The blinding white light receded, sucking the air from Elian's lungs. He blinked rapidly, vision blurred with tears of relief or maybe the lingering afterimage. His friends surrounded him, their faces a tapestry of worry and joy. Relief washed over him, a wave so powerful it threatened to buckle his knees.
"We did it," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "We actually…"
He didn't finish the sentence. A tremor ran through the floor, a low rumble that resonated in his very bones. The ground split open, a jagged maw of darkness spewing forth plumes of acrid smoke that stung his eyes.
A guttural laugh, devoid of humor but filled with bone-chilling malice, echoed through the chamber. It was a sound Elian had heard countless times in his nightmares – his own laugh twisted and amplified into a demonic mockery.
He turned slowly, dread coiling in his gut like a viper. Emerging from the abyss, its form shifting and solidifying with each agonizing step, was the embodiment of his darkest fears – his demonic self.
It was him, yet not him. Taller, broader, its skin a sickly gray mottled with raw, exposed muscle. Horns, like twisted obsidian daggers, sprouted from its temples, framing eyes that burned with a malevolent crimson fire. A cruel smile stretched across its face, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
"Such a touching reunion," the demonic Elian rasped, its voice a grotesque caricature of his own. "But playtime is over."
Panic clawed at Elian's throat. He stumbled back, his friends forming a protective wall around him.
"No," Rylan snarled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "You won't lay a finger on him!"
"This is between us," the demon countered, its voice dripping with sadistic glee.
Elian shook his head, fear momentarily overridden by a surge of defiance. "No! This isn't over. I won't let you take over!"
He lunged forward, a desperate gamble fuelled by adrenaline. The demon sidestepped with inhuman speed, its laughter echoing through the chamber like a death knell.
Elian spun, searching for an escape, but every path led to darkness, every hope seemed to crumble to dust. He was trapped, a fly caught in a spider's web.
With a chilling hiss, the demon lunged. Its hand, a skeletal claw tipped with wickedly sharp talons, shot forward. Elian squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact. But it never came.
He heard a sickening squelch, a sound that made his stomach churn. He opened his eyes, a scream tearing from his throat. The claw was embedded deep in Drake's chest, crimson staining his red robe a grotesque red.
"Drake!" Elian's voice ripped through the chamber, raw with grief and rage.
Drake met his gaze, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Don't… stop fighting, Elian," he rasped, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. "Remember… we… are stronger… together…"
His eyes glazed over, the light dimming in their depths. Drake crumpled to the ground, a whisper of his friend's name escaping his lifeless lips.
A primal scream erupted from Elian. His vision blurred, the world dissolving into a sea of red. He felt a searing pain in his chest, a burning that consumed him from within. Then, darkness.
When his vision cleared once more, he saw his reflection in his demonic form's eyes. He was no longer looking at a reflection, but through its eyes. His screams died in his throat, replaced by a chilling inhuman laughter that echoed through the devastated halls of Arcana Academia. Elian was gone. In his place stood the monstrous entity he had spent years fearing, a dark mirror reflecting his deepest nightmares. The nightmare had become frighteningly real, and Arcana Academia had become its hunting ground.
Then Elian jolted awake, a strangled gasp ripping from his throat. He sat bolt upright, sheets tangled around him, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Sweat slicked his skin, clinging to him like a shroud. Panic clawed at his throat, the taste of copper heavy on his tongue.
He took a shuddering breath, his eyes darting around the familiar confines of his dorm room. The pre-dawn light filtered weakly through the window, painting the dusty floorboards a dull grey. It was morning. Just a dream. Just a nightmare.
Except... the memory of the dream was too vivid, too real. The stench of smoke, the sickening crunch of bone, the chilling echo of his own demonic laughter. It clung to him like a miasma, a foul reminder of the horrors he had witnessed, or perhaps participated in.
Driven by a primal urge, Elian stumbled from his bed, his legs trembling beneath him. He needed water, needed to wash away the lingering feeling of defilement. He splashed cold water on his face, letting it run freely, the icy sting a sharp counterpoint to the feverish sweat that still slicked his skin.
As he looked up, his reflection stared back at him from the murky surface of the water. It was him. Same messy brown hair, same tired blue eyes. Yet… A sliver of doubt crept into his mind. His skin, normally tanned from countless hours spent training in the scorching sun, seemed a shade paler, almost translucent in the dim light.
He ran his hand across his face, a tremor running through his fingers. Was this just exhaustion? Had the nightmare been so vivid that it left a physical mark? Or was it something more?
Doubt gnawed at him, a persistent worm wriggling its way deeper into his mind. The dream, so real, so horrifying, replayed itself behind closed eyelids. He hadn't controlled his demonic form, hadn't fought back. He had… become it.
A cold dread settled in his stomach, a weight far heavier than mere exhaustion. Elian squeezed his eyes shut, willing the fear away, willing the lingering dream feeling to dissipate. But the seed of doubt had been planted, and it wouldn't be easily uprooted.
The sun peeked over the horizon, casting a sliver of golden light across the dusty floor. Elian turned away, his reflection dissolving in the ripples of the water. It was a new day, a day to train, a day to push himself to his limits. But beneath the surface, a new fear simmered – the fear that maybe, just maybe, the nightmare wasn't entirely a dream.
As soon as he was done, Elian shuffled out of his dorm room, the weight of the nightmare clinging to him like a shroud. He felt hollowed out, drained of both energy and the usual spark of defiance that resided within him. Reaching the bustling cafeteria, the sight that greeted him sent a jolt through his system.
There, at a corner table, sat Drake, laughing heartily with Rylan, Marcus, and the others. Relief washed over Elian, almost painfully intense. It couldn't be real, could it? He had seen Drake die, felt the sickening crunch of bone under his own… no. Just a dream. A horrible, vivid dream.
Almost on autopilot, Elian approached their table, his legs leaden with fatigue. As he neared, the laughter died down, replaced by a chorus of concerned greetings.
"Elian! You look like you haven't slept in a week," Rylan said, her brow furrowed in worry.
Elian managed a weak smile. "Just a rough night," he mumbled, collapsing into an empty chair. The familiar creak of the chair under his weight, the warmth of his friends' concerned gazes, all conspired to anchor him back to reality.
"Are you alright?" Marco chimed in, his voice laced with concern. "You're paler than usual."
Elian reached up instinctively, his fingers brushing against his cheek. It did feel cool, almost clammy. "Yeah, I'm not feeling great," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
Rylan, ever the perceptive one, leaned closer, placing a hand on Elian's forehead. The sudden contact sent a jolt through Elian, a flicker of something… alien… sparking deep within him. He flinched, pulling back slightly.
"Whoa, you're cooling up," Rylan exclaimed, her hand hovering in mid-air. "Have you been feeling cold?"
Elian forced another weak smile. "Just a bit under the weather. Probably lack of sleep." The lie tasted acrid in his mouth.
The concerned looks around the table intensified. No one seemed to believe him, but thankfully, no one pressed the issue. The chatter resumed, a steady hum that somehow grounded Elian further.
He picked at his breakfast, the food tasteless on his tongue. The image of Drake, alive and well, battled with the memory of the nightmare. Was he losing his mind? Was the dream bleeding into reality?
A shiver ran down his spine. He had to talk to someone, someone who might understand, someone who… He glanced at Res, who sat quietly at the far end of the table, her affectionate gaze distant. Maybe later. Maybe Res would have some answers, some way to dispel the creeping dread that threatened to consume him.
For now, Elian forced himself to eat, to participate in the conversation, to act normal. But beneath the surface, a chilling seed of doubt had sprouted, its tendrils reaching out, threatening to strangle his sense of self. The nightmare may be over, but the battle within had just begun.