THE GOD OF NIGHTMARES

CHAPTER 2

Icelus liked the city, scratch that, he loved it. What was its name again? New Pork, New Cork, New Co--That's right! New York City!

New York City, the so-called "City That Never Sleeps". He could see why it was called that, seeing as the lights in buildings and houses never did quite fully go out. But as for the residents, of course they slept.

He enjoyed visiting them in their dreams. Of course they didn't enjoy so much, seeing as whenever he'd enter a mortal's mind, they would instantly experience a barrage of nightmares, not to mention insomnia, depression, and other unpleasant things.

So it was safe to say that he really wasn't one of the most well-liked gods. Not that it mattered nowadays, seeing how mortals viewed the stories about him and his fellow gods as "myths" or "fairytales" and preferred to embrace their so-called "Science".

He didn't have a problem with Science or anything, it was just that these mortals' extreme belief in "Science" and "logic" tended to prevent them from seeing the true story. 

'Pathetic.' thought Icelus, remembering the way the mortal medics described the football players' conditions as a form of 'epilepsy'.

"Mortals and their clouded minds."

Wait, what was he thinking about again? Ah yes, New York City. He happened to favor it at night most of all, especially since the feeling of fear and paranoia was in the air.

He inhaled deepy. 

"Ah, the sweet scent of mortal fear." said Icelus with a smile on his face.

New York tended to be a rather unsafe place at night. Multiple criminals, street thugs, muggers, and gang wars happened around night-time, especially in some of the more unsafe neighbourhoods in the city. Such as The Bronx. Which was where he was at right now.

As he walked along the darkened streets, he spied some tough-looking African-Americans walking towards his way. He spied a glint in one of the big men's pockets. Either a knife, or a broken bottle. Either way, pretty dangerous. Well, for an average, defenseless, mortal that was. Which Icelus was anything but.

Alexander Johnson was a big man. He was well-known and quite feared around The Bronx. Being a 6'6 tall African-American with over 200 pounds of muscle in his body tended to give that effect. And it was common knowledge that he and his posse owned this neighbourhood, and didn't take kindly to strangers, especially at night.

So you could just feel his surprise once he saw a rather skinny, pale, goth kid walking around HIS turf at night.

'The hell's this punk doin' here?' thought Alex, as he felt for his knife.

The kid didn't look that rich, but he probably had some coin on him. Just waiting to be tak---I mean, "borrowed".

"Yo niggas, check this out." said Arnold, a 6'2, well-built, African-American and Alex's right-hand man.

"Yeah nigga, you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" replied Alex.

"Yep." said all his men at once.

Alex smiled, showing off his gold-plated teeth. They were gonna get some coin tonight.

The kid was coming closer. Alex readied his knife, signalling his men to do the same thing.

"Hey kid! Doncha know it's dangerous to---"

But he never finished that sentence. Something about this kid, whether or not it was the sheer aura he gave off. He knew that aura, he had often given it off and scared any other rival gang who tried to take his perch. But this kid's aura was different, it didn't even seem human. It was almost... godly.

Now Alex was far from a religious man. He only attended church every other Sunday, and that was usually to threaten the local priests. But at that moment, he just wanted to take out his old rosary and apologize to whatever god was out there for every sin he'd ever committed. And he'd committed a lot of sins.

One of his men, Jackson, moved to grab the kid.

"Whoa Jackson," said Alex, "I think this kid's had enough."

"Boss, what're you saying?" said another one of his men, a rather fat African-American named Oldboy.

"I said, he's had enough." said Alex, wanting to get as far away from this kid as possible.

Icelus watched the gang leave with a smile on his face. All he'd done was give off a little killer intent, and it had sent those intimidating African-Americans running with their tails between their legs.

He continued walking along his path, thinking about the scared leader's face, and smiling.

Then, he came across a rather odd sight.

A teenage girl was giving food to some homeless people. Her hair was cut in what mortals would call a "bob-cut", and it was as pale as porcelain. Her skin was about the same color as her hair, almost as white as his, but not quite that pale. She was wearing a pink Hello Kitty sweater, light blue jeans, and red rubber shoes. She wore a necklace with a smiley face on it. And her eyes, were as dark blue and as deep as the ocean itself, seeming to go on forever, in the same way his own midnight black eyes seemed to go on forever. And she was wearing a bright smile, the brightest smile he'd ever seen, that could cause even the coldest man's heart to melt.

He knew who this girl was, like a face from his own dreams.

"Damnit Mari, what the hell are you doing?!" said Icelus, with a frown and an annoyed look on his face.

His sister had come to town.