14.11.2011Contract (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.
Updated 11-15-2011 at 09:53 AM by 25167