Chapter 168: The Dream Realm

Chapter 168: The Dream Realm

As the stone pillar moved with a grinding groan, an ethereal, translucent light illuminated the ruined landscape. Murphy’s attention shifted back to the twinkling eyes in the sky. As soon as he saw them, he immediately averted his gaze, forcing himself to not look directly at the nebulous eyes embedded in the deep crimson sky.

An illusory dream world...? Or perhaps a corrupted historical projection of an abandoned city? He thought as his temples throbbed with a dull ache.

Beneath the moving pillar lay a fractured art. It depicted a severed hand design with its index finger lifted upward in an ancient, ritualistic gesture — a symbol that closely resembled the hidden orthodox symbol of Outer Gods.

Nearby, an invisible force carved an arrow into the dirt, pointing toward a broken, gothic house.

Its roof had been thoroughly shattered by the constant mad weather. Taking a long, deep breath, he slowly walked toward it, leaving the faint hand mark behind.

Cautiously, he entered the house of the dream realm. The moment he entered inside, the oppressive weight of the cosmic gaze vanished entirely, replaced by a sickly calm interior of the house.

It was absurd. Vibrant flowers bloomed straight out of the torn painting hanging on the wall.

Scattered glass shards littered the floor, reflecting a pure, pale light that formed a star shape.

Resting upon a small table was a boxy, glass-screened, old electronic television, a technology that shouldn’t have existed in a world that belonged strictly to 1894, yet that television entirely ruined the image.

As he examined the house further, he crossed paths with a wooden horse that was moving on its own. The rhythmic clack-clack of the toy caught his attention; Murphy had felt that there was no air to move it, yet it moved independently.

Next to it, a glass, filled with crimson, vicious blood, rested there, waiting for someone to drink it or a sacrificial offering for an unholy deity.

Near the bay window, the outside didn’t match the crimson sky he had witnessed before. Looking through the window seemed as if watching a well-crafted, beautiful movie about nature. It showed a different place where strange sunflowers and roses bloomed, although they didn’t look like flowers at first since they existed like a painting that a child would draw, a distorted valley...

Sensing a sudden decline in temperature, Murphy tilted his head toward the ceiling, where he found worse things.

A velvet curtain dripped down from the chandelier above, completely shredded by invisible claws.

The whole room was an absurd mix of horror and dream, caused by the influence of Dreamer Authority.

He extended his hand, fingers tracing the surface of a wardrobe, but the moment his skin made contact, the wardrobe transformed into a large mirror that reflected nothing but Mo Fei’s own face with a dangerous, bloodstained smile.

Suddenly, a horrific bang echoed directly in his mind as the reflection’s forehead exploded outward in a load of crimson as the shower dripped down a bore, bloody cavity from his forehead.

Murphy took a step back, his heart pounding as a fresh wave of maddening corruption threatened to breach his mental defense. He quickly called out his honorifics in the mind to anchor himself and turned toward the horse that had turned into a large wooden donkey, then the very next second it dissolved entirely into nothingness.

The reality around the house was shifting back and forth without giving him a moment to process.

Where the television existed, it was now replaced by a cast-iron, simple British phone booth.

One... two... three... four...

Ring! Ring!

Just after four seconds of watching the phone, it began to ring rapidly as it pierced through his ears. Compelled by a dangerous mystical curiosity, he walked toward it and hovered his hand over it.

With a flick, he grabbed the phone and held it to his ear, anticipating an entity’s voice, but it didn’t come for a long, terrible moment. Just as he attempted to pull the receiver away, the maddening whispers erupted from the earpiece in a mechanical voice. "Ph’nglui... mglw’nafh..."

He quickly slammed the phone away and rushed his hand toward his ears to cover them and ran to grab the chair, intending to smash the anomalous object, but when his hand touched the chair, a wet, slippery sensation ran through his hand.

He stared at the chair for a few seconds, then suddenly its legs elongated, splitting into sinister tentacles that threatened to grab his arm and rip it apart.

Without wasting a moment, he rushed backward. He hit the donkey toy that had appeared behind him again, but when he turned, it had now become a stoned octopus. "Tch..."

Gritting his teeth, he turned toward the window that stayed the same as before. For the next few moments, a silence held its grip in the room, and slowly the low sound of a lullaby escaped.

On the peeling wallpaper hung a yellowed calendar. It possessed no year, and the printed grid also showed an impossible date: February 31st. However, carved directly into the plaster beside it were runes written in an unusual handwriting — showing the explicit laws of this dream realm.

He carefully read through each of them. They seemed simple, but ignoring them might become his biggest mistake.

[Rules of the Dream Realm Domain:]

1. Do not acknowledge the voice of the Sun.

2. If a gentleman in a tailcoat offers a moment of intermission over tea, maintain complete silence and depart immediately without speaking.

3. If the flowers speak a numerical countdown, immediately alter your direction.

4. Turn back if the path ahead appears meticulously swept. In this domain, the streets are never cleansed.

5. If a shadow detaches from its source or you find a shadow with no source, do an immediate retreat to the direction you came from.

6. When approached by a man in a top hat offering wealth or fame, decline with utmost formality and leave. The price extracted will always exceed the boon.

7. Do not gaze into the celestial expanse when the stars begin to blink.

Murphy memorized all of these rules and looked at the vast window. Through it, he could see the unusual world, the artifact must be there then.

He jumped out of the window, landing in the domain of dream as the world instantly collapsed into a dreamy air.

Walking through it, he glanced at the horizon. Floating just above the peak of the mountain was a metallic orb, surrounded by knife-like spinning gear rays that mimicked a sun. That clockwork sun bore a wide grin as it was slowly hiding behind a mountain and spoke in an absurd tone. "Gentleman, oh little gentleman, whisper your true name to the dawn."

He reminded himself the first rule and turned his gaze toward the path ahead. On the side of the road, a garden rested where a few flowers bloomed. They were large with a face crafted in their centers; they seemed as if he was looking at a kid’s drawing turning alive.

Beneath the violet-petaled canopy of a deformed tree sat an elegant wrought-iron table and a large umbrella, casting a deeply disorienting shadow across the land.

In a wooden chair sat a man with a long mustache, and pinched tightly over his right eye was a crystal monocle. The golden chain of the monocle hung downward as his double-breasted tailcoat fluttered from the breeze. He quietly lifted a delicate, porcelain cup of tea and looked at Murphy.

The man adjusted his monocle as a faint, terrifyingly amused smile curled over his lips. "Oh, gentleman, oh, dear gentleman, would you care to grant me a moment of your time and have tea with me?"

Rule number two... he didn’t reply and walked forward.

Just then he heard a chorus of child-like voices that rang out from a nearby patch of sunflowers. The faces in the sunflowers giggled, their petals shaking as the chanted in unison. "One... two... four... three... five ... six..."

He turned again and continued to walk further, where he noticed the street... Unlike the previous path he had entered, where the petals of the strange tree were scattered around, here, it was swept. In a manner that simply meant that a guest had arrived.

Murphy turned on his heels and looked behind. The place had shifted; now behind him stood a field where the flowers bloomed, but their petals were made of chocolate that didn’t melt from the sun.

He entered the field; he knew now that he’d have to face all the anomalies to get anywhere else because now... he couldn’t return without an anchor.