David's knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the ground, staring at the corpse of his daughter. It was Elle.
Truly her—long black hair like a night sky, ocean-deep blue eyes just like her mother's.
"Elle… Elle, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me." His voice cracked as he reached out, trembling fingers brushing her cheek.
The moment he touched her, her body crumbled into dust. Ash, brittle and black, like charcoal. Like the night she burned alive.
"No! No, no, no!" His scream tore through the dream. "Don't leave me again!"
He tried desperately to hold onto the ashes, but they slipped through his fingers, carried away by the cruel wind.
A hand touched his shoulder. Soft, steady.
"David…"
It was Maria. Somehow, her expression was calm. Of course, it was because she was a Pharos.
Their kind could resist Psyche-type vampires. Not invincible, but clear-eyed enough to see through the lies.
David's chest tightened with envy.
"Calm down," she whispered in his ear. "I know where her Vitalis Core is. Psyche-types aren't built for combat. We still have a chance."
David wanted to tell her the truth. That in this endless dream, Isolde was everything—the sky, the ground, the weapon in his hand.
Even his power bent to her will. Reaching the Vitalis Core was a fantasy.
That core, the very life of the vampire and their weakness.
But he was a leader. He couldn't shatter the fragile hope in Maria's voice. Couldn't admit his own doubt. Not when he was the only one implanted with a Core himself.
The shard of crimson crystal inside his chest gave him the power of their race, a weapon to turn against them.
So he swallowed the despair. Forced himself to his feet. Wiped the tears from his face.
"Let's try it," he said quietly. "Better to die fighting than die doing nothing."
Maria gave a small nod, her voice barely a breath. She told him where to strike, where Isolde's Core might be hidden.
He tightened his grip on the sword, feeling the B-rank Vitalis within his own body hum to life. The blade shone with a fiery edge, sharp enough to cut through immortal flesh.
But the truth gnawed at him. This was a dream. The sword wasn't his. Nothing was his. Could he really cut her down?
He pushed the thought away and leveled the blade at Isolde. His voice was steady now.
"I'm done with your mind games. Let's end this with a duel." A grim smile pulled at his lips.
"And I know your kind, dream eater. There are two rules, you can bend everything here, but if you die in this dream, you die in the real world. That's the price of your power."
Isolde tilted her head, crimson eyes gleaming. Then she smiled.
"Oh, darling," she purred, "do you truly believe that little toy can touch me? You can't even cut through my illusions."
She spread her arms wide as moths of fire swirled around her, her voice curling with mockery.
"But if it will amuse you, then very well. Let's play your little duel."
David tightened his grip on his blade, forcing himself not to falter. He had studied dream eaters from the old book because they were rare, trained for this.
He lunged forward, steel cutting through the smoky air. Isolde's form flickered, then split into three, then five, shadows laughing with her voice.
"Pick one," they teased, darting around him. "Or perhaps they'll all kill you first."
He slashed through one illusion, then another. The third let out a sharp cry, dissolving into black mist. His heart surged, he was close.
He pressed harder, weaving through the mirages until he caught her center, her chest exposed for a single strike.
His blade pierced.
Isolde's body shuddered as the core within her chest splintered, breaking apart into shards of light as the scream pierced the dream world. David's chest heaved, relief flooding his face.
"It's over."
But the pieces didn't fade. They bled into shadow, reknitting into a darker shape. The figure before him smirked.
"Oh… you thought that was me?" Her voice slithered through his skull.
The broken body collapsed like a puppet, empty. Behind him, her claws slid cleanly across his throat.
He gasped, feeling every pain the same in the real world. The same feeling of blood splurting out of his neck, then died.
The dream reset.
He found himself standing again, weapon in hand, the battlefield whole. Sweat soaked his skin. "No," he muttered. "No—"
She killed him again. And again. Sometimes with her claws, sometimes with fire, sometimes without even letting him draw a breath.
Each death left him heavier, slower, his mind unraveling in the endless loop, in an endless pain that not only he could feel in his body, but in his mind.
He tried every way possible, even telling Maria to help him, but she was as helpless as him.
By the tenth, his hands shook, Maria already down, she just sat there with empty eyes. By the twentieth, he couldn't stop flinching when her eyes met his.
His breaths came shallow, broken, like an animal waiting for slaughter.
"Have mercy on me…" he murmured, his mind couldn't hold the misery and desperation anymore.
He could feel every way he died, from the first death to now… even the strongest soldier would break down if they kept getting destroyed this way.
Finally, Isolde didn't strike. Instead, she walked toward him slowly, heels clicking against the dream's black marble.
He stumbled back, the sweat coming out of his body like a waterfall as his whole body trembled as he fell.
He crawled on the ground, but stopped by the wall that suddenly appeared.
"No… no don't!" He covered his face and closed his eyes.
Isolde stopped right before him, close enough that he could feel her presence crawl over his skin.
Her hand slipped into his pocket without asking, pulling free the small bracelet he kept hidden.
She turned it in her fingers, then clasped it around her pale wrist.
His voice cracked. "Why… why are you doing this?"
She leaned down, lips brushing his ear.
"I'm bored."
The dream shattered like glass, peeling away until the two of them stood in the quiet of the real room again.
David collapsed onto the floor, trembling, clutching at his chest as though the wounds were still there.
Isolde stretched lazily, admiring the bracelet on her wrist. "Mmm. Pretty."
Her smile widened when she saw his broken stare. "You were right about one thing. Death in the dream does scar the body. Not flesh… but the mind."
He stared at her, eyes wide, unable to speak.
But he finally got her, right?