Psychologically, dreams are defined as "subjective memories of what we experience while sleeping" or "vivid, visual sequences of imagery that occur at regular intervals during sleep," as defined in studies by Kithing et al. and Russel et al.
This is the description of dreams as fragmented narratives… shaped by the brain's attempt to process emotions, memories, and sensory stimuli during REM cycles. Yet, for all the clinical precision, such definitions fail to capture the visceral, almost mystical quality of dreaming. The way it dissolves the rigid boundaries of time, space, and identity. To an ordinary person, dreams are less a neurological phenomenon and more a descent into a realm where reality unravels in favour of a reality of their own.
Yet, as Isaac stands here now, he knows with certainty that this is no dream. The scenery around him is too precise and tangible to belong to the hazy logic of sleep. His bare feet press into cold, uneven soil with the scent of pine and woodsmoke aloof in the air.
A dense forest lay behind him. A rustic village forward.
A ring of oak-and-stone huts encircling a bonfire that cast shadows that danced like spectres.
This place was foreign, but unnervingly complete.
These are not the fragmented fractals of a dream or the half-backed edges of a memory.
I've never seen such a village.
Or… Have I?
What the hell?
How?
But most distressing was his own body.
He raised His trembling hand. He saw skin stretched over skeletal fingers with nuckles protruding like knots.
His arms are frail.
And unfamiliar.
Isaac shudders as he clutches at the rough clothing he does not own.
"Hmmmm..."
How high-pitched. His voice is higher, softer, and tinged with a teenage life.
I'm sure I was falling a moment ago. The skyscrapers and the pavement that approach from 36 floors below. The screaming of the wind. All of those were real, yes.
But did that impact ever come?
Instead of permanent darkness. Here I am alive, but not alive? Am I myself or not?
I'm sure of it.
What the fuck is this?
The afterlife? The 8th circle of hell? Transmigration? Simulation? Maybe the Many-Worlds theory had transferred me into a body that never hit the ground. Is this forest the equivalent of an apartment? Or is this some digital resurrection, a loop of myself repeating until I break?
All of these thoughts ran amok in his stuporous head.
Never mind that fictional shit. Where the hell am I? Earth? How much time has passed? Rapid-fire these questions, use your brain to figure everything out.
He wonders, though the question seems absurd.
Time seems to stop here, and the quiet hums like a string being plucked. In fact, there were strings being plucked by the group of individuals ahead. They move in a slow, rhythmic procession around the fire if they are villagers. He hears their low, guttural chants.
1,2,3,4...
Dozen.
Humans? It looks like it. They're eating.
The light of the campfire briefly illuminates the floor around them.
Hmmm…. Rustic Red… Blood… Blood... Blood...
Then Isaac sees it.
"Hrrkkk!"
A puke rises.
Hold that vomit in. Not now. Fu—
"Hrrkkk!"
In the bonfire writhes a human, the limbs contorted, mouth open in a soundless scream.
It's a woman, dishevelled and shrivelled. Another body lying beside it, small, charred, and motionless.
Her child.
"Shit! What the fuck!"
Slips out of his mouth. Heads flickering to him.
Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! This is a fucking ritual! A damn sacrifice!
The fire keeps crackling as it releases an acrid stench of burning fat that fills the air.
Deceivingly delicious.
Instinct screams at Isaac to run, but his legs freeze up.
Their chanting haunts him, their tempo getting frenzied now. One figure breaks from the circle, turning a curious look toward him, turning into a grin. He raises a pointed finger.
"Who are you?"
Hey! Hey, dude! Dreams don't carry the taste of fear. Dreams don't fucking trap one in a body that isn't one's own! Why the hell am I in a world where death is to end and begin!
Isaac staggers backwards, his new frail frame trembling as the humans begin to advance.
Their chants morph into laughs and idle chatter.
The forest is too fucking dark. Shit. But if the alternative is worse…
The chase begins.
Isaac turns and sprints into the forest. Multiple branches tear at his skin. It was evident that the owner of this body had not done cardio in a fair bit of time. His breath comes in gasps, each step painful on the joints.
This can't be fucking real!
Summary, most likely:
I did die. The fall did happen. I am here now. Reborn into a nightmare that defies explanation. A nightmare where blazing rituals serve as a feast for another. The nightmare that is demanding answers that I don't fucking have!
and;
A situation where I. A Genius... I am utterly dumb and frail and BLOODY USELESS FUCK I NEED TO RUN FASTER!
The bonfire's glow slowly begins to fade.
But the heat of running.
He dreads that this is only the beginning of a long sprint.
The cultist shouts and shrieks pierce the night behind him. Screeches, laughs, and taunts.
Hah… Hoh… Shit, my lungs… Ow… This frail form isn't mine. Hah… These legs, these trembling hands…Hah… They belong to someone else, someone younger. But how the fuck can someone be so unathletic!
But he didn't dare slow down. The terror nevertheless felt intimately real.
I must be in purgatory. I killed myself, and now I'm in some fucking circle of hell! Could it be, by a balance of probabilities… I have transmigrated into a form or piece of media I consumed in the past that has come to rope me back in.
A root interrupts his thoughts. Isaac stumbles, and he slams into damp moss. Pain. It was painful. But he scrambles upright.
After all, those individuals were closer now.
He can already hear all the things they are going to do with his body later.
Roast me at the stake? Gouge my eyes out? Castrate me first?
FUCK YOU FUCK NO!
"Faster."
But the voice that escapes him is still wrong. A higher-pitched, fragile voice.
A stranger's.
Abruptly, Isaac reaches a point where the ground ends.
He stopped before falling.
A vast forest was beneath him.
Is it a canopy?
He wondered.
The trees are fucking huge, their trunks look wider than buildings.
A giggle spins him around.
One of the individuals around the bonfire greets him. This one looked thinner than the others. But what was contradictory was his weapon of choice.
A HUGE cleaver gripped in his hands.
"Heya! You, if you could just follow us in one piece, that would be great!"
Oh my God… I'm gonna fucking die here! What the fuck am I supposed to do?
He backed toward the cliff's edge. Pebbles skittering into the abyss.
"Screw off! S-Stay back!"
The words sound pathetic, Isaac knows it.
Yet reluctant to perish right now. He raises his hands in his boxing stance.
"Pffttt… Nice stance. It's a shame that we'll have to use you. Unless… Would you consider joining us, Es一
"F-fuck off! I will beat you to death if you don't, you fucking cultist!"
It's futile. I'm not beating a cleaver in a fist fight.
"Hah… Seriously? So be it…"
The individual launches himself at speeds not humanly possible.
Shit!
Time fractures.
Although the cleaver arcs toward his skull, in that moment, something flickers at the edge of Isaac's point of view, a faint, golden haze.
Instinctively, he throws himself towards that light.
The blade whistles past his ear, leaving only a nick. The blade forced itself into the dirt where itstruckd.
"Oh?"
He wrenches the weapon free.
Too real. Too real! But what the fu—
! COMBAT INITIATED
Temporal Anchor (???-Star) Activated |
Stamina: 49% |
He blinks, yet the words still materialise in the air, glowing like embers.
Leave this for later. Let me settle this first.
The cleaver swings again.
What's this? My head hurts like shit, but I see it.
This time, the world sharpens into a translucent, blue grid overlapping Isaac's vision.
Red markers flash where the person's muscles tense, predicting the cleaver's trajectory.
22.5 Degrees. I have to slip left.
He ducks, and the blade shears through and barely misses his neck. Firmly embedding into the ground again.
"Fuck man! You're a swifty one!"
Too close. But. Good. This gives me something to work with.
It's just this body though…
Stamina: 19% |
The numbers burn brighter, searing themselves into Isaac's mind.
Two steps to the side first. This isn't a hallucination. Is it a game System? How does it work? How is it overlaying in my vision? Can he see it?
No focus first.
Get everything I can get from a quick analysis while his weapon is really stuck in the ground this time.
How would it work, though? What should I say? Do I have an inventory? Skill Tree? Maybe a menu? Hell, gimme a damn tutorial for fucksake!
"Menu?"
Nothing
"Inventory?"
Nothing
"Skill Tree?"
Nothing
"Tutorial at least?"
Nothing
"Motherfucker… Statistics?"
A crackle.
Finally,
A blue interface erupts before Isaac, its edges flickering like unstable code with text displayed in the centre. Extremely organised:
Name: |ERROR|
Class: Anomalous Entity
Title: "Eulogist of Every Truth", "Audience? Of the Acts"
Age: 17 (Biological Age). 19 (Mental Age)
Stats:
- Strength: 1-Star
- Vitality: 2-Star
- Agility: 2-Star
- Intellect: 5-Star
- Stamina: 19%
Attributes:
Temporal Anchor (Passive?): A reminder that you're an outsider, you have been granted the authority to 'perceive' into the inhabitants of this world—With sufficient usage, you may see more…
Survival Instinct (Passive): "You died once. Try not to do it again 😏."
Hollow Frame (Curable Debuff): While the mind is expansive, the body is a hollow joke—merely a shell incapable of expressing full potential in the material plane.
Element Affinity:
Wind (Main Element): 1-Star
Mana Remaining: 250/250 MP
Great, it's not explaining what the fuck I want.
Really fuckin good to know…