Amid the ruins under the night sky, the nightmare mist quietly surged. Ethan leaned against a half-collapsed wall, his eyelids heavy. Hours of pursuit and the impact of the illusory rift had left his consciousness gradually drifting. He had only intended to close his eyes for a moment's rest, yet unconsciously, he slipped into another world.
—Suddenly, the surroundings fell silent.
No wind, no dust. Black mist churned like a tide, engulfing the shattered streets. Ethan looked up and found himself in a long, straight corridor. The walls on either side resembled an old dormitory hallway; the flickering, broken light bulbs barely illuminated the path.
"This place…" he muttered under his breath, but his feet moved forward on their own.
At the end of the corridor, a familiar figure slowly appeared.
A black trench coat, tousled hair, the curve of the side profile sharp enough to make one's heart skip a beat. It was the friend he had believed dead—the man who had once fought beside him, only to stab him in the back at the end.
"…So you really are alive." Ethan's voice was hoarse, a mixture of bitter laughter and an indescribable complexity.
The man slowly turned, his eyes devoid of hatred or anger, instead carrying a long-missing calm. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Ethan, long time no see."
Ethan's muscles tensed instantly. He stared, fingers instinctively reaching for the weapon at his waist—but there was nothing. This was a nightmare; he had no leverage here.
"You should have died in that operation," Ethan said coldly. "I saw you ripped apart with my own eyes."
"Is that so?" The man smiled faintly, his voice low but clear. "Yet here I am. Either alive, or not completely dead. Even if only as a shadow… it's better than being completely alone."
His words pierced Ethan's ears like needles. His breathing grew heavy, and a corner of his heart was ruthlessly torn open. The thing he had long refused to admit was now cruelly laid before him—the years of fighting side by side, the trust that could only grow on the battlefield.
But the memory flashed immediately: the cold touch of the blade piercing flesh, the suffocating rush of blood.
"Don't try to fool me," Ethan muttered, his voice iron-cold. "You're just an illusion. Nightmares excel at tying people down with past emotions."
The trench-coated man stepped closer, yet his gaze remained gentle."If I am truly an illusion, then why are you hesitating? Why not just turn and walk away?"
Ethan's fists trembled slightly.
The corridor's lights flickered, walls pulsating like they were breathing. The oppressive aura of the nightmare made it nearly suffocating. Yet the man before him looked exactly as he remembered; even the faint smile between his brows remained unchanged.
"Ethan, you've walked alone for too long," he said, slowly extending his hand, as if to pull him back. "Why not… trust me one more time?"
Time seemed to freeze at that instant.
Ethan stared at the outstretched hand, a glint of danger igniting in his eyes. Then he laughed abruptly, his voice hoarse:"Of course… only you would say that. But you're wrong about one thing."
He slowly raised his hand, slicing through the air, sparks of psychic energy flickering from his fingertips."The real him never wasted words. He'd just shove the knife straight into my chest."
Boom—!
The corridor collapsed instantly. Black mist surged violently, and the figure before him contorted, emitting a low roar that was both laughter and fury, indistinguishable. In the next moment, the illusion shattered completely, and Ethan's eyes snapped open.
The night still surrounded the ruins, flames and dust swaying in the wind. Karl stood not far away, his voice cold:"You got pulled in again?"
Ethan exhaled slowly, his expression a tangle of complex emotions:"…Yeah. This time, he spoke."
Karl froze, frowning."Are you sure it wasn't just remnants of the nightmare?"
Ethan was silent for a moment, then lit a cigarette. Smoke drifted into the night, his voice low and cold:"Truth or illusion doesn't matter. What matters is—this game isn't over yet."
The wind blew, and shadows stirred deep within the ruins.
The "friend" from the nightmare—was he truly alive, or merely a deeper trap?