NOVEL NEXT Chapter 5: In the Nightmare Spell
Chapter 5: In the Nightmare Spell
Andrew's eyes snapped open, his body aching as beads of sweat rolled down his face. His pulse quickened as he scrambled upright, his gaze darting around his surroundings. He was in a small, dilapidated room—walls crumbling, the air thick with the musty scent of moss that coated every surface. A faint, dying light flickered from the fireplace, casting long shadows across the room.
He shifted, wincing as his back prickled with pain. His skin was scratched, littered with small bark marks, and floorboard splinters stuck to his flesh. "Shit, these things sting." He muttered through gritted teeth, plucking the thorns out one by one. Thankfully, none of them had dug too deep.
Once he'd dealt with the splinters, Andrew rose to his feet, shaking the tension from his limbs. He wandered the small space, his eyes scanning for anything useful.
Approaching the broken window, he peered outside. A desolate expanse stretched before him—an endless field of grass and rocks, the horizon empty save for distant mountains and canyons. The sky was thick with clouds, but a warm breeze swept across his face, momentarily comforting.
"The dudes were right," he whispered, "but this ain't look like a nightmare to me."
He lingered only a moment, staring out at the silent landscape before snapping out of his reverie. There was no time to dawdle—he needed to leave this place as quickly as possible.
"I've gotta get outta here," he muttered, pacing back inside the room, scanning for an exit or a clue.
Nothing. Just the continued creaking of the old floor beneath his boots. That is, until one creak sounded different—a hollow thud.
Andrew froze, then stomped on the floor repeatedly. There was something beneath it.
Grabbing a stick from the fireplace, he jammed it into a small gap in the floorboards, using it as a lever. With a grunt of effort, the hatch finally gave way, revealing a ladder that descended into another hidden space below.
"Damn, this place sure has a lot of secrets," he murmured, cautiously climbing down the ladder, trying to be as stealthy as possible.
The hidden room was dimly lit with torches, casting an eerie glow on its strange contents.
A large board hung on the wall, covered in papers—sketches of people and beasts, their maws wide open in menacing snarls. A table was littered with rotting food, and the floor was scattered with discarded weapons. To his right, a cabinet stood ajar, its contents spilled: dark cloaks, pieces of worn armor stuck out from its drawers.
"Looks like someone hit this place hard," Andrew muttered, his eyes scanning the room for anything useful.
It was the board that caught his attention. Most of the drawings and names were crossed out, but three figures remained untouched: Wallace Mayers, Gallagher Demitra, and David Klaus.
"Targets…" Andrew's mind whirred. He needed to take down these remaining people to conquer the nightmare.
His hands rifled through a nearby chest, pulling out a worn journal. Inside were detailed notes—possible locations for each of the targets, maps pinpointing their last known whereabouts. A small map, folded and tucked into the back of the journal, marked a location where the targets were likely hiding.
Almost forgetting his next step, Andrew called upon his runes, his focus sharpening.
Name: Andrew Harkon
True Name: —
Soul Core: Dormant
Memories:
Echoes:
Attributes: [Man of the Hunt], [Feral Command]
Aspect: [Huntsman]
Aspect Description: You are a hired mercenary who kills their targets with a cost. A lone weapon that never wavers from their tasks.
"Holy shit, this is deadass cool." He chuckled in excitement.
He had a badass Aspect not only that his aspects were also cool. [Man of the Hunt] this attribute spikes his senses when he feels his target or foes are nearby.
[Feral Command] is an attribute that involves easily taming a small animal into their familiar.
"Perfect for hunting." He muttered under his breath.
But a problem remained. transportation. The nearest village was miles away, and he had no means to get there quickly. He would need to walk until he could find a caravan or carriage.
Sighing, he pocketed the map and slung a dark cloak over his shoulders. He needed to prepare for a long journey ahead—one that would take him across unknown territories and face the worst this nightmare could offer.
With a final glance at the room and its grim remnants, Andrew ascended the ladder.
….
Lee smelled blood—so strong, he gagged, feeling puke rise in his throat. "What the fuck!" His words came out as a choked whisper as he staggered back, eyes wide in panic. Corpses, all dressed in black hooded robes, lay sprawled around him. Their blood still fresh, staining the floor, walls, and even their cloaks.
His heart hammered in his chest as his breath quickened. Dizziness overcame him, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. The overwhelming stench of death was unbearable. Desperate to clear his mind, he stumbled out of the blood-soaked room, his legs wobbling beneath him. He dashed into a nearby hallway, collapsing against the wall as he tried to compose himself.
"What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck," he muttered under his breath, each exhale a stuttered curse as he struggled to breathe. His throat tightened, and his vision blurred.
He was as pale as a ghost. With trembling hands, he bit into his arm, drawing blood to ground himself back into the moment. Then, he slapped himself—hard. "Pull your shit together, Lee! You need to get out of here, now!" He straightened, forcing his breath to steady, each exhale growing calmer.
Once his head cleared, thoughts rushed in. 'What the fuck happened back there?'He replayed the scene of carnage in his mind but could make no sense of it. 'Of all the places this spell could have thrown me, why the hell here?' He clenched his fists, swearing under his breath.
The room he'd fled into was a kitchen—dishes and pots scattered about, the stench of spoiled food mixing with the foul odor of decay. Stains dripped from the ceiling, a grim reminder of the horrors outside.
"Right, I need to go back. I need to know what happened here." Steeling himself, Lee forced his body to move. He grabbed a cloth from the kitchen and wrapped it around his mouth and nose to block out the stench before returning to the bloodied hall.
As soon as he stepped back in, the metallic tang of blood invaded his senses. His stomach churned, but he pressed on, eyes scanning the area. The hall was large, lined with bodies, all wearing identical robes. He stood out like a sore thumb, his linen shirt and black pants a stark contrast to their uniform garb.
"Is this some kind of cult gathering?" he muttered. It didn't make sense. Why wasn't he wearing a robe like the others? Why was he still alive? Something felt off. Maybe this body—the one the spell had placed him in—was never meant to be killed. Perhaps it had been dragged here unwillingly, or caught up in something far bigger than it was meant to face.
The questions gnawed at him, but dwelling on them wouldn't help him now. Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts aside and decided to explore further. He entered a new room, this one dimly lit and lined with bookshelves. "I need light," he murmured, hurrying back to the main hall to grab a torch.
With the flickering flame guiding him, he flipped through the books. Dust clung to every page, and the lighting was poor, making it hard to read. Still, he managed to make out enough to piece together something about the place.
"Shit," he cursed, slapping his forehead. "I almost forgot!"
Lee summoned his runes. A glowing screen materialized before his eyes, displaying his stats.
…
Name: Lee Wang
True Name: —
Rank: Aspirant
Sole Core: Dormant
Memories:
Echoes:
Attributes: [Infoflux], [Ironthread]
Aspect: [Feeble Scholar]
Aspect Description: [You are a feeble scholar who was one of the victims of a massacre of the Daemon Cult.]
…
Lee groaned in frustration, rubbing his face with his palms. "Why the fuck am I a feeble scholar?" His tone was bitter, the words rolling off his tongue like acid. The spell seemed to be mocking him, as if it knew he'd hate the title.
"But sweet attributes though…" A smirk formed on his lips despite the frustration. His attributes, at least, were impressive.
[Infoflux] allowed him to process information at lightning speed—he could finish a book that once took hours in under an hour now. Meanwhile, [Ironthread] made his hands swift and dexterous, perfect for crafting and weaving.
Lee used his newfound reading speed to devour the contents of several books, skimming their worn pages for clues. "So, this place is called Markarth," he muttered aloud, his brow furrowed in concentration. "A city renowned for its architecture and thriving alchemy. It's where scholars, nobles, and merchant families send their children to spread their name…"
He trailed off, closing the last book and sliding it back onto the shelf. There were still so many questions—why this massacre happened, how he got caught up in it—but he knew staying here longer wouldn't help.
Just as he made for the exit, the sound of a door creaking open froze him in his tracks.
Lee's pulse spiked. He quickly put out his torch, using the blood from a nearby corpse to smother the flame. The room plunged into darkness, and he crouched down, slipping into the shadows. He held his breath, listening for footsteps.
…..
"Mason! Mason! Are you here?" A voice echoed through the dimly lit facility. The footsteps of the approaching figure grew louder, each step reverberating against the cold, concrete walls. The boy who called out staggered, his breaths shallow and erratic. His eyes darted around, wide with desperation.
"Mason?" he gasped, his voice cracking. His legs gave out beneath him, and he tumbled to the ground, pale and trembling.
From the shadows, Lee watched silently. He had no intention of answering the boy's frantic calls, but as the figure crumpled before him, something stirred. Reluctantly, Lee stepped out from his hiding spot. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the boy, unsure of how to proceed.
"Hey, are you okay?" Lee asked, his voice detached, almost mechanical.
The boy coughed violently, his chest heaving as tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes. "Mason?" he whispered again, as if clinging to the last vestiges of hope.
Lee grimaced. Empathy was not his strong suit. In fact, emotions—other people's other than his friends and family, it had always been a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
Of course, they were all strangers but in his mind, it was usually sharp, methodical. He knew what to do when the situation was familiar. But this? This was foreign ground.
At times like these, he force's out a smile—one that came off more unsettling than comforting—Lee spoke, his voice strained. "Yeah, it's me. Good to see you."
The boy's reaction was immediate. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Lee, his body shaking with sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the boy repeated in a frantic mantra. "I should have known… I should have known."
Lee's mind raced. 'This guy seems to know what happened here', he thought to himself, his curiosity piqued.
But now wasn't the time for questions. Lee wasn't good at comfort, but he knew they couldn't stay in the facility any longer. His smile shifted, becoming a little more natural as he pulled back from the embrace. "How about we get out of here first," he suggested. "Then we can talk about this with tea."
The boy, still trembling, nodded weakly.
Together, they walked out of the oppressive confines of the facility, leaving the haunting silence behind. As they stepped outside, the sprawling world of Markarth unfolded before them. But as they ventured into the open air, Lee couldn't shake the thought that whatever had happened inside the facility was far from over. The boy knew something—something important. And Lee intended to find out exactly what that was.