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Chapter - 8: Between Dream and Reality
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I had a long, vivid dream—so real it felt like a forgotten memory. Or perhaps, more than a memory, it was a vision of the future—something far from rare for gods and demigods, for whom dreams and prophecies often intertwine until they become indistinguishable.
In that vision, I was wielding a colossal spear, imposing and deep red, almost pulsating like freshly spilled blood from my own body.
It was both fascinating and vaguely amusing to see how I could extend or shorten it at will, just like the legendary staff of a certain mythical monkey.
With that weapon in hand, I moved across a battlefield littered with skeletons, monsters, and spirits of all kinds. Everywhere I looked, there were only mangled bodies, blood flowing in torrents through the cracks in the earth, screams cut in half, and bones crushed under the weight of my carnage.
My enemies fell one after another, mercilessly slaughtered. Every strike I delivered was pure destruction, and no one could even get close before being annihilated.
The number of corpses grew rapidly behind me, forming a mountain of bones. No one could stop me—no one could even slow me down.
Then, the scene shifted without me even realizing it. In front of me stood a gigantic dragon, the kind you'd expect to see only in a story.
It was enormous. So massive that just looking at it made you feel as small as an insect. Its head alone was bigger than a house, and the horns sprouting from its skull curved upward like crescents. Its eyes glowed with a deep, fiery red, as if staring could burn right through me.
Its body was covered in dark scales, thick as stone, with glowing red streaks that looked like molten veins. It seemed forged from lava and shadow. Every movement it made was slow but powerful, as if the earth itself had to move to make way.
Its wings were massive, red on the inside and black on the outside. They looked like thick, glossy leather sails, stretched taut, ready to lift it into the sky. When it spread them, the gust of wind that burst forth made the air around me tremble.
I stood before that colossal creature without fear. Its burning red eyes stared into mine—not with hostility, but curiosity.
A smile crept onto my lips as, with a calm and deliberate gesture, I planted my spear into the ground beside me. The metal sank with a heavy thud, vibrating faintly.
I took a few steps forward, leaving the weapon behind. "Don't worry, ███████," I said, without breaking eye contact with those abyssal eyes. "I won't use it against you. That wouldn't be a fair fight."
The dragon stared at me silently for a long moment. Its yellow, flame-like eyes seemed to scan my soul. Then it spoke, and its voice thundered like distant storms—deep, laced with malice and murderous intent.
"You are bold, son of Hades. Or perhaps simply mad, to seek a battle against me without using that poisoned spear," it said, flashing a wide grin that clearly showed its fangs. "But I must admit—honestly—that such an attitude doesn't displease me at all."
I stopped just a few steps from it, lifting my chin with pride. There was no fear in my eyes—only the urge to fight—as I took my battle stance. "It's not about boldness," I replied. "If we're going to fight, I want it to be on equal terms. Otherwise, victory means nothing to me."
"Then let us fight, Prince of the Underworld!" the creature growled, its wings spread wide and its eyes blazing with bloodlust. "Until our bodies give out—or until my fangs sink into your flesh!"
A shiver ran down my spine, but the smile I gave it was genuine, full of adrenaline and determination. "I couldn't ask for anything better."
Before I could observe anything else, the scene changed once more—but this time, the atmosphere was different. More unsettling. The world around me was blurry, unstable, as if the dream itself wasn't sure what it wanted to show me.
And yet, in the midst of that confusion, a figure stood out with disturbing clarity: an old hooded man, unmoving, with golden eyes that glowed like tongues of fire in the fog.
He was staring at me. Not the way you look at an illusion, but as if he were truly there—aware, real. His presence was overwhelming, oppressive, like an invisible weight pressing on my chest and knees, forcing me toward the ground, as if trying to make me kneel.
But I resisted.
With every fiber of my body, I refused to yield. A deep, angry growl escaped my lips, almost involuntarily—a primal response to the silent threat that being represented.
"There's no need to be so agitated. I can't hurt you even if I wanted to, at least not for the moment—not until I'm freed from my prison and made whole again." His voice was strange—hoarse and weak—but the power behind it was undeniable, at least to me." I must admit, though, you're more resilient than I imagined. Most beings would collapse under my gaze."
"You have an interesting way of starting a dream conversation," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I usually prefer more relaxing scenarios. You know, ones without creepy guys trying to crush me with their presence."
He took a single step forward. Just one. And yet, the air grew heavier.
"It was merely a greeting from an old man. Don't take it too personally," he murmured. "After all, it's been a long time since I last spoke to someone from the family."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked. "If you're here to threaten me, you'll need to be more clear. And maybe say it without sounding like the final villain in an ancient play."
The man remained silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, a thin, sinister smile crept across the part of his face not hidden by the shadow of his hood.
"You're quite bold for a fourth-generation god," he said in a rough, almost amused voice. "Not even my children dared speak to me like that."
"Oh, I'm sorry—didn't mean to hurt the pride of a poor old man," I replied with a defiant smile. "As for being bold, I'm like that by nature. Or at least, that's what my father says."
He chuckled, a low, rasping sound—like the crackling of an ancient fire that had been burning for centuries without ever going out." Well done," he muttered, with a tone that sounded like praise, though tinged with a dark edge. "A god should be arrogant by nature. From that arrogance come the true kings and the worst monsters." He muttered those words more to himself than to me, as if recalling something from long ago.
Honestly, I didn't quite understand what he meant. His tone was too cryptic, too full of hidden meaning for my taste. It was like every sentence carried some sort of buried truth.
I stayed silent, just staring at him, waiting for him to say something clearer—especially since I didn't want to provoke him more than I already had.
But he stepped back, letting the darkness slowly swallow him.
"We'll meet again soon, young bloodseed. And when that happens, I hope we'll have a fine battle, my dear grandson."
Grandson? The blood in my veins turned to ice. A chill ran down my spine, and one single, unmistakable word exploded in my mind as I realized who I had just spoken to.
Oh, fuck…
I didn't even have time to process it before I was forced to open my eyes wide as a sudden pressure crushed my chest.My first breath was ragged, like I was waking from a dream too deep—or too real.
Above me, arched with the grace you'd expect from a succubus, was a stunning woman. Her yellow eyes glowed like molten amber in the shadows, and her skin—a pale, moonlight blue—seemed to emit a faint otherworldly glow.
Her long hair, a slightly deeper shade of blue, was tied in a high ponytail cascading down her back—which, luckily for me, didn't hide her big ass.
Her plump lips, painted a vivid, almost unnatural pink, looked made to smile deceptively. Her nails, lacquered the same shade, caught the dim light of the room.
She was beauty itself, distilled into a deadly form—and for a moment, I thought that look existed only to enchant sinners before delivering punishments far worse than ecstasy.
Her outfit was a mix of regal and martial: draped robes of dark gray and deep blue fabrics, adorned with thick gold plating at her calves, shoulders, and along her right wrist.
She also wore filigreed golden earrings, a slim yet elegant circlet on her head, and tiny golden piercings on her left nostril and eyebrow.
Every detail screamed power and authority—or maybe, more accurately, contempt for anyone who dared stare at her too long.
"Your father's looking for you, Zag," she said in her usual flat tone, not at all bothered by the fact that her foot was pressing firmly into the center of my chest. "And he doesn't seem in the mood to be kept waiting."
I just stared at her for a moment, still half-asleep, my brain scrambling to reboot. Then, slowly, I gave her a tired but amused smile.
"I have to say, I've woken up in stranger ways," I murmured."But what's this? Did my favorite Fury miss me that much?"
She rolled her eyes, visibly annoyed. "I see you're still dreaming with your eyes open," she shot back in that familiar tone of disdain I knew all too well. Not that I expected anything else from her—if anything, that tone was almost affectionate. In her own way.
"I could say something like 'every time I see you feels like a dream,' but that might sound too cheesy for your tastes."
"And you'd be right to think that. At least you're not completely stupid."She said with her usual smug tone.
"Only partially, then? Better than nothing." I smiled nonchalantly, stretching my arms behind my head like I was sunbathing instead of talking to one of the three Furies.
She crossed her arms, raising one eyebrow. "You're absolutely insufferable."
"But charming. Admit it." I winked at her, earning only a sharp glare in response.
"You know what does fascinate me? The thought of kicking you so hard you forget how to speak."
"A classic. But if you really want to do something to me…" I leaned toward her with an innocent expression. "You can tell me your flavor, I'm curious." Before she could react or anticipate it, I bent down and quickly licked the exposed part of her foot.
Meg froze instantly. "…Did you just—" she hissed, her eyes wide between disbelief and murder.
"Oops," I said innocently, theatrically licking my lips. "Must've dreamed it was ice cream." She glared at me with those golden eyes full of contempt—but the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the smallest
twitch of a smile. "You're disgusting."
"And yet you still haven't gotten off me," I replied, propping myself up on my elbows, grinning smugly.
Meg let out a deep sigh but finally lifted her foot off with a sharp motion, giving me a light poke on the chest with her fingertips.
"Get up, idiot."
"More relaxing for me," I said with a stretch. "Though I would miss you. Especially your adorable death threats every time you see me."
She turned away without a word, but I caught her shaking her head just slightly—like she was fighting a smile. And maybe she really was. "Five minutes. Be presentable when you show up to your father. And try not to lick anyone this time."
"I'll do my best," I replied as I got up. "But I can't make promises with you around."
Megara didn't answer right away. Her shoulders tensed for a moment, then, with a resigned sigh, she left my room— Unfortunately for me, I could still see the faint blush coloring her cheeks.
It was always fun teasing her—especially because of her constantly serious expression and unshakable sense of duty.
Not that it bothered me. In fact, I liked that strict side of her. But honestly? She really needed a break. She'd been working nonstop since the day she was born, and anyone would need to rest—at least a little.
I shrugged. It wasn't that big a deal, after all. She was a Fury—work was basically all they knew how to do.
I stepped closer to my mirror. Outwardly, I didn't notice any real change. My reflection was the same as always—same eyes, same features, same posture. But inside… it was a different story.
Something within me had changed. I felt a new lightness, like a weight I'd carried my entire life had finally vanished. It was as if every internal limit had been shattered.
And along with that freedom came something else: a deep instinct that told me what I could and couldn't do. A silent voice whispering the true scope of my divine domain.
Slowly, I raised my hand, curious.
With a simple thought, blood began to rise to my palm, flowing from beneath the skin without pain, as if summoned by a higher will.
Before my eyes, it began to change shape, molding itself according to my immediate desires. My imagination took control—and that vital substance obeyed, pliant, ready to become whatever I wanted.
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