Chapter 3: The House of Shadows

  “I feel nauseous, like the world is spinning,” Haru thought as he stepped through the portal.

  His feet touched a floor that didn't feel solid, but rather like walking on a thick layer of cold ash. When his vision finally stabilized, the horror left him breathless. They were no longer on the city streets under the bluish moonlight.

  They were in the foyer of a mansion that seemed to have been devoured by time and neglect. The ceiling was so high it disappeared into absolute blackness, similar to the darkness that swallowed the light in the first nightmare Kumiho had faced. The walls were covered with portraits whose faces had been erased with violent strokes of black ink.

  "Welcome to Grade C, rookie," said Kumiho, whose voice resonated with unnatural clarity in that deathly silence.

  Kumiho seemed unaffected. His elegant figure stood tall, his black suit absorbing the little light in the room. In his hands, the metal of the sanchaku had materialized.

  "Ehh, where did that come from?!" Haru asked in fear.

  "Didn't we tell you already, kid? It's my tool in this plane," Kumiho replied, resting the sanchaku against his back. "It’s time to teach you how to materialize your own tools," he remarked, approaching Haru.

  "Listen well," Kumiho declared with a frosty voice, "tools in the dream world are not forged from steel, but from the essence of your own soul and your spiritual energy. If you fail to materialize anything right now, you will be devoured by what lurks in the shadows of this mansion."

  Haru swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the pendant Ren had given him pulsing strongly against his chest. The atmosphere in the mansion grew increasingly dense, and the smell of dampness and oblivion was almost suffocating.

  A horde of wasps began to close in, but before they could touch Haru, Kumiho attacked them with his sanchaku.

  "Close your eyes," Kumiho ordered while his metal weapon destroyed the enemies. "Don't look for an instrument of war. Look for that which defines you—that which would protect your life when fear tries to consume you."

  Haru obeyed, squeezing his eyelids shut. At first, he only felt the cold "ash" beneath his feet, but soon, a warmth began to radiate from the pendant, spreading through his arms to his trembling hands. He thought of hunger, of the loneliness of the streets, and of Ren’s warm hand patting his head. His chest began to ache with weight, but he didn't stop until he felt something take his hand.

  "Concentrate!" Kumiho raised his voice as he noticed the shadows on the walls—those with erased faces—beginning to peel off the wallpaper, crawling like cockroaches toward them.

  A flash of light, different from Kumiho's purple, burst from Haru's palms. It was a faint but steady green glow. Slowly, the energy began to solidify, taking an elongated and light shape.

  "That's..." Haru whispered, opening his eyes.

  Two objects materialized in his hands: a figure of a wooden horse and a sword. Haru gazed in wonder at the objects he held. The sword vibrated slightly with that green glow born from his palm, while the small wooden horse figure felt strangely heavy and warm.

  "A sword and... a toy?" Haru asked, bewildered by the strange combination of his tools.

  Kumiho didn't allow himself a single second of distraction as the shadows on the walls approached with awkward steps, similar to those of a mosquito.

  [TARGET ANALYSIS: GRADE C NIGHTMARE - MANIFESTATION OF ABANDONMENT]

  "Kid, throw the horse on the ground and you'll see the magic. It seems this nightmare has guests," Kumiho said, swinging his sanchaku.

  Haru didn't hesitate. He dropped the small wooden figure, which fell onto the layer of cold ash on the floor. The instant the toy touched the surface, the green glow emanating from Haru's palm intensified, expanding into a whirlwind of emerald light.

  The wood began to creak and expand. What was once a figure of only a few centimeters transformed into an imposing steed of living wood. Its joints made the sound of intertwining branches, and its eyes glowed with the same green energy as Haru's sword. The horse whinnied—a sound that didn't seem animal, but rather the echo of an ancient forest—and struck the ground with its solid wooden hooves, causing a shockwave that pushed the nightmares back.

  "Incredible..." Haru whispered, feeling an immediate connection with the creature.

  "Don't just stand there gawking," Kumiho growled, tossing his sanchaku upward. "Here come the mosquitoes!"

  From the absolute blackness of the ceiling, thousands of glowing points began to descend. They weren't normal insects; they were Manifestations of Harassment: wasps and mosquitoes made of black ink and red eyes—the buzzing of a thousand negative thoughts haunting the citizen.

  Kumiho moved his sanchaku with terrifying efficiency. There was no effort in his gestures, only a perfect execution of movement. The swarm of ink mosquitoes crashed against his defense, but his face remained as impassive as the statues in the temple.

  "Haru, mount up," Kumiho said. His voice was a thread of cold silk cutting through the roar of the buzzing. "Now."

  Haru climbed onto the back of the living wood steed. Sensing the spiritual connection, the horse whinnied, but Kumiho didn't even blink at the rookie's display of power. With a silent leap, he positioned himself behind Haru, resting his sanchaku on his shoulder with total indifference.

  "Move forward," he ordered neutrally. "We’re losing efficiency. The core is at the end of this hallway."

  The buzzing of the Manifestations of Harassment became deafening. The wasps dove, crashing against the green barrier generated by the horse. Haru felt each impact vibrate in his sword, as if the citizen's negative thoughts were trying to seep into his own bones.

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  "Don't listen to the noise, kid," Kumiho remarked, as if talking about the weather. "It’s just a biochemical response of the dreamer to fear. If you let it affect your energy flow, the horse will destabilize. Keep the pace."

  They reached the double doors, covered by a mass of black threads that pulsed like an exposed organ. Kumiho dismounted noiselessly.

  "The dreamer is at the center of this structure," Kumiho said, observing the door with empty eyes. "I will proceed with a forced entry. Once the light from your sword enters, the door will seal. Be careful."

  Kumiho began to strike each part of the door with precision and managed to open it after a few blows. As soon as Haru crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut with a roar that sealed any exit. The silence in this room was not peace; it was the vacuum of being forgotten.

  In the center of the room, sitting on a rickety chair, there was no monster with a thousand heads. There was a figure Haru recognized immediately: a mailman. But his uniform was made of rags from old letters, and his face was one of those scratched-out portraits from the wall. He had no eyes, only a smudge of black ink that seemed to cry constantly.

  This was the nightmare: The Messenger of Oblivion.

  "No one came..." the nightmare whispered in a voice that sounded like tearing paper. "No one will read what you have to say."

  From the mailman's back sprouted the long, sharp legs of a giant wasp, made of metallic writing quills. The creature rose, revealing that the citizen was trapped inside its translucent torso, as if he were the engine of that pain.

  "Let him go!" Haru shouted, dismounting from his wooden horse.

  The nightmare responded by launching a flurry of letters that flew like blades. Haru used his green sword to deflect them, feeling the metal of the monster's quills screech against his weapon. The wooden horse whinnied and charged on its own, striking the creature's side with its living wood hooves, giving Haru space.

  The strike from the wooden steed barely made the Messenger of Oblivion flinch. Far from weakening, the nightmare began to let out a dry laugh—a sound like dry leaves being crushed.

  Suddenly, the environment shifted. The walls of the room filled with infinite shelves that vomited thousands of letters. The ash floor began to swallow the wooden horse's legs, immobilizing it.

  "I can't move!" Haru cried, pulling on the branch reins, but the steed only emitted creaks of strain as black ink climbed up its legs.

  The nightmare wasted no time. With an unnatural movement, the wasp legs on its back dug into the floor and propelled it forward. The metallic feathers of its limbs glinted with a cold reflection before lunging at Haru. The boy raised his green sword, but the impact was so heavy it forced him to drop a knee to the ground.

  "You are alone... like him... like everyone," the mailman whispered, bringing his erased face close to Haru's.

  The air turned thick. Haru felt the weight of all the world's unread letters falling onto his shoulders. The green light of his sword began to flicker, losing intensity against the blackness of the ink pouring from the monster's torso.

  "Shut up!" Haru tried to snap back, but his voice came out weak.

  The giant wasp carrying the citizen in its torso opened its metal jaws, preparing to inject the venom of oblivion directly into the boy's chest. Haru was cornered against the immobilized body of his own horse, with paper blades slicing through his clothes and darkness closing in around him.

  "Now... You will die like everyone else... alone," the mailman whispered, poised to attack Haru directly.

  "Not on my watch, bug," Kumiho’s voice rang out from behind Haru.

  Then, a bullet larger than usual and imbued with purple energy shattered the door and pierced the giant wasp's head in seconds.

  "EH??" Haru shouted as the bullet whizzed past him.

  The structure began to disappear along with the insects; only the great wasp and the mailman remained. Kumiho approached the creature.

  "Master Kumiho, what are you doing? And what was that just now???" Haru asked immediately.

  A dark energy began to leak from the nightmare, and Kumiho absorbed it through his mouth.

  "I simply imbued my tool with my spiritual energy, that's all," he replied before turning around and beginning to leave.

  "And what about him?" Haru asked, looking at the mailman.

  "To him, this is just a dream. Walk," Kumiho replied with indifference.

  The giant wasp dissolved into particles of soot that rose toward the nonexistent ceiling, leaving the citizen lying on the ash floor, breathing heavily but finally free from the shell of letters. The mailman, now without his monstrous half, was slowly fading like a drawing washed away by the rain.

  "Did... did you absorb it?" Haru whispered, processing the image of Kumiho consuming the nightmare's energy.

  "Residual energy must not be wasted. It is the fuel of this plane," Kumiho replied without even looking at him. His violet eyes showed no trace of fatigue or satisfaction.

  They walked back through the mansion's hallway, which was now falling to pieces. The scratched-out portraits peeled off the walls and the letters turned to gray dust beneath their feet. As they moved forward, the dream reality lost cohesion, revealing once again the bluish light of the real moon at the end of a hallway that seemed to stretch infinitely.

  "Master Kumiho," Haru insisted, jogging to keep up with the exorcist's elegant pace, "if this was just a dream for him... will he remember anything that happened?"

  Kumiho stopped just before crossing the threshold into the physical world. He turned slightly, his black suit impeccable despite the battle.

  "He will remember the weight on his chest disappearing. That is all he needs," he declared coldly. "Move it, rookie. Ren hates it when dinner gets cold, and Mugen must already be in a foul mood because of our delay."

  As they stepped outside, the cold night air of the city hit Haru’s face. They were back on the street, in front of the citizen's house. Everything looked the same, but the silence was no longer terrifying—it was peaceful.

  "Eh? And my sword and horse?? And your weapons, Master??" Haru asked, seeing nothing anywhere.

  "Those things only exist in the dream plane, kid. Come on, I'll buy you some noodles; this mission made me hungry, and we have more for the rest of the night," Kumiho said, walking down the street normally.

  Dorīmuītā: CHAPTER 3 - The House of Shadows (Epilogue)

  Haru walked beside Kumiho, still processing the adrenaline. His hands instinctively searched for the hilt of the sword or the warmth of the wooden horse, but he only found the emptiness of his pockets and the texture of Ren’s pendant. The casual way Kumiho spoke about eating noodles after devouring a nightmare's energy left him speechless.

  When they finally reached the temple gates, the scent of incense and hot broth welcomed them. In the courtyard, under the light of the lanterns, Mugen was sitting on the wooden steps, sharpening his blade with a hostile expression.

  "You’re late," Mugen growled without looking up. His eyes locked onto Haru, noticing his somewhat torn clothes and the ash dust on his shoes. "What happened, rookie? Did you stay behind to play with shadows, or did Kumiho start cleaning every corner for his own pleasure?"

  "It was a Grade C Manifestation, Mugen," Kumiho replied in his usual flat voice. "The boy materialized his tools, but his efficiency is... improvable. I had to intervene so we wouldn't lose the whole night."

  "Intervene?!" Mugen jumped to his feet, visibly annoyed. "Ren said this was a test for him! If you have to keep saving his hide on a Grade C, he’s only going to slow us down when things get truly ugly."

  "Calm down, Mugen," Ren’s soothing voice emerged from inside the temple. The master stepped out with a serene smile, holding two bowls of noodles. "The important thing is that Haru took the first step. Materializing the soul is not easy, let alone under the pressure of a master."

  Mugen let out a huff of disdain but sheathed his sword. Although his annoyance with Haru was evident, Ren’s authority always managed to soothe his temper, at least temporarily.

  "Whatever," Mugen said, turning to head inside. "You better eat fast, kid. Kumiho is right about one thing: your efficiency is... improvable."

  Haru took the bowl Ren offered him, feeling the comforting heat in his hands. He looked at Kumiho, who was already starting to eat with the same indifference with which he fired his revolver, and then at the darkness beyond the temple walls. He knew this was only the beginning.