Miguel stood in a vast, empty space, surrounded by a swirling void of shadow and whispers. It was the kind of place that wasn't bound by time or reality, where everything felt distorted. He tried to move, but his body felt heavy, as if the very air was thick and resisting him. His breath echoed, unnaturally loud, in the silence of the place.
Suddenly, a chilling voice slithered through the void. "Miguel..."
He spun around, heart racing, but saw nothing. The whisper came again, closer this time. "You think you can run from us... from me?"
The air shifted, and out of the darkness emerged Loki. His monstrous bat-like form towered over Miguel, his glowing green eyes locking onto his. The leathery wings stretched wide, casting a suffocating shadow over the dreamscape. Loki's voice was a low, rumbling growl as he loomed closer.
"Do you think you can escape DEMA, little warrior? You belong to us now. To me."
Miguel staggered backward, but his feet wouldn't move. His heart pounded as Loki closed the distance, his wings beating softly, each movement rustling the void around them. The pressure was unbearable, the weight of Loki's presence suffocating.
"You have no control here, Clancy," Loki rasped. "Your blood runs in DEMA now. You will return... one way or another."
Suddenly, Loki's massive clawed hand shot out, gripping Miguel by the throat. The cold talons dug into his skin, and Miguel gasped for breath, his hands clawing at the air. His vision began to blur, and the dark void shifted, swirling into chaos as Loki's grip tightened.
"You cannot run from me. Even in your dreams, you are MINE."
Loki's eyes bored into Miguel's soul as he spoke the last words, his voice rumbling with a terrifying certainty. Miguel's vision was swallowed by blackness, and the last thing he heard before the world crumbled around him was Loki's chilling laugh, echoing in the void.
Miguel jolted awake, gasping for breath. His chest heaved, and his pulse raced in his ears. For a moment, he thought he was still in the dream—still in the grip of Loki's claws. But when he blinked, the world around him came into focus, and the cold realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
He was no longer in his bed. He was standing in the middle of the Artisan District.
The neon lights of the city flickered around him, casting eerie glows on the cracked streets. The air was thick with smoke and the hum of machinery. But something far worse caught his attention—his hands. They were stained in blood.
Miguel's heart raced as he looked down. His clothes were soaked, the dark crimson liquid still warm on his skin. His breathing hitched, panic rising in his throat as he frantically searched his mind for answers. How did he get here? What had he done?
His head throbbed, fragments of the dream flashing before his eyes. Loki's voice, his laughter, the suffocating feeling of being under his control.
"No... no..." Miguel muttered to himself, stumbling forward, trying to make sense of it all. His hands trembled as he touched his face, finding more blood smeared across his cheek.
He staggered to the side of a building, pressing his back against the cool, cracked stone as the city moved around him, unaware of the horror that had just taken place. The blood, the disorientation—it all felt too real. And yet, there was nothing. No memory. No explanation.
As he slumped down to the ground, Miguel fought the rising tide of fear that threatened to consume him. He was alone in the city, covered in blood that wasn't his own. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Loki's voice still lingered, laughing softly as if to remind him he could never escape.
YOU ARE READING
Only Skeletons Remain
Fanfiction"There will be Three, kin of your kin, who hold the power to reshape the world and defy the shadows." Only Skeletons Remain follows the intertwined stories of three generations bound by the oppressive grip of DEMA, a city of neon lights and despair...
