War.
Asher dreamt of war.
A horrendous, endless war.
He saw it stretch across centuries—battlefields rotting beneath blood-red skies, corpses piling into mountains, rivers turning crimson. Silent screams filled the air, echoing through time.
Then, suddenly, it all stopped.
The visions froze. The noise returned. The world settled into motion again.
The clash of metal, the shrieks, the howls. When Asher came to his senses, he found himself kneeling — his knees submerged in a pool of warm blood. The metallic stench hit him a moment later, filling his lungs like poison.
The smell hit him like a blade to the gut. Nausea clawed its way up his throat. He wanted to vomit, to purge the disgust, but nothing came. Not a drop of saliva. Not even a breath.
He began to cough violently, but nothing came out, no saliva, nothing. His body wasn't able to.
He raised a trembling hand. It felt stiff, unnaturally heavy.
When he looked down, his hands were caked in blood… yet beneath the crimson layer, his skin wasn't skin at all. It was stone.
He tried to stand. His body felt unbalanced, weight distributed wrong — but he was used to that. What unsettled him was the dryness in his mouth, as if every drop of moisture had been drained away.
His mind flared with alarm as his eyes widened.
An arrow hissed through the air.
Asher ducked—too slow. It scraped across his shoulder, sending a flare of red dust scattering before the stone knit itself back together.
'[Within the Unseen] is still active,' he noted.
That confirmed it.
He wasn't himself anymore. He was inside a Nightmare Creature's body—just like Sunny had been. And judging by the obsidian veins tracing his armour, it was likely tied to Nether, the ruler of the underworld. Similar to Saint.
But he had no time to dwell.
"YHAA!"
A shout tore through the noise behind him. Asher twisted, barely dodging an obsidian blade that sliced through the air.
Light surged through his hand, gravity converging as he swung with full force—Cicada's Cry cutting through the air.
Then he saw the attacker's face.
A human.
His eyes were wide and sunken, his skin pale as bone. His blade trembled as he stared up at the shadow towering over him. For a moment, Asher hesitated.
That moment was all the man needed.
The human screamed, lunging forward, his sword plunging into Asher's abdomen, barely piercing the stone flesh. Asher's counterstroke landed a heartbeat later.
A sharp crunch echoed all over the din.
Then came the whisper.
[You have slain a dormant human. Name: Unknown.]
[Your soul grows stronger.]
Asher's stone lips cracked as he whispered, "He was an illusion."
But a quieter voice inside him replied:
'Then why did his face look so real? Why was his fear so human?'
His fingers tightened around Cicada's Cry.
"I was defending myself."
'You still killed a human.'
"I did the same in the First Nightmare."
He took a long, hollow breath.
"Yes… I did. In the first trial. I killed one in the dream realm too..."
He lowered his gaze to the corpse beneath him, blood still warm as it pooled across the ground.
"These are just illusions," he murmured.
He had to believe that.
Because if he didn't, his sanity wouldn't last.
To distract himself, he looked around—the world around him a desolate expanse of steel and carnage. The sky was a dull grey, heavy like lead. As far as his eyes could see, there was nothing but war.
Armies clashed endlessly—monsters and men tearing each other apart. Somewhere in the distance, titans moved like mountains, each step shaking the ground.
Asher shivered.
Was Eurys sure this was the Second Nightmare?
What was he supposed to even do here? Win the war? Survive? The sheer scale of it was staggering. There had to be Saints out there somewhere in the chaos.
"But first…"
Asher had to get out of this war!
He had no incentive to fight for whatever side he was fighting! Why would he risk his life so pointlessly without understanding the situation. It was plain stupid! Even a righteous hero in his position would be confused on who and what to fight!
But there was a problem... "Where is the end of the battle field?"
It stretched beyond the horizon.
Asher sighed, crouching low. His stone limbs coiled, then released. The ground cracked beneath him as he launched upward—air rushing past his ears. But only for a moment.
Gravity seized him. His body began to fall in a slow, humiliating arc.
He was too heavy.
"What the hell?!"
Spawned in the middle of a war and nerfed? Did the Nightmare spell hate him or something?
Frustration simmered beneath his calm, feeding the ember of anger that always lingered with his flaw.
"Blight," he hissed.
Sparks of light manifested beside him, and a creature emerged—a familiar pterodactyl, its wings stretched wide and its body crackling with dark goo.
Echo: [Blighted Sky-Hunter]
Echo Core: Fallen
Echo Type: Monster
Echo Attributes: [Swift], [Tainted].
Echo Description: [A winged hunter that rots the sky.]
He lightened his weight as much as possible. The Blight shrieked and carried him upward, its wings slicing through the wind.
From above, the battlefield was a nightmare alright. Sonic booms rippled through the air, explosions carved the land open, and black smoke painted the horizon.
He flew for several minutes, weaving through stray arrows and whatever anyone hurled at him. Then, his eyes caught it—something ahead, far beyond the carnage.
The end of the battlefield.
Asher dismissed the Blight, descending through the ashen air. His stone boots hit the ground with a dull thud.
He stared ahead, his expression hardening.
Still several kilometers away, but unmistakable— a vast curtain of shifting white.
Mist.