Now in the castle, Ben was dreaming but he didn't know it yet.
***
His eyes snapped open.
He was standing in the arena, again. The sand beneath his feet was wet, soaked and damp. Blood pooled around his ankles. He was gradually sinking into it.
The sky above was still the same green sickly glow, but darker now. He was shaking and he felt as if someone or something alive was watching him from behind.
He turned and gasped. Surrounding him were…Beasts and creatures.
Thousands of them. Millions, maybe.
They filled every inch of the arena, packed so tightly their bodies pressed against each other. The bear-scorpions, the writhing masses of limbs and eyes, the reptilian things with split-open heads.
All of them were just standing there, staring at him.
And there was a great silence, except from the sounds of heavy breathing coming from him.
How did he get here? Why couldn't he move? Is this fear?
All those questions flashed through his mind, as he turned and stared, meeting eyes with everything staring at him.
Then, suddenly he heard a low growl.
He turned. It was the werewolf standing directly behind him.
Its yellow eyes locked onto his. Blood dripped from its jaws and the fur around his hands and feet where the tape binded him from earlier.
It titled it's head in a frown mm. "Fou….You!," it whispered.
Ben gasped loudly and ran.
He didn't think. He just bolted as fast as he could, his legs sinking in deeper into the sand as he ran. His heart was pounding.
And everywhere he turned, the beasts were there, gradually closing in and blocking every path.
"No no no!" He panicked, wondering what his next move should be.
He spun around, searching for a gap or an opening. Anything at all.
"System!" he screamed. "System, help me!"
There was no response. Nothing.
Just the sound of his own ragged breathing and the beasts closing in.
Then, something grabbed him from behind. A massive hand, ashen-grey. The grip was firm and strong, wrapping around his torso and lifted him off the ground.
Ben's stomach dropped. He fought and twisted in the grip. He looked up and gasped.
It was the Reaver's. The one he'd killed.
Its face was half-crushed from the fall, one eye dangling from its socket and it had blood stained around its now smiling jaw.
"No," Ben choked out. "No, please, I didn't mean to. I swear, I'm sorry."
The Reaver tilted its head, almost curious. Then it raised a massive, jagged sword.
"Please," Ben's voice cracked. "Please don't…I'll do anything, I'll…"
The Reaver plunged the blade through Ben's back. He could feel the hard sharp metal piercing and penetrating into his skin and bones. The pain was incredible, something he'd never felt before.
"Ahhh!"
***
Then Ben woke up, screaming.