Chương 52: Like Clockwork

'Well, zoinks, Scoob, it's a trap.'

'I mean… Is it gotta be a trap, right? That guy's a dreamer, and his one, two, four, eight, twelve… twenty-four of them, they're all Aspirants.'

'I mean, maybe asking would work.' June cleared his throat and asked.

"Hey, can we have our stuff back…" The room was pretty wide, and despite speaking with a casual tone, his harmonic voice echoed off the walls. Some of the Aspirant goons pulled weapons out of subspaces for themselves and their teammates. June looked up to Mortimer; the old man's listlessness seemed to have shaken off once he caught sight of his cane. Now, he looked as firm and calm as he usually did.

"You guys are not going to try to kill us, right?" Despite his harrowing voice echoing off the walls, his discomfort was evident; he wasn't scared, but he also didn't want to bother fighting in the mundane world since his powers were a bit too flashy to use in public. Not to mention, he wasn't in the mood to kill anyone either. Mortimer, on the other hand, seemed to be more willing to extend his killing intent.

The difference between a Dreamer and an Aspirant was massive, but at the same time, throwing enough of anything at something usually solves it; a predator gets lethargic once it's had its fill of chum. There were a few hostages in the corner of the room; they had bags over their heads, so June didn't need to worry about their stares or show much decorum, if he had to fight, of course. Which he wasn't. June absolutely didn't want to fight anyone or kill anyone.

He didn't even need his phone back; he just offered a hunt to Mortimer to make the sad old fart feel better.

'Why can't anything be easy? Why can't I just intimidate some mundane looters, get our stuff back, and go home?' June let out a groan as one of the Aspirants charged him.

"Mortimer, cover your face, there are hostages." June donned his revenant mask once more, and Mortimer obscured his face with a magical mosaic blur. June sighed as he grabbed the first Aspirant who charged him and tore his spine out. The rule he set for himself after becoming a Dreamer was that the only things he killed were things that expressed killing intent or acted in a way to harm himself or another.

Of course, June would happily spare someone if they just threatened him, of course, but alas, as June ground his fingers down the poor Aspirant's spine, turning it into a sharp blade, there were others involved this time. June swiftly and gruesomely danced through openings he made with his blade while humming the only tune he knew. He occasionally saw Mortimer beating his attackers with his fists; of course, he somehow made his bloody display look like an intended art piece.

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'Eloquent bastard' June was no fighter before his transformation, but time and time again did life forced him to be callous after gaining his not-so-wonderous abilities. June used to fight by grappling and grinding bones to dust; he had only recently learned to punch and even kick effectively after all. Needless to say, the Aspirants had more than power; they had skill, too, but skill only bridges the gap. June was an oddity, a mountain, a Dreamer.

A skilled Aspirant could take a careless Dreamer in a one-on-one, but in the end, it only takes one move for a Dreamer to cross a dozen steps, and it takes less for one to tear someone's heart out. Not to mention, a Dreamer's power comes from their ability to deny the world and usurp it of its own power. June, of course, was no stranger to resisting against his fate; his mind was broken before the beast, and it gained a direction once he met it.

Insanity beats stubbornness, and June was sitting next to the dangerous side of the scale; no truly sane man could use his enemy's innards to choke out another. Of course, that's what June was doing in the moment; he had long thrown away his borrowed weapon and had begun to mimic Mortimer's moves with an exact cadence. Like clockwork, the small hand moved, and the big hand followed.

June sustained a few hits, but they healed, and when they didn't, June would use his own body violently; gashes sprayed blood into his enemy's face, and a sword that pierced his stomach only allowed him to close the distance to press his fingers into his target's neck. The only reason June was able to call himself sane was that he had people to love now, and the only reason he was able to stay sane before was that he had people to pretend for.

The final Aspirant tried to run; June flicked a sword on the ground with a heel kick and tossed it right through the man's back, pinning him against the door. Then June turned to Mortimer, then to the man sitting with Mortimer's cane. The man was bald, so there was no hair to grab. He wore a tight shirt, which meant that his body would be easier to pierce; his eyes were a fiery inferno, sparks of flame swirled around his iris like a wildfire, but that only made it easier to pluck in the dark.

This was his first time encountering a proper enemy Dreamer after his bout with Mortimer. Technically, his first enemy Dreamer at all. June gingerly leaned down and plucked the fingers off a fallen Aspirant." PIERCE"" STRIKE" June channeled his will into his fingers and violently tossed them to pierce the Dreamer, and all four struck true. June craned his neck to the side, letting out a couple of cracks. Putting on the persona of callousness was more method acting than anything.

To kill, he needed to forget pain, he needed to forget consequence, and he needed to single-mindedly aim to either kill or maim his target. He would rather run away, but sometimes things needed to be done, regardless of his usual pacifism.

The Dreamer let out a bestial scream, the fingers that embedded themselves into his chest slid out, and the wound closed, his muscles seemed to bulge, and his shirt seemed to tear at the seems as the man grew several sizes bigger, before shrinking to meet Mortimer's staggering height. The man also had the same affinity as the Mortimer and June.

Mortimer also let an uncharacteristically bestial yell as his body swelled to meet the man's own muscle mass before shrinking back down to looking like his regular tall self. Their bodies began steaming before Mortimer made the first strike. Mortimer's strike was fast and hard enough to shake the entire room, but the Dreamer didn't react. The Dreamer struck back with a pop and tossed Mortimer back and out through the brick wall.

'Jesus Christ' June didn't know what was going on. The pop from the Dreamer's punch alone shattered the remaining windows in the old factory. The towering red-eyed man turned to look at June. His biceps looked like meatballs, the bulging veins seemingly bursting with transported blood, rippling under his skin like a horde of rabid vermillion roaches, and sweltering steam emanated from this man like a slack tub quenching glowing iron.

June was by no means faster, he was by no means stronger, he was by no means bigger, and he was by no means more skillful. He was starting to realize that he was a big fish in a little pond. But in the game of life, processing a realization and living through one were two different things.

A hand the size of his body slapped him into the wall, and in just the second where he got hit alone, his skin burst, his bones broke, his organs ruptured, his flesh split and screamed as it parted with a disgusting, slick sound of a butcher's knife sliding into a prime cut of meat. His lucky streak ended.