[Shadow Slave fanfiction, I own none of Guiltythrees original work. Enjoy:)]
Chapter 1 - High and Dry.
It was sad. There wasn't ever a way to see the stars from the Outskirts, the plumes of smoke escaping from the factories never ceased their endless assault upon the sky. Like an endless march, they continued to churn with that bleak gray smoke. It was a shame really, he had always heard about how pretty the stars were, how pretty the moon looked with the gleaming stars shining around it.
Honestly, though, he didn't suspect the moon looked all that great; after all, looking at the moon had always filled him with this kind of uncertainty. Uncertainty of what though, he was never quite sure. He just knew though that there might've been something wrong with the moon. Either way, he was never going to figure out why, certainly not after today at least. Because today was most likely his last day on Earth. And no, he was not changing planets; he was going to die.
Well, the odds of him dying were much greater than the odds of him surviving is what he meant.
Glancing down and away from the bleak sky, his gaze fell upon the cool expanse of water that sat before him. There weren't many lakes that you could find in the Outskirts; this was the only one he even knew of, and he was quite knowledgeable about these lands. After all, he was a sucker for sights, and even lacking out here in the Outskirts there was always a way to appreciate nature, you just had to find it first is all.
The lake was beautiful, the water was actually cleaner than one would expect given the less-than-ideal surroundings. It truly was a hidden treasure, a somber jewel nestled within this rugged landscape. Its waters a deep inky blue faintly reminded him of his mother's eyes, so he often came to visit. Kneeling before the water he tried to catch a glimpse of himself through the water, but mist clung to the edges of the lake, obscuring his vision.
The reflection of his eyes stared back at him, two lightless holes that seemed to unnaturally absorb the light of the surrounding area. The iris seemed to pull light into its depths, as if a gateway into nothingness. Neither were the pupils distinguishable; just a smooth deep surface, like liquid onyx. His sclera was in stark contract to the lightless black of his eyes. The eyes appeared completely featureless, like looking into the abyss of a deep, forgotten well.
Exhaling slightly he stood up and looked at the lake again, perhaps for the last time. He wanted to get a good long look at this small realm of peace before he left for the police station. The walk would be a few miles, but at least the slight physical activity would keep him from falling asleep, although he wasn't sure if falling asleep while standing was possible he certainly didn't feel like risking it. He had run out of STEM pouches a few hours ago and he was more than definitely going to pass out soon. He would've appreciated his final moments to be here but he wasn't completely selfish enough to open a Nightmare Gate here.
Even if this place hadn't treated him as one would've hoped, it was still his home, so he'd rather not let a horde of Nightmare Creatures out, especially not if they were going to end up destroying his favorite lake, which they were more than likely to do.
Turning away from the lake he put his hands in his pockets and made his way to the police station.
The trip there was uneventful but the thought of actively approaching doom was certainly not the best for his mental state. Either way, it was going to happen so he tried not to worry about it too much, why worry about the inevitable? Plus it's not like he was actively going to sit down and allow himself to die, there certainly would be a struggle, but the chances of success were nigh to none. People from the Outskirts didn't simply just survive these things.
Opening the door to the police station a tired-looking officer glanced up at him, frowning with obvious distaste.
"Are you lost, boy?"
"No, but I have something to report. As mandated by the Third Special Directive, I hereby surrender myself as a carrier of the Nightmare Spell."
"Are you absolutely certain you're infected? When did you first begin experiencing symptoms?" the officer probed.
He mulled it over briefly. "About a week ago?"
A visible pallor overtook the officer's complexion. "Oh, dear."
With swift precision, he pressed a button on his terminal and urgently broadcasted, "Attention! Code Black in the lobby! I repeat, CODE BLACK!"
As the officer ran around the station like a manikin, which brought a raised eyebrow from him, he looked around the station with a mix of curiosity and wariness. He noted the reinforced armor plates on the walls and the poorly hidden turret nests in the ceiling.
The Nightmare Spell. Decades prior, during a fragile period of recovery from cataclysmic natural disasters and ensuing resource wars, the Nightmare Spell made its ominous debut in the world.
Initially, the appearance of a novel ailment inducing widespread fatigue and drowsiness went largely unnoticed. However, as individuals began descending into unnatural slumbers from which they could not be roused, panic gripped governments. By then, it was too late — an expedited response would have made little difference.
As the infected succumbed to eternal sleep, their lifeless forms metamorphosing into ghastly monstrosities, pandemonium reigned. Nightmare Creatures overwhelmed national defenses, plunging civilization into disarray.
No one comprehended the true essence of the Spell, its formidable capabilities, or its effective countermeasures.
Ultimately, it was the Awakened — those who survived the initial trials of the Spell and returned endowed with extraordinary abilities — who quelled its onslaught. Armed with miraculous powers forged in the crucible of their Nightmares, they restored semblances of order.
Yet, it proved to be merely the dawn of the calamities spawned by the Spell. He had hoped to not encounter its influence— but you don't always get what you want, a few days prior he was struggling to stay awake when he shouldn't have been. Knowing what it was, he grabbed his very legal stash of STEM pouches and wandered around the Outskirts, maybe he could find something new he hadn't seen before. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
For the average person, the notion of being chosen by the Spell was a dual-edged sword, as much a risky gamble as it was a potential blessing. Children diligently honed their survival instincts and combat prowess in schools, mindful of the slim chance of falling prey to the Spell's influence. Families of means spared no expense, enlisting private tutors to impart a myriad of martial arts disciplines upon their offspring. Meanwhile, those fortunate enough to hail from the venerable Awakened clans boasted access to potent legacies, wielding inherited Memories and Echoes upon their inaugural foray into the enigmatic Dream Realm.
In this stratified landscape, affluence dictated one's odds of both survival and ascension to the ranks of the Awakened.
Yet, for him, a youth devoid of familial ties and acquainted all too intimately with the gritty underworld, the Spell's selection posed more of a downfall rather than an uprising, at least on surface level. Astoria was handed this card, and no matter how shitty it was, he wasn't just going to sit down and fold. No, he was going to play it with his utmost ability. If he lost then he'll lose knowing he tried his damned hardest to survive. After all, there were few things that he could control, and this was one of them. It was to do or to not; life or death. And death was not going to capture his so easily.
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Moments later, he found himself stifling a yawn as several officers busied themselves with securing him in restraints. Soon, he was ensconced within a peculiar contraption, a fusion of hospital bed and interrogation chair, situated within the subterranean confines of the police precinct. The chamber itself boasted formidable defenses, with thick, armored walls and a vault door that exuded an aura of impregnability.
Grim-faced officers, armed to the teeth with automatic rifles, stood sentry along the perimeter, their vigilant gaze leaving no room for doubt.
Too fatigued to dwell on the implications of their armament, he awaited the inevitable, his resignation palpable as the vault door swung open to admit a grizzled, gray-haired officer. The officer's countenance spoke of a lifetime steeped in adversity, his steely eyes betraying a depth of experience earned in the crucible of law enforcement. After a cursory inspection of the restraints, he consulted his wristwatch before addressing him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"Name and age, son?"
He blinked, weariness weighing heavily upon his frame.
"Astoria, 16."
The weary policeman raised an eyebrow, then nodded and said, "You're a bit of a late bloomer kid. The Winter Solstice is right around the corner."
'If he can even survive this, he's got bad luck. He won't survive this, but if he does, there's no way in hell he'll survive the Winter Solstice,' the policeman thought, keeping his true thoughts to himself.
"My luck's never been much on my side anyways." Astoria responded.
"Yes, I can see that." The police officer said with grim eyes, then continued, "Do you have any family you wish to contact?"
Astoria's response was sluggish but he was never the less able to speak up over his suffocating drowsiness: "No need, officer."
A shadow of regret flickered across the officer's visage before yielding to pragmatism.
"Very well, Astoria. How long do you reckon you can keep yourself awake?"
"Not much longer, sir."
"Then time is of the essence. We'll have to expedite the procedure. Resist for as long as you can and heed my instructions carefully. I know you're tired but this information is pivotal to your survival. Understood?"
Without awaiting a response, he continued, his voice laced with urgency "How much do you truly understand about the Nightmare Spell?"
"Just the basics, don't I simply venture into the Dream Realm, deal with some sort of issue, and if I beat it I'll become an Awakened? And if I die, I'll open a Nightmare Gate."
The old policeman's expression darkened upon hearing the last part. "Listen closely. Once you succumb to sleep, you'll be whisked away into your First Nightmare. These trials are concocted by the Spell itself. Inside, you'll encounter monsters, but also apparitions. Remember: they're mere figments of imagination, designed to test your mettle."
"You may find yourself compelled to vanquish them, kid. So, do yourself a favor and perceive them as mere phantasms."
"Oh."
The old policeman paused, letting the weight of his words settle, before resuming, "Much about the First Nightmare hinges on chance. Generally, it shouldn't prove insurmountable. The scenario you find yourself in, the resources at your disposal, and the adversaries you face should align with your capabilities, at least to some extent. After all, these are trials, not executions. Despite your disadvantaged circumstances... well... youngsters from the outskirts tend to be resilient. Don't relinquish hope just yet."
"Uh-uh."
Astoria felt the haze of sleepiness enveloping him, making it increasingly arduous to maintain focus on the conversation.
"Still, the Spell gives you a little gift in this First Nightmare, after you Awaken you are privy to certain abilities, or certain powers. The nature of these powers depends not only on your innate disposition but also on your actions during the trial. Yet, some abilities will be accessible to you from the outset…"
The old policeman's voice grew distant, as though echoing from a far-off place. Astoria struggled to keep his eyes open against the heaviness of his eyelids.
"Remember: upon entering the Nightmare, the foremost task is to assess your Attributes and Aspect. Should you acquire a combat-oriented Aspect, such as that of a Swordsman or an Archer, the path ahead will be somewhat smoother. Enhanced by a physical Attribute, your prospects would be further bolstered. Combat Aspects are prevalent, hence the likelihood of receiving one is high."
The dimly lit chamber seemed to fade into obscurity.
"In the event that your Aspect does not lean toward combat, don't despair. Sorcery and utility Aspects possess their own merits; you simply need to wield them wisely. There are truly no superfluous Aspects. Well, perhaps with a few exceptions. So, exert every effort to endure."
"If you emerge triumphant, you'll have traversed halfway on the journey to becoming an Awakened. And as you said, should you meet your demise, you'll open a portal for a Nightmare Creature to manifest in the waking world. This would necessitate intervention from my colleagues and myself. So, I implore you... do not falter, Astoria."
Already drifting into slumber, he detected an undercurrent of anxiety in the officer's tone.
"Or, at the very least, endeavor not to meet your end too hastily. The nearest Awakened won't be able to reach us for several hours, so we earnestly beseech you to spare us the ordeal of confronting that creature ourselves…"
With that final plea, he finally surrendered to a deep, enveloping sleep.
All dissolved into darkness.
And then, amidst the abyss, a vaguely familiar voice resounded:
"[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare yourself for your First Trial...]"