Page 118 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

The scholar’s head shifted, its color bleeding away before darkness, his eyes becoming ivory bores into eternity.

“No,” Painter said, pulling out of the thing’s grip. “You too?”

“I’m afraid so,” the lead scholar—nightmare—said.

“Painter!” Yumi cried, backing up toward him, cowering as the entirelandscapebegan to change. Buildings turning black, giving off wisps of smoke. The ground. Even the light in the sky darkened.

“All along?” Painter asked, pained. “Were they just…puppets? Nightmares, with no thoughts?”

“No, the machine let them be themselves,” the lead scholar said, his face distorted, made of shifting wisps of smoke—still wearing goggles, oddly. “It’s what happens when it needs us. It’s hard though. To walk the line between the memory of what we were and the reality of what we have become. They have to be kept from understanding their natures. Otherwise there are…complications.”

The thing that had been Liyun turned toward them, and her form took on a lupine cast. With spiked sides, inky darkness. Painter recognized this thing; it was the stable nightmare he’d been hunting.

Liyun was thestable nightmare.

Unlike the scholar, she suddenly appeared to have no memory of who she’d been—or who Painter was. She prowled toward him, going down on all fours, growing to enormous size.

Painter tried to stand between it and Yumi. “You won’t take her.”

The thing stopped, and for the briefest moment seemed to recognize him.

“Child,” the lead scholar-nightmare said. “What is it you think you’re protecting?”

He froze, and his heart became ice. He turned to find Yumi had fallen to her knees. She was distorting—far less than the others, but still twisting, her skin turning to smoke. She looked at him, horror warping her features in an unnatural way.

“No…” he whispered.No.

He…he couldn’t think.

Yumi. Yumi…

“Nikaro,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I… What is happening…to me…”

“Tragic,” the lead scholar said, stepping forward and seizing Painter by the arm. “I admit, this was an excellent ploy by the spirits. Connect one of the girls to an outsider to anchor her soul? Prevent us from altering her memories? It might have worked.”

He heaved Painter back, slamming him against the machine, where the other scholars—also having become nightmares—were tweaking it.

“I’m sorry this took us so long to do,” the creature in front of Painter said. “The delay makes it more cruel, I understand. Regrettably, this machine needed to charge up—our power source didn’t work. And beyond that, some rogue spirits had to be captured. How they escaped is…distressing. Thank you for helping us return them to their prison.”

“Please,” Painter said, then reached toward Yumi, his heart wrenching at the sight of her huddled on the ground in a fetal position of pure terror. Darkness streamed off her as she clawed at her arms, as if to tear her own skin off. “Please.Let me help her.”

“The machine is lord now,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

The scholar nodded to the others, his hollow eyes expanding. Theyturned some switch on their machine, and Painter felt a surge ofcoldnesswash through him. Followed by a distinct, terriblesnap.

Whatever it was that had linked him to Yumi broke. Painter felt himself hurled away from the scene. They shrank, and he smashed into a blackness—like he’d plunged into the ocean. Only he was still moving, an arrow in flight.

Darkness.

Hion lines like a flash.

A blur of buildings.

Thenslam. He hit something.

Incredible pain followed, coursing through him, accompanied by sickening pops and a sound like leather being stretched. When it finally subsided he found himself lying in his apartment, covered in sweat.

Once again occupying his own body.

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