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Hob was staring at the copy of the Will that had been emailed to him, and took a slow, deep breath through his nose. His skin was crawling, and a familiar, all too comforting rage was settling over his shoulders that had him wanting to rip apart all the people involved with his bare hands. But wasn't enough, and there was no one left to fight, no one left to take vengeance on, and what's more, he was not even certain that Dream would want him to.
Sending off a perfunctory response to the lawyer, Hob quickly sent an email to his boss, informing her that he would be taking a leave of absence due to a death in the family for some time to sort matters. He left a note for Matthew (Dream would reach out to him directly if he worried), and informed his staff at the New Inn that he would be gone for at least a couple of weeks.
Whatever they saw in his face made sure they did not ask questions.
Tempting as it was to pile gasoline in his car to torch the place to the ground, several times over, this required more planning, and more finesse. It required money, and if there was one thing Hob had always made sure to have after the sixteen hundreds, it was money, in every bank that he could ever need, with dozens of identities to go with it.
The rage carried him all the way to Switzerland, to a meeting with a bank manager who was too sharp-eyed and shrewd to not know that he was more than met the eye. Hob didn't mince words, and he walked out of the bank on the hunt. The warnings had been issued and anyone thinking about interfering would know that someone with more money and influence than they could ever hope to have was on the warpath and no one, not a single person was going to get in his way.
First. The will.
He left the tracing to his lawyers, informed them of what he wanted in short, perfunctory discussions, made price no object, and let them loose. It took less than three days for all the other recipients of the will to turn over anything they had been gifted, paid above and beyond what any of the objects were worth. Hob kept what had value, even perceived value, and destroyed the rest.
Second. The legacy.
Hob took a sickening amount of pleasure in tracking down all of the little cells that the Magus had inspired over the years, that he might have taught the same spells to. He was ruthless, brutal, and he did not hesitate to tear all of it down, leaving nothing but death and promises of more should they arise again in his wake. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dream, more than once, but for whatever reason, his lover stayed away, which was just as well. He would know what this was about, what this was for, once he was done.
Third. The house.
Arriving at Fawney Rig, Hob stared at the front door of the property and everything within that he now owned, that belonged to him in name and deed, that was his to do with as he saw fit. The house was abandoned, the staff let go (with generous bonuses for those who had known nothing, and retribution in the form of a life ruined for those that had known and had helped), but it still stood, a monument to Dream's captivity.
The air beside him rippled and Hob tensed, a shiver running up his spine. He glanced to the side, and the man standing there wasn't one he recognized, but the presence? That he did recognize. "Who are you?"
"You've invoked me for days in his name. You've carved a path and burnt the earth and all of it has led you here. Why?"
Hob turned back to the house in front of him. He clenched his hands into fists and shoved open the door. "I'll show you," he answered, his jaw tight. The sledgehammer he'd left in the entryway was there and he picked it up, bringing it with him. "By all reckonings, this house no longer has a basement, it's as though it never existed, but I've been through enough life that finding the original architectural drawings was not hard."
He stopped in front of a paneled wall that was clearly new and hefted the sledgehammer, glaring at the wall before he swung, breaking into what was clearly an entrance staircase. Hob swung, again and again, tearing down the fake paneling, paint over a cancerous mold in the house. He stepped under the broken wood and looked to the Endless, because what else could he be, behind him. "Come," he ordered.
Hob pulled the flashlight out of his back pocket, but there was a glow at the base of the staircase that told him despite the room being sealed, what remained still remained. He walked down the stairs, holding the sledgehammer easily, until he reached the bottom, and the shattered glass and iron globe from Dream's worst memories were in front of them both. The rage was comforting now, almost quiet, as he stared at it, and now he could feel the echoing sentiment in the person next to him.
"For more than one hundred years," Hob started, stepping closer. "He was trapped here. Trapped, and never said a word, silent, until he managed his escape." Tears burned in his eyes, but he would not cry, that softness would be saved for when he was done and any memory of this place had been destroyed. "For one hundred years, he was left. Without food, without air, without any hope, even."
Hob brought the sledgehammer down on the yellowing paint with a snarl, watching the rock smash to pieces under the effort. He would destroy every single piece of evidence and then still more. "You asked me why I have burned my way here," he breathed, his shoulders heaving. "Look at, look at this cage, and tell me, no matter what you are, that you would not do all I have done and yet still more in his name!"
Hob watched the man, his eyes glittering with the same kind of rage that burned through him, stepped closer and into the unnatural light given off by the shattered globe. "He didn't feel as though he could go to any of you for help! He didn't want to risk you being trapped, and he wanted his vengeance against those who chained him! Try to tell me that I am wrong for-"
"You are not wrong."
Hob inhaled shakily, glaring at the man. "Fucking right I'm not." When the man smiled, Hob smirked back and could feel the pain from clenching his teeth as hard as he was. "You going to help me?"
"No." He shook his head. "This is your retribution, as closure for both. I will interfere no further." He paused and twisted his hands and handed a small hammer to the human.
Hob took it and settled it into his hand, and felt the age of it, breathing slowly as he stared at it. "What is this?"
Destruction smiled faintly. "When you build again. Use this. It will erase the memory of what came before and leave nothing but what begins anew."
Hob took the hammer with a nod and tucked it away. "Understood." He watched the other Endless turn to go, only for him to pause at the bottom of the stairs.
"Hob Gadling."
Hob lifted his chin and waited.
"Wreck your vengeance on this place, and the memory it holds. Destroy it, with the blessing of one who is the personification of such needs. Tear it down beyond its roots until all that remains is ash, and when it is, at last, gone, let it be gone. For both of you."
Hob let out a shaky breath at the resonating blessing in the horrific basement and turned to look at the cage behind him. "Well, I know exactly the solution for this," he said with another nod.
Lifting the sledgehammer one last time, Hob slammed it into the glass again and again, until none of the panes remained, only the iron bars, hanging, still suspended. Hob panted and stared at it. "Would that I could destroy every memory of this place until none remained, that I could erase it from the history books that exist. Would that I had followed the rumors of a devil in the basement."
Hob's chest heaved and he turned to trudge back up the stairs.
He could be patient. He could wait. It would be gone, soon enough, but for now, the ethereal light that the glass had seemed to shine with was gone, and the basement was nothing but darkness fading into obscurity. He had more work to do.
Fourth. The estate.
It was far more than only the house, there had been donations to museums, to private collections. There had been gifts, over the years, there had been hundreds of things stolen, and they all had to be cataloged, documented, and ready to be destroyed. Hob put his money to work, and had them all tracked down. The faintest thread, the smallest lead, all of it, traced and either ended or destroyed.
One of the days, Constantine found him, her eyes worried, for one of the artifacts had been tracked to her. Hob hadn't done more than hold his hand out for it. Whatever she had seen on his face had been enough for her to turn the book over. One day, far in the future, Hob would perhaps give her access to it, he would make sure that if she needed it for her work, she could see it, could use it. But not yet. Now, he had to destroy every thread of the tapestry Burgess had weaved over decades.
The money was the easiest to dispose of.
The books, the magic, the rumors, they were next.
Hob left nothing and had no mercy in bribing, destroying, stealing, and lying his way to acquire everything that was necessary. Had Paul McGuire still been alive, a vicious part of him thought the bastard might even have approved. Years ago, when he had passed the absolute pittance of an apology on, the haunted look on Dream's face had been enough to guarantee he would never forgive the monsters who had trapped the Lord of the Dreaming for more than a century.
Within three months, Hob called off the largest parts of the hunt. There was a sigh of relief felt through the underbelly of society as he stopped, and he gave a vicious smirk as he heard the news. One of the sharks coming out of the woodwork to hunt wasn't unheard of, but it was rare in this digital age. Everyone fancied themselves a shark in an ocean full of fish.
But Hob?
Hob was old, Hob knew better than all of them how to cover his tracks, and when he could not, Hob knew how to ensure that no one tried to follow them.
When it was all done, when all parts of Burgess, his legacy, his family, his meager place in history had been destroyed, Hob stood in front of the house again, staring at it. The hammer he had been gifted by Destruction still rested on his side, but he had not finished his work, and the last piece did not belong to him.
Hob took a breath, breathing out slowly, the cool air of the evening ruffling his hair, making him smile. He looked up at the stars and reached.
"Dream of the Endless. I, Hob Gadling, have need of you. Please, hear my call."
They were words he had never dared to speak, for they held power, they held the ability to call one of the Endless to him in a way that no other human could claim, and if there were any who knew it possible, he would have been trapped faster than he could make a phone call. But they didn't, and the words were one of the only times he had sworn to ever use them.
"Hob."
Dream's voice, coming from behind him, was laced with concern, if you knew what to look for. There was also far more surprise, likely due to where he was standing, in the driveway of the Burgess estate that had become overgrown with greenery. But today, today it would be no more, it would be gone, a blight upon the countryside destroyed, with no trace of it left behind. He turned and nodded to Dream.
"Why are we here?" Dream stood beside Hob and looked to him, refusing to glance at the house that had once held him captive. "What business do you have here?"
Hob's lips twisted as he thought of the letter he had received months ago. "I inherited the estate. Paul McGuire named me as his sole beneficiary." He sneered. "I think he did it to try to absolve more of his own guilt, knowing I would destroy it." He pulled out a small switch and held it out to Dream. "He was, of course, right about that in some respects, but if he thought I would limit myself to the house, he didn't know anything."
Hob looked at the house, staring at it for several long beats. "The first thing I wanted to do was destroy it, to raze it to the ground, and leave it, ash and concrete on the ground, a promise and a warning to any who would ever dare touch you and your family ever again." He shrugged. "But that seemed like an unnecessary waste of land that could be put to good use under the right fingertips. Just because something was once used for horror, does not mean it always must."
"However," Hob said, his smirk growing vicious again as he lifted his chin and stared at Dream, at the way his eyes were no longer blue, but glowing black pools of anger and vengeance. "If you think my revenge on your behalf would be limited to a fucking building, you are very mistaken."
"What have you done?" Dream asked, admiration clear in his voice. "Tell me."
Hob tilted his chin up, proudly, meeting Dream's eyes. "You took your vengeance on the men who imprisoned you. I made sure that everything they had ever touched, every insidious piece of them that remained and existed in this fucking world is being destroyed, piece by piece. Every part of their legacy, every part of the history they were involved in, I am removing it," he snarled the words. "For what they did to you, for what they could do to others, I have torn all of it down, killed who must be killed to keep the secrets you hold dear."
Hob stared at Dream, kept his eyes focused on his lover, basking in the clear admiration on his face, even as he stepped closer, his words soft and vicious.
"I'm not Endless," Hob stated, his voice softening, watching Dream carefully. "I can barely understand what you are, what you all are. But I understand humans. Humanity." His voice rose, just a fraction. "I understand the depths of depravity, the horrors that we are capable of, for all that we invent new ones every single day. I have seen, and felt, what drove those men to keep you here, to keep you chained, that horror, that guilt, and..." Hob clenched his hands into fists and stared at Dream.
"I would not hesitate, not for a single second, to tear down anyone and everyone who stood in my way who sought to even attempt to chain you again." The words were a vow, a promise, and Hob watched his lover shiver under the weight of them. "All of them. I would leave the very earth scorched behind me, a trail of destruction visible to anyone and everyone if it meant keeping you safe, my love."
Dream stared. "Hob."
Hob smirked and held out his hand. "I have wired the building to explode. Had some help from a few friends. But this building is going to be reduced to rubble, every inch of it destroyed." He offered the remote to Dream and watched him take it, long fingers elegantly wrapping around the smooth box. "I have already, personally, demolished every inch of that basement and ensured not a single piece remains larger than a fingernail." He shuddered. "Would that I could destroy my very memories of it."
Hob closed Dream's fingertips around the remote and stared at him, giving him a nod. "It is yours to destroy, my love. This final piece, while I tear down the paper, money, and prestige that allowed them to do what they did, and to thrive, this piece has always been yours to destroy. And in it, we will build a house made for dreams in the Waking World. A place that removes any of the tarnish of where we stand now."
"You would do that?" Dream breathed, swaying closer.
Hob reached for the hammer that he had been gifted months ago, holding it out to Dream, watching as his eyes flared in recognition. "When we build again, we build anew. A true fresh start." He reached out and stroked down Dream's cheek. "Then we will never need to see this cursed place again."
"A simple button, hm?" Dream said, looking down at the remote.
Hob laughed and shrugged. "Sometimes it's the simple things that work the best, love. I didn't want to risk something breaking, and the more complicated I made it, the more help I needed."
Dream turned his attention to the house in front of him and rolled his shoulders, stepping closer. "Perhaps I can add my own flare of my brother." His eyes flashed at his lover and he smirked, facing the building. "After all, the first time, I could hardly enjoy my vengeance, such was my exhaustion."
Hob stepped back and watched Dream step forward, to the very edge of the house. A roar began in the background, and the shadows of the night started to curl around Dream, until they were reaching out to the house, surrounding it. He didn't imagine the screams of the ghosts in the building, all those who lingered in the halls, their horror, their joy, all of it created and furnished by the Magus and the magic he had leashed that didn't belong to him. Every inch of that magic, that power, far more powerful than it had been in eons, began to strip the house to the bone.
Hob almost reminded Dream to make sure to set off the explosives when the first went off. The blast of fire illuminated Dream, or what had been Dream, of the ever-growing creature who towered over the house, massive shadowed hands and other limbs ripping at every inch of it, tearing it to pieces. Bit by bit, explosion by explosion, the house was torn until all that remained was ash and dust lingering in a muddy foundation.
Dream, still more creature than the form he used in the waking world, was leaning over it, claws pawing through the remaining dust, looking for something, for anything to try to destroy. Hob walked forward and sat down beside him, looking at the ruin of the house they had worked together to rip to shreds. "Sadly, love, when it comes to revenge, sometimes, there does reach a point where there is nothing left."
Dream snarled and Hob smiled, looking up at him. "I know. If only there was a way to be able to destroy them again and again. They deserve it, and they deserve torture for an eternity and beyond for what they did to you." He tapped his fingers on the ground. "Apparently I scared a lot of people, chasing down who I needed to for this, for you."
"Oh?" Dream's voice was rough as he carefully drew the shadows of dreams back into himself and stood beside Hob, looking at the smoking ashes. "I cannot imagine you terrifying anyone."
Hob let out a laugh. "Well, it helps that I'm a bit of a cockroach in comparison to you, Dream. But in terms of the world, one could say, I'm one of the most dangerous people to piss off that there is, and seeing me out hunting, well." He whistled happily and leaned back in the grass. "There's something to be said for reminding everyone why I had the reputation after the wars that I did."
Dream hummed and looked to Hob. "That sounds like an interesting story."
Hob opened his eyes to look up at the night sky. "I suppose it is. Would you like me to tell it to you?"
"I would," Dream said. "You often regale me of your more... virtuous exploits. I do not know much of this side of you."
Hob snorted. "Oh love, I could tell you about the criminal enterprises I have run and do run across the world happily." He grinned when Dream blinked at him, clearly surprised. "The waking world is a patently unfair one, Dream, and sometimes, in order to make it fair again, laws must be broken, and things must be forced. I cannot help everyone, but I can help a great many, and I try to."
Watching the ashes at last start to cool of the Burgess manor, Dream reflected on the hammer still held easily at Hob Gadling's side. Destruction had always been the one to bring about change, whether wanted or not, and this would be no exception. "Tell me."
"All right," Hob took a deep breath and laughed. "The year was 1929, and it was September. I had begun to dabble in larger sums of money than most humans should possess in a single lifetime, and I made a horrifying discovery that I could not stop, despite my best efforts. So, I did what any self-respecting man would do. I hunted down the people responsible..."