probably only going to disappoint Mother. Not that the Red Judge ever answered her prayers.
I think she did it for the comfort of a higher power. Me?
I don't need comfort. I need strength. I need power. I can't bring Emmet back as a Nightmare, not that I can right now, anyway. My brain is still too frazzled. He made me swear an oath to never do it. So, instead... I'll have to get good enough to make him something... other.
Something... alive.
I snap my fingers, the Ether in my hand turning off a candle a second after the noise echoes along the walls. The air in the room is charged with tension, and the flickering, fading candlelight seems to dance in rhythm with my pulsating heartbeat.
The subtle glow of the candles cast an ethereal glow, shrouding the room in an atmosphere of horror.
Warmth sinks into my flesh as I extend my left hand, bringing my right to it with a dagger. Inhaling deeply, I enter the flesh of my hand with the edge. Dripping crimson falls from my hand on the beam of the bowl. A low seethe comes from between my teeth as I breathe inwardly even further.
Slowly, gradually, I watch as the blood falls into the bowl beneath it, pooling at the bottom. Exhaling that colossal breath, echoing my anxiety, I begin the words my mother taught me as a young child. It is only one of many prayers, yet it is the only one I remember.
"A boon bestowed, a price exacted.
All is fair between the balance and the blade.
A boon bestowed, a price exacted.
All is fair between the balance and the blade.
Where chaos and order intertwine, lives are torn asunder.
Guide my steps on this path where destinies swell.
Grant me insight to discern the scales' delicate sway.
May your judgment be just, impartial, and keen,
As I tread the tightrope where shadows convene.
Where chaos and order intertwine, fortune blooms from strife.
May the price be fair, the boon just, and the cause righteous to the heart."
I pause for a moment, the candles on each side of the room balanced in number. Then, I decrease them two at a time with Force, cutting out their air while I speak the lines not from my mother—the lines meant only for the God.
"I ask for your power. I ask to be given a boon. I will pay any price you deem fitting. I am... willing to do anything. I do not want to be weak. I do not want to be... alone. I want to enjoy the company of my friends, even those dead."
The words leave my mouth and finish the instant two candles remain, one placed on each side of the bowl. The blood in the container is nearly halfway full, and I feel a wooziness encompass me.
I wait seconds, my heart racing against the clock as more blood dribbles down. The two lingering candles mock me as they sway back and forth, yet I don't listen to them. Instead, I stare at the balancing stick, focused and devout.
Seconds turn into minutes as the candles gradually burn themselves out. More life exits my body and enters the bowl, yet I don't stop.
I can't.
He has to respond. He has to.
But time continues to flow without any divine intervention. My head falls as the vertigo becomes too much to remain kneeling. Yet, the instant I fall backward, the two candles burn out simultaneously. Then, there is only darkness.
And within that darkness comes the tap of something. I squint my eyes to see in the dark but find nothing. So, I reach with my mind, only to be rebuffed by a towering spire of mental fortitude, one that resists me without even trying. A searing pain joins me as the fee for the attempt.
Tap, tap, tap.
The noise continues as shivers run down my spine. Coughing from an itch in my throat, I stand from lying on my stomach. The moment I reach my feet, I see through the darkness just far enough to spot the figure looming over me.
An old man, stepping through the void of light, stares at me with a cane carried by both his hands. He seems decrepit, nearly dead. There are so many wrinkles I cannot even begin to count them. His back is hunched, a form that was once taller than mine being reduced to a slight stature.
Despite the odd look, something I didn't expect as most journals depict this being as a conceptual thing, more like the symbol he boasts, a balance, I know what, or who it is.
The Devil, the Red Judge, the Arbiter of Chaos.
Still... I've never heard of a God having a humanoid form such as this. Nevertheless, his voice, aged yet supremely stable, cuts through the gloaming, leaving us in a featureless night of cloudy darkness. The room I was in only a moment ago is gone. There is only him. It is almost like there has only ever been him.
"You request for a boon. Do you comprehend what befalls such an inquiry?"
The Devil speaks, and I nod immediately. I've never been so sure of something in my life—Emmet's dead. So are almost all our friends. The only ones left who still treat me as a human are Wyatt, Earl, and Virgil. Johnny regards me as a tool, or at least, he treats me as one. I still follow him because, as always, I cannot lead. No matter how much I hate it, making decisions paralyzes me.
But this one, I can't afford to miss—no matter what.
"Yes. I do not wish to be weak anymore. I wish to be strong—strong enough to overcome any challenge. I comprehend the magnitude of this, your Godli—"
The Red Judge cuts me off, glaring at me sharply. Yet, he doesn't seem angry, only annoyed.
"Do not use titles with me. I hate them all. Call me Devil."
Nodding, I open my mouth to apologize, but the Devil takes another step toward me. His cane carries him shakily as if it is the only thing that allows him to walk at all. The God smells like death and time, the scent of a human on the doorstep of death my old age. It sends a shiver to my core, the idea of what he—it could do to me.
His mouth opens when he gets within a foot of me.
"I cannot bestow you power, young Ulren. What I can offer you is the chance to take it for yourself. However..."
The Devil's back unwinds, delivering him to his full height as his eyes glow with a radiance that burns into mine. Tiny suns, backlit by a weaving beam of judgment, echo from within those pupils, petrifying me in place. Each word that exits his mouth shakes the foundation of my mind, trembling even in this space that we exist in.
"To achieve your wish of power, I will take from you. I will take what I want. There is no negotiating. There is either taking the deal or not taking it. Either way, you will never enjoy the refreshment of thirst, nor that of alcohol. That is the cost to speak to me. You agreed by slicing your hand."
I stay silent as the Devil bears down on me from an even higher height, his whole form reaching nearly seven feet from the floor we stand on. I prepare myself to hear the price, even as I grind my teeth at the cost he has already taken from me. Alcohol... drinks... Fuck. I'll never truly party again. That's... that's okay. I can do that.
Remaining quiet, I let him speak. He is the God. I am a mere ant to him.
"I will give you the opportunity to triumph over any mortal. I will send you to the pits of Hell. There, you will either die or, just as the first human to seek power did, excel amongst the brimstone. In exchange...
I will take your nightmares."
I exhale a sigh of relief before it is caught in my throat. He doesn't mean simply the bad dreams. He means... my Nightmares. My mouth turns dry as I consider the implications.
He's going to send me into Hell... Without my most vital assets? Without even my Power? I'll just die, won't I?
No...
That is how I've always thought. Cowardly.
I've always refused to take a risk for power unless someone made the decision for me.
Not anymore.
"May I leave behind a note?"
I don't want to do it without informing Virgil. Wyatt's still out of it, so there is no way I can reach him, anyway.
The Devil steps back and shakes his head.
"No. Here and now, or never. Remember. I do not negotiate."
I bite the side of my mouth as I hesitate again. Is this really a good decision? It's not. But... I can't see myself accomplishing my Proof in any other way.
I'm not tough like Wyatt. Indomitable like Lennon. Cunning like Johnny. Relentless like Tomas. Terrifying like Virgil. Radiant like Bonfire. I'm just me...
A half-blood whom no one but a deadman has ever cared enough to help me see the joys in life.
"Must you take away my Nightmares, Devil? Why do you even want them?"
I can't help but ask the questions as the worry and curiosity burn like an effervescent flame. Yet, unlike what I expected, the inquiry doesn't provoke the Devil. Instead, he steps back toward me, opening his mouth into a toothy smile of rotting jaws and missing teeth.
"I cannot simply give you strength, Ulren. What I will, however, do is tell you one thing. It is in the most bottomless pits that a man will find their dreams. It is in the neverending struggle, the one that leaves them broken and ruined—shattered and torn—awful and hateful, that lets them see that light."
My sight changes as the Devil touches me, a scene playing before my mind. A man falls to his knees, bloodied and missing flesh all over his body while bones stick out in many places. I instantly recognize him as an Angel. Otherwise, he'd be long dead.
Regardless, I see him groan as the vision expands, demonstrating what he perceives. A vast, endless vista of castles, forts, palaces, and all other manners of defenses stretch out before him. Around them, however, are streams of lava while acidic rain falls, striking him and burning into his flesh.
Hell. This man... He's in Hell.
Despite his hopeless situation, the man, hardly able to stand, rises to his feet. A long, dreadful sigh leaves his throat as he sets his right arm, the bone moved out socket. He appears to not even recognize or compute the pain. He's all business, nothing but focus in his gaze. Then, he searches for something before bending down and finding a pocketwatch beside him.
It's shattered, frozen at midnight or noon. Only Gluskab or the Devil could know.
Nevertheless, the man peers at the watch before closing it with a clasping echo and stepping toward the vast castles, a determined voice along his stride. He is limping, a gouge in his right ankle so deep I can see the tendons within as without, but he doesn't stumble or hesitate. He only moves forward.
"I have to go back."
Then, I return to the Devil. His aged tone, not dissimilar to that young man's, continues. He speaks with the knowledge of centuries, no, millennia of perceptions and thoughts have converged to one point.
"It is when you are beaten. When there is no hope left other than simply another day. When a tear falls for every step you take. When those tears matter to none but you. When all those you have ever known are gone. When all the minds have forgotten even your name. It is only then will the human spirit burn brightest."
The Devil pauses momentarily, lifting a crooked and wrinkled finger to tap my chest. The force almost knocks me on my ass, but it doesn't, as he grabs my shirt to hold me still with that single finger as it twists the cloth.
"You are human, Abraham Ulren. Raised by Nahullo, trained and indoctrinated by them, but deep down, you find your place with no one. That... inherently is a human trait. Humans are lonely yet seek out company. In that dark, without anyone but your thoughts, you will find the path to your dreams. You cannot find someone to uphold you if you cannot first find yourself."
My brows furrow as the Devil steps back, finishing his words. Then, he offers his hand. I glance at it, unsure yet positively decided. This God... he seems...
Those words... he must have experienced them.
Vincent Harvey... he wasn't the first God of humanity. This explains... so much. Why he's aloof yet fair. Why he appears to be a human. Why he requires human blood for prayer. Why he answers none but humanity.
It answers it all.
Before I shake his hand and seal the deal, I open my mouth.
"You were human, right, Devil? Those words... They couldn't have come from a concept like Death or Knowledge."
The Devil doesn't respond to me. He only stares me in the eyes, sharing the windows to his soul as he awaits my answer. I can see in him a profound time. I don't know what he's been through, and I can't even imagine. Yet... knowing that he's human... Perhaps a deal with the Devil isn't so bad.
I reach forward and take his hand into mine.