Ras distinctly heard the sound of tearing flesh behind him, and the sounds of pain that escaped his companion. Fuck... She was in trouble, and he had no space to go and save her. The monstrosity before him continued slamming the ground, Ras continuing to jump back to avoid the devastating blows. In no time, he'd be cornered. He had to give himself some breathing room, but this
monster's reach far exceeded his own. Hand diving down for his axe, he tossed it just as another massive claw dived down towards him, missing the throw by mere inches.
As he continued to step back from the beast, he'd find himself near Sharon, glancing just in time to see her bloodied state. Those words she spoke, and the way she looked... They didn't have time to screw around. Grabbing her by the arm, he suddenly pulled her behind a corner, the creature sweeping a claw through the space they once stood to leave a massive gash in the wall and floor.
"Shield your eyes, if you still have the strength." He ordered, unlatching a flash grenade from his hip, pulling the activation cord before blindly tossing it around the corner. Even through his closed eyes, the brightness of the bomb illuminated his closed eyelids, and the screech the monster made was all the indication he needed.
Rushing out towards the beast, his dagger met a surprisingly soft abdomen, plunging in with a gasp of the monster. Dragging the blade up through the sternum, black blood spilled forth, Ras hopping up to dig the blade once more into its eye. Just as her demon had dispersed into smoke, so did Ras', but this time, the smoke surrounded him. It swarmed Sharon as well, and darkened their surroundings. When it cleared, they no longer were in the main keep hallway. Instead, they were somewhere that brought Ras terrible flashbacks. However, he needed no flashbacks here. His memories played before his very eyes.
The room was illuminated by two torches on opposite sides of the jagged cobblestobe walls, the wooden, rotted floorboards splattered with blood and gore. Several crude tables and displays were lined across the walls, both filled with objects of torture. There, in the middle of the room, tied to a chair in the near nude was an older fellow by the name of Bradley Graves, a merchant that Ras knew for all the wrong reasons. In front of him, wielding a red-hot iron was a copy of Ras himself, shirtless and sweating from the heat of the room.
"Last chance, Graves... Speak the truth."
His copy spoke, neither him nor Graves acknowledging his presence, or the bleeding Sharon's. Why was the entity showing him this? Graves, already with a noticeable amount of wounds from the torture session, just laughed weakly, spitting at the Ras copy.
"Eat shit, torturer... I have nothing to admit to." He shook his head, grinning in defiance. Ras' copy just wiped the saliva from his chest, scowling before leaning forward, pressing the iron into Graves' shoulder, eliciting an ear-piercing screech.
"We can continue this game all day, Graves... I don't tire easily. I know you're a conspirator, and I don't plan on leaving until I hear you say it." Ras' copy coldly spoke once he removed the iron, circling Bradley.
"I'm a fucking merchant! I care not for your baron or his rule! Yet, here you are, cutting my flesh and singing me to near death! Are you proud of yourself!?" Ras' copy just chuckled, laying down the iron on one of the tables.
"It's a simple job, once you learn all of the ways to make a man squeal... I do what needs to be done, as an oath of loyalty to the crown." He explained. Bradley scoffed.
"You're a sadistic little puppet." He insulted, the Ras copy turning back to him, wielding a pair of rusty hedge clippers.
"I ought to cut your tongue out, merchant... That wouldn't get me anywhere, though. I need answers, after all." He told him, Bradley's eyes going wide with fear. Ras turned his head, not wanting to watch anymore.
"Now... Let's see how many tendons I need to cut to make you speak." Ras didn't see the morbid actions being performed, only Graves' screams and protests, and a horrific snapping sound. However, in no time, it was all silenced. As he looked back, the two were gone in a puff of black smoke, a new figure standing at the far wall.
He was dressed in black, standing little taller than him. It was nobody he recognized, the man's skin pale and wrinkled with age, pure white hair cut short, and swept back. He wore black garments, hands gloved as he extended his arms.
"Sweet memories, aren't they, torturer? So much ammunition to fuel your own personal nightmare..." Ras wasn't an idiot. This was him. The demon, revealing himself in the flesh to taunt his prey in person.
"I'm no torturer anymore... It's behind me. You reached far for that memory. I thought I'd forgotten his face. I'm impressed." Ras addressed him, sheathing his weapons.
"Who are you? Why are you hunting people in their dreams?" He asked, those questions being the only ones on his mind at the moment. The man in black only smiled, eyes downcast.
"You kept calling me a demon... I regret to inform you that it isn't that simple. I'm actually worse." The eerie response was only met by a narrowing of Ras' eyes.
"You can call me many things. The Sleeplessness... The Nightmare. However, I've grown a liking to the name 'Vaskyr.'"
Vaskyr began circling the room towards them, hand moving across the instruments on the table.
"Tell me... Have you heard the tales of wizards who experimented with their consciousness? Brilliant minds that wanted to bring their dreams to life. Well... I wasn't what they had in mind, but... I gladly accepted it." He explained, chuckling.
"It was enthralling... When the storms grew wild, the sleeping folk were at my whim. Their dream was under my command, I could exist everywhere and nowhere, all at once... When I discovered that they could die in here... It was pure glee. Their final moments, so full of fear... A beautiful thing." Ras didn't react much, but stayed on guard as he came closer, listening intently.
"You don't gain anything from them? You don't require the hunt? It's simply a big game to you?" He shook his head.
"Just their suffering. Some don't need reason, Ras. Some just revel in the chaos. I'm one of those individuals."
Looking over towards Sharon, he analyzed her wounds, looking disappointed.
"The hunts got old, of course. I found no fighters, nobody to fight back the nightmare. So when I found you three here, I jumped at the opportunity. A true test of my talents. Most of you impressed me... She's a tragic case, isn't she? Doesn't seem like she has very much left." Ras looked towards Sharon. He was right. Not only that, at any point he could kill her instantly, and Ras would be powerless to stop it.
"And what of Flint?" Ras asked, Vaskyr chuckling.
"The barber especially surprised me. Somehow, he remains standing. See for yourself."
Vaskyr extended a hand to the far wall, the cobblestone disappearing to reveal a sort of dimensional window. From there, Ras could see Flint in a forest clearing, fighting a copy of himself as he and Sharon had previously. He seemed to have the upper hand, and unlike them, had no serious wounds. Ras had almost forgotten in the heat of it all, but his side stung like Hell, and his armor was a bloody mess. Looking to Sharon, then back to the scene with Flint, he spoke up.
"Bring him here... If it's a challenge you want, then I have a proposition for you. One you may find to your liking. I can't give that to you if he dies." He stated bluntly, Vaskyr raising a brow. He began to notice Sharon's form fading as he spoke. Someone was trying to wake her... Honestly, in her state, he was glad someone had stepped in. Vaskyr pointed towards him slowly, chuckling.
"I do like a negotiator... Besides, you've earned at least a bit of humoring."
Raising a hand to the viewing window, Ras began noticing Flint's surroundings collapsing and his form wavering, assuming Vaskyr planned to do as he requested. This was their chance to bring this thing out into the waking world...
Flint Sharon Trask
