My mind was fuming. Without warning, a weird arrow formed in front of me, as if guiding me. I ran through a dozen excuses in my head, alternating between them, but I was lost in a dream. I couldn't seem to control it. With no one to trust, why should I be scared? It's just a dream; let's keep going.
As I walked, I felt my lungs tighten and my breathing harden as if someone were choking me—enough that I couldn't ignore it, and I always knew he was there, but not enough to hurt me or even cause pain. It was just a suffocating, invisible presence. Sweat beaded on my hands. After a moment, I took a deep breath and started moving.
After a while, the black liquid formed a sign in front of me. On it were written words: "One inconvenient question that I need out of the way forst, as it might make things complicated if asked at the wrong time." It forced my fuming head to a halt. As the words were written on the obsidian sheet appearing before me, I cursed in my mind, "Why is this thing so talkative all of a sudden?"
I gestured for it to continue. "What is your name?" It asked.
"It is Jack," i replied, "but that is not what I am called now, right?"
"It's Arthur," It answered.
I waited for more questions or a catch, but after a while nothing more came. No more black text—just the liquid arrow leading me somewhere.
"It doesn't disprove your delusions; it actually enforces them," it said. "Why try to change it then? You seem to really enjoy it."my voice was empty due to lack of interest
"Wants and needs don't always align," It replied.
As I continued to walk, bows and faces flashed before me. I didn't like it; someone else might have, but I didn't. It felt like too much.
Finally, I stood before a massive oak door, bound by heavy steel chains to a lock, with a guard standing watch. The black arrow finally disappeared. I looked around and stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the sound: the soft, inexorable rhythm of hammers on anvils, the clink of chainmail. Racks and racks of weapons lined the room in precise rows.
"Pick a dagger, as I told you, and let's see how long you well last" it said. Magic and the mundane intermingled. Some weapons were ordinary and honest; others hummed with enchantment. One dagger, with a seam of moonstone that chilled the skin it touched, caught my eye with its golden handle and elaborate decorations. Holding it in my hand felt weirdly cool, like the dream was finally living up to its webnovel expectation.
The black liquid manifested once more as I stood before the obsidian sheet, awaiting its mockery.
"A surprising refined taste," it said.
"It was way better than I expected," It admitted.
As shadows seemed to expand throughout the whole room, sinking into every weapon, it was like they were tasting them. It returned to the quiet air where we were standing.
"Luckily, no one is around. You aren't ready for any madman rumors yet," the words said, as if it were common sense, as if spoken from experience.
"Now what?" I asked, seeing where this was going and not liking it.
"Now cut yourself with the knife in your hand. It won't hurt that much, as you can feel pain in dreams" the words swirled around as if they were describing a pleasant experience.
Flustered, I stood completely frozen before I continued. "Even then, couldn't I just pinch my hand? Wouldn't that be enough?" I asked, puzzled why we were going through such a pointless, difficult way.
"Well, I just like ritualistic ways more, okay?,it also important skill for when I help you with magic" it replied, offended.
"Now cut your hand," it insisted as the words floated in an obsidian elasticity, barely hiding the smile of the shadow behind it.
"But it still prove nothing, You can feel pain in dreams; it just feels different" I said. I remembered reading that somewhere that you do actually don't feel pain in dreams—your brain fills in something else with different feelings. Honestly, I wasn't sure. This whole thing felt so pointless, like we were actors on a stage performing for God knows who.
"You said yourself: 'Different.' Now do it," it said. It really liked knives.
I put the dagger back, just about to pinch my hand.
"Not enough," the humanoid shadow said. "If you still have a wound tomorrow, you'll be less delusional."
I could ignore him. I should ; I had no reason to, but he was giving me advice. I felt my heart sink as a familiar train of thought came, annoyance welling up. Seeing how it would end, I took the knife and made the smallest cut I could. "There, that should make my brain stop for a while," I thought. I felt my legs lose strength ,as I looked around for something to stop bleeding,yep I am not bluid for this, as panic rains on my face even though it was a small cut ,I start moving in circles
The shadow face manifest on ground ,as it mimicks laughter again
"Psycho," I muttered.
"Thank you," I added. It seemed to bring back memories, as the words practically melted in nostalgia.
"It really doesn't prove anything, still" I said.
The black words moved around me: "How long can you deny it when you feel pain? When you wake up to the same unchanging scenery?"
"How do I understand you at all, then? If this is real, why do I understand what you say—what anyone says? This place is definitely not my home country. Why do I understand you then? We don't even speak the same language!" I yelled. I was grasping at straws. Not that I need any answers; the situation was already unbelievable. There was no point in explaining.
"Well, you're talking to a magical shadow. Yeah, power like this isn't common; it's probably something your ring is doing," the words replied. The words surrounded shadow face on ground as if on an invisible shoulder was raised, as if It itself were clueless.
"You don't know. Should not you? You should know all about this, or at least try to understand," I snapped, annoyed.
"I have more knowledge than you, which is good enough. Even if you don't believe, just play along for now," the words replied, written in cursive as the shadow's faces appeared once more below it, smiling.