Page 9 of Snatched By the Sandman

My chest tightens with the cutting sensation of icicles growing around my heart. Seizing the opportunity in any misfortunes is his specialty.

And the Oneiroi are known for our competition.

The thought of failing, of letting these horrors terrorize my dreamers, fuels my resolve.

Another wraith strikes from behind, its icy fingers tunneling into my neck, sharpening frost into my flesh. The sinister energy disturbing the air, the subtle shift in the wind, warns me of more approaching.

Ducking low, I spin and swing my blade in a fierce arc, feeling the satisfying smite as it pierces the wraith’s form. It shatters with a wail, its essence dispersing like icy, black smithereens in the wind.

The battle rages on for hours. Crystals cover my skin like icy needles. But gods do not tire. We do not grow old, though the energy of the God of Nightmares has grown stronger. I focus on the rhythm of my heart and the pulsing, dark energy around me.

A third wraith descends from above, its presence marked by a sudden drop in temperature. I reach out with my sixth sense, an intangible awareness that allows me to perceive its malevolent intent, its primal hunger.

Pivoting on my heel, I drive my blade in a sharp upward thrust. The wraith’s screech is cut short as I banish it back to the nightmare world from where it manifested.

Each wraith I dispatch seems to pierce me more with the oppressive energy of Icelos’ realm, the eternity of nightmares. Those walls close in on me, pressing down on my chest as is his reputation. But I push back, drawing strength from the knowledge that I must protect my dreams from his black hell. Failure is not an option. The shadowy barrier, this miles-long void holding him back like a dam is cracking, giving his agents a chink through which to attack.

The final wraith is the strongest, a towering shadow that seems to absorb all light—but not hope. It bears down on me, its presence a black hole of despair.

I close my eyes, surrendering to all my other senses. The wraith approaches, rancid breath curling in the air as it gnashes its teeth.

In a heartbeat, I move, sidestepping its crushing blow and driving my blade deep into its core. At first, the wraith resists, its form solid and unyielding.

With a final, wailing cry, it disintegrates, fragments of darkness scattering like ash and embers.

Silence falls. The last wraith is gone. I stand here, my breath ragged and heavy, the taste of victory mingling with the lingering bitterness of fear.

More will come with an unquenchable hunger—unless I find what was stolen from me.

I will never stop hunting for my Eye. Or…

…all will be lost.

I sheath my blade at my back, my heart still thundering from the battle.

Drawing on my shadow power, I weave the darkness around me like a protective shroud. The shadows glitter with the glint of black diamond dust, an eerie yet beautiful contrast to the evil I faced.

I have protected my world, for now. But this war between dreams and nightmares is far from over.

If the God of Nightmares takes control of reality, fear will spread into every corner of the world. More war, more prejudice, more death. A new Dark Age. And the energy of the waking world will worship Icelos.

As I step back into my World of Dreams, I remain vigilant, my senses ever alert to the encroaching darkness. I vow not todespair, to seek the hope that was there at the creation of the universe when Love first held the Scepter. I embody hope.

This is only the beginning.

Returning to my castle of light and shadow, I step through the grand archway into my sanctuary with its shimmering mosaic of dreams—each fragment a window into the slumbering minds I protect.

The shadows move with a will of their own, obedient to my command, glittering with my black diamond dust.

As I walk through the dimly lit corridors, the flicker of a candle’s flame sends a ripple through the air, imparting the familiar scent of incense. I pause, sensing the playful yet unsettling presence within the light.

I sigh heavily, knead my brow, and resist the urge to groan from the familiar presence. Pausing, I drop my hand and mutter, “Come out, Phantasos. I know you’re here.”

The candle’s flame flares brightly before it extinguishes itself. A wisp of smoke twists into a presence beside me, radiating a mischievous energy.

“Morpheus, always so perceptive, even in your present, tragic state,” Phantasos’s voice carries a sly smile. “Perhaps I may help. I bring you a warning, brother.”

“Save your tricks. Speak plainly.”

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