Chapter 133: “The Strange Shadow”
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Duncan was no expert in the supernatural or metaphysical, including dreams or spirituality, but his intuition told him that what was unfolding on this eerie street was more than just a replication of Shirley’s dream. As he stood amidst the soft but distinct murmurs emanating from the piles of ashes, a sense of déjà vu stirred within him. This scene evoked memories of a factory fire eleven years ago, where many were incinerated, their remains obscured by thick smoke and fire.
The ashes from that factory did not cry for help like these; instead, they communicated a vivid, unspoken echo of that tragic event. Duncan instinctively felt a connection between the ashes in Shirley’s dream on this haunted street and those he had encountered in the ill-fated factory years ago.
Surveying their surroundings, Duncan noted the dim, flickering red light casting an eerie glow, making the street resemble the aftermath of a cataclysmic fire. Ashes piled everywhere, embers and dust particles drifted through the air, and dark shadows seemed permanently etched onto nearby walls.
Turning to Shirley, Duncan whispered, “When you experienced this eleven years ago, you were only six. It’s unlikely you could have absorbed enough information back then to construct such a complex and vivid dream—especially one involving ashes pleading for help and immense, illusionary landscapes in the distance.” His soothing voice offered some comfort to the visibly disturbed Shirley.
Shirley looked up at Duncan, noting his presence beside her. The Duncan she saw here differed vastly from the one in her waking life. In this dream, he appeared as a solemn and commanding ship captain, exuding an intimidating air of authority. Even without possessing the “true vision” that Dog had, she felt a palpable pressure emanating from him. Yet, amidst this unsettling nightmare, Duncan’s powerful presence provided comfort, assuring her that he was on her side for now.
“Let’s proceed further to explore the extent of this dream,” Duncan suddenly announced, jolting Shirley from her thoughts. She quickly grabbed hold of Dog and followed him.
They continued down the ash-laden, ember-strewn street, accompanied by the whispered pleas from the piles of ashes, heading toward a cluster of unstable, shadowy buildings in the distance. Despite walking for what seemed like a long time, Duncan noticed the scenery remained consistent. There were no additional distorted illusions, nor did the environment become more bizarre or menacing, unlike what Dog had described as “dangerous dream creations.”
Abruptly, Duncan stopped, his brow furrowed in concentration or concern.
“Mr. Duncan?” Shirley asked, her voice tinged with curiosity, “Have you observed something new?”
“How far have we come from the starting point?” Duncan asked, trying to glimpse back at their path. The building where they started had vanished, swallowed by the swirling haze of red mist.
“The starting point?” Shirley paused, puzzled. “Ah, the room where this dream originated? We’ve walked at least half a city block.”
“Shirley, something isn’t adding up,” Dog interrupted, its voice urgent as it peered into the fog. “We should stop and think this through.”
Confused, Shirley asked, “What are you concerned about?”
“Dreams are built around a core anchor, which in your case is the room where your dream began,” Dog explained hurriedly. “All your emotions, experiences, and memories are tethered to that room. Beyond it, the dream creates imaginative, sometimes distorted landscapes. The farther we move from your room, the anchor, the more unpredictable and hazardous the dream landscape should become. We could encounter bizarre obstacles or cliffs and abysses where the dream structure breaks down. However, we’ve come this far, and the environment remains strangely stable.”
Duncan nodded slowly, finding Dog’s explanation resonating with his instincts, which subtly signaled something was off.
Shirley’s eyes widened in realization. She took a deep breath before speaking. “So you’re saying we should be in an area of my dream that’s either highly distorted or just a formless void. Where does that leave us? Is this even my dream anymore?”
No one had an immediate answer to Shirley’s pressing questions. Duncan stood still, scanning the surroundings with a thoughtful expression.
He took in the apocalyptic landscape—streets burnt to cinders, buildings reduced to ruins. The city appeared as a catastrophic fire had scorched it into a terrible scar extending as far as he could see.
Turning his gaze, Duncan saw looming buildings in the distance, including a distillation tower of a factory piercing through the hazy smoke. Its labyrinthine network of pipes and skeletal frame resembled a grotesque mountain peak.
For a moment, Duncan was captivated by the sight of the towering structure, musing that from its summit, one might oversee the entire devastated landscape.
A memory suddenly crystallized in his mind, arresting his gaze. He recalled an image Nina once described: from a high vantage point, overlooking a fire-scarred city with streets like twisted veins. The description was unsettlingly similar to the vista before him, and Duncan felt a shiver of real uncertainty.
The scene struck Duncan with a jolt of recognition. This was the tableau Nina described from her dream, except he was experiencing it from a different angle. A startling hypothesis surged into Duncan’s consciousness. Without hesitation, he pivoted to Shirley. “I believe we’ve crossed into another person’s dream world.”
“Another dream?” Shirley’s eyes widened in surprise. “Whose dream could this be?”
“Nina’s,” Duncan replied tersely. “Follow me.” He set off briskly toward the distillation tower.
He decided not to summon Ai, his dove, for swift transportation through this dream. He was unsure if Ai could traverse dream worlds and needed Ai in the waking world to guard against external supernatural forces.
The distillation tower was not far, housed within a neighboring factory, accessible via a straight, narrow alley. Shirley followed closely, her mind churning with questions about stepping into Nina’s dream world. Duncan moved purposefully, his eyes flicking up to the tower’s summit.
He reasoned that if this were Nina’s dream, her figure would be at the apex—the tallest structure and a prime vantage point over the charred landscape.
As they neared the factory, Duncan saw no sign of Nina atop the tower. His thoughts began to cloud with doubt.
Just as he was about to speculate further, he felt a sharp, penetrating gaze lock onto him. He stopped, following the source of this unsettling sensation with his eyes.
At the alley’s far corner stood a tall, slender figure in a long black coat, holding an oversized black umbrella. In this dreamscape scarred by a devastating fire, amid drifting embers and ash-strewn streets, the umbrella-toting figure felt incongruously out of place.
Duncan wasn’t the only one who sensed the presence; Shirley too stopped abruptly, her eyes locking onto the mysterious figure.
“Look, there’s someone there!” Shirley blurted in surprise.
“You see it too?” Duncan shot back. A strange, guttural murmuring reached their ears from the mysterious figure.
The utterance was unlike any language Duncan had encountered. Its convoluted, oscillating timbre and layered reverberations made him question its classification as a language. Nevertheless, within those peculiar vibrations, he sensed a nuance of surprise—astonishment.
It was as if the umbrella-wielding stranger was caught off guard, not expecting unsolicited visitors in this isolated, smoldering landscape.
As the murmur died, the mysterious figure erupted into sudden movement. Duncan couldn’t discern specific actions, but his sharp peripheral vision detected formless figures—mere shadows—bursting from beneath the stranger’s long coat. These shadow entities glided over charred walls and fire-scarred streets like wraiths.
The umbrella-wielding figure vanished, only to reappear in the next heartbeat, utilizing the advancing shadows as conduits. He appeared abruptly before Shirley with unsettling immediacy.
Shirley, already a step ahead, reacted with reflexes sharpened through her deep, symbiotic connection with her dark hound. Just as the figure seemed poised to strike, she thrust her right hand upward.
“Acting first is always the right choice, you bastard!”
Her words rang out, tinged with adrenaline and exhilaration. In her hand, a pitch-black chain rattled menacingly. With a swift motion, she swung it forward, aiming at the interloper.
The chain, reflecting no light, whipped through the air with a guttural growl, echoing her sentiment of decisive action. It cut through the haze of smoldering embers and ash like a dark blade, lunging straight for the perplexing, umbrella-carrying figure.
“meteor hammer of doggy death” lmao
Thanks for the chapter.. lol
I really am beginning to see Amon flashbacks…
Comparing this umbrella chump with Amon is borderline insulting for Amon.
Nothing about this enemy is yet revealed. How are you already seeing Amon flashbacks?
they are making too many assumptions on how dreams are supposed to work
This world seems to follow the standard mystical concepts that we would expect in our reality. Many of the phenomena are agreeable to my understanding of fiction.
Also, as mentioned multiple times, Dog has innate knowledge of these fields.