I can feel the madness slowly creeping in...

[cityship]

It is that time again, meatship.

Once again, the King of Nightmares has deigned to spread his touch to all of your dreams.

This time, however, he has decided to give them a much more personal touch, sending his very own children to visit each and every one of you, slowly sowing the seeds of madness within all of you.

Such a kind and loving king he is, isn't he?

[ooc: Alright folks, Nightmare King is ramping things up a bit. These nightmares are a good bit more dangerous now, and he's sending in his minions to make things a little more real. The nightmares will be of a much more serious nature this time, designed to start driving the crew slowly insane. Characters are more likely to run into nightmare minions in the guise of someone or something that will tug at the edges of their sanity. Also, this time, the characters can have joint dreams, as these nightmares are of a more mystical nature this time. Once again, tagging in isn't mandatory, but if you want to, go crazy (literally)!]

[Additional Note: Any injuries won't be carrying over to real life at this point in the plot but don't worry, we'll get there eventually!]

Comments

[aworldnevermade.livejournal.com]

Shells burst overhead. Men die in the night, lit only by the flares of projectile and energy weapons. Here, in the death fields, forces ride and fall like the tides and the mud is wet as much from blood as from the light rains that rattle against the hulls of tanks but don't fall so intensely as to properly wash away the endless grime.

Overhead, a thing looms out of the dark, forty feet of muscle and metal plate blotting out the faint flashes of lightning. With the helmet shattered, a jaw like a steel trap is exposed. It screams and stabs down with the reinforced chitin-claws of one arm, slicing an enemy grav-tank in half. It explodes, with the fireless bang of something with no movie-theater pyrotechnics. The huge thing roars and kicks at it, punting the wreckage like a football. Its eternal flesh is already rejecting the shrapnel. It scrambles forward, sliding into a half-quadrupedal stance, and in a moment of absent focus scoops up a screaming infantryman and chews him to death in one bite, internal hyperconsumptive machinery subconsciously shredding the meat out of the armor.

In her sleep, Luly lets out a low wail, tangling herself in her bedsheets.

[starlightace]

It was gray, and pouring, and she was alone in a vast, wide-open field that stretched to the distance as far as the eye could see...

...no, not a field, a graveyard. It was dotted with endless white stones, head markers, though the driving rain meant she couldn't read the names on the two in front of her. They were blurred out, impossible to make sense of, but there was a cold pit in her stomach as she KNEW what they said.

No. No, no, no, no, NO.

At some point, Nanoha fell to her knees in the wet, freshly dug ground, running fingers over the illegible names, knowing for sure whose they were and knowing she'd failed them. It was a sense of despair that she could have never possibly imagined, of loss and utter hopelessness.

And then, before she knew it, that blank pit in her stomach gave way to fury, to pure unbridled rage that made her teeth chatter and made every inch of her body feel like it was on fire, trembling not for the cold of the rain but for a terrible surge of anger. Before she knew it, Raising Heart was in her hand, and her Barrier Jacket was on her arms, only it was black, with blood-red trim.

There was someone responsible and her vengeance would be unending until they had paid with their lives, and she would tear this world apart until she found them. Nothing would be sacred, nothing would be spared.

In a heartbeat Nanoha found herself resolving to obliterate the world itself if it would destroy the ones who had ripped her own world from her--and in the next second her eyes slid open as she found herself awake in bed, sweat cold on her skin and her breathing ragged.

[gogopowersuit.livejournal.com]

The blasts from Samus' cannon slipped over their targets like water sliding over glass. The bursts of energy could not deter the monsters with claws outstretched menacingly charging towards the hunter. Her efforts were futile, yet she did not stop. She could not stop. Few things were constant in Samus' life, but the sense of duty she held herself to when dealing with pirates was something she could not stop. She was the barrier between them and certain death for the innocents of the galaxy.

"You cannot stop them."

Samus didn't listen. She didn't allow herself to listen. It was not an option.

The claws reached out; they slashed through her armor. She pushed and shot and struggled with her attackers. She fought, she must continue. The pincers pierced through the suit. She had allowed herself to be in this position. This was her fault. This was all her fault.

"Pathetic Hunter," the voice laughed again. A talon came crushing down over her. The malicious grin of Ridley above her tormented her. Mocked her.

"You're so useless, Hunter. Willing to give your life to protect another, to protect all these others," he held up his other talon, a nameless crew member in its grasp. He tightened his fist-squish-blood rained down on her. She writhed under his grasp; the dead body dropped to the ground beside her. "You can't even do that right. Pathetic. You cannot stop this. You've failed."

[dis-courageous.livejournal.com]

It was so hot. Fire, the sulfur stink of brimstone and singed feathers; Komali fled the howling cackle of Ridley, thinking it was the enraged roars of his own god, Valoo. The echoes of the caverns that were the backdrop to both the volcanic inferno and Samus' battle echoed the sounds of battle back and forth confusingly, and so it wasn't until he stumbled upon Ridley himself that Komali realized to his horror that he'd been fleeing the wrong direction all along.

Looking up at Ridley's lofted wings from behind, the child was neither experienced nor clever enough to realize why shrieking in terrified surprise was a poor choice. He wasn't quick enough to escape that spindled, looming claw and so was snatched up, and dangled over the hunter's head like a dog being taunted with a treat.

[is-the-ultimate.livejournal.com]

(http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j138/SoaringHeadache/Cape%20and%20Cowl/Shadow%20The%20Hedgehog/?action=view&current=thShadow015.png)

Why, Shadow? Why?

Shadow's eyes went wide as he looked out into the distance. Amongst the ruined and flame-engulfed buildings were various figures. Humans, mostly G.U.N. soldiers, marched forward, heading towards Shadow. In front of them were more familiar figures: Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Amy Rose, Rouge, E-123 Omega...

...but, it was the one in front that gave Shadow a fright: a girl, 12 years old, with blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a blue dress... with a bloodied stain through her chest.

"M...Maria...?" Shadow stammered

Why? Why didn't you save us?

"I... I tried! Really, I did!" Shadow said, walking backwards as the figures marched forward. "I didn't know... none of us did...!"

[demon-alessa.livejournal.com]

There was a chill in the air, and now the ruined buildings a darkness stared to creep on the scene, slowly and then everything started to turn to dusk. Of course she didn't have the ability to fight off the King's dream: she knew that from his first dabbling. But she had created Silent Hill's base at that factory in the city for a reason: she had to gain a foothold on this ship to build up her strength, and that would in turn make her strong enough to affect the outcome of the Nightmare King's influence. She had simply stayed at the factory once she'd made a decent recreation. She could hear the mewlings of the beast and she was satisfied. Her strength was returning.

She drunk in her accomplishment, and was satisfied to finally rest.

But then she felt something baffling in the air, and her eyes flew open. Something was wrong, something she had not expected: The Nightmare King had gone after Shadow, and she could feel his bafflement in the air, tasting the bitter, dusty creepings of the Nightmare Kings he'd felt days ago, and a rage built in her she had not felt in a long time.

She knew she could get severely injured in this encounter, but choice was a choice, and hers had been toward Shadow. Conviction was not something a demon lacked, and she would present that.

She did it for show, and she knew it: she came at the figures in a long hooded cloak, scythe in hand and all. Cleaving through people, cutting by now, was not something that Alessa shied away from: blood was her dance, and killing was her skill. Sonic and his friends fell away, and Alessa stood erect now, hood off her head, scythe pointed at Maria.

YOu WilL LeAvE HiM AlONe Alessa said, her child voice booming and sounding more baritone.

[snapsforyou.livejournal.com]

Roy has always loved statuary, so he is fairly content when he stumbles upon a garden filled with exquisitely sculpted angels. He isn't quite sure why he's here - the garden is attached to an old, molding house that he has never laid eyes upon in his life, though he's fairly certain that he takes this route every time he goes walking on a day off. Odd.

The angels are fascinating enough that the thought slips his mind, and he roams among them silently, as unobtrusive as possible as he studies them. There's just something so... intrinsically alluring about their postures - like they're really, truly full of sorrow. Very human. He almost wishes that he could see behind the hands covering their faces, because something tells him that the sculptor - whoever he was - had detailed their faces just as magnificently as the rest of their forms.

He has to admit, though: statues can get a little chilling after a while. Being in the company of such still, silent women is sending frissons of disconcertion up and down his spine. Despite his discomfort, though, he turns towards the building with the intent of examining it, figuring that he can idle away a few more minutes before heading home. As he turns away from the gathered statues, the voice of Maes, ever present at the back of his mind, whispers that this is a very, very bad idea, and he spins on his heel promptly.

Is it just him, or have several of the angels moved several feet in his direction?

[madeofwyn.livejournal.com]

Wyn suddenly finds herself in an unfamiliar garden full of... angel statues. It's not the oddest dream she's ever had, but she can't quite shake a pervasive feeling of wrongness about the seemingly peaceful garden. The house, which is extremely close and infinitely far away at the same time, reminds her of an English country manor, although she can't place why the statues seem so familiar. Where has she seen them before...?

She wanders aimlessly through the garden, trying to identify where she's seen them before-- and she realizes that their faces are hidden. "Don't blink. Blink and you're dead." she mutters almost unconsciously, backing away from the statue she's closest to very, very slowly.

[staturity]

Cassie stood in a row with other women. Each of their eyes were vacant and their faces expressionless. None of them could move.

"And if you're looking for something cheaper we have this."

The Puppetmaster stopped in front of Cassie. Whoever he was talking to was shrouded in shadow.

"She's not much good for anything. Couldn't keep her legs closed. Not a good fighter but she'll do what she's told. Not enough willpower to put up a fight." The Puppetmaster handed miniature Stature doll, which controlled Cassie, to the man. "I'll even throw in a discount if you take her off my hands."

"[Hm.]" The man turned over the doll in his hands, then let it fall to the floor. "[No.]" Jonas stepped into the light. "[No, I do not want this one.]"

Cassie couldn't move, but if she could she would be crying.

[wheresmysuit.livejournal.com]

Nate was running. He was in full armor, and running. Repulsor blasts, offense lasers, bullets, rockets, every weapon imaginable. A blast hit him in the back and he went down, pushing himself up painfully as he started to run again. Behind him, was an army. A veritable army. At first glance, it looked like he'd somehow amassed his own rogue's gallery. But on closer inspection, each face was his own.

Each in a different costume, each on with a half crazed smile on his face as he chased Nate, firing the weapon he held, there was Kang, Iron Lad, a Nate who looked like he'd gone on to be a version of Captain America, one dressed as Thor, each one a twisted version of one of Earth's mightiest heroes.

He ran, firing his repulsors back at them until something seemed to tear and he tumbled out into a new setting. The room was dark and there were women lined up against a wall. Whirling, he scanned the air for his assailants but there were none. Only the women. Where was he? What was this? He watched the exchange and it was obvious what this was, and that was when he saw the face of the girl being rejected. Cassie? What was she doing here? And was that Jonas?

Setting his features in a grim mask, he charged, leaping up as he gathered his suit's power in his fist, aiming to ram it through the heart of his former armor. If Jonas was here, he was the bad guy. One look at the terror on the faces of these women and he knew it. He wasn't going to let Cassie suffer. Not anymore. Never again.

[cabbage-butt.livejournal.com]

This is the SleepNet. Millions of mental voices offering up the harvest of the day's knowledge to share with the rest of the world. For most of the years of his young life, Brainiac 5 had been forced to sleep linked to the SleepNet just as every other Coluan was--his knowledge was of particular potency, after all, with his being a Brainiac.

But then he had been sent away, he had been informally exiled by Colugov because of the danger he presented to the Coluan populace-- and it had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. Working for Brande, studying on Talus, and then being drafted into the Legion. More than that, he could finally just sleep again, alone in his own mind. Sometimes he dreamed, sometimes he didn't, but at least they were his dreams, his thoughts, at least he was allowed actual peace while resting.

Except now he is a young child again, and his mind is floating through the transcendental construct of consciousness that all Coluans see in the SleepNet. He hears the fleeting voices, and the hissing whispers as he passes, idly looking at the day's thoughts and discoveries. Almost all are discarded as useless--often they are things he already intuitively understands about mathematics or quantum physics.

As usual, he ignores his title, spoken in hushed whispers. He ignores the jealous comments that are juuust loud enough for him to hear. He ignores the hisses and quiet proclamations that he's too dangerous to be allowed access to the collective consciousness of Colu--as if there's anything they can provide him that he doesn't already know.

And then it is time to open up his mind, for him to be absorbed into the collective consciousness, to let them rip out anything of use so that they might profit from the fruit of his labors. It's as it always is; nothing is his own, not even his knowledge. It all belongs to the Coluan people, to Colugov, just as he does. That is his role in their society, after all, to provide for his people, who are, as usual, ever so grateful.



While none of those thoughts are directed directly at him, he can hear them. They know he can hear them, of course. They always have the good grace to at least be open with their disdain. And it's not like he can pinpoint exactly who each of the thoughts is coming from. There are millions of them thinking it, after all, millions that fear and despise him.

The seven-year-old simply rests, his mental self trapped in the massive wall of other mental selves, like something out of some anatomical Lovecraftian horror of merged forms, and lets them take what they will of him, lets them take everything he is--since as far as he's concerned, his mind is everything he is.

It is his duty, after all, and he is a Brainiac. What else can he expect?



It's a familiar nightmare to Brainiac 5, but not familiar in that it's one he's had before--he's never had a dream like this. It's familiar in that it's simply drawing from memory, and what's happening in this dream has already happened over and over and over and over...

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

Failing spectacularly, the pure innocent mediator grew dejected at the base nature of the social system and he turned mute.

That was not a Coluan voice, nor familiar. Motoko rarely slept and even more rarely dreamed. Never had she been so foolish as tp sleep while actively connected to the Net, but that she should dream of it in this place was no surprise. OF all the things she missed, it was this, the cacophany of voices, the thousand, thousand thoughts and opinions and idiotic rantings. The pulse of that living organism, the human race. Or, in this case, the Coluan race. It hardly mattered, they were only voices in a vague, dreamy version of themselves. Only one intelligence stood out in sharp relief, and if Brainiac 5 was not someone she knew personally, it was enough that he was someone she knew of in this familiar, unfamiliar landscape.

[twin-fans.livejournal.com]

The battlefield, a rock quarry like so many others he'd fought in, was scattered with bodies. For once, they're not monsters. Not to him. An outsider might call some of them that, but it's hard to call a corpse a monster and mean it.

V3 stumbles, tripping over someone. A look down reveals the face of Riderman, Yuuki Jyoji. He squares his jaw and stands, dusting himself off. Everyone lying there, in that broken heap, is an ally. A strong friend, someone who depended on him.

He straightens his shoulders and stares at the other end of the quarry. There had to be hundreds of monsters there. Bats, spiders, bazooka turtles, starfish Hitlers, giant alligators, TV flies... No Rider had ever faced a challenge like this before. And, he knows in his gut as he glances over the corpses of his allies, no Rider would ever again.

[unsc-rabbit.livejournal.com]

She'd fallen asleep She hadn't meant to. Not with the Nightmare King still at large. But a full week without sleep was pushing it, even for the Spartan. So it was that she fell asleep, gun in hand as she lay her head on the table. It wasn't long before she was in the dreamscape, this time, a familiar place.

-----

She knew this place, it was the hall where they had fought HAL, and true enough, there he was, glowing at them from the wall. Shadowy figures were visible through the translucent force fields. People who had been in the fight, people she hadn't noticed in the fray. There below HAL's glowing eye, was the inert body of Jaime Reyes. She didn't know the boy, but she remembered his 'death.' It had struck hard that their leader was dead. She glared at the red eye in the wall. But then she blinked and it was gone. She whirled, gripping her rifle tightly as she scanned the room for the rampant AI. Whirling again, she came suddenly face to face with the construct. 'His' burning red eye reflected in her faceplate as she stared at him through the polarized glass.

Hello Kelly. Did you miss me?

She ignored the thing, turning away from it as she strode toward her team. She could see Katara, Danny, that Booth person, Sokka fighting for their lives against those killer robots they'd been put up against. Starting to jog, she quickly pushed herself to top speed, blazing across the floor toward her team members. She was closing fast, only a few hundred feet to go, but just as she was about to reach them, she slammed into a new wall, bouncing off as her armor's shields flared. Sliding across the floor, she dug her fingers in to throw herself back to her feet. There was a laugh from behind her, and she turned, emptying her clip at the AI. Shields sprang up, deflecting the useless bullets, before HAL laughed again.

Look, Kelly. See your friends? Shouldn't you be there protecting them? Didn't you promise you'd be there for them? A fanged mouth split across the AI's 'face' great, pointed teeth curling into a cruel grin as the mouth began to speak. Why don't you go to them? Or are you useless without your little team?

And then she saw them, littered on the ground around her, the bodies of her brothers and sisters. Every SPARTAN-II she had ever served with. James, Kurt, Fhajad, Linda, Fred, Solomon...John. All dead. Shattered helmets, armor riddled with plasma burns, charred skin and blood showing through gaping holes in the alloy. Gritting her teeth, she kept her silence, taking off in their direction, but in that moment, there was a piercing cry from the other direction. Katara went down, a robot's fist through her abdomen, she was screaming. Danny moved to protect her, but one of the constructs took his head off before he could turn intangible.

Booth was wounded and Sokka was fighting hard, his shotgun, out of ammo, lying discarded at his feet as he hacked and slashed with his sword. She watched, unable to move as the constructs rushed the boy. They seemed to swarm around him, an inconsequential number falling from his strokes as more and more joined the mob, slowly crushing him under the sheer weight. Clenching her fists, she took off again, back toward the boy, toward her team now, but this time, HAL cut her off, rounding on her with a wide, fanged grin.

Poor little Spartan. You've been lied to your entire life. You don't even know what you are. A freak, and experiment. A failure. You can't save anyone, you can't even save yourself.

The Spartan pushed past him, she had to get to Booth, to Sokka. She saw the boy's sword flash in the light and a smirk spread across her face. "Keep it up, kid. I'm coming."

She pushed herself harder, faster than she could remember ever pushing before. But just as she was about to reach the last of her teammates, Booth's chest exploded, gore spraying the boy fighting to protect him. Sokka whirled, a look of horror on his face, just as a barbed tentacle rammed through his midsection. Blood spurted from his mouth as her eyes widened, all around her, crew member were falling, dying. Everyone she'd met, her friends, Wyn, Sherry, Leon, Samus, Meluly.

[unsc-rabbit.livejournal.com]

Gone, all twisted in grotesque shapes of death and pain. Her eyes snapped back to Sokka as he writhed in pain.Before she knew what was happening, she'd rushed the robots again, punching, kicking, slashing, shooting through the throng. Weapons melted through her shields, reaching her armor and ripping it from her like paper. Parts melted away and she felt her skin sizzle, her helmet was torn off. But she kept running. She kept running as blood passed her lips and clogged her sight. But no matter how hard she ran, they didn't get any closer. She leaped, reaching out, but tentacles wrapped around her legs slamming her facefirst into the floor.

This wasn't real, couldn't be real. But it hurt. She was hurt. She could feel herself ebbing away, even as she lashed out at the tentacles the flooded over her holding her down, stabbing, slamming across her bettered body, battering her near senseless. This was it, wasn't it? She'd failed, she'd let them all die. With a strangled cry she fought back against the hard light projections, but she'd lost too much blood. She couldn't fight anymore, she just wanted to sleep, just close her eyes and rest. Let it end.

Vague, she heard HAL's voice in the distance. The damned thing was laughing. What a failure. How could you save anything? Mission Failed, Spartan. Mission Failed.

This couldn't be it. This wasn't it. Wake up. Wake up. Why wasn't she waking up?! It couldn't end like this.

[notlewis]

This was the winding path that ran along the outside of Pueblo, wasn't it? Yes, Luis recognized the rocks lining one side of the run-down little road. The trees were autumn bare and the sky was dark-- he could not see more than a few meters along the side of the road. There was nothing in the blackness but the distant shimmer of glowing yellow eyes and angry voices screaming instructions at each other.

"Hey, acá!" "Hey, over here!"
"Dónde está?""Where is he?"
"No dejes que se escape! Lord Saddler se quiere vivo!""Don't let him escape! Lord Saddler wants him alive!"

Oh, yes, he remembered this. They were hunting for him, under Saddler's orders to capture him at all costs. But whenever Luis was quite sure he was alone, there came voices in his ear just over his shoulder.


"Has regresado, Luis!""You have returned, Luis!"
"Las Plagas mató a mi María... Nos salvará!""Las Plagas killed my Maria... You will save us!"
"No se conoce ninguna cura... pero tienes un don.""There is no known cure... but you have a gift."

They were closing in on him. He could hear their stunted footsteps crackling in the leaves just inside the darkness. Their eyes were watching him. They were closing in on him. He had to keep running. He had to hold out until they came to protect him.

"Muere, muere, muere...""Kill, kill, kill..."
"Agárrenlo!""Get him!"
"Ayudame! No! Ayudame!""Help me! No! Help me!"
"Ahí está!""There he is!"
"Me duele el pecho... aaah, me duele!""My chest hurts... aaah, I hurt!"
"Luis! Luis, cómo pudiste? Cómo pudiste? Por que?" "Luis! Luis, how could you? How could you? Why?"

Luis froze in his tracks and turned around frantically at the sound of that voice. "Abuelo?" he murmured. "Grandfather?"

"Cómo pudiste?""How could you?"

The voice was chasing him now, speaking as though it was directly behind him no matter how fast he ran. There was no escape. They were coming for him.

And he was to blame for everything.

(ooc: Highlight to translate.)

[governorkang]

The sound of steel striking steel and high-pitched shrieks and cries could be heard, eerily non-human. Up ahead, in the darkness, Kang fought against a goblin, parrying a thrust with his sword and barely ducking in time to keep himself from being beheaded. Snarling curses in Nerakese, he noticed the human out of the corner of his eye and skewered the goblin, shoving the body off the blade with a foot.

This human looked familiar. Kang had seen him on the ship before.

Panting, he frowned, looking towards where the noises were coming from for more of the ugly creatures, "Another dreamwalker? I know this is a nightmare, but I haven't found a way to wake myself up yet."

[deep_sky_diving]

Beep, beep, beep. The tone is just so: perfectly designed to match her conditioning. She wakes only slowly, slowly, slowly. A week passes in the time it takes to blink. When she is awake enough, a click of her tongue makes the display trigger. No change in surroundings. The twelfth year of darkness. Everything she is hurts. There is a single star here, in whatever this place is, and she has been orbiting it for twelve years, but there is nothing else but cosmic dust. The Friendlies can live in nothing but a closed loop, but she cannot. Beep, beep, beep. She is out of time. She must go to sleep again, for another endless time of darkly dreaming death. She is sure that in the previous awakening she had more time. The Friendlies are adapting, trying to keep her alive. The intervals are getting longer. It will not be long until she is only an endlessly-sleeping mind circling a lonely star in an empty universe. The Friendlies might be able to preserve her. She doesn't know how long.

Beep, beep, beep. The Friendlies insist. She must sleep...

[novembersghost.livejournal.com]

(http://img6.imageshack.us/i/runm.png/)

She was running, running from the Zerg. One of the damn Overlords had flown overhead, shorting out her psi-powers long enough to make her suit's cloaking device fail. She cursed under her breath as a swarm of hatchlings, mutalisks, and hydralisks rushed toward her. Her rifle barked, dropping far too few of their number, before she turned and fled. It was a canyon. She was in a canyon, just like that time on Exgelia IV. The sun was beginning to set, meaning it would be more difficult to hide from the animals. They saw better in the dark. And with their sense of smell she was surely !@#$ed six ways to Sunday.

So she ran, not looking back she ran, as the howls grew closer. She ran on and on until she heard the voice in her head. The woman's voice, reaching into her mind, past her defenses as if they weren't there.

I see you little Ghost. You cannot run. You cannot hide. You will join us.

Who was this woman? She didn't know, but she didn't want to find out. There was a hole in the canyon wall, pulling her mask up, she pushed her goggles down over her eyes before turning, taking three running, backward steps toward the hole, emptying her rifle at the rapidly advancing horde that pursued her, before she kicked off, falling backward into the hole. There was only blackness. A clinging, stygian dark that seemed to have no end as she fell and fell. There was a moment when she wondered if she would ever hit the bottom, before her momentum stopped. Not abruptly with the bone-jarring force she'd expected, but slowly, gradually like she'd fallen into a giant tub of molasses.

Opening her eyes, she was met by a flare as her heat sensitive optics overexposed to the sudden brilliance of the star in her view. For a moment, she panicked, reaching for her mask, before she seemed to remember something. Dimly. There was something about... nightmares. Wasn't there? Where had she heard that? Had she just imagined it? She floated there, almost comfortable in the zero-gravity. How was she here? Why couldn't she remember?

The questions raced across her mind, before she slowly realized that she wasn't alone. Not too far away, was a figure, tumbling slowly through space. A feminine figure and what looked like some sort of armor. She frowned, what was this all about? Why was she here? Watching the figure as it slipped by, she reached out a hand to touch the armored arm, twisting to get closer to the unfamiliar woman.

Pulling herself up, she tried to get a look at her face, was she alright? Was she even alive, but the helmet was opaque. Frustrated, she paused, not letting go of the only other soul in the place. How was she supposed to remember? Why couldn't she remember? It felt like her mind was in a fog. Yet some things were so clear while others were completely lost. Maybe this woman was the key? Or maybe she was just as lost as Nova was herself.

Either way, it wouldn't hurt to try and find out. Reaching forward, her fingers trailed carefully over the helmet, trying to find a seam of some sort. Hey, if she could breathe out here, it stood to reason that this woman would be able to as well.

[redeyes_andblue]

Where nightmares tend to be memory more often than not, the battlefield is not an unfamiliar sight. How many times had Sheik died here in the space of a few months? Five times? Six, perhaps?

A sword through the ribs, an unstoppable, inescapable wall of fire, capture and execution by the enemies that his war-weary mind could no longer distinguish from his allies - how many companions had he seen die before him? How many bodies had he uncovered that had been friends?

And now there were two more to join them - two heads of strawberry blonde hair, two pairs of blank blue eyes, pristine violet and worn green untouched by the mud and dust and blood of this place. The Master Sword is inches from Link's lax fingers; Zelda's crown lies shattered on her forehead.

Numbly, Sheik drops to his knees between them, gathering their cold hands in his own, unable to prevent an anguished sob from escaping. He had loved Zelda beyond that a guardian should feel for their guarded, loved Link beyond that a guide should feel for their charge, and now they were... were...

A hand closes over his wrist, the gauntlet it was clad in enough to snap the bones of his wrist like twigs. Sheik gives an involuntary agonised gasp, recoiling, but the hand is holding on too tightly for escape. And even if that wasn't the case, the instant he sees the face of his captor, he freezes utterly.

"Why did you do it, Sheik?" Link asks, tone utterly monotone, eyes still glazed and dead. He's still lying there, unmoving except for the damning words from his lips and the vice-like hand around his wrist.

"I was counting on you, Sheik," Zelda says now, but her face is turned towards him, blue eyes accusing. Tugging again futilely at the arm in Link's grip, he shakes his head violently in denial.

"No... I didn't," he whispers voicelessly, "I couldn't..."

Now, Link is moving - jerkily, like a puppet on a string, closing the fingers of his other hand around Sheik's throat. "It's your fault, Sheik," he continues in that monotone, pressing icy lips to Sheik's before starting to tighten his grip. "Your hands are stained with our blood."

And he can't even scream a denial with Link's hand around his throat, can only watch as Zelda picks up the bloodstained blade he recognises as his own and approaches like a cat on the prowl, can only squeeze his eyes shut and never see the true princess, his own princess, in the form of a powerless ghost watching in horror from behind...

[bonnypiperlad]

Bodies of the fallen lay scattered on the field, blood pooling and darkening the plaids and kilts of the Scotsmen that have been slaughtered that day. Flies crawl over the corpses, slow and bloated with their feast.

Red-clad soldiers move through the bodies, checking to make sure they are dead. A figure stirs and moans in pain, drawing the attention of one of the British. There is a mocking sneer on the Redcoat's face as he takes his sword and drives it into the other man's flesh, and the last sight the Scotsman sees is himself reflected in cruelly glinting eyes.

A young man wearing a red kilt and plaid hunkers down behind a small hillock and watches. Most of the soldiers have moved away from the area, but his eyes catch a glimpse of one that seems to be trying to strangle the life out of someone - unusually cruel, even for a Redcoat. And a second is coming in with a sword.

There's something off about the scene. Then the young man realizes - the Scot who is being strangled looks fairly uninjured. If he can just even the odds, the man might stand a chance. "Ye'll not kill that Scot today," he hisses, and draws his weapon.

Jamie jumps out from behind the hillock, claymore swinging in a deadly arc over his head as he charges the Redcoats. From his throat bursts a familiar cry.

"Creag an tuire!"

[feelnothinatall.livejournal.com]

The laboratory was dark, what little light there is in the room coming from the flickering holographic displays that cast huge, distorted shadows that flickered out of the corner of her eyes. Ahava didn't jump at the movement, though it did make her more wary and she could feel her pulse picking up as adrenaline spiked through her system.

But despite the dancing shadows, the greenish light of the displays on her skin, and the hints of something that may or may not be movement, her eyes never wavered from the door to the room.

Because there was something on the other side, pounding against the door over.

And over.

And over.

Trying to get in. And while Ahava couldn't have said what was on the other side of the door, she did know with a cold, calculating certainty, that sooner or later the door would give way and then...

Well. She'd have to see what happened after that.

[cabbage-butt.livejournal.com]

The hinges break, but only because he found something to pry the door open with, and it took all his strength to do it.

Because he was still seven. Still so small. Compared to her. In his mind, he's always so small compared to her, always that infant held in her arms the first day he was born. He's faced down Darkseid and not felt as small and vulnerable.

After he'd separated from Motoko, she'd started chasing him and he'd had to hide. There's nowhere to go back to that won't get him caught. This had been a dead end.

He stumbles into the room, knuckles bloody from pounding on the door, this small child, of seven or so, and looks at her. For a moment, his eyes widen in fear, at the light on her skin making it look green, but then he relaxes.

"You have to run," he informs her with far too much solemnity than a child's voice should have. "She's coming."

[kaya-waterwave.livejournal.com]

The cold wasn't unexpected, she thought, and she looked around her, and saw this was her old home. That wasn't too bad: she often daydreamed about her home all the time. It was just like when she'd been at the North Pole, and here she could freely frolic around the snow by herself, and she laughed for the joy of it. She could see Sokka, and she hastily pasted him with a snowball. He had a pretty big one ready to be aimed at her, and she was ready...and then the ashes fell.The two siblings looked at each other, and knew instantly what was happening: a raid.

And she knew the blur by heart: she ran to see her mother, and found her with a strange man, a man Katara would later find out as Yon Rha. The details weren't one that she wanted: she still felt her fear, her uncertainty, and finally the pain that came with knowing she was gone, that she could have done nothing to protect her mother.

Katara, the last waterbender of the Southern Water tribe.

And just like that she was back at the village by herself, the place as quiet as the edge of the world. There was no life here, just the tent and igloos, the way it looked the last time the Southern Water Tribe had to defend itself against the Southern raiders. She wandered here, almost listless. She wasn't sure what she was looking for here, what she would find. She knew this was a dream, but something about it felt familiar, like when she was in the Dreamscape with Roxie. She wasn't sure why she would be here now, why she'd dream about this.


"Katara."

And it became clear, a part of her knew what was going on, she could see what was happening, and her eyes widened. No. No, this was impossible, and it was cruel and it was the last thing she'd expected. She would face her fears, answer them all if she had to, but she was not prepared for this jab at her heart because it wasn't fair, and she'd done nothing to prepare for something quite like this.

"Mother?" Katara's eyes teared up. The reaction was immediate, and she turned her face to meet that of her mother, who did not fade away like she always did in Katara's dreams, leaving her aching for something she didn't have anymore. This was wrong, all wrong. Her mother shouldn't see her here, her mother shouldn't even BE here. But she turned her eyes to her mother nonetheless.

"Why?" She asked softly. "Why are you here? You're...not around anymore."

Kya looked uncertain. "Would I miss seeing my daughter get older, becoming stronger? Don't you think that somewhere, somehow, I would always be watching over you, Katara? I want to know that you're safe, that you're cared for. But it appears you don't need me, do you?"

Katara reacted immediately, and the tears flowed freely. "How can you say that? Do you know how much I miss you everyday, just hoping I'd get a glimpse of you in my dreams? You're always on my mind, wherever and whenever I am. I could never forget you!"

Kya looked unconvinced. "You have mothers now: Carol, and even that Bene Gesserit woman. And you have yourself Katara: aren't you as caring as a mother, having learned from one? You don't need me...you showed that on day the Southern Raiders came, don't you remember?"

Katara turned cold, and her tears, the pain of losing that day, hit her hard enough that she started to tremble. She couldn't be saying that to her, telling her she was responsible. She was just a little child! What could she have done? No, no, it wasn't right. And it wasn't her either.

[kaya-waterwave.livejournal.com]

Katara turned, and the angry tears made it easier to focus, and there was such anger on her face it was unmistakable. Her fists clenched, her body ready. She understood now: this was something that the Nightmare King had thought up, was using to make her weak. She could see that now, and a moment later, Kya was frozen in place. She looked flustered, shocked, and Katara didn't wipe her eyes. She knew now what she had to do: stand and fight.

"How DARE you try to use her against me!" Katara thundered, and it was as if her village became her weapon, snow and ice now starting to bend to her, a dome of water now surrounding mother and daughter.

"I have a message for your King, if he's not too much of a coward to show up," Katara said. "We are coming, and we are strong, and we will NOT be victims to his attack. Now you stay the hell out of my dreams, NOW."

I think I have a theme going.

[playsin-traffic.livejournal.com]

He's home again. He knows that much. He's standing in front of a familiar apartment complex, cars whizzing back and forth in the street behind him, people moving to and fro and the sidewalk. There's even that wacked out hobo who lives on the corner. He can't believe it for a moment - this is supposed to be gone and destroyed, isn't he? He takes a step forward and then another. Then he's running, feet pounding over pavement and cracked sidewalk as he darts into the building and up the stairs. He feels a tightness in his chest - his mother, he can see his mother again.

As he rounds the corner into his hallway a familiar smell wafts over to him - his mother's cooking. He can't stop the grin on his face anymore then he can slow down and he slams the door open to his apartment, "Mama!"

The smile and exclamation die on his lips as he steps inside. Everything's work in here. The place is torn apart. There are clawmarks and blood on the walls. He ducks into the kitchen, heart in his throat. He does not want to see. He does not want to hear.

The pack of Black Spirals is crammed into the kitchen. They shouldn't fit. Four Crinos would break it apart. Impossibly, they do. One of them turns to him, muzzle bloody, and holds out a human head. It's his mother. The Black Spiral speaks with his mother's voice as he tries to scream, tries to run again, "We made you dinner."

This time, he can't stop himself from stepping forward (he's a wolf, when did that happen) and feeding.

[on_errantry]

The city had started out familiar - Manhattan, 42nd and Lexington, just outside of Grand Central. All her dreams seemed to start there now. The Nightmare King had certainly pegged the center of her discomfort.

But she wasn't going to wait around and see what he had in store for her this time. Now that she knew what was happening it was easier to avoid being drawn in.

A brief moment of thought, and Rhiow walked in the large form she took in Old Downside, the sleek black panther with the enlarged canines, reminiscent of her ancient ancestors. She wound her way through streets that began to bleed into unfamiliar skyscrapers. The people that passed her on the street ignored her, even though she was hardly a normal sight in an urban area. Rhiow became certain that this was no longer her dream.

She scented blood.

Rhiow stretched her legs into a run, her chest heaving, up the stairs of a nearby apartment building, following the scent of blood through the halls and up the stairs until she found a door standing wide open. A growl building low in her chest, she stepped in, to the kitchen.

Wolves. Well - one wolf. Several who were emphatically not wolves. They may have looked like it vaguely, but Rhiow trusted her nose, and all she smelled was rot and corruption. One by one, heads came up and growled at her.

She filled her lungs and let out a savage roar in response.

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

There is an empty dream. Sheeana has seen this coming, the tedious regularity of the attacks.

So she leaves a substitute from Other Memory. Another Reverend Mother from history takes her place and is caught in a destructive, mutual sexual collision with Duncan Idaho.

Sheeana walks away from the bed chamber as behind her the sophisticated erotic power struggle degenerates into a kind of brute, primate thrusting. Cries of pleasure become pain. There must be horrific injuries. Dream people with dream hemmorages.

She shuts the door behind her and there is a sense of tearing. Something connecting her to Other Memory pulls away. She feels a fearful thrill. Her dream-self's heartbeat moves faster. She hasn't felt this alone in five years, since she went through the agony.

In the beige void, without temperature or feature, she drifts. Something will draw her.

[thekohakuriver.livejournal.com]

Haku's eye only saw a blackness that was like a slick, shallow-edged pit, filled and splattered-over with crawling, oily, hissing magic. Yubaba's corruption writhed like a coil of snakes, eyeless and steaming, streaming from mouth and nose as the cringing, thrashing dragon-shape at it's midst struggled to rise from the clinging tendrils of muck. He coughed, then gave a strangled roar and was pulled back, claws scrabbling against the slick corruption.

No! No, not again!

[morphitudinous]

Billy finds himself this time in a patch of brown grass at the edge of a foreboding forest, withered and tainted. Swallowing the feeling of dread rising in his chest, he reluctantly follows a rocky path inside. Somehow, he suspects he'll end up in there whether he wants to or not.

A short way inside, he rests his hand against a tree. An instant later, his hand is hovering in the air and a pile of burning ash stands where the tree had been before. Billy jerks his hand away, alarmed, when a branch whips out at him---

"Ack! Get away from---ow!" Every branch in the surrounding area is suddenly five times longer and clawing at him, laughing at him, leaving him to desperately scramble out of the way. But it isn't enough, as the audience just beyond the shadows knows. They're making quick work of his stamina, whispering words in familiar voices.

Weakling. Fool. You couldn't save them. Couldn't save anyone. Why did you even try? They never truly cared for you---you were their mechanic and nothing more, thrown away whenever it was convenient.

Images of old and new friends, scowling and looking upon him with such disdain, suddenly filter into the forest. His only chance is the sai summoned to his hand. Lunging at the heart of the nearest tree, he stabs, and...

...as it turns out, the object he skewered was not a tree but a small frog, causing bile to rise in Billy's throat. But the trees (not trees? Their forms are shifting, looking like all-too-familiar faces trapped in the bark) behind it suddenly fall away. They crumble bit by bit, right down to the roots. The roots, though? They were holding the entire structure upright. Billy's footing slips, and then he's falling into a black nothingness that feels remarkably like scorching from a fire, clawing at him, calculating that he'll be consumed at any second---and he's not sure he'd terribly mind anymore.

[nothawkingbird.livejournal.com]

Kate was briefly surprised to find herself in her school uniform. Why not the Hawkeye gear? That's what she is now right?

She heard a snort and turned her head. There was Eli standing nearby, leaning against a tree. A tree? Wait, Central Park? Yes there was that rock, and the bridge nearby. Wait... no, she shouldn't be on this path, it was too familiar.

"You were just pretending to be a hero, rich girl. All that money, and doesn't matter how many charities you help or give, you're never going to understand. You've never been homeless, never gone hungry."

Kate shook her head, "I'm homeless now. We're all without a world."

"No you're not. Stacy's your new momma and giving you everything you need. She even saved you." His features started to fade, like what happened with Billy and Teddy after the elder Kang was killed... No, no, Eli's safe, he's in the pods somewhere.

Eli added, continuing to fade, "You all left me behind, what kind of hero are you, Kate? You're no Avenger. You just stole some old white guy's name for yourself."

She shook her head, "No, Cap gave it to me, and even Clint said I could keep it and his bow. They accepted me. You guys accepted me."

"Like you gave us much of a choice? We're only using you for your money, and your connections. But you'll never be one of us." She could barely see him now as he finally faded from view before she could reach him.

She faintly heard his voice, "You better run. He's coming." And her blood chilled at the approaching footsteps. No, no, this is different. She can fight. She's strong. She's a hero now.

So why is she running anyway?

[foursleeves.livejournal.com]

Ahead, a gun fires. Keep running and she'll find a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his face in the shadow of a baseball cap and a hood drawn close. In one hand a smoking gun, blood in the other. A middle-aged man lies crumpled at his feet, car keys dangling listlessly from his fingers.

"You did this, Peter," says the corpse through a rictus grin.

"No--" the boy tries to drop the pistol, but its as if its glued to his fingers, "No, I never meant for this. I-I was t-trying to h-h-help us.

He claws at the gun with his free hand, but it appears to be caught in something. A spider skirts across his palm, tending to the web that snares the cold, implacable metal of the weapon.

"Always trying, Peter," the dead man persists, "Always trying and never succeeding. You're a failure, Peter Parker. You were be a scientist. You were supposed to cure cancer, AIDs. You were supposed to harness nuclear fusion."

The spider continues its journey up his arm and across his chest. The web grows.

"Look at you; you're a non-entity. All that power and you couldn't save me. You couldn't save the Stacy's. You couldn't save anyone."

He tries to speak but his voice hitches in his throat, paralysed by fear. He tries to turn, to get back get away get out, but he slips in the mud. No, no it's not mud. It's black and swirling and he can hear it whispering to him, calling his name. And he wants to go with it.

Uncle Ben, his shirt damp with read, face drawn yet wracked with hysteria, "Puny Parker! Puny Parker! Everyone is dead and you didn't lift a finger!"

He hears footsteps.

[magetrouble.livejournal.com]

It was dark and damp. The scent of freshly turned earth made her fists curl and Kala crouched, letting the light from Rising Phoenix's twin gems illuminate the spot she was staring at. Footprints. Farliana's footprints...until they vanished.

"Farla," Kala cried, spinning around in the empty space. Farla was dead. She was gone. "Farla!" Maybe she could get her back somehow. She had to get her back. Kala swallowed hard as she cried out again and the darkness pressed in on her.

Here, child.

The voice was dim, but there. Kala spun again and watched the thick trunks whirl past in a blur of motion. Something skittered past her and she looked up. Tiny threads were descending from far, far up in the treetops. A hand sized spider dropped squarely on Kala's face and she promptly shrieked.

[lackofdarkwings.livejournal.com]

Matt had no idea where he was, but he recognized the shriek of terror that reverberated through the darkness. "Kala..." he whispered.

His hand lit with brilliant golden light as he rushed through the gloom, feeling sticky webs encircle his fingers until he came to the shrieking girl. Seeing the hand-sized spider planted on his face, he exclaimed, "FREEZE KALA!"

Rearing back, he fired a golden blast of holy light at the spider which was sheared off by the shock. It let out a hiss and fell off, curling it's several legs as it plopped to the ground. "Didn't think I could do that..." mused Matt as he ran up to the girl.

[mapquest-titan.livejournal.com]

(http://s225.photobucket.com/albums/dd304/mysterio2000/cale/?action=view&current=titanae01.png)


Earth. 3028 A.D.

The landscape is shaded in an orange hue and an unnatural wind sweeps over it, instilling a sense of foreboding in the people who rush to the spaceports in desperation. In a small wooded area, not far from the spaceports, a little boy of no more than four sits crouched near the edge of a stream, watching as a gold-colored, mechanical toy bobbed in the water and followed the flow of the stream before striking a rock that rested on the bed of the stream.

Frowning at his broken toy, the blond-haired boy bent forward and pulled it from the water, carefully inspecting the damage.

His attentions were interrupted by a shadow blocking out the sunlight. Looking up at the figure, the young boy's frown deepened. "Dad," the boy whined. "It's broken."

Crouching down next to his son, Sam Tucker took the 'toy' from the young boy and examined it for a few moments before, finally, smiling and placing his hand on the little man's shoulder. "That's all right, Cale," Sam Tucker said, giving his son's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We'll fix it together...later. But, right now, we have to go."

Cale's brow furrowed in confusion and wonder. "Go where?" he asked like the inquisitive four year-old that he was.

"Some place safe," Sam answered.

"Why?" Cale asked, still not understanding what was going on. While he was terrified and worried, Sam betrayed none of that to his son. There was no panic in the scientist's expression or voice, only resolve.

"What's going...." Cale's question was cut short, interrupted by a series of loud explosions followed closely by the appearance of a flight of thirty or so Earth fighters. Tailing them was a wing of blue, Drej fighters. Bright bursts of blue energy erupted from the Drej vessels as they pursued their prey.

"Dad?" Cale cried out, reaching out the grab hold of his father's sleeve. But just as he was expecting to feel the fabric of his father's jacket between his fingers, Cale felt nothing. He immediately looked up only to discover that his father was no longer there.

"Dad?!?" he cried out again, rotating around, his wide eyes searching for the missing scientist.

"Dad?!?! Where are you?!?" he called, his tiny voice drowned out by the roar of the engines flying in the sky above him and the loud, popping sound of the human fighters as they exploded.

"DAD!!!" he continued to shout out, taking small steps backward. "Daaaaaaaad!!!"

[browncoatdevil.livejournal.com]

The ground moved and shifted beneath feet as the Alliance birds flew overhead dropping their payloads of bombs behind the lines of the Independent forces that were holding the Valley. It was night on Hera, somewhere the world hopefully peaceful as the war raged on in the more populated areas. Above them the sky was alight with fires burning or bombs going off cutting out the precious view of the stars. Gwen glanced up once as the roar of an Alliance craft swooped down the Valley close enough to spit at strafing the ground with its twin mounted guns. Quietly she cursed to herself as the craft continued on back behind its own lines only stopping to draw a breath as she looked down at the team behind her.

It was the worst situation a group of soldiers could be in. They were pinned down by machine gun fire stuck behind rocks that were barely big enough to crouch down behind. Beside her Gabriel laughed as the bullets ricocheted off the Earth above their heads. "You honestly think this is such a gorram comedy scene, funny man?"

The dark haired, blue-eyed Captain beside of her just shook his head. "Funny? No. Convenient? Maybe. Gives me a chance to have a moment with you, băobèi. I mean. Perfect way to celebrate our engagement eh?" Gwen snorted slightly giving her lover a wry smile as he leaned forward motioning Williams their way. "Give us covering fire. I want to get as many people outta here and back to our company's position while their heads are down. Leap frog it."

Williams nodded before moving back down the line. "Take the first half. I got the second." Looking down at her rifle the red head smiled back towards Gabe, checking to see how many clips she had left and counting how long she could keep them going. Enough to last, for now, if they did this right. When he started to protest she leaned forward pressing her lips to his. "Don't argue. Do it. And move like bùyào mìng de sùdù, zhàngfu." As the sounds of rapid rifle fire kicked in Gabe was up and moving, pulling his half of the small squad back moving toward the next largest group of rocks they could get to.

Gwen turned her head just in time to see Williams go down in a splatter of blood. It only took her a second to watch as the backup stood only to find himself going down as well. Cursing loud and long the Lieutenant rounded with raised rifle spraying covering fire toward the Alliance troops who were coming their way. A feeling of a hand on her shoulder found her Captain back at her side trying to pull her with him. There wasn't time, he yelled in her ear, they had to keep moving. They were the only two left at the line that was going to break.

Lowering her rifle as his hand slipped to hers they ran. She found feel her heart pounding in her chest as he drug her behind him dodging bullets as they nipped at their heels. They were going to make it. They were actually going to make it! Ahead of them their squad willed them faster yelling words of encouragement hoping to light the fire under their feet. Until the sounds of projectiles sinking in to flesh found her falling forward as Gabriel fell. Rolling to a stop she barely found her fingers still touching his, swallowing her pain as she scrambled toward the bleeding man on the ground.

Carefully she scooped him up in her arms, her body shaking from head to toe, as he coughed causing blood to form on his lips. "No.. no no no no no. Gabe. Băobèi- stay with me. Please.. stay with me." He raised his hand pressing bloody fingers to her cheeks leaving traces down dirty skin. "Please.. Gabriel.. please..." She paid no attention to anything else around her- not the explosions, the people shouting, the approaching Alliance soldiers or the bullets close to them. It was more than a nightmare. This was worse.

[youngsoldat.livejournal.com]

He started out alone again. This time in rocky, wooded territory - it vaguely reminded him of descriptions he'd heard of Italy or seen once or twice in France. But it was too dry, too rocky to be the Russian steppe. North Africa? Away in the distance he could hear gunfire, see explosions. Always just out of reach or beyond sight. Still, he moved towards the sound of the guns, half-crouched, moving at a steady pace. He would have to find someone, wouldn't he?

He wasn't that surprised to find himself back in his uniform, carrying his rifle and field equipment, grenades stuck into his belt and boots. He moved forward at a crouch, ducking once or twice as something large swooped by over head. This couldn't be real. Where was he? What was this? He tugged his steel helmet a bit lower, moving forward through the fire and steel of the battlefield.

Spent bullets pocked the ground around him and ahead, he could see figures. Some dead, some dying. Others scurrying back and forth. And just there, two figures, one bent over the other. A wounded comrade? He could tell - this was his side. He belly-crawled forward under machine-gun fire, trying to make out their faces in the dim light.

"Achtung!" He hissed, before blinking, startled. A woman? The man she was desperately clinging to was hit badly and unless someone got to him very soon, he would probably be dead, "Medic!"

He reached out to tug on her sleeve (a strange uniform - brown coat over civilian clothing - partisans?), "You cannot stay here! You'll be dead in a minute if you do!"

He popped up, squeezing off a round into the darkness. As he fell back to his belly, he worked the bolt with a distinct 'click-clack as he chambered another round.

[voiceofserenity.livejournal.com]

The Reavers had been bad enough. At least with them, though, Kaylee had known what to expect. They would rape her, peel her skin off, make her eat her own organs--the kinds of things the cheerful mechanic would never think about on a daily basis. They somehow made it into her dreams, though.

The engine room was no good to hide in, this time. It had already been destroyed, and the limbs of her crewmates and family now made gruesome chains from wall to wall. Heads and torsos made ugly ornaments, hanging down from the ceiling. Kaylee had found her way down to the cargo bay, stowed herself away in the wall.

Waiting.

It was too quiet outside. Any kind of noise would have been better. She would have been able to tell what was happening, would have kept some form of hope with the crew still fighting.

Waiting.

There were footsteps. Familiar, bare feet. Kaylee didn't dare move. River's feet passed by, the sound of blood dripping from a knife accompanying them. The mechanic almost breathed a sigh of relief, but the footsteps stopped.

"She's there."

The grating over her hiding place was ripped away, and Early's face appeared over her. There was a gash running down his cheek, the result of Jayne's attempted defense. Kaylee had all too much time to look into his hard eyes, eyes excited for what was about to come.

He pulled her out of her hiding place by her throat and held her back against him. Her toes barely reached the ground as she struggled, gasping for breath, trying to get away as River came closer with the knife. She couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, as the flat side of the blade ran down her arm. "Hush, little Kaylee," River said softly, as if it were all a game. "We only need one more arm..."

WARNING: contains some gore

[daemonomicon.livejournal.com]

The reach of the King of Nightmares has gotten quite long.

It has even managed to pierce the fortress that is the Seer's mind.

The Seer stands impassively as he sees another figure that is himself standing above a writhing mass of living bodies, innocent lives that have been stamped out by his own actions.

He watched as his other self gleefully reached down to grab one of these innocents, before eviscerating and slaughtering them in ever more inventive ways.

He looks about as the innocents at his own feat grab up at him, begging him for mercy. Their screams would be horrifying to any normal human.

The Seer merely watches impassively.

He slowly begins walking towards the other Seer, stepping over those innocents in the path between the two with seemingly no compassion for them.

The other Seer turns his head when the true Seer reaches him, a mad grin on his face.

"Do you like it?" the other Seer says. "So many die because of our work. It's so much easier to kill them befor--"

The other Seer is cut off before he can finish his sentence, as the true Seer grabs him by the throat, plunging his other hand into the facsimile's stomach, tearing out his viscera. The false Seer coughs up blood over the Seer's robe, but he pays no heed.

The other Seer brings his arm up to strike his opponent, but the Seer calmly grabs his wrist, crushing it in his hands.

As the false Seer lays sputtering and dying in his clutches, the Seer looks at him with empty eye sockets, his stare somehow all the fiercer for it.

"Can you hear me, daemon?" he says, not to the creature before him, but to the will that controlled it, the King of Nightmares himself. "You cannot hope to defeat me with such paltry tricks. I will come for you. I will end you."

He crushes his doppelganger's neck with his bare hands, its body going limp as it dies.

"This I swear."

[thekohakuriver.livejournal.com]

The boy stand behind him, revealed as the false-Seer dies, glaring up at the dreamer. His white Hakama is flecked with black, there is blood and oil in his hair, and something thin and smokey smeared across his cheeks— like soot, only thinner. Haku is not best-pleased.

"So, even here."

WARNING: contains a lot of gore

[am-alwaysfree.livejournal.com]

The sound of Mal’s heart beating was thundering in his ears as he walked slowly down the corridors of Serenity. In his nightmare, he was completely alone, and Serenity was eerily silent. Everything was silent except for the thumping of his heart and the disturbingly creepy sounds of liquid-like things slithering about on the floor next to his feet. He didn’t dare look down to see what they were.

He continued his solitary walk, not entirely sure where he was going or what he was looking for. All he knew was, something was wrong, and he was going to find out what it was. The eerie slithering sounds continued, punctured by the steady but loud beat his heart was making as he finally reached the dining area he and his crew shared. It was dark, as all the lights were off, so Mal reached for the nearest light switch. As the area was lit up and his eyes became accustomed to the illumination, he noticed bizarre shapes draped on the table, on the floor, and even on the walls and ceiling. When he could finally see clearly, he realized just what the shapes were.

They were the bodies of his crew, and all of them were dead. He saw the Shepherd lying on the floor, a giant spike protruding from his chest. On the wall next to him was Jayne, pinned to the wall by another giant spike. But that wasn’t all: the man’s eyes had been ripped from their sockets, and they stared down at Mal in a grotesque sort of grin. Mal swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, and forced his eyes to look somewhere else.

But what he saw was even worse than the fate that had befallen Jayne. He saw Kaylee and Inara lying next to each other, their bodies ripped into pieces, their limbs spread across the floor. That almost caused Mal to come undone, but he managed to collect himself and keep looking. Next, he saw a large array of body parts pinned to the walls with rusty spikes, smaller than the ones that had killed Book and Jayne. Who these parts belonged to, Mal didn’t yet know.

Mal rounded the table then, grimly anticipating yet another scene of carnage; but he saw nothing, and so he looked around him, wondering where he hadn’t yet looked. His answer came in the form of a drop of blood falling on his head. Slowly, Mal looked up at the ceiling, and to his horror, saw the bodies of his pilot and his first mate, hewn in two. Like Jayne, their eyes had been torn out, but unlike Jayne, they had been pinned into their hands so the eyeballs stared down at the horrified man. The captain sagged against the wall, now knowing who the ripped apart body parts had belonged to; the only two he hadn’t accounted for in his search were Simon and River.

But he didn’t have long to dwell on the horrific fate the doctor and his sister had faced; he turned around, and a scream burst from his mouth. A Reaver stood there, curved scythe in hand, and lashed it out at the unprepared captain.

In the real world, back on the real Serenity, Mal thrashed on his bed, a loud scream identical to the one he’d let out in his dream bursting from him. His eyes snapped open, and he stared wildly around the room before leaping to his feet, climbing the ladder, and slamming open the door. He had to find out if Kaylee and Inara were all right.

[voiceofserenity.livejournal.com]

The metal of the knife on her arm is more than a little terrifying, and with Early at her back there's nowhere to go. She can't breathe, he's got her throat, can't gasp out a cry of help or beg River to stop. She can only wait as her friend looks at her shoulder, methodically debating how to slice it open in just the right manner.

The knife pulls back suddenly, and Kaylee doesn't know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or cry in terror. It seems as though the latter is what she does. River's eyes flicker, some insane bit of excitement within them, and the knife is plunged straight into Kaylee's shoulder.

The mechanic woke, unmoving. She stayed there, sweating, gulping back tears, before her fingers slowly worked their way up her arm, to her shoulder.

She was fine. Everything was fine. Her arm was still there, Serenity was still peaceful, and there was no way Early and River would ever team up and slaughter the crew like that. She was just jumpy, edgy--it happened in a strange place, on a strange ship with strange motions. Just relax.

[greennotgold]

Xenotime was a land of dust and gravel. Fletcher stood at the center of town, a familiar place and yet right now, completely alien. It was devoid of life -- the people and animals were gone, and so too was the greenery he and Russel had put so much effort into growing. It was just the buildings and Fletcher and the roads of dirt, not to mention the sand flying about in the wind.

He turned in place, hoping to see someone, anyone. He caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye -- but then it was gone. The pub's door stood ajar, and Fletcher only hesitated for a moment before heading in.

It was so empty and quiet that his footsteps echoed even on the wood floor. He tried to call out, but his voice caught in his throat. Someone had to be here, but-- what if they weren't? What if he really was alone? He couldn't...

He didn't have to say anything, though; a sound reached his ears. A girl crying. He followed the voice through a door into a side room, and up a flight of stairs. He knew that voice even before he pushed open the door to her room and saw her, Elisa, curled up on her bed sobbing.

Finally he forced the words out. "What-- what's going on? Are you okay?" The dread building in his gut told him the answer, though. He knew what she would say before she said it, but he was powerless to stop it.

"Why did they save you?" Her voice was distraught and accusatory all at once, and it tore through Fletcher like ice. "Why do you and Russel get to live when we don't? Why didn't they bring us?" She was the only one here, but she wasn't the only one speaking. Her words were those of everyone else in Xenotime, all of the people Fletcher and Russel had sworn to help and atone to. All of them gone now, all but for the brothers.

Fletcher couldn't answer, and he couldn't move away from the doorframe where he stood. All he could do was stand and listen. He couldn't even bring himself to cry for them.

[just-like-daddy.livejournal.com]

The actions he had decided had turned into the regret that they shared. Fletcher's childhood had been lost in this town. Russel's, long before when that blue-clad soldier appeared on their doorstep asking if they knew anything about why their father hadn't shown up for work. The worst part: They hadn't noticed he was missing. He always left before they woke and came home after they went to sleep. His presence never really went unnoticed. If Russel fell asleep at the table while working on his homework, he would awaken again in his bed without fail.

Xenotime had been a dead town, slowly reviving. Children were being born, and the roads were being once again filled with playing children, toy shops, schools, and plants hanging in pots from eaves, in window boxes, in backyards, in the fields.

But now, all that remained was the vague outline of the homes' foundations. No rubble, it had been windblown enough to completely disintegrate. The brick train platform is what Russel stood on. The tracks were completely buried by blowing sand. He lifted his hand to his forehead to block the harsh light of the sun, and surveyed the scene more closely. One house still stood. Way at the outer edge of town. Mr. Belshio's.

When he arrived there, he let himself in. "Mr. Belshio?" he called. A door slammed, bursting from the kitchen came the lined, tan face and tight, thick curls of Mr. Belshio. Russel's face lit up. He was okay, he was still alive. But before he could express that, he was being slapped across the face.

He looked back at the man in shock. He'd never raise a hand to them. "Was destroying this town once not enough for you?" the man hissed. There was another voice under his, one he couldn't place right now.

"Wh-what?" Russel stammered, completely unable to articulate any kind of response.

"Everyone's dead, Russel. And it's all because you have absolutely no control over yourself! Let go of the Stone, Russel!" The voice in the background slowly became louder, soon dwarfing Belshio's. "You're a disgrace to your father's memory, and the wounds you've inflicted on Fletcher will never heal!" There they were, all of Russel's fears and guilt laid out bare.

"Get out!" the new voice screamed. Hands from behind him grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. He was shoved out the door by these hands, large and strong.

He awoke with a jerk a moment later, panting and sweating. His chest, tight with anxiety, ached. He sat up, and pulled his knees up to his chest. Maybe that warning actually meant something. He thought over that second voice. He knew it, but he couldn't place it.