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"Please please please! Please stop! Please-" Memory found herself over and over in panicked mutterings. All around her, there were screaming as the people she grew up with were robbed, assaulted and killed. High pitched wails pierced her ears, and desperate cries stung as she ran. Her feet ached, her legs were sore, and sweat trickled down her face. Her once pristine white dress were now stained with grime, dirt and blood. Her shoes looked worn, despite her only first wearing them the day before. All around her, the foreigners that her people had taken in swung swords and clubs at the defenseless women and children. Their repulsive hands ran over the gold and treasures Memory's people held dear and slipped them into their filthy pockets.
Why, my dear, do you beg and pray for these horrors to stop? Nothing, absolutely nothing, will change if you don't make the change yourself!
Memory shook her head. The voice was speaking again. The voice, gravelly, deep and a strange mix of masculine and feminine, had been haunting Memory's mind for as long as she could remember. Whenever Memory failed at something, the voice whispered to her and told her to lie. Whenever Memory made a mistake, the voice whispered to her and told her to pin the blame on someone uninvolved. Whenever Memory cried, the voice whispered to her and told her to stop. Whenever Memory had a nightmare, the voice was always there. The only thing keeping the voice at bay was-
Something brushed past her face so closely that Memory could smell the rust upon its metallic body and feel the wind part before its bloody blade. Her panicked breath quickened along with her pace as a small whimper escaped her lips. She could hear some insane, immoral and maniacal laugh from somewhere behind her, and it scared her. Its sound was something that only the voice would produce, but it was so very real from a person with a body, not a disembodied voice hitching a ride within her head.
Exactly! You despise me, you despise me for saying the truth you've been running from all these years! Listen to the voices of these invaders who scorned your people's kindness, repaying them instead with blades of iron and storms of blood. Listen, and recognize me within them, and realize that I was right. Listen and realize that your faith is misplaced. Listen to their voices and the cries of those you hold dear as they are cut down. Listen, and tell me that I am wrong.
Memory was sobbing now. She wished she could deny the voice, but she can't help but simply listen to the carnage around her as she ducked into a house and hid behind some boxes, hugging her knees close to her chest. She could hear high pitched screams that cut off abruptly, sobbing and crying that were met with scorn, and familiar, vicious laughter as their luxuries were plundered and looted. The laughter was familiar because she heard it every time she had a nightmare. Every time the nightmare entailed carnage and bloodshed, she could hear the voice laughing in that same vicious laughter and she would wake in the middle of the night. She would wake in cold sweat and strangled sobs until her older brother came and soothed her back to sleep.
Ah...... Yes. That lovely brother of yours. Orpheus, wasn't it? I wonder if he would find you, cowering and shivering behind these boxes. I wonder if he would find you before the invaders did. I wonder if he would direct you to safety. I wonder if he would ever comfort you again. I wonder if he is one of those corpses laying outside this little house, while you hid and cried and did nothing. I wonder if he even died yet. Perhaps he is bleeding out after a defeat. I wonder if he was thinking of you in his final moments. I wonder-
"Stop......" Memory squeezed her eyes shut. "Please, just stop."
Then make me stop! Is cowering, hiding and crying all you can do? You desire for those foreigners, those scoundrels to stop, and yet you do nothing. You pray and beg for your beloved older brother to remain safe and sound, and yet you sat and continue to do nothing. Absolutely nothing would change if you continue to hide and be something even less than a spectator! Take up the power that are within your reach. Take it, and with it, save this beloved home and all you hold dear. Take it, and use it. Make a difference!
The Voice's words echoed in her ears and pounded along with her heartbeats and heavy breathing, which were so loud she barely noticed and loud thumpings of footsteps outside. She curled up against herself more, trembling with fear as the footsteps grew louder. The Voice increased in volume and urging the louder the footsteps grew, until it was screaming and yelling when the door broke down.
THIS IS THE LAST CHANCE! IF YOU CONTINUE TO DO NOTHING, EVERYTHING YOU LOVE AND CARE FOR WOULD DIE! AND IT WOULD BE YOUR FAULT! YOUR FAULT FOR STARING AT A POWER GREAT ENOUGH TO CHANGE THE TIDES AND STILL DO NOTHING, PARALYZED OUT OF FEAR!
DO SOMETHING AND MAKE A DIFFERENCE!
And with the voice, Memory screamed.
Orpheus was fighting for his life. He had barely done any sword practicing before this day. He preferred playing chess against his friends, writing out his fantasies and reading out existing works to his little sister, who loved them and would only be able to fall asleep with those as bedtime stories. Anyone else reading the same stories aloud simply wouldn't do. She told him that only he seemed to be able to keep the "Voice", as she called it, at bay.
In the beginning, he had thought the Voice was just a small fragment of his sister's imagination, but he knew better than to dismiss it. There is no better way to have a child hate (or at least, dislike) you than to dismiss their nightmares or dreams, even if you don't believe in them. However as time progressed, he came to notice that his sister described the Voice far too detailed and graphic. Its tone, its texture, its usual volume. She told Orpheus what the Voice hated, and some excerpts of what the Voice had said. They sounded so real that Orpheus started to doubt his previously firm belief of the Voice's existence.
Then, Orpheus began hearing a Voice himself, too.
It was different from the one his sister described. It was distinctly masculine, and it was not gravelly. It was smooth, and not so deep. It sounded more like Orpheus' own voice that when it first started speaking, Orpheus had mistaken it for his own inner voice. It had laughed, and informed him that although he had always been there, he was not Orpheus. Its attitude was very similar to Memory's Voice, although Orpheus found it was more playful and has a sense of humor compared to how Memory described hers, like how he learnt of the word "Nightmare" and loved it so much that he decided to adopt it as his name. That made him easier to live with, year round.
Currently, Nightmare was instructing Orpheus in his sloppy sword fighting. Nightmare's instructions proved useful, as he seemed to sense things beyond Orpheus' own interpretation. He seemed to be able to comprehend a change in a situation based on the slightest shift of the wind, and discern the future actions of enemies by their slightest movement. Orpheus didn't like to admit it much, but Nightmare was the only reason he was still alive.
Duck! Roll to the side and thrust your sword forward, it's not a dagger, it has reach. There's someone behind you hoping to crush your head, you may wish to avoid that. Oh dear, it seems they now outnumber you ten to one, you may consider fleeing.
Obeying Nightmare, Orpheus fled. His boots kicked up mud as his body followed Nightmare's instructions further, barely dodging projectiles and attacks on his escape. He wished he wasn't wearing the ceremonial armor, which was now dirtied and bloodstained. The armor helped protect him from projectiles and some of the worst wounds, but it was also terribly clumsy and heavy, and it wasn't built for practical use. It was, after all, ceremonial.
Veer left and keep going, there's a forest. It's easier to lose your pursuers there, also get rid of that armor. It's not going to do you any favors when you reach the forest. Wait for things to blow over before coming back. Or you can smuggle yourself onto their boats, it'd be rough if they found you out. This place is pretty much lost anyhow.
Orpheus turned a sharp left and ran according to Nightmare's instructions, heading to the forest, and filing the rest of his instructions in his mind later. He agreed with losing his pursuers in the forest, and with getting rid of his armor, but he wasn't sure he wanted to abandon his home. He did his best to push the thought into the back of his head (which earned a feeling of tired exasperation and annoyance, which Orpheus knew came from Nightmare) and focus on his current task. Nightmare kept calling out directions, occasionally screaming a single command when Orpheus came too close with dying.
Nightmare's analysis and suggestions for Orpheus' situation proved correct. The invaders ceased pursuit the moment Orpheus lost himself among the thick and numerous covers the forest provides, giving Orpheus much needed breathing room. He was suddenly all too aware of the roaring in his ears, his lungs gasping for air and his heart pounding against his chest like a marching band. He was suddenly aware of the true extent of his armor's weight, and the sword growing steadily heavier in his hand. Sweat trickled down the side of his head and body, mixing with blood that was a mix of his own and the invaders'. He heaved for breath, leaning against a tree, as the toll for his adrenaline powered escape sank in.
Orpheus heard a sigh echo around in his head, followed by Nightmare's voice, his tone resigned: You're not going to make a smart decision, aren't you? You're going to run after that sister of yours and die in the process.
"I am not going to die," Orpheus said, tone firm. Nightmare might live in his mind, but he could not read his thoughts, though he could still sense Orpheus' emotions. "And neither will I leave Memory to the invaders' mercy."
She's hardly at their mercy. You coddle her too much, honestly. The girl is more than capable of destroying every single one of those invaders and the island itself.
Orpheus froze. Nightmare said this in a casual tone, as if he didn't just suggest that Memory, Orpheus' sister, who had never lifted a blade in her entire life and always chose to flee from conflicts instead of facing it head on, was powerful enough to ruin the people destroying their home and their home along with it. Nightmare was suggesting that she had been able to do this all along, and Orpheus, the person closest to her, had never known.
She is perfectly capable of self defense, if it comforts you. Leave, lay low. If you die, I die with you, and I refuse to die because of your reckless stupidity.
"How?" Orpheus forced out. "How is she capable of all that, and I never noticing?"
My my, aren't you adorably clueless. Of course you noticed, only that it was under a name you would not associate with power. She had been telling you about it all these years. Use those little gears in your brain that generates stories and worlds beyond what you've known. What has she been plagued with all her life?
Orpheus felt his blood chill and the color drain from his face, "The Voice?"
Mhm, finally. "The Voice", as she loved to call it. As long as it stays within her, she would never come to die in such a tasteless situation. Of course, she would have to cave to "the Voice" first. She denies and despises its ideals. You've been delaying it for years, too, simply because she loves you, and that I've been assisting you, just to get on its nerves. "The Voice"'s victory would be inevitable, however. And this disaster provides just the perfect opportunity for it to finally shatter your sister's defenses and release great power. In fact, it's been pent and kept up for so long that when it releases...... That would result in permanent change to this island, and death upon those too weak to withstand.
"You told me when you first spoke. You were there within me from the beginning, but you are not me," Orpheus breathed. "The situation is the same for Memory, isn't it? 'The Voice' had been there since she was born, but it didn't speak until she could comprehend his words. He told her to lie, to deceive, and to corrupt. She resisted him. Then- When the Voice wins and releases that same great power, how-"
That depends on your sister's strength. Would she be able to withstand its might and escape with shreds of her mind, reduced to the same state that it once were within her? Or would she be completely destroyed? Her body would be her own, but her mind no more and soul ascended. That was always the way "the Voice" operated, terribly careless and sloppy. That's how its hosts almost always never last long. I have to put up with its complaining, you know. The two of us are bound for eternity, we would always wound up finding one another, and having to put up with one another. Very annoying, having to listen to it complain about its hosts never lasting long enough when it was its fault to begin with.
"So she would die? Her mind- gone? What- What are you? And 'the Voice'? Who-" Orpheus sat up abruptly, grabbing his sword.
You'll never make it in time. I can feel it, she's close to caving. She's been hurt, she doesn't know whether you're alive. And oh, its winning alright. That bastard always find a way to win over its hosts. Unless of course, you let me help you.
"And why would I? You are the same as 'the Voice'. My mind would likely be shredded the way 'the Voice' would shred Memory's"
That is because I operate differently from it! Think! She always told you it kept forcing her to do things she didn't want to, touching on her fears and using them against her. When have I ever done that to you? I just live in the back of your head, enjoying whatever your pitiful senses and emotions show me, while being tied to your life force, so I have to care about your well-being too! And you have no choice. She's hiding in a house, with invaders creeping close. She's going to cave and she's going to ruin everyone and everything. You will never make it in time without my help.
Nightmare sounded angry and indignant at Orpheus' doubt, his voice rising in volume and getting heated. If Nightmare was out there, by Orpheus' side physically, Orpheus had a feeling that Nightmare would be glaring at him. Everything Orpheus knew at that moment was based on Nightmare's willingness to share information. He could be deceiving him, and that is how Nightmare wins over his hosts. "The Voice" overpowers them, and Nightmare tricks them into giving up willingly.
But Orpheus could tell that Nightmare was speaking some truths in his dialogues. He wasn't lying about the nature of "the Voice", Orpheus knew that for sure. But the rest of them? Should Orpheus take the risk of losing his free will, but in return, save his sister from the same fate?
"Do it."
And that, my friend, is the right decision.
The next time Orpheus opened his mouth, it wasn't a mouth anymore. It was a golden-bronze beak attached to what seemed like a mask of one of those doctors who treats illnesses, except the mask was not only a mask, it was the face. It could not be taken off at will. A pair of bright, piercing purple eyes peeked out from underneath the mask. Orpheus had grew in size, at least half taller than his old self, and much wider, like a towering beast that terrorizes towns. His hair turned pitch black, long and thick. It flowed down his back, its ends being bright lava-like orange that seemed to glow. His hands and arms changed, looking charred, with his right hand curling into large, pointed claws glowing like his hair.
That was not Orpheus anymore, that was Nightmare, who stretched and grinned (Well, what passed for grinning with that beak). He then let out an elated laugh, vaguely aware of a familiar voice nesting at the back of his head.
Go! Help my sister!
"Relax~" Nightmare tilted his head. "Finally being outside in decades, let me relish it before something goes wrong majorly, will you? Fate never lets things ever go according to plan." Orpheus began to protest and Nightmare sighed. He flexed his claws, and a crow formed on top of it. He whispered something unintelligible in a tongue lost to man, and the crow flew off in a straight line, phasing through trees and any obstacles. Nightmare counted. One... Two... Three... A distant caw found its way into his ears, and he knew his crow had found its target. He then dissolved into a cloud of feathers, reassembling from the same cloud of feathers several metres outside a door from a house besieged by several invaders.
A desperate scream tore its way through the windows, shattering them, and reaching Nightmare's ears. He tensed, as Orpheus' alarm grew in a sudden spike. A different, yet familiar presence could be felt within the house. "The Voice" had won.
Memory screamed, the fragile glass windows of the house shattering into thousands of glistening daggers. She could hear the Voice, no longer confined to the prison of her mind. It was laughing, and laughing, and laughing. It chortled, it snorted, and it giggled. It was smiling, Memory could feel it, and she knew she made a horrible mistake.
"Free! Oh dear, dear Memory. Thank you. Free, at last! I can feel those pitiful, foolish invaders drunk on their power. Oh, the sweet scent of their fear. I can feel it. They try to run, but they will never make it. They will never ever make it out of this island. Thank you, my dear, for making this possible."
Black vines shot out from where Memory was curled up. They snaked across the floor in blinding speed, consuming the glass shards and crushing any furniture in its path, as if they were made of parchment and not wood and stone. They tore through the shattered windows and cracks between stone bricks, up and entangling itself around the legs of the invaders trying to flee. There were no pain as they swung and battered at the vines. They were thick, and their thorns dug into their flesh, trickles of blood running down their thighs. Their mouths moved to form desperate pleas and cries of alarm, which were silenced as they began to cough up dainty, white flowers. The flowers did not stay white for long, as the same black vines followed and its petals were dyed bloody red.
Soon, the invaders stopped their struggles, and they lips parted to a halt. Yet, still, they stood, their frame supported by black, thorny vines that entangled their limbs and torso. The vines were already blooming with small, dainty white flowers, decorating the immortalized moments of these people's deaths. The vines didn't stop there, though, it continued slithering past the house. It slipped into different houses and suffocated the grass. It fed from the blood and thrived with increased vigor. It fed on the terror, the greed and the euphoria, and consumed them. It brought down saints and fiends, the holy and the unholy, with no discrimination.
It was a whirlwind of blood and massacre. The vines snuffed out hundreds, one after another. Some it squeezed to death, others bled out from the thorns, and some, like its first victims, coughed up flowers that were followed by thorns. They wrapped around trees, shrines and buildings. You could barely see anything green. Only black and white, of thorns and flowers, of death and life, slowly turning red.
And in the center of it all, a nameless creature was laughing in a body that was not her own. And inside this creature, laid a young girl tormented by lies and mistakes.
Nightmare could see the vines wrapping itself around anything it could touch, be it living or death. Annoyingly, that included him. The vines wrapped around his boots and snaked up, instinctively being drawn to his power. At its base, little white flowers bloomed where the vines were the thickest and hardest to kill. Its thorns pierced into his boots, but no blood ran out. All it felt were leather, feathers, and bone. Good, this body was more compatible than Nightmare thought it was.
The vines reached up and bound his arms. Nightmare could feel Orpheus' panic and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Her power was only so great because she was trapped for years. She yearned for escape, and so does the power that she holds. Of course they unleashed such untamed destruction. For literally any other time after the initial burst, Nightmare could defeat her, no problems. He had always been the more powerful one that she refused to yield to.
Before the vines got close to his face, tendrils of fire curled around his body, dancing around the vines. The vines and flowers let out a piercing shriek as it crumbled into ash, turning even darker, but losing its strength. Plantlife usually never hold well against fires, especially ones suppressed for eons in an abyss that snuffs out light, longing and waiting to be unleashed, to die in a giant burst of golden glory. They were much familiar to the spirit wreaking destruction across this once-paradise in this regard.
Scowling, Nightmare found himself in a sole circle of fine, dark ash, surrounded by other vines slowly edging away from him. They tried, though, slowly reaching out then swiftly jerking backwards when embers landed upon them. The vines writhed and hissed the more he approached them, and he found himself grinning at their instinctive fear and apprehension. If only their mistress were as sensible.
"You've made quite a show!" Nightmare carried cheer in his voice as he pushed aside the ajar door, the girl curled up in the corner entering his sight. She looked very different from the girl in Orpheus' memories, though she still shared her frame. Instead of soft, golden blonde hair, her hair was a sickly, dark brown. Instead of healthy, fair skin, they were now bleached and pale. Her golden eyes became a single dark and sunken one. Her dress, which was one a brilliant and radiant white with gold, were now wrinkled and dried, and darker than the darkest of withered flowers.
"You!" 'Memory' hissed, small fingers curled around her wrinkled and withered dress as her sunken complexion proved no obstacle to express immense distaste. The way 'Memory' held herself was different from the original Memory, too. 'Memory' stood straight and her body was tense, while the original Memory would curl up and make herself seem like a smaller target while cowering.
"Me," Nightmare cocked his head. "You've grown smaller, more angry, too. Ah, that is to be expected. You're always cranky, from sunrise to sunset, moonrise to moonset. Did you miss me? How great of a fight did that little girl put up?"
"You know how great of a fight she put up! I know you were helping her! You are still helping her! I know you are!" 'Memory' shrieked shrilly, pointing a a finger at Nightmare accusingly. "Every single thing of misery I felt, you were behind it! You, a thieving, scheming cowardly scum! What's worse, you stop me from attaining the true immortality I yearned for, you tied yourself to me!"
"You certainly have a rather overinflated image of yourself," Nightmare replied calmly, "To believe with such certainty that I chose to tie myself to you. That I wanted to be tied with you. Believe me, I would be just as glad as you are to be rid of this accursed life."
"And why should I believe you?! You're always lying! Like when you promised that you would help me when I was in the deepest depths of despair, or when you swore up and down that you'd-"
"Let's stop here, shall we?" Nightmare interrupted as he began cleaning his claws. "Our dear hosts here didn't agree to your meaningless and utterly biased trauma-dumping. Orpheus here certainly didn't, and I would bet good coin that neither did Memory." He could sense 'Memory''s burning gaze of hatred as he fixed his own upon his claws, flickering and glowing like soft embers.
"Well, Ana. I did promise my host some help concerning your host," Nightmare began after he was done. 'Memory' -- or rather, Ana -- flinched at the sound of her name, spoken and tossed around ever so carelessly. There was a time where the free use of one's name, tossed and spoken where anyone may have the ability to listen in, were fatal. Ana had never quite grown out of that shadow, Nightmare noted, and she did not plan to do so for many years to come.
"You have no right- She's mine!" Ana snarled, and revealed fangs that were disturbingly white. "My host! Mine! Ani, if you do, you are breaking a sacred rule-"
"Oh, grow up," Nightmare flicked his hand towards his right, causing a flickering ember to land on more vines, which happened to be highly flammable. "Sacred rules? They have no power. An Immortal shall not end another of their kin. Didn't stop our dear lady Succubus from ending our poor lady Architect now, did it? I don't see her being stripped of her status. And frankly, you should know, I do not care for immortality if it meant jumping from host to host, stuck and tied to you, for all eternity, with my freedom being a mere shell of my former life's? Why, I thought you knew better! You are my sister, after all!"
"Not anymore!" Stamping her foot, Ana sent vines shooting towards Nightmare. They wrapped themselves around his torso, his arms, his legs. Its tails and tongues tauntingly dancing around his face as its thorns pierced into his body and its white flowers blossoming all over. They then squeezed, its vines digging in deeper and deeper until Nightmare noted that he could actually feel pain, and only then was it a mere annoyance.
"Really?" Fire erupted along the vines around his torso, and ran across to the ones across his arms. They burnt until even the thorns that were stuck in his side were gone, reduced to ashes. He sent an unimpressed look towards Ana. "You know my power over fire trumps yours over your precious vines. Why try?"
"Because I hate you, that's why!"
"Over a thousand year old misunderstanding? My, you have not matured at all, haven't you?"
"Stop mocking me!"
"I know for a fact you've been whispering sweet honeyed words coated expertfully in sugar and milk into dear Memory's mind. What happened to that composure? That poise? That cold calculating concerns disguised as empathy? Do you lose them all, being in the mere presence of me, simply because of misguided fury?"
"YOU-"
Nightmare? What- You called her Ana? She called you Ani- Just what are you and is it wise to provoke her?
"Just relax," Nightmare mumbled out the side of his mouth, his voice too low and soft to be heard by the fuming Ana. "I need her to let her guard down if your sister ever hope to get out of this with her mind intact. She's fading." He paused. "As for the names, that is a tale for another day. Be silent, now." He could tell Orpheus was reluctant to oblige, but his host was in no position to argue. Best he could do was wait, be obedient, and get on Nightmare's good graces, and maybe his sister can be saved from a situation that he barely knew anything about.
Nightmare recalled a fictious book about immortals that he read once. One particular detail of the plot and world within the book stood out to him: That gods are doomed to repeat history, merely through different mediums and names. Only humans have the creativity needed to break out of cycles and start something anew. Nightmare found it painfully similar to the predicament that he was trapped in, and how it seemed to apply to most True Immortals that he'd met, unfortunately, that includes his dear sister. On the bright side, that meant that she was just as prone to fall the same way she fell many many times over by Nightmare's own hands in history.
'Only humans have the creativity needed to break out of cycles and start something anew.' And yet, perhaps...... A wild idea began to take root and bloom within Nightmare's mind, he didn't dwell on it much, however. For it to succeed, Ana first needed to go.
Ana flung more vines at Nightmare, who swatted them aside as he set them ablaze with ease. The flowers withered like dying butterflies as their master grew more and more frustrated, her attacks becoming clumsier. Vines started missing more often than they hit, thorns were so focused on digging into Nightmare's flesh that they often did not realize the vines they clung to had long since crumbled, and soon died and crumbled along with them too. Before long, Nightmare placed a single, glowing claw on one of Ana's shoulders, tilting his head sideways as said claw started to smoke.
"Leave, go back to sleep. It'll be for the better," Nightmare started to speak, and trudged on despite Ana's attempt to interrupt. "Let the girl come before I'm forced to kill her in order to imprison you. You cannot win this battle. Against me, you will fall, it is inevitable. Give up." He repeated the lines, over and over, tone shifting until it was gentle, like a mother coaxing a baby to sleep with a lullaby. He willed for a fire to start, but not spread, so it was more a hearth than a catastrophe. Ana struggled, at first, but Nightmare won. He always did, and Ana would go back to sleep, until their next pair comes along, or if her host desired her power. Nightmare would stay in control as he sought out his immortal friends and pursue some hobby. It has happened many many times before.
'Only humans have the creativity needed to break out of cycles and start something anew.'
Perhaps...... This little experiment wouldn't hurt. It would only last until the end of Orpheus' lifespan.
Ana was asleep now, and Memory was too, but after some time, Memory would be the one to wake. And Orpheus would be the one to receive her, not Nightmare.
And so, Nightmare spoke, "You want your body back?"
You are willing?
"Oh please, I am not that despicable of a person. I leave that title for my dear sister, whom I've just coaxed out of your sister. Be glad."
But why?
"I'm bored, is all. Do you want your body back or no?"
Of course I want it back, it's just a little hard to believe.
"Don't be accustomed to this behavior, this shall be the only time that this will happen. Your home's still pretty much dead, though. Don't you notice how quiet it is outside? You may want to steal a boat and carry on some voyage of discovery. There is nothing left for you here."
Maybe I will, I'll need to ask Memory first. Would she wake?
"She will, she's just very tired. If she's not, she's not human. Easy as that."
Nightmare thought he heard Orpheus snort, and smiled. He sat down, relaxing, and before long, he found the room to be larger than it previously was, his breathing was more labored, and his limbs felt more agile. His body won't answer to his commands, and he felt himself flexing his fingers and crawling towards the girl crumpled in the corner. Orpheus was in control alright. And perhaps, maybe this time...... Things could change. It depended on what kind of person Orpheus was, but honestly, after spending so much time in that man's head, Nightmare wouldn't be surprised if he pulled a stunt like ascending to Immortality without Nightmare interfering.
He had hope for the future.