Recent DJ Posts

24.6.2013

Enough (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

The waves came in hard, sweeping me off my feet. Swimming against the tide at an angle, I try to regain my footing near the shore, but the unusually steep dropoff made things exceptionally difficult. The best I can manage is to grab hold of my baby sister’s raft and circle my father who hadn’t been phased by the tide.

______________


I make chase. Through the palace, the ramparts, the temple--merely a game. By the end, I’ve claimed two of the three boars...but I had never been invited to play.

______________


A crowd had gathered. My father lay upon the throne, sword through his throat, feast laid before him--still alive. Tears hit my cheeks and anger welled from the pit of my stomach. The culprit stood near my dying father, cold, emotionless--I understood why. Falling to my knees at his side, he managed a smile, telling me not to worry, he had been bested and that was that. But I in turn consoled him, pledging vengeance, pledging to finish what he started, assuring him of my abilities.

And so I turned to the warrior without a name, the warrior who possessed skill enough to slay my father... The challenge I set forth: first to seven hits, or last alive. Solemnly, he agrees, pulling another sword from his side. I grab a pillow sitting beside the throne. In a flash he strikes, slashing high--jugular to hip. I step out, parry with the pillow, and push away. A quick turn precedes his follow-up, but I’ve already trapped the reverse-handed strike, allowing me to parry again and make a hit on his midsection. “Hit,” I clarify, now standing a few paces away, pillow in hand.

Surprised, he takes a more cautious approach, circling me slowly. “You don’t know what I can do.” I tease, almost mockingly, before teleporting behind him. But he’s ready for it, dodging my feathery attack while launching his own counter. I jump back, putting us both right where we started.

Dropping the pillow, I broaden my stance and stomp the ground forcefully, tossing up a few small stones into the air. With a few quick jabs, the stones fly towards him; two make contact. “Hit. Hit.” Sensing an opening, he closes in, but I move backwards gracefully, bending water from the earth to deflect his blows. I flick my fingers. “Hit,” and again “Hit,” the water splashes against his face.

Clearly flustered, he fights water with water, pulling it from the earth as I had done. But I capture it in the air, whipping it around in a gust of wind: “Hit.” And that was that. He walks over to congratulate me on my win, sword still in hand, but then I remember, That was only six. Before he can end it in a single blow, I teleport into a flanking position and strike him with another pebble, sealing my victory and fulfilling my pledge...

Entry time.

‘Cause I promised I would and everything seems to be telling me to get back into the whole dreaming thing.

Not a five star entry, so no recording for this one. >.>

17.3.2012

Fun House (Non-Lucid)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Both of us peek inside the wooden crate sitting on my deck. Inside sits an assortment of bottle, each a different blend of some sort of coffee mixture intended for consumption before the special event I’d set up for the two of us later that night. MTM grabs the most potent bottle of the lot and downs it before I can protest. I sip something much more mild, but the effects of the drink are immediately apparent.

I frown, knowing that MTM has probably already been compromised, but preparations continue, as the two of us glide down to a field behind my house. Words were exchanged with the man in charge of tonight’s festivities, a suave twenty-something with short, blond hair and a red jacket over a black undershirt. After a few winks and candidly coded responses between him and MTM, I confirm my suspicions: she works for them now.

Looks like I’ll be doing things alone.

The day passes, night falls, and the real fun begins. After a mostly uneventful day filled with brief bits of uninspired HvZ and other campus shenanigans, I find myself riding a motor-powered skateboard, racing to the big event. Not satisfied with the speed, I kick things up a notch and transform the motor-power into rocket-power and the wheels into anti-gravity pads.

Tearing through the streets, blanketed in the glow of yellow-orange street lamps and rushing neon lights, I make my way to the first check-point and blaze past the rag-tag line of people assembled in front of the entryway, up the concrete stairs, and over the dingy, dark-red carpet. Finally, in the first chamber, I dismount in a flash of sparks and approach the table where the first challenge awaits.

Several guys in dark blazers stand there, hunched over the table in the center of this poorly lit room, watching me approach. Only one person sits, flourishing a deck of cards, grinning as a I approach. Without hesitation, he deals out the cards in front of him, forming rows and columns as the Chinese symbols on the face of the cards, begin to glow a shimmering blue and purple gradient and rise from the cards in a ghastly fashion.

The first to rip itself from the card floats towards me and attaches to my forehead, causing the world around me to shift and distort. I know the game immediately. If I didn’t do something about these symbols, they’d attach to me and mutate my perception, driving me to insanity. Grabbing the board I’d rode in on, I manage to get the exhaust to create a shower of sparks. Quickly, I douse the symbols with those fiery sparks, extinguishing their power and clearing the game.

As I walk toward the stairs, leading up to the next chamber, I notice two other tables and games set-up in front of the stairs. The world sways around me, and I realize: these are just illusions created by the symbol; I can move on.

Ascending the stairs, I’m met with another challenge. This time in a more home-like setting, a woman, who looks like a grade-school teacher smiles briefly at me before finishing up the colorful board she’d been working on. It’s one of those peg boards frequently used in classrooms, decorated with a bright, wavy yellow border and big blue letters on a cerulean background. The letters spell the command: “Ask Margie about H2O.”

In the corner of the room, to my left, rises a giant girl. She can’t be older than eight years old, but she towered over me, bloated and disproportional, with an expressionless look upon her drooling face. One look is all I need to determine the only winning move is not to play. I continue upwards as a fellow challenger comes up the stairs from the first chamber. I hear her ask ‘Margie’ about water. Then come the screams...then silence...

Upstairs now, I make my way to the porch, where I meet the man in charge for the second time today and MTM standing beside him. He expresses surprise that I arrived so early. Not in the mood for bantering, I let him know that he needs to fix whatever was wrong with MTM or he’d regret it. Smugly, he reassures me that I simply need to complete one more task, but I sense betrayal and deceit in his words. Delving deeper, I discover his identity as a vampire and the entirety of his plan. Oblivious to the fact that I know everything, he takes me and MTM into a room with another giant, disproportionate child, this time a toddler.

The door locks behind us and the man stands behind the monstrosity. My final task is simple, he tells me: “Defeat this child.”

Scornfully, I remark, “Don’t insult me. The two of you are so far beneath me I could blow you both away with a single blast.”

“Then do it,” he laughs harshly.

But I’ve already charged up a blast, or at least, tried to. When I release the stream of energy, forming a Kamehameha pose, the blast is imperceptible and simply passes through the head and body of the giant infant. Improvising, I modify the stream’s frequency as it passes through the thing’s brain, mutating it further, restoring its free will and rational thought.

When I’m finished, the giant baby and I have a short, intelligent, discourse, much to the dismay of the suave twenty-something. We bargain out a deal, wherein I let the giant live and he grants me the win. He even offers, very casually, to kill the guy standing behind him, but I insist that honor falls to me...

1.1.2012

Recruitment (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

What a mess. . .

Overturned shipping crates and semi-trailers lay strewn about my dishevelled court. Patches of barely-living, pale-green grass permeate the dead, yellow lawns. Every house sits in disrepair, some are even missing, replaced by strange, red statues and rocks.

A large, armored eighteen-wheeler pulls into the court. It stops, suddenly. Waiting.

Somehow, I understand I need to clear a path for this thing. Sighing at the inconvenience, I use TK to lift the first shipping crate out of the way without difficulty. The truck moves forward, and I use another bit of TK to remove the remaining trailer from the road.

Interesting that I can do that so easily, I catch myself thinking, Oh, right. Must be dreaming.

With my newfound lucidity, I finally take notice of all the red in this scene, and, to my left, there’s a statue that catches my interest. It’s that little imp fellow from a previous dream, and the statue is located exactly where that school used to be. Disgusted with myself more than anything else, I pull from an FPS archetype, toss some C4 onto it, and hit the detonator, leaving only a smoldering stump of a neck where the statue’s head used to be.

Slightly pleased with myself, my mood sours as I’m approached by a weaselly man in a nice grey suit. He starts pestering me with questions and hurried pleasantries; his nasally voice and unplaceable drawl grate at my nerve. I try to walk away, but he follows me as I move towards the old back-woods.

”Tell me,” he insists, struggling to get each word across, “Have you ever experienced. . . recruitment?”

The word choice makes me roll my eyes, as I respond with an indignant question: ”You tell me.”

Of course, he ignores my inquiry, going on to talk about what a great opportunity this is for me, and other nonsense I try to tune out; I’m not at all interested in playing along. . .

Damned sheep.

Note: I later learned the two sheep I had heard “baa”-ing behind my house all day long were, in fact, go-karts or something.

Note: Embedded videos should offer some insight into what influenced certain elements the dream. They should also be pretty cool.

17.12.2011

Aggressive Negotiations (Non-lucid)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Originally Posted by Me

”Turn around. NOW!”

I scream at the driver of the sedan, as an irrational fear takes hold. At least, it seems irrational, but trucks never come down this way, never two of them. What's more, one is all but blocking the road out of the neighborhood. Clearly something is about to go down.

As if suddenly realizing the danger, the person driving turns around, unusually slowly; we’re headed back home, to my court. Thankfully, we get there pretty quickly, and I'm plopped in the street as the car hastily drives off. Before departing, the driver left me with the task of blending in at a nearby Christian High School.

Originally Posted by Inner Thoughts

No big deal. I’ll be able to skate by today, stay uninvolved with the afairs of these kids, and be out of here in no time.

Entering the door on the left, I find myself in an office-like recepetion area. The secretary, behind a glass pane, informs me that I’m not allowed over here, “All the kids are supposed to be on the other side.”

Originally Posted by Me

“Sure thing,” I smile warmly to alleviate suspicion.

Outside again, I enter the right-most part of the one-story, tan walled building, only to find myself in an almost identical area, with an almost identical secretary. From the back of the room, a middle-aged woman walks up to me, grinning broadly.

Originally Posted by Creepy Lady

“Welcome. We’ve been waiting for you," she make a large, hurried motion, "Quickly, come this way.”

Not really sure what to think, I go with it, and follow her into a small room where a young girl is sitting, handcuffed to a table. There’s an empty chair across from her, I sense it’s for me. Sure enough, as soon as I sit, the woman leaves me to my own devices. It’s clear I’m meant to interrogate this girl, find out what she knows, etc.

Originally Posted by Me

“Hi there.”

She doesn’t respond.

Originally Posted by Me

“Well, if you don’t want to talk to me. . . is there anyone you do want to talk to?”

With a thought, and a bit of direction from girl’s own mind, I make a few holograms appear beside her, shifting through those she seems to want to speak with. She gives a name; I don’t recognize it, but I’m able to create a representation of her desired point of contact and bring that representation to life. Of course, it’s under my control. Oddly, I think she knows that, but her fervor and crazed look tell me speaking with this image of her superior, a small, red, impish demon in a classy suit, would be the only way to get a peep out of her.

What follows is a less than ideal double-reverse interrogation session. Each of us indirectly scrambling to find what the other knows, giving up only what we know we can, all in the ruse of a communication between allies.

She knows about the recent assassination attempt on my life, is saddened to hear of its failure, but is pleased various other atrocities back home are panning out nicely. Once it’s clear I was revealing more than I was getting, I pause the image.

Originally Posted by Me

“Yes,” I say, “I know you know, but nothing said on my end was a lie. No propaganda. You really do work for someone like that, idolize someone like that.”

She makes a snide remark I can’t recall, and I respond with an outrageous outburst that has her questioning my sanity:

Originally Posted by Me

“DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?! I’M HARRY FUCKING POTTER.”

I pull out a wand and destroy the projection of the demon in a shower of sparks; her look says it all. That’s when I notice it, at the door behind me, a presence of ill-intent. I stand quickly to see a green form dart past me, out the window, to the street beyond. By the girl’s gleeful reaction, I know this won’t be good. Drawing a blade, I go to the thing's exit point and see a green monster, spherical, with a gaping maw across it’s center and a face within that.

Originally Posted by Inner Thoughts

It doesn’t look like it wants to get close. . . And I really shouldn’t go outside. It might be a trap.

So, I do the next best thing, make some adjustments to my katana, stick it out the window, and rapidly extend the length of the blade, shooting it out into into the inner face of that green wretch. It seems as shocked as it is in pain. A few quick, long-range swipes later, and the monster is no longer surprised. . . or in pain.

Suddenly, the roof of the building tears away, and I’m face to face with. . . a clown?

Originally Posted by Would-be Assassin

“There you are.” The pointy faced, garishly dressed, figure states plainly. He's casually wielding two large, black and red scythes. Seemingly, he doesn't take me seriously.

Originally Posted by Me

“I assume this is a rescue attempt. Or are you here for me?”

Originally Posted by Would-be Assassin

“Don’t concern yourself with the details,” he jumps from his perch, “It doesn’t matt--”

Before he can get out the words, I’ve already spotted an opening and severed his legs from his body; there's not as much blood as I'd expected.

Originally Posted by Would-be Assassin

“Oh, please.” The clown is unamused. Rightfully so, as a new set of legs immediately takes the place of the old ones, slinking out of his baggy, red and yellow, pin-striped pants.

Originally Posted by Inner Thoughts

Interesting.

He comes at me with the scythes, bringing them together to form some sort of long, narrow drill. Again, he’s sloppy, and I’m able to avoid the attack, removing an arm in the process. Un-phased, he regenerates and grabs his scythe before gravity can even affect it.

Originally Posted by Inner Thoughts

I wonder if his torso is that resilient.

In the air now, I close in quickly and engage in an armed grapple, locking down the movement of his scythes. He begins to form his drill, and I’m forced to readjust my grip to avoid having one of my hands blended up.

Originally Posted by Me

“Mae, now.”

An ethereal spirit bursts from my chest and impales the clown with her sword before disappearing as quickly as she came. The clown looks confused and, to my delight, wounded. Seizing the opportunity, and making a bold move, I break away, just enough to free my blade and create another opening, which I use to plunge my blade into the fool’s side. He’s too wracked with pain to do much as I brutally impale him, again and again, dragging my razor-sharp steel through his body.

But still, he lives. I realize I'm going to have to step things up a notch if--


Damn alarm.

??.11.2011

Dragon (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

I see it: the cause of the rampant destruction, taking place just down the block. A green dragon, female, on a tyrade, clearly looking for someone, I can’t help think that someone is me.

Figures. I think, making my retreat into a nearby flat, flying up to the second story, fire-breathing giant right on my tail. Unfortunately, I quickly find I’m not as safe as I’d like to be when the dragon bursts its head through the wall.

I don’t want to deal with this right now, I realize suddenly as the dragon exclaims her joy in finding me. I walk up to her, reminding myself this is a dream, and walk out the door to the roof-top balcony. Hopping down, it’s clear the dragon isn’t going to leave me alone simply because I’m not interested in fighting. A burst of flames hits me hard, but fails to phase me.

Fine. I’ve got some stuff I wanted to try anyways.

I pull a katana from my side and throw it to the ground in front of me. Another, and another, I pull from the air beside me. Tossing them around me. Raising my hands, I direct my TK at the lot of them, but. . . I’m meeting some resistance. Inexplicably, I can only manage exerting control over one, so I figure I’ll just go with it.

With a thought, I fling the blade at the dragon, whirling it through the air, toward her heart. It strikes a glancing blow before flying off to the side, making a shallow cut, minor damage it seems. I bring it back around for another strike, but the dragon is producing weapons of her own, hurling them at me in much the same way, but with a much straighter path. I’ve only got a moment to react, but although the energy behind the attacks is palpable I manage to fully deflect them without much effort.

After some more back and forth, she tells me she’s impressed.

By what? I can’t help wondering, I haven’t even done anything yet.
Deciding I’ve had entirely enough of this unnecessary fight, I take to the air, slowly approaching the dragon. Deciding to finish this, I activate my Geass forcing an imprint of my will onto hers; my wishes would become her wishes, my will, her will. For a moment I feel it work, but again, I experience that same resistance as before. She puffs a bit of agitated smoke at me.

Dammit.

Not skipping a beat, I land some quick, devastating blows, get her in a lock, mess up her neck, and drop her to the ground. She doesn’t get up immediately, so I figure things are done and begin moving back into the city.

That’s when she starts to get up again. . .

______________


I’m on a Torchwood investigation, leading a three person team to the site of the most recent rift activity.

It’s the flat from before.

One of the women on the team, my partner, goes to investigate the scene of the fight from earlier. On the roof-top balcony, I show the rookie how to break in the Torchwood way, using a specialized lock picking device to get us through the door and into the room in question, where we’d find exactly what we were looking for.

??.11.2011

Initiate (Parts 1 and 2) (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

There’s so many of us.

But still plenty of room to fight.

One at a time, they all have to fall, else I’ll be the one to go down.

Still, I can’t help enjoying the thrill of battle as I face my first opponent, a looming giant of a man, with sad, soulful eyes and the strength of a monster. With one hand he’s able to catch my true blade and hold it firm even as I charge it with screaming, vibrating, blue energy.

“I’m impressed. You should be in pieces by now. . .”

Time moves forward, as do my battles. The refined, razor sharp steel of my pure white, twisted-dragon-hilt katana, reduced to a blunt club against these foes. Tearing down my Vizard mask, with every strike I release a torrent of black energy, tinted red by my gleeful fury. Teleporting in and out, around my final enemy, I brutal beat him down with one wicked slash after another, into the ground, into darkness. *

It’s over. Three of us are left standing, all of us drenched in blood. I realize we’re the same, though our methods may be different, and it makes me sick.

“I’m done with this,” I say to them.

“Done with what?” One of them asks, suspicion and paranoia in his eyes.

“This,” I motion to the battleground around us, coated in warm blood and the bodies of countless slain warriors.

Walking off, I catch one of them say, “And you call yourself an eight!”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” I comment back, not even bothering to look.
______________

Daffodil is her name. A beautiful golden retriever, my new friend. We had spent so much time together, bonding, all in preparation for this moment, as I stand before an invisible committee.

Crouching down, stroking the top of her head to the flowing golden fur on the back of her neck, I do it quickly. My knife enters her throat cleanly, and I slide it through quickly, smoothly, minimizing her pain. But as she lies there on ground, bleeding out, I see I’ve missed the jugular. I correct my mistake immediately, ending her quiet whines, her suffering, my first task.

Now create yourself a human DC, and do the same. I hear his sick voice in my head.

No, that’s stupid. I have no issue killing illusions of my own creation.

You will do it, or you’ll fail. Him again.

But it’s pointless.

Then you fail.

. . . Fine. But I do it my way. . .

Calling out, almost immediately, I find myself a DC. A young boy named Jerry.

“Do you like baseball, Jerry?” I inquire.

“I sure do, mister,” he replies hesitantly.

“I’ve got a friend who’s really into baseball. Excellent pitcher; throws a pitch the Japanese call The Great Equalizer. . .”

And just like that we’ve formed a bond, Jerry and I. We walk for a bit, before I tell him I’ve got something to show him.

“What’s that, mister?”

I can hear he’s nervous as I draw my knife, the one I’d used a short time ago.

“This is my knife. Nice, isn’t it?

“What do you use that for?”

“Oh, killing, mostly.”

He steps back, fear on his face, and I know how much this is going to suck for both of us. So, with a flash, I activate my Geass, imprinting my will over his own. Now all Jerry wants, with his entire being, is to die by my hand. So I oblige, placing my hand on his shoulder and slashing open his throat. To quicken things, I drive my blade into his stomach and drive it upwards, destroying his heart, without breaking any bones.

He’s dead before he hits the ground.

Things begin to fade. . .

Creative. His voice, sickeningly friendly, breaks the silence, keeps me tied to the dream.

He was just an illusion. I told you already, killing DCs is meaningless.

Really? Then I suppose you wouldn’t have any trouble killing a DC of your mother? I can almost see his twisted grin.

Nope.

To prove a point, I whip up a DC who looks just like my mother, cut her throat like the others, hit her onto the ground, and stomp her skull into bits, her brain into mush.

I feel no remorse.

You have issues. He seems stunned and taken aback.

Like I said. Just a DC.

14.11.2011

Contract (WILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Journeying downward, into the dark, the depths, from which there will be no return, I make haste in my flight.

Curved, snaking passageways, of naturally-hewn black rock, mark my ever descending path.

At the end, at the lowest reaches, a god awaits me. And he's thrilled to see me.

First, a test: a battle, versus a cloaked wraith.

I draw my sword from my side, and begin my assault, flashing steel hitting it's mark, but to no avail. I toss it aside, as the wraith strikes with its own blade.

Why do I bother with these anymore? I think to myself as the enemy's weapon strikes my flesh, and stops without making a scratch. It seems almost surprised.

I grab it from the ground at my side. I draw it, five feet long, my true sword, white sheath and ornate, dragon-like grip, given to me by a close friend, so many dreams ago.

My smile is demonic as I lash out, cutting through the wraith as if though it were nothing. Piercing and slashing, every cut is wonderfully perfect, joyfully precise. As I sever the wraith, bit by bit, the god is all but ecstatic.

But there's a problem.

Someone else is here.

“I'll take care of it,” I say, preparing to wipe the man in the shadows.

But the god responds harshly, forbidding me from using that ability in his presence.

Probably for the best, I think, darting to the spy, eviscerating him, and ripping my blade across his throat.

I switch to his perspective and watch myself stand there, powerful and absolute, long, beautiful blade in hand, the god just behind. I feel the warm blood erupt from his open neck, our neck, drenching us in a wet, red warmth. I solemnly experience his demise, fading as he does. . . slowly. . . painfully. . . without hope.

11.11.2011

Enter: The Messenger (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

There's someone outside, roving the grounds of the ancient place of worship. Meeting them in a field, patchy grass, yellow and green, I demand to know them.

“Oh, just a god,” he says, nonchalantly.

Oh, how rich, I think as I laugh a long maniacal laugh, the likes of which chills even my bones.

“A god, you say?” I can't help smirking.

“Yes, god of messages. Zeus' personal messenger, as it would so happen to be.”

“Ha. Right,” I say, lifting off the ground, preparing for what I believe will be an easy fight. “You won't mind proving it to me, then.”

He smiles as he draws a blade of energy from his side. I match his with my own, switching to my Energy Sword with a press of a button.

SKWISH!

We clash.

SKWISH!

And again.

No one is gaining ground, so I toss my blade aside and draw out a Katana from it's place at my side. His sword transforms into a rapier, much to his surprise. And much to my surprise, he's more than adept with it, skewering my stomach in due haste, my Katana unable to even scratch him.

FWI---

I try to start up a volley of teleportation assisted attacks, but. . . I can't. All I see after each attempt, instead of a vulnerable back, is his smiling figure, all too ready for me.

Screw it. I toss my sword aside.

“Bankai!”

My energy surfaces and bursts from my body in a blue flaming jet. He's still smiling. The bastard.

Even as I twist and contort his body, tearing into his throat, he grins, unaffected.

And in a moment, I'm distracted. There's some monsters nearby that need taking care of. . .
______________

You shouldn't do that. I hear him in my head.

Screw you.

With a wave of my hand I release all the lock, the controls, sending this bus of a plane down a long and bumpy road, crashing it, stranding the passengers.

That's it. I'm done with this. I'm going to kill him.

Making my way to the main compartment, I'm bombarded with insults and complaints from the passengers. I ignore them the best I can, searching for that damned messenger, who was here moments before.

The insults continue, so I shut up everyone in the room with a wave, zip, and press of my fingers, binding their mouths shut with a few well placed Ats. Except for one girl who somehow remains free from my control.

I'm gonna get it, she tells me. I'm gonna be in for a world of trouble when that messenger from Hades gets back, she insists.

“What? What do you mean, Hades?”

But she won't answer my inquiry as she continues to shout at me.

“SHUT UP!”

She won't.

My alarm wakes me.

In memoriam.

??.??.2011

Death (Of a Friend) (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID



Fog encases the night, as I float there, hovering just above the street. Lights, headlamps, stream in from either side, a slow procession of ghastly vehicles, barely visible in chill, dry air.

I'm fading.

“Interesting, aren't they?” A voice speaks out in the dark, calling me back to the dream.

Tensing, I turn to see a mass of formless darkness, floating just beside me. An enemy, I conclude.

“Relax,” it says, “It's not like you can do anything to me, anyways.”

Is that. . . a grin. . ? Definitely a grin.

“Watch me.”

I cut away from myself, manipulating my most basic thought, the structure of the dream, calling, summoning. . . creating death. The manifestation of my intent appears, taking the form of a reaper, scythe and all.

“Ha, you can't kill me,” it says almost jovially as the reaper's scythe cuts down and I throw in the final touches, the final pattern, instantly wiping the mass of darkness, and whatever sentience it held, into non-existence. . .

He never knew what hit him.

Note: This entry marks an end to this formatting style. Expect changes down the line.

22.6.2011

Buggers (Non-lucid)

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID







Dream: Protection

★★★★☆

Tasked with protecting this girl around my age, I quickly discover she isn't human. No, she's one of them, sent to understand human society and culture during this time of war. Even so, I find myself caring for this girl, and when the invasion finally does hit, and boulders are crashing down around us, I refuse to allow her to go back to them only to have her body vaporized and her memories absorbed into their collective hive-mind. So, I nab a fighter jet and we flee. . . only to crash a short time afterwards on the border of a hick river-town.

The only people in town able to help us are asking too high a price, but she knows something about me, something I had forgotten. Our desperate situation and a reminder is all it takes for me to take the initiative, dredge our plane to the surface with my TK, and repair it instantly. . .

Dream: Military School

★★☆☆☆

Enrolled in the academy, I find myself living a mix of military and student life, but things quickly get out of hand. Shenanigans ensue and I find myself taking a dip in full uniform in the lake the night before an important day. Apparently, it was the only thing I could do to avoid being caught out after curfew.

Fragment: Bros.

★★☆☆☆

Super Nintendo graphics and a Mario Bros. Game make up my world, as I help guide my brother through a particular difficult level. Unfortunately, he's being resistant. Normally, I wouldn't care, but lives are at stake here, and one more spill into that lava would kill more than the sprite. . .

26.3.2011

HvZ Hax (Non-lucid)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Surrounded on all sides, I fight back, blasting away at the horde, still thinking I'd get out of it alive. Alone in this battle, my squad had all died before me, for I was unable to protect them in the crucial moments before their lives were taken.

Zera, my blaster, my launcher of foam death, performs admirably, but even she can't stop these nimble Zeds from getting too close. A girl, new to the game, lunges at my right, reaching for me, looking to end me.

Dammit! I think, as her hand starts to grasp at my shirt. Only one option left. . .

FWIP

My body disappears, blinking out of existence, as I teleport away, leaving my would be killer with a handful of air. On my reentry, I appear above the horde, on a grassy hill, the sun at my back, looking down on them. At this point, I could run, live to die another day, but. . . I've already gone this far.

FWIP

I TP closer and let off a shot, taking one of them down.

FWI—FWIP—FWIP

Again and again, I teleport, fire, teleport, fire, keeping a steady rhythm as I eliminate their numbers, one by one.

They can't keep up.

______________


“You cheated, hacked the system,” JTN, leader of the Zombie forces remands me, as the two of us stand on a rooftop, overlooking the battlefield.

“'Cheated' is a little harsh,” I tell him, Zera still hanging by the strap around my neck. “Besides, it's not like I got out alive anyways.”

“Still. . .”

22.3.2011

Moonlit Mafia (Non-lucid)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Tall grass blows gently outside the locomotive, as the passengers spill onto the tracks. The train has stopped, some sort of malfunction the conductor says.

We have no choice.

By the end of the night, this dark, gravely track must be drenched in blood, deep and red.

“But who?” we wonder amongst ourselves, three groups, one innocent, the others not. In time the answer becomes clear: we'll vote, and the one we vote for will die by all our hands.

My group, my family of mafioso, begins planning, talking in hushed whispers within compartments, between train-cars. Our plan is a complex one, and it'll be hard to pull off, but the potential benefits outweigh the risks.

Step one, talk with the leader of the other mafia group, our enemies, convince him to join us and vote for the charismatic innocent riling up what would otherwise be sheep to our slaughter. He agrees, and the plan goes forward.

Step two, put forward our votes, and make contact with the leader of the innocents. Let him know we're on his side, as long as he votes for the leader of our enemy. He does, and before it's too late, we all switch our votes.

It's done. I think, grinning, as our victim is forcefully dragged away, into the swaying grass, where soon he'd struggle no more.

______________

I'm shot.

Dragging myself across the city street, I feel the hole in my chest, my lung. I sense the wet blood on my back, seeping through my blue dress shirt, mixing with the dirt and dust, still falling to the ground.

“Boss. . .” I spatter, reaching my hand up to the man in the purple suit and fedora walking away from me, revolver in hand. He turns, as I violently hack up blood onto the cold rocky ground. A raise of the arm, a pull of his finger, and another piece of molten lead fires into my back.

Everything fades to black.

9.1.2011

Prince (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Blurs. Orange and dark, everything fades: out of existence, into existence. This room is my prison, and my mind, my thoughts, my will, they lay suppressed, fighting for air, life, and the ability to soar. A callous laugh rings about me; my soul is his, he says, my struggle futile. . .

I disagree.

This dream, this state, I will overcome it!

A flash.

Light greets my eyes as I rise above the strength of my captor, as I rise into lucidity.

I've been here before.

A Demon Lord smiles at me blackly, ethereal, flowing, seated on his throne, behind his servants, their detailed malevolence and dark beauty equally as vivid as the one they serve. I cannot best him, he informs me, for I am nothing.

Uninterested, walking away, through the open courtyard, I spot my betrayer, a Monkey King who had led me to this place. But for what, I wonder. He seems stricken, upset I have seen his true colors. Is that regret in his eyes?

The Lord rises from his throne, following after me, through the throng of laughing demons, all in their higher forms. Are they laughing at me? Or at the incompetence of their Prince? I can't be sure, but his taunting is starting to annoy me.

The wind blows through the short, pale, snow-dipped grass as I turn around to face this Lord, Prince, whatever he might be. He sneers, and turns his back on me. He really knows how to push my buttons.

I raise my hand, but my mind can't make contact. Is my TK useless here? No, surely that can't be, not at my level of control. I try again, this time with two hands, remembering how powerful my TK has proven itself in the past. The Demon Lord seems horribly surprised when his head jerks violently to the side. But it's not enough; he's resisting. Pouring on the pressure, another 60 degrees, but still he stands. Again and again, I throttle and wind his neck on its axis, rotating it in circle after circle, but all I earn is a disgusting look of wonderment.

I decide to take a different approach, taking to the air, and raising my arms up above my head, letting loose a primal shout. A yellow, pulsing aura bursts from my body whilst my hair, now bright and golden, spikes downward, extending into an impressive, body-length mane. Above me, a yellow, glowing orb starts to grow. I feed it my rage, imbuing the ball with a dark red energy. Swirling now, yellow and red, it grows as I scream, as the Demon Lord approaches me, licking his lips.

In moments, I've grown my attack large enough to vaporize my foe in one fell swoop. So why does he look unconcerned? Is this really all I can do? He seems to think so, but I feel like I can make things more interesting. . .

“Chidori!”

Blue electricity shoots up my arm and fuses with the ball, coating it in a spiral of jagged cerulean lightning. The Demon Lord smile fades. He asks me what I've just done, but the only answer I give is cryptic, even to me. With a cry, I bring down my arms, hurling this orb of death at my enemy, who appears to me now as Frieza. To my surprise, he simply stands there as the blast hits his plated chest. Does he really think he can absorb that?

I watch as he finally realizes what the chidori fusion was designed to do: penetrate his defenses like a knife through taught paper. But by then, it's too late; his last ditch effort to evade the technique only saves a fourth of his body. Part of that fourth, still floating in the air, looks back at me, forever set in an expression of despair and confusion.

4.01.2011

Feeding Time (Non-lucid)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Darkness covers the deserted outpost. Grey walled, black roofed buildings, dot the area, each a relic of the past. Though, the architecture, old-west in style, seems to be the norm across this post-apocalyptic wasteland. Shuffling through the first floor of the Inn, my sisters and I cast shadows on the murky glass. They're coming. . .

“What's that movement? In the window,” a woman points and whispers through hushed sobbing. A group approaches from up the grassy, wet, dirt-laced hill. They haven't slept for days. I motion with my flesh-torn arm for my sisters to cease their movement, close to the door now, out of sight, we're in perfect striking range.

“You're hallucinating,” warns the portly man with a broken staff and scruffy shadow of a beard. He saw it too, but hunger, the possibility of food, and a lack of sleep disrupt his reasoning. Unsure as he approaches the loosely hinged door, he warns the others to stay back.

It's likely these people have never seen one of our kind before. Never had to fear our bloodlust, our thirst for human flesh. No, these poor travelers have no idea what's waiting for them, just inside the darkness. We have the advantage.

They're unlucky, really, terribly unlucky. We could have come to any world, any universe, in the hunt for our true prey. I never had to steal that alien craft in our home dimension; the resistance would have gotten along fine without it. Sure, some key leaders would have been executed, but the fight would have continued.

Instead, out of character, I took a risk, and here I am now, in another plane of existence, dead and rotting, kept moving only by a powerful virus, or magic, I can't be sure. My intelligence, my self, remains intact. A true zombie, I am not, but my craving, my need to feed. . . all too real. Even as I bite down on this man's fleshy leg, repulsed by the taste, the dirt, the grime, I can't stop biting, tearing, where the others can't see him, can't hear his muffled cries.

I really hate it when they don't shower.

26.10.2010

Dirty Deeds (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

I'm awake. Or, at least, I feel awake. In the sense that I'm completely aware of my body, lying beneath these two thin sheets of soft fabric, dark room closing in around me as I start to drift.

It's a dream.

But I'm awake. . . I think.

My mind has a different idea as a hallucination—no—a dream, forms around me. Lowering onto the dock, directed by a crane as it teeters about, is a large shipping crate. Inside, dozens of harrowed, dissolute, half naked women sit, defeated, resigned to their fate. All of them are products to be bought and sold in a perverted underground market. Raven Knight and I don't quite
like that idea.

There's another crate, already on the ground; this one is filled with men and children, chained at the wrists. I notice they're being processed by a good number of goons. “Let's get to work then, shall we?”
Raven looks at me, almost surprised by my presence.

“Sure,” she nods quietly, witchblade already formed into a long ornate, claymore.

In a flash, I cover the ground between me and the first goon, tearing my white blade from its place at my side, slashing through his chest as I move past him, into the throng. He falls as I thrust, rip out, severing my next victim's head from his shoulders. Another flash and I begin a barrage of quick strikes, whirling slashes, cutting into my foe like a tender slab of meat. In under three seconds, I had already downed five of these despicable excuses for human beings. I'm getting ahead of myself, I think as I notice Raven watching me from where we stood moment ago. “You can take care of the rest, Raven. I'm gonna work on freeing these people.”

Tending to the men and children, I see Raven out of the corner of my eye just as a spiky tendril fires out of her witchblade, impaling one of the runners. Refocusing, I find the thick rusted chains binding these drugged victims aren't cutting as well or fast as I'd like. So, I conjure up some bolt cutters and get to work. Darting between the shambling bodies, I cut chain after chain, before finally handing it to one of the few men who seem to be in control of all his functions.

As he worked, I extend a bubble of green healing light around the entire group. It's just enough to break the stupor of the group, bringing them to their senses. Very soon, Raven is finished with her work, and joins me as everything slips away and I lose all visuals. . .