“Dang it! Here again?!” Klarion hissed in wide-eyed disbelief, looking around at the dreary, musty old basement he’d once again found himself in. Slowly, the incredulous look on his face morphed into a glare that could rival the venomous quality of most vipers, and maybe even Teekl on a bad fur day. “Ugh,
of course. It’s aaaaaaaallll coming back to me now…”
He was lying on the floor this time, dumped smack dab in the middle of a gritty, icky puddle of…
something. Whatever it was, it smelled absolutely rank. Gross! Loud complaining and whining set aside for the moment in favor of preserving his appearance, the witch kid swiftly clambered to his feet from the damp concrete, dusting off any traces of grime from his clothes.
The perfunctory movement was interrupted only a
little by the anxious trembling of his fingers, but who cared? He was allowed to be apprehensive, wasn’t he?
Sucking in a steadying breath, Klarion cast a cursory glance over his corroding, factory-like surroundings. Black eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of exposed, rust-encrusted pipes and discarded pallets lying scattered about in seemingly random piles. He couldn’t place the exact source of the dull, burning glare that transformed the entire corridor into something out of Dante’s
Inferno, but his dark clothing and unusually-styled hair still blended in fairly well with the dimly lit corridor, only the slightest tinges of red flickering across the fabric of his suit jacket.
The witch boy wasn’t fooled, however. All was relatively silent and still, the distant sounds of churning machinery echoing to meet his ears, but that didn’t mean much. He most certainly wasn’t completely undetectable. In fact, Klarion was fairly confident that the entity who occupied this hellish dreamscape was in all likelihood already aware of his presence— not a comforting thought.
Fighting against the bizarre urge to freeze up and
wait for his impending doom, Klarion began to creep about the maze-like halls of the basement, shifting onto the tips of his toes to lighten his footsteps. A
rat scuttled across the floor in front of him, worm-like tail dragging through the dirt— a true rodent of unusual size if he’d ever seen one. Teekl would love it here, Klarion imagined; too bad he’d forbidden her from visiting his dreams until he’d… exterminated an infestation of his own, so to speak.
Grinning evilly as he rubbed his hands together, Klarion decided that it was time to enact The Plan.
It was… actually kind of
difficult to remember things from the waking world when dream-walking. Vague impressions streamed in shapeless form through his brain, twisting like all thoughts do when caught within a dream. They passed like grains of sand through the sieve of his mind, ineffable and hard to seize hold of. Yet, with a little persistence, these grains began to take shape, gradually coalescing into a larger, more comprehensive picture. Not just an echo of recognition, but something else, something far more substantial— a
memory.
It came to him in flashes. Klarion recalled how he and Teekl had discussed his situation long into the night. Or maybe into the next day, too— it was so hard to tell night from day in the Uncanny Valley, only the slightest lightening of the territory’s shadows marking the difference between the two. Anyway, Klarion had it all mapped out. Now that his previous visit to this awful place was coming back to him, he felt more confident than ever. He didn’t have to visit some dusty old
library to learn about dream magic. Why would he, when he could take a crash course right here, right now?
Step One was too easy: lure his object of study in.
“Oh nooo, I am so helpless and weak,” Klarion said faux sweetly, hands folded behind his back as he attempted his best Bambi impression. There were plenty of adorable cartoon creatures on Nos’talgia to use as his muse; surely he could imitate them well enough by now. “I sure hope no one comes over here and stabs me! That would be
soooo scary.”
All the while, the witch kid’s hands were making all sorts of crazy gestures and gang signs or whatever behind his back. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, only the faintest pulse of red chaos magic deigned to flicker about his fingertips, and even
that pathetic amount quickly spluttered and died. The whole process wasn’t unlike trying to get a broken lighter to kick up a little ember of flame, just about ten times more mystically involved.
After many such failed attempts, Klarion let out a frustrated huff, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Why. Isn’t. This.
Working?! Stupid, fun-ruining
dream rules…!”
It felt like… like his magic was being held just out of reach, like a carrot dangling on the end of a stick before a starving nag. If he could only reach out and grasp it… but he couldn’t! He
couldn’t!
A blind rage like fire swept over Klarion, his expression darkening. Oh, how it rankled to have his incredible mystical might restricted! He’d
never be able to enact Step Two of his plan like this! Admittedly, it wasn’t a very creative plan… possibly not even a very intelligent one, considering the state of his powers in the Dream World. But if Klarion ignored every harebrained scheme that popped into his head in favor of more intelligent options, he wouldn’t be a very good Lord of Chaos, now would he?
Not that Lords of Chaos needed to follow
any rules. He could behave however he liked, thank you very much! Now, if only this dumb Dream World could
get the message.
Focus, Witch Boy, a very insistent Brain Ghost Teekl meowed in his head.
Don’t get distracted!
Klarion heaved a sharp sigh. Okay, okay, so he’d apparently forgotten that chaos magic didn’t play nice with dream magic. Funny how he’d failed to remember that little detail from last time, what a suspiciously convenient tidbit to slip his mind. And admittedly, maybe he was, in fact, just as helpless and weak as he’d been pretending to be. It was
unfair and moronic and made him into a total loser, but he would have to deal with it.
Right after I get done trashing the place, Klarion thought with relish, reaching out to tear one of the rusted metal pipes away from the wall with his bare hands. The burning metal seared into his palms and spewed hot steam into his face, leaving deep burns, but Klarion simply grit his teeth and persisted.
It was only a dream, he’d live. And even if he didn’t… well, no, he was pretty sure he’d still live.
Grinning in sharp-toothed satisfaction, Klarion gave his new weapon a test swing, his expression revealing every bit of the devilish streak he usually kept hidden under a facade of humanity.
“There's always next time.”
Time to make some noise.