Chapter 135 “The End of the Dreamland”

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The mound of quivering flesh, singed and scorched by the inferno Duncan had unleashed, began its ominous journey. Initially, it seemed to struggle with locomotion, inching forward in a laborious manner that defied easy description. However, as if gaining momentum from some unseen force, it accelerated swiftly, scuttling across the cobblestone street until it reached the end. It was there that the fleshy mass dematerialized, vanishing in a sudden burst of ethereal smoke as if an invisible, magical gateway had swallowed it.

This once-sentient entity, which had long relinquished its capacity for cognition, seemed intent on returning to whatever mysterious source had birthed it. Duncan found himself contemplating the creature’s future course—whether it would merge back into a larger, more potent form or perhaps disintegrate, its life force extinguished like a snuffed-out candle. Alternatively, it could be seized and nullified by some unknown, intervening power. In a reality distorted by inexplicable phenomena, Duncan had no choice but to manage the known dangers as best he could.

During the chaotic encounter with the mysterious figure wielding a black umbrella—a battle that had caught Shirley in its whirlwind—Duncan had been grappling to uncover the origins of this peculiar aggressor that had materialized in their nightmarish reality. His decision to employ his flame against it had been part calculated experiment, part probing test. The inference he drew was that their attacker was not a complete being, but a fragmentary existence, a “Pathfinder” in his dictionary. This reconnaissance agent, Duncan suspected, was a scout from a more menacing adversary.

Duncan’s eyes narrowed as he peered into the gloom where the fleshy entity had vanished. It had become glaringly obvious that their assailant was not only better acquainted with the labyrinthine landscapes of this dream-like realm, but also had far more adept ways of traversing its perplexing terrains. This, he deduced, was how the man with the umbrella had managed to close the distance between them with such unnerving swiftness, catching Duncan off guard.

By contrast, Duncan, Shirley, and their canine companion, Dog, were much like bewildered wanderers, navigating the strange terrain with the stumbling ineptitude of neophytes. In such circumstances, pursuing a shadowy entity adept at cloaking its movements was a colossal feat, almost insurmountable.

Nevertheless, Duncan had ignited a metaphorical and literal fire, and through a mysterious, almost ethereal connection he felt with the flames, he was certain that they would eventually guide him to some revelatory information, or perhaps even the elusive entity itself. By then, he hoped, both Nina and Shirley would be liberated from their tormenting nocturnal visions.

“Mr. Duncan…” Shirley’s voice cut through the silence, tinged with a mix of confusion and dread. “Do you know what that thing was? The one wielding the black umbrella?”

Pausing to collect his thoughts, Duncan shook his head initially. Yet, as he surveyed the streets now aglow with flickering green firelight, a flash of recollection surged through his consciousness. “I can’t say for sure, but remember the figure I mentioned? The one lingering at the outskirts of the museum square?”

“The one that only you could see?” Shirley’s eyes widened with immediate recognition. “You think the attacker could be the same entity?”

“I can’t confirm their identities are the same,” Duncan responded, shaking his head with a hint of skepticism. “But they bear striking similarities. My suspicion is that both are linked to a cult devoted to worshipping the Sun God. The involvement of fire in both instances makes it an eerie coincidence too significant to ignore.”

“It’s related to those cultists?” Shirley’s eyes widened, her irises reflecting a dawning realization mixed with a swirl of trepidation. “Are you suggesting that this entity could be what those cultists cryptically refer to as the ‘Sun Heir’?”

Duncan exhaled softly, his eyes narrowing as he weighed his next words carefully. “While we lack definitive evidence to substantiate that claim, it’s a hypothesis we can’t afford to ignore. Yet, what concerns me more immediately is understanding why this entity has chosen to infiltrate both yours and Nina’s dreams. What’s the nexus between this museum site—this hallucinogenic dreamscape—and your individual nightmares?”

His gaze drifted away, settling on a looming structure in the distance—a towering edifice devoted to water distillation. Nina was not yet discernible at its summit, but an inexplicable surge of intuition welled up within him, prompting him to suspect that this tower was the very spire that featured so prominently in Nina’s recurring dream.

“Can we really call this Nina’s dream?” Shirley’s voice quivered slightly as she took in the surreality of the landscape around her, her expression a complex tapestry of wonder, skepticism, and disbelief. “How can you be so certain?”

“Nina recounted this particular dream to me in great detail,” Duncan elucidated, sweeping his arm toward the towering structure that commanded their attention. “She spoke of standing atop the tallest distillation tower, her gaze sweeping across a city ravaged by fire. Interestingly, this site is merely two blocks away from the ramshackle hut that persists in your own nightmares. Although I can’t yet fathom the reason, it’s unequivocal that your dream realms are inexplicably interconnected.”

Just as Shirley was gathering her thoughts to articulate another question, Dog suddenly erupted with an animated yelp. “Hey Shirley, check it out! The umbrella that guy was using—it’s still there!”

Both Shirley and Duncan swiveled their heads in unison, their eyes following Dog’s eagerly pointing paw. There, partially obscured by the street’s shadows, lay a forsaken black umbrella.

During the adrenaline-fueled chaos of their earlier confrontation, they had been so fixated on the mysterious attacker that they had utterly neglected to notice this potentially crucial piece of evidence.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Duncan strode over to inspect the umbrella more meticulously. As his fingers deftly navigated its mechanical intricacies, he couldn’t help but emit a startled, bewildered exclamation: “What in the world…?”

His imagination had concocted a myriad of possible revelations: he had expected perhaps an occult artifact daubed with grotesque runes or an object saturated with malevolent energies. Yet, what lay before him shattered every preconceived notion.

The umbrella’s interior was etched with an intricately complex framework of hexagonal lattices, strikingly similar to the most advanced solar panels. The handle fused into its core was astonishingly unlike any technology he had encountered, even in the most fanciful of science fiction literature. It was an amalgamation of technological prowess so far removed from the capabilities of current engineering—beyond steam engines, beyond even the most cutting-edge of modern inventions—that it could only be equated with a level of advancement bordering on space-age science.

Duncan remained frozen in awe, grappling with the implications. This artifact originated from a civilization that transcended the technological paradigms of contemporary society.

“What is this?” Shirley inched closer, peering with rapt attention at the umbrella’s mind-boggling inner architecture. Her expression morphed into one of awe mingled with utter confusion. With her limited experiential framework—devoid of Duncan’s cross-worldly perspective—she found the object’s design unfathomable. Tentatively, almost reverently, she extended her hand toward it. “It looks like it could be…”

“Don’t touch it!” Dog’s voice reverberated with an unprecedented sense of urgency, causing Shirley to halt her movement abruptly. “That object reeks of sacrilege.”

A perplexed frown settled on Shirley’s face. “Sacrilegious artifact? What does that even mean?”

“In simple terms, think of it as a forbidden relic—an anomaly that defies the natural laws of history and reality,” Dog whispered, his tone saturated with an unsettling seriousness that was rarely heard from him. “I can’t offer you a comprehensive explanation because I myself am grappling with its intricacies. However, be warned that some facets of our world’s history have been ‘sealed’ for a reason. This object embodies the essence of what lies behind those forbidden seals. Its mere existence could wreak havoc in the physical world, so I implore you, don’t touch it!”

Hearing the admonition, Shirley hastily withdrew her outstretched hand, the sudden movement betraying her startled disposition.

“Is this some type of knowledge exclusive to shadow demons?” Duncan probed, his voice tinged with intellectual curiosity.

“Somewhat,” Dog responded, his muzzle moving from side to side in a canine approximation of a shake of the head. “Not every shadow demon possesses this awareness. My proximity to the essence of the Nether Lord at my creation has granted me an expanded field of understanding.”

Duncan issued a noncommittal hum, his eyes still riveted to the enigmatic black umbrella. As they watched, the object began to undergo an unsettling transformation—it started disintegrating right in front of them.

The once-detailed hexagonal lattice faded, its solidity giving way to translucence. The skeletal structure and wiring that had given the device its form disintegrated into ashy fragments, vanishing under the subtle caress of an errant breeze. The object’s core, a technological marvel beyond comprehension, seemed to melt, wax-like, into nothingness. However, just before it vanished entirely, Duncan discerned some inscriptions on what was left of the handle.

Though neither rendered in a script nor in a language familiar to him, the meaning became inexplicably clear in his mind: “K-22 spectral filtering nuclei.” The next instant, the residual substance that had once been the umbrella disintegrated into fine dust, spiraling away in the wind.

“What’s happening—MY HAND!” Shirley’s voice laced with panic, shattered the eerie quietude.

Duncan’s eyes snapped to her, only to find her body undergoing a surreal transformation—it was fading, becoming translucent and wavy as if refracted through disturbed water.

Shirley’s voice quivered as she stammered, “He-Hel-Help—”

“Spare us the theatrics!” Dog interjected, cutting through her rising alarm. “You’re awakening, Shirley, and for the first time, you’re transitioning naturally from this dream to reality. Attribute that to Mr. Duncan’s endeavors.”

Comprehension washed over Shirley’s features, replacing her initial shock. She noticed Duncan, too, was slowly fading, his form dissolving into translucency.

Smiling, Duncan lifted his hand in a casual wave. “Good night and good morning, Shirley. Make sure to wake Nina up for breakfast; she tends to oversleep.”

With those parting words, the boundaries of the dream realm started to blur, its tangibility disintegrating, heralding their impending reentry into the realm of wakefulness.

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