Chapter Forty-One: The Formidable Nightmare—Freddy

As Fina stepped into the town, she noticed the environment grew even quieter—there wasn’t so much as a single insect’s chirp. It was as if all those keen little creatures sensed a lurking danger and had hidden themselves away. Fina crouched low, the Eye of Insight spinning atop her head, surveying the energy patterns throughout the town. If she could pinpoint where the negative energy was most concentrated, she could follow the trail straight to their target.

Natasha, weapon at the ready, guarded Fina’s side. If the assailant turned out to be some kind of evil spirit, there was little she could do, but if it was agents or soldiers, she was confident she’d spot them first—and if their numbers weren’t too great, she could take them all down singlehandedly.

“La la la, la la la, I’m a little expert in dissection, off to dissect before the dawn…” In the dream world, Freddy hummed a childish tune. His iron claws worked busily before him—piercing, withdrawing, stabbing again—making hearts, livers, spleens, lungs, and kidneys swirl around the room. Along with these organs spun a man, once an agent, now a member of the Paranormal Rapid Response Unit, who was tightly bound with wire before Freddy. Yet as Freddy’s actions continued, the man’s limbs flailed more and more slowly, until soon he hung like a dead fish.

“Oh dear, he’s dead already. It seems my skills are still lacking—I must practice more.” Freddy slowly raised his head and let out a cruel laugh. Several others, also bound before him, writhed in terror, their faces contorted in horror. With each struggle, the wire dug deeper into their flesh, making them seem like animals caught in a trap.

“No rush, one at a time. I’ll let you witness my progress.” Freddy approached his next lamb to the slaughter, claws lightly tracing their faces, drawing thin lines of blood that dripped steadily onto the floor.

After savoring the fear emanating from his prey and the power coursing through his own body, Freddy gazed beyond them to the tangled dreamscape behind, where even more people were trapped. These, not yet pushed to their limits, remained in individual nightmares, their terror sustaining him all the more.

As he observed, Freddy suddenly paused. He sensed something amiss in his domain—a beast had crept in. Turning his gaze toward the dream-town, Freddy used his mirroring power to spot the magical residue lingering in Fina’s path, all emanating from the Eye of Insight above her head.

“Hm… a little mage. These mages do love meddling in other people’s business…” Freddy’s monstrous face twisted in a look of regret. With a sweep of his iron claws, he appeared simultaneously in every dream he controlled, accelerating the rate at which he harvested terror from his captives.

For Freddy, the terror of his prey was the finest sustenance. Though he didn’t know exactly how he’d become like this, or how he’d gained these peculiar powers, instinct told him how to grow stronger—and who his greatest enemy was.

As Freddy increased his pace, the effect was most apparent among the soldiers still investigating the town. A sudden wave of drowsiness hit them; combined with the immense psychological strain, many fell straight into dreamland.

Freddy eagerly harvested the fresh terror from these new arrivals, amassing strength for the coming confrontation. Though he’d never fought a mage before, his memories contained descriptions of their power—something he could scarcely hope to match for now. Yet Fina seemed a little different from the mage he remembered.

An hour later, Fina and Natasha reached Elm Street at the edge of Elm Town. Soldiers were everywhere, and their faces all wore the same anxious urgency.

Fina also noticed the soldiers were consuming stimulants in vast quantities. She even saw one drowsy soldier with no less than five cigarettes clamped in his mouth, and still he dared not sit down, instead running back and forth in the middle of the street.

Suddenly, the soldier tripped and fell, the cigarettes poking his face, yet still he did not wake. Two comrades at the roadside laboriously lifted him up. News had already spread—those who fell asleep first had begun to die. Now, everyone saw sleep as a harbinger of death. The reason there were no deserters left was simply that no one believed they could escape town without succumbing to sleep.

Natasha beckoned Fina over and trailed after the soldiers. Once she saw which house they entered, Natasha vaulted up the wall, reaching the rooftop in moments.

A soldier sat at the edge of the roof. He’d been posted as a lookout, but the grim reports had left him too afraid to lie down—dozing off that way was all too easy. Natasha crept up behind him. Instinctively, she prepared to snap his neck, but remembering upright Fina behind her, she opted to knock him out instead.

She gently laid the unconscious man on the rooftop platform. The vantage point was excellent; from here, she could glimpse part of the first floor inside through a window.

“One, two, three…” Natasha counted softly. There were no fewer than eight people sprawled on the floor within her field of vision. “Notice anything odd?” she whispered in Fina’s ear after finishing her count.

“It may be a nightmare spell,” Fina replied. “There’s a subtle energy fluctuation in the air, as if some magic is accelerating sleep, but I haven’t parsed it yet.”

“Then let’s pull back—ha~.” Natasha stifled a yawn as she spoke.

Fina looked at her gravely. She, too, was being affected. No, to be precise, they’d both felt it since entering this area. Only, Natasha’s constitution was vastly superior to the other soldiers, so the symptoms took longer to emerge.

Natasha realized this as well. Even if she hadn’t slept well the previous night, she wouldn’t be this tired so soon. During her agent training, she’d gone ten days without a wink of sleep and still remained so clear-headed she could withstand the Red Room’s interrogations.

“We withdraw,” Fina said through gritted teeth. They’d learned little so far, but if they stayed, Natasha might be in real danger, and she couldn’t allow that.

Natasha nodded. She’d always intended to fall back anyway. As for the nightmare taking root here, she didn’t believe a few high-yield tactical missiles wouldn’t take care of it. As for those trapped inside—well, she’d just assume they were already dead, and wouldn’t lose sleep over it. In the end, she’d pin the blame on the terrorists, and that would be that.