It was taking all of Oskar's will power not to turn his brain into mush with an excess of depressants at the moment.
Red had seen this coming, he had walked all of them through what would happen. But every time Oskar had tried to ask what happened after they apprehended the invaders. The Master had simply said: "I'll handle it."
It would have been demeaning to be relegated to such a small position, but then he found out that the invaders were actually genuine fucking Valor Squires.
Just then, a new form appeared in the room. It was the sandy haired Sleeper, the boy named Bitz. The boy was obsessed with his new power to phase through objects despite being very clearly told that it both had a limit and a clear danger. Ever since he had woken up, Bitz hadn't entered a room normally.
It was incredibly infuriating.
What was perhaps more infuriating was that somehow Oskar had become the de-facto parent of the little urchin. Children in the New Workshop were required to have some sort of adult that they could call upon for emergencies. And Oskar had made himself the "gauridan" for Bitz, thus making him the one who had to deal with all his bullshit.
Of course, this wasn't done out of the goodness of his heart, but because Oskar would need a cover for moments like these.
"I couldn't make out a lot from this position…but it seemed like our dear Caster knew some of those fellows," Oskar said by way of greeting.
Bitz's ecstatic demeanor shifted back into one of composure at this sobering reminder. This little meet-up wasn't so Bitz could get praise for taking out an unaware, unguarded, and unsuspecting Awakened. Instead, it was to do what the boy had always done: tell Oskar the information that he wanted.
Bitz's Innate Ability had to do with turning incorporeal. The exact science behind this ability was unclear, and it was apparently something that only Bitz was to learn and know. And despite being only loyal to Oskar, the kid did have more respect for the Red Judge than anyone else, so after Oskar said that he didn't care, the secret of the boy's true powers remained a mystery.
What he did know was that, somehow, the kid could still hear sounds when was phased out of reality. This wasn't a part of his ability, but instead achieved through some technique that Bitz had devised on his own.
It seemed odd to Oskar why the Red Judge was so flagrant with sharing his ability, but so secretive of others. But that didn't matter at the moment.
The only thing that mattered was what he was about to say.
"...Those last five were a part of Valor. And their leader girl actually knew Caster. She said that he had apparently failed two missions before. So he used to work for Valor apparently. But not only that, she said she'd met him before. And after a while, he looked like he remembered her too. And then something really crazy happened. She offered to let him join her Legacy Clan, but Caster said no! He called her weak! To her face! And then he was all 'yOu ArE the prEY' and then–"
"Ok, kid, shut the fuck up for a second," Oskar cut him off before Bitz got even more excited.
The lanky man stood up and started pacing the room. His mind had been on rapid fire long before Bitz made his way up here.
Stupidly, Oskar had thought that this whole "catch the thief" thing that they were doing was at worst going to take a jab at Caiman.
But this was SO much worse.
The Great Clan Valor.
Even thinking the words made him seeth with a rage that hadn't quieted down even after 22 years.
Oskar was throwing his whole weight behind the Red Judge, and this was definitely the right decision considering how an Awakened, a Sleeper, and a bunch of mundane people just took down two cohorts of Awakened.
But he was now starting to realize that his "whole weight" didn't mean jack shit. If this was going to the level of Great Clans then they were so woefully out of their depth it wasn't even funny.
But throwing aside all of that panic, Oskar started to put together a picture based on what he knew.
The Red Judge worked for the Government, or at least had deep ties to it. He was essentially equal to a Saint in terms of value, perhaps even more so. But it didn't matter if they had to give up 5 Saints, the Government would do so in order to maintain "neutrality".
And despite all the resources that were being poured into the Red Judge, Oskar was fairly certain they would give him up if it appeased Valor.
Which means that Valor did not attack him based on something that he did in public, or else the Government would have known about it and would have thus dealt with it before it got to this.
No, Valor must have found out about something that the Red Judge personally had done.
For a crazy moment Oskar wondered if it was because of Caster, and that Valor had come to take back their Awakened warrior. But there was no way such a mobilized effort could have been made for that.
…So where the hell did that leave him?
What could possibly piss off a Great Clan so bad?
And then one of the smallest, most insignificant details rang in his head like a blaring bell.
The recipe for the special gunpowder that turned the Workshops guns into Nightmare Creature murdering machines. It had been synthesized as a composite with multiple things, but the one that granted its explosive power was volcanic ash.
The volcanic ash from a place in the Dream Realm.
And Oskar knew of only one such place, and that was the volcano that Ravenheart rested upon. The center of Clan Song's territory.
What could make a Great Clan so mad?
The answer was obvious.
It was another Great Clan.
…
Malcolm woke up in the Dream Realm. Or rather, he fell asleep, and was thus transported to the Dream Realm.
Unlike Masters, Awakened had to crawl back into that hell hole every night. Fortunately, it would be wherever they placed their "tether". And that tether was always at a Gate in a Citadel.
Malcolm's Citadel was quiet and unassuming for the most part.
It was in a dangerous region of the Dream Realm called the Chained Isles. It was dangerous, but largely empty, and the Transcendent who ruled over this place was as nice as those freaks could get.
And besides that time a couple months ago where some pale kid somehow got toilet paper and other mundane stuff into the Dream Realm despite being only an Awakened, there was never anything interesting.
All Malcolm had to do was wake up in his room in the Dream Realm and then walk over to the Citadels Gate. After passing through it, he would return to normal sleep. On the other hand, he couldn't wake up unless he went through the Gate.
It was the little things like that which made him sometimes wish he were a Master. Someone who could never return to this cursed land if they wished.
Then he remembered his First Nightmare and thought better of it.
But for some reason, this time when he woke up he was not in his room in the Chained Isles. Instead, he was some sort of cell.
Not only that, but one he couldn't smash through.
"Confused? It took quite a lot of work to pull off this little trick so I appreciate your surprise."
Malcolm's bones froze and his skin started leaking sweat after he processed the voice. Or rather, who it was from.
The Red Judge.
Malcolm turned to see the figure of the unnatural looking man. His odd skin, lithe build, odd clothes, and worst of all, those eyes that were the same as a Nightmare Creature.
"Morning, Malcolm," the fiend greeted.
"...Judge," Malcolm eventually responded.
"I know, it must be much less comfortable waking up here rather than whatever corner of the Dream Realm you slink off to every night."
"How the hell–How did you do this? Can you stop Awakened from being forced into the Dream Realm!?" His voice was tinged with much more desperation than he would have liked. But this simple thing. Waking up in a place that wasn't that eerie hellscape…somehow being in a cell was actually better.
"No, of course not," The Red Judge stood then. He walked with the cadence of a predator and stood before the bars, very much in reach of Malcolm's grasp. "You just never truly fell asleep. Apparently, your brain has to go through half a REM cycle before you get pulled into the Dream Realm. And there is this fun machine the government can get hooked up on their big convoy ships that keeps you unconscious, but without getting a wink of sleep."
Malcolm's forehead throbbed at the words. Confirming that he had indeed felt no less rested than he had before he took on this suicide mission.
"What is this?" Malcolm whispered in fear. Seeing the thing standing before him, he couldn't help but feel increasingly sure that this Master was actually a cannibal who would soon feast on his bones and sinew.
"This is transit," The Red Judge said with a smile. "You are about to reach your new home."
But as Malcolm felt the floor, he noted with some confusion that they were not still aboard a convoy. They were not moving at all, in fact. So he was entirely unsure of how they were in transit.
But then the door opened.
And a man that looked like murder itself walked inside.
The gaunt older man had a sharpness to him that was impossible to quantify. Even next to the mad Judge, he held great authority…and Malcolm recognized him.
"Dear gods, your Saint Cor."
Indeed it was impossible to mistake the figure for anyone else but the decorated Government Saint.
But the Transcendent made no comment or reproach. All he did was walk up beside the Red Judge.
Then, quicker than Malcolm could react, the Saint's hand shot out and grabbed his head. Malcolm felt like a child as he was picked up with the old man's bony fingers. He brought his own hands upwards, trying to free himself.
But then he was suddenly let go.
And just a millisecond before that, a sensation that he knew all too well occurred. It was the pressure, the stirring, of entering into the Dream Realm.
When Malcolm felt himself fall onto the ground, he was assaulted by new sensations. The harsh grey light of oppressively overcast sky. The smooth, precise intersections of even cobblestone beneath him. A damp and unfamiliar scent.
His eyes adjusted to take in a completely foreign sight.
Made of ancient stone, the framework of a dead city was splayed out before him. The ruins of old overpowered the very few buildings that now surrounded him.
His immediate surroundings were completely different in style, though they were of the same material.
Malcolm recognized it as the odd ancient buildings that The Red Judge loved to invoke in his New Workshop.
…But they were not in the New Workshop.
They were in the Dream Realm.
"He…he has a Citadel," Malcolm whispered breathlessly. Indeed he could feel the pull of a Gate just a little under a kilometer away.
"Indeed he does," a young, handsome voice echoed his thoughts.
Malcolm turned and rolled to his feet, summoning his broadsword. But as he took in the form of the one standing leisurely behind him, he realized there was no immediate danger.
The young man had prideful green eyes that appeared to be permanently looking down on the world around him.
"Welcome to my hell."
Before Malcolm could ask what the man meant by that, he felt another person appear beside him. It was someone that he recognized.
One of the Mercenaries that had been with him in their feeble assault on the Red Judge.
And then mere seconds later, there was another.
And then another.
Then another.
Roughly 10 minutes later, the entire group that had assaulted the Red Judge were now shaking off their confusion, fear, and horror and opening their eyes to a new region of the Dream Realm. Somewhere far, far away from their anchor.
Malcolm was tempted to raise his voice and try to corral the quickly distressing group. But just as he opened his mouth a deafening crack sounded across the Citadel. And each and every one of them fell deathly silent.
"Welcome to the Dread Grave Citadel," a rippling voice called out from above. "You will not be leaving her until you fully saturate your Soul Core with Essence. We are surrounded on all sides by different death zones. If you wish to explore you are very welcome to do so. There are no time limits. Do your best, future Hunters."