Dave could smell it—that unseen, abyssal Nightmare radiating the ancient stench of mindless, eldritch gods.
Then, the horror began to feed.
It devoured the lost souls drifting nearby, growing stronger with each bite. Like a creature shedding the thin membrane of the physical universe, its glistening, mucous-drenched flesh expanded into existence. Slick, bat-like wings drooped wetly from its spine, while its malformed ribs jutted outward in hateful protrusions. Countless, blood-engorged eyes trembled, oozing foul-smelling fluids as they emerged from its writhing facial tendrils.
It stared at him—like a serpent that had just molted, its pupil-less eyes filled with venomous mockery.
Then, in that filthy radiance, the thing dressed itself.
A heavy, velvet robe—embroidered in shimmering gold thread—slid onto its grotesque form, the fabric woven with countless faces, twisted in eternal agony. Their faint, whispering wails filled the silence.
It raised one gnarled, skeletal hand—its decayed fingers outstretched—gesturing toward Dave almost elegantly.
Dave looked down.
Six drops of blood had dripped from his fingertips.
His watch screamed, amplifying its ticking into a deafening roar. The second hand skipped forward erratically—six times—before warping into pulsating flesh, dripping with bile and mucus.
He couldn't feel his own breath.
His chest did not rise or fall.
For a terrifying moment, he felt dead.
But Dave didn't notice his own unnatural state.
He was too focused on one thing—running.
Fleeing.
His panicked steps dragged him away from this ocean of madness—a world birthed from the reckless, unrestrained chaos of emotion.
He had to escape this mindless thing.
This creature… it should not exist.
It violated every scientific principle, every natural law of the physical universe.
He had thought that, after learning magic, fear was beyond his reach.
He could banish ghosts. Kill vampires. Slay werewolves.
He could bring sculptures to life as if they were flesh and blood.
But never—never—had he encountered something so vile.
His mind blanked. He couldn't recall a single spell. Every incantation he had ever learned vanished from his thoughts. The arcane phrases he had memorized so painstakingly slipped away like sand through his fingers.
He had lost fire.
Lost lightning.
Lost his ability to shape the world with his hands.
And that loss nearly broke him.
As the creature's wet, slithering footsteps neared, it felt like his heart was being torn apart.
Dave turned to run—
—but then, he stopped.
Because he saw light.
A radiance more beautiful than anything he had ever known.
Brighter than any star.
It shattered the darkness.
A voice—familiar—called out.
A sword—gleaming like the dawn—evaporated the nightmares circling the eldritch horror.
And Dave remembered.
Merlin. Solomon. Interstellar travel. The Outer Dimensions.
Solomon's voice rang out, thunderous and unshakable.
His presence loomed over the creeping, slithering chaos like an immovable giant.
A warm tide of courage swept away the filth, washing the fear and guilt from Dave's heart.
His spine straightened.
His hands stopped trembling.
"I think… I can do this," Dave whispered, forcing himself to turn and face his fear.
"Maybe this time, he'll complete his transformation."
Merlin crossed his legs, slumping into the filthy couch of a black-market starship dealer.
Synthetic fibers peeked through the torn upholstery, protesting against the weight of his body.
This was a cargo ship—one that specialized in transporting Xandarian snails.
For many across the galaxy, Xandarian snails were a delicacy.
But Solomon—still adjusting to the time lag—had no desire to eat anything that slimy.
So, Merlin had devoured all the food himself.
Poor Dave lay pale-faced on a chair beside him, forehead beaded with sweat. A pillow rested under his head, offering what little comfort it could.
He was suffering.
The effects of physically traveling through the Outer Dimensions had wrecked him.
Merlin's teaching methods were brutal—but effective.
He was forging Dave into an unbreakable mage.
And that meant no protection.
He had left Dave completely exposed to Chthon's abyssal demons, letting them gnaw at his mind and will.
Solomon had objected to this method.
But his protests had been overruled.
"Transformation doesn't happen overnight," Solomon said, frowning.
"Dave's past has been filled with nothing but weakness and compromise. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do.
"He pursued physics only because he was good at it.
"The only decision he ever made with his own will was chasing that girl.
"And if she dies—which she will, inevitably, because her lifespan won't exceed a hundred years—what do you think will become of him?
"I can't just… let him spend the rest of his days pondering the Collatz Conjecture!"
"What the hell is the Collatz Conjecture?"
"A math problem."
"Ugh— don't even say that word! Math is the devil!"
Merlin waved his hand dismissively.
"But look—you weren't ready to bear responsibility from the start either, were you?"
"That's what education is for.
"To awaken the soul.
"To develop ability.
"To unleash potential."
Merlin narrowed his eyes, staring at the sleeping Dave.
"This boy has potential—I'll bet my life on it.
"I set the threshold on that ring's talent test so absurdly high… well, okay, fine, I was just trying to mess with poor Balthazar a little. I never expected him to find someone who actually qualified.
"But now that he has, Dave needs time and training."
"You helped him again," Merlin added, his voice carrying an undertone of meaning.
"With your essence."
"Do you even realize what that means?"
Solomon shrugged.
"I promised Balthazar and the Ancient One—I'll protect Dave until he can stand against Outer-Dimensional entities on his own."
He reached up, fingers brushing against the fine braids that fell over his shoulder—woven strands of hair bound together with black lace.
Bayonetta had braided it before he left, a playful display of her witch's mischief.
She had even used one of her lacy garter straps to tie his hair.
He had given her a deep, lingering kiss in return—
Which had, in turn, earned him a gun-wielding Jeanne chasing after him.
Bayonetta, meanwhile, had been wrapped in a bedsheet—thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.
"Besides," Solomon continued, "I barely even helped. It was mostly his effort."
"I won't stand by and watch Dave fall to possession and corruption."
"Hah! See? You're just as bad as me—saying one thing while meaning another!"
Merlin grinned.
"Since we've got time to kill, how about we watch some Akin'caka stand-up? He's hilarious when he rants about the British!"
Merlin wrinkled his nose.
"Xandar's TV channels are awful. They're on their 210th gender-discrimination protest movement.
"Just politicians droning on and on.
"Can you believe this planet just signed its peace treaty?"
Solomon rolled his eyes.
And said nothing.
He knew how worried Balthazar was.
But he had made a promise.
And he would keep it.
Dave would not die here.
At least—not yet.
Solomon nudged a smuggler's corpse aside with his boot and walked over to rest.
Xandarian snails weren't even from Xandar. The name was just branding.
He planned to take this ship back.
As for the minor issues of not having a pilot's license or not understanding the controls?
Solomon figured—
He'd figure it out.
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