Champion of The Dream Keeper

A Most Dangerous Game

I woke up in a setting similar to that of the Hunger Games. No, not the very beginning of the movie, but the arena game itself. I didn't know what I was doing here, but I looked up to see a man, or better put , a demon, on the platform talking to us. Well, guess I'm dreaming again. Let's see where this goes.

"Welcome as I'm sure all of you are aware, you will be participating in a series of games to determine which of you will be the Champion. The final decision-maker in the war amongst Enochians and Demons!" He was grinning clearly gaining immense joy from the looks of terror and confusion on everyone's face. I don't know who the demon is, but he wasn't the same one from the last dream. "Those who live get to go home. Those who live become the Champion and most importantly..." He paused, glancing around the crowd, his grin became sharper and wider. "Those who reach the other side of the forest win. Your chances of living increase with how well you entertain. Good luck."

I turned tail and headed straight for the forest away from the path now indicated by the demon. My plan was simple: don't play at all. Doing as demons say never guarantees anything and only leads to your own exhaustion, so I intended to quite literally sit this one out. I found a nice tree in the forest and decided to climb it. Finding a thick, sturdy branch I decided to sit there and observe the progress of the others.

Strangely, I could see the path quite clearly. More importantly, I could see a small group of three people with machetes hacking into two other contestants with three other bodies lying dead on the ground. Well, I guess they've lost the game. After the woman of the group finished slicing into the throat of her contestant I noticed that they started to wander closer to a small encampment near the tree where I was lounging against the trunk. Thankfully it was about 20 feet away, so no need to worry about them.

I continued watching them somehow able to hear them discuss their strategy in bits and pieces. They were going to kill off all the contestants then make their way towards the finish line. Eventually the sun sank in this most dangerous game and I heard an indignant, "What are you doing up there?" I glanced down and there was my demon from last time.

"I'm sitting in a tree."

He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his hand over his face before looking up at me again. "I can see that, but why are you sitting in a tree?" I glanced at the murderous game players wondering if they heard us. "They can't hear us. I've made sure of that. Now tell me why you're in the tree instead of playing the game?"

"I didn't want to play, so I figured I'd watch." He pinched the bridge of his nose muttering something I couldn't quite make out in frustration. I practically could feel the exasperation rolling off him.

Next thing I know we're in what looks like an announcer's box combined with an old World War Two era communications room that you see in the movies. The walls and floor were made of pale yellow, wooden planks with a clear, glass window taking up most of the wall on one side. Two old style telephones sat on a table that took up the space of the shorter wall furthest from the door while an announcer's mic sat on a table under the window with various pieces of paper all over the place.

Arms crossed, I make my way over to the window seeing a giant hologram projected over the vast forest displaying a zoomed in picture of the players left on the path.

"You know, you should be out there playing." He stated annoyance radiating off him as I turned and moved to lean against the table with the telephones on it.

"Well, why hole me up in here then?" I gestured around the place.

"Because you refuse to play the game, and you were about to die!" He cried out in frustration, beginning to pace back and forth in the small space.

"From the looks of things, you don't need me to live. You've got plenty of other champions lined up to make your decision." I retorted wondering why he cared.

"It was all a ruse. Some distracting entertainment for the underlings and a way to prove that we can force you to do as we wish." He deadpanned.

"And how's that working out for ya?" I smirked, amused at his apparent frustration and lack of control over the situation.

He stopped his pacing, narrowed his eyes at me, and hissed, "It would go well, if you would just do as expected."

I leaned forward a little into his space. Grinning as I stared into his red pupils and whispered, "Or maybe you're just bad at being an incubus."

Smugly, I leaned back watching as his shoulders straightened in defence and a slight scowl took his face. He started pacing again. "It's not a matter of whether or not I'm an incubus. You have a job to do as said in the prophecy, I'm just here to sway you to our side." I began to tune him out. I heard him speak, but I got lost in thought wondering if he would ever take no for an answer. Back and forth he paced his long straight, raven hair swung slightly with the pace he was keeping. The antlers on his head were spindly and reminded me more of sticks of intersecting tree branches than deer. He was wearing a clean white business shirt with suspenders over his grey vest.

"Waistcoat." That seemed odd of him to say so suddenly.

"What about waistcoats?" confusion laced my voice as I awaited further explanation.

"It's a waistcoat not a vest. Vests are informal and can be worn without anything underneath. Waistcoats, however, are something every remotely sophisticated gentleman wears and is more formal and absolutely requires at least a button-up long sleeve shirt with a tie, then again I wouldn't expect someone who dresses the way you do to understand." He scoffed gesturing towards my appearance with one hand on his hip. Looking down, I could see his point due to my bra playing peek-a-boo with my old worn black tank top to the slip on black canvas shoes with a hole in the toe of one shoe. Not to mention the paint on my blue jeans, which were a size too big and being held up by a bandana in place of a belt.

"Fair enough." I remarked.

He clicked his tongue, "Is that really all you're going to say on the subject ? For the divine's sakes you aren't even able to keep your cardigan on properly!" he exclaimed in reference to blue button-up sweater I wore, which was currently hanging off one shoulder. He began to go onto another tirade of how he couldn't believe the deciding factor between the Enochians and Demons war was reliant on me, considering my poor decision in fashion.

"Well, then why don't you come over here and fix it, since you seem to know everything. After all, teach me about proper decisions when dressing and I just might make one on the war," I smirked waiting for him to get closer before grabbing his suspenders, effectively pulling him in for a kiss. In this form of his, he was taller than me and had to bend over for the kiss steadying himself with one hand on either side of me planted against the table. I pulled back seeing the nervous terror on his face again. He seemed to have been freaking out.

Then I woke up. "That son of a bitch."