Chapter 152: The Lord of Nightmares’ New Strategy
“Did Kohler merge with the Lord of Nightmares to become this powerful?” Abyss wondered. But then another question arose. Outer Gods couldn’t directly enter this world. They needed to accumulate enough power, enough sustenance, to fully manifest. What method had the Lord of Nightmares used to merge with Kohler? Was Kohler dead, or had he become a slave of the Outer God?
He tried to move, but he couldn’t control his body. His actions felt scripted, his own will suppressed.
He watched helplessly as he lifted the strange device in his hands, his body moving forward, encountering a group of Lavoisier City gang members armed with various weapons.
“Hey! Stop! What’s your business here?!” one of the thugs demanded.
“Greetings from the Boulder Gang!” Abyss’s mouth moved, uttering words he hadn’t intended. He lifted the device, opened a valve, and a stream of viscous liquid sprayed from its nozzle.
Before the thugs could react, the liquid splattered them, its touch burning their skin, the potion igniting in bright purple flames that illuminated the street, revealing the surrounding houses, clearly a residential area.
Abyss couldn’t move, forced to watch as the thugs, their weapons clattering to the ground, screamed and writhed in agony.
“Aaargh!” “Help me!” “It burns! It burns!”
Their screams echoed through the street, and Abyss desperately wanted to cast a spell, to extinguish the flames, but he couldn’t control his body. His lips moved soundlessly, his shoulder twitched, but his limbs refused to obey.
He understood the Lord of Nightmares’ plan.
He had targeted Abyss’s greatest weakness, not his followers’ lives, not even his own, but their suffering.
The Lord of Nightmares intended to force Abyss to harm his own followers, to experience their pain, and to feel fear!
For the first time, doubt crept into Abyss’s heart. He knew how much he cared for his followers. If he harmed them, even in a dream, the pain, the guilt, could become unbearable, potentially transforming into fear.
“It seems you’ve realized my plan,” Kohler’s—or rather, the Lord of Nightmares’—voice echoed in his mind. “Yes, there are three dreams, each tailored to your followers’ deepest fears and traumas. I will make you relive those moments, make you the perpetrator, forcing you to inflict pain upon those you cherish, to experience their suffering firsthand. And in the end, you will feel fear. You are mortal. You have emotions. You can’t escape them! You’re probably wondering why I’ve allowed you to retain some control, some awareness. It’s to make the experience more real. And… I have other methods. But before I reveal them, enjoy your followers’ suffering…”
Abyss watched as the thugs, their bodies burning, their screams fading, were reduced to charred corpses. They ran, they rolled on the ground, but the flames, fueled by the flammable potion, clung to them, spreading to everything they touched.
The fire quickly spread to the nearby houses, their wooden frames easily ignited, the flames growing larger, consuming everything in their path. The residents, screaming, fled their homes, some trying to extinguish the flames with water, but the potion, like oil, floated on the surface, spreading the fire even further.
The crackling of flames, the screams of the townspeople, the crashing of collapsing houses, filled the air. And Abyss, the cause of this destruction, stood there, watching, a box of tobacco in his hand, chewing on the leaves, the pungent smell filling his nostrils.
He hated this feeling, this helplessness, but he had no choice. This dream realm was under the Lord of Nightmares’ control. He couldn’t escape through conventional means.
He tried to distract himself, to avoid thinking about the burning street, the innocent lives lost, focusing on finding a way out.
But no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on defeating the Lord of Nightmares, he couldn’t forget the destruction he had caused, a force manipulating his thoughts, preventing him from acting on his own will. This frustration, this helplessness, was maddening. He knew it was the Lord of Nightmares’ doing. He wanted Abyss to witness his actions, to experience the consequences firsthand. He was under some kind of mental influence, inescapable.
Just as the fire threatened to spread to the other streets, engulfing the entire city, a group of elven mages arrived. They had been in Lavoisier City and, seeing the fire, had rushed to extinguish it with their magic. But for some, it was too late.
Doctors and alchemists arrived, tending to the injured. But their efforts were limited. Many had suffered severe burns, beyond their ability to heal. Charred bodies were carried away, and Abyss even saw two small corpses—not halflings, but human children.
And then, a young Rebecca appeared, her face etched with horror and despair as she surveyed the scene, the injured, the burning buildings, the smell of burning potions filling the air.
Her gaze met his, her eyes filled with tears, and Abyss felt a pang of guilt, his heart clenching.
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