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Member Since 31 Jan 2008
Offline Last Active Mar 04 2013 05:46 AM

Schism, AU Fanfiction Series (Possibly)

03 May 2012 - 03:27 AM

“Come to see me again?” he asks, his voice echoing its rhetorical question off the walls of the chamber. Had I not been so worn down in my waking days, I may have balked at his mockery. While he enjoyed my suffering, he was also limited by his intense schedule, and his responsibility to our father was much greater than mine, because he’s so strong. The greater the power father entrusts us with, the more loyal and unwavering we must be. Reala’s case is so extreme, in my subconscious I may have derived some enjoyment in wasting his time- and only now do I have the mindset to realize that I loved it.

And so he asks, “come to see me again?” His thin body silhouetted against the blazing light of the dead, grey moon, evoking the image of a hanging spider. It was years ago, and I had not yet awakened to my true identity. I was just a sickly dreamer boy, my spindly, awkward body struggling to hold high a head filled to the brim with heavy ideas. What makes ideas heavy is the burden of silence- facts and anecdotes to carry with, wherever one goes, and manage with skill and determination, never forgetting, and unable to share, until one day they can never be shared, because they have ceased to be relevant. Such was my dilemma. As a human, I was pathetic in existence and physical form. It feels like another life, and in a way it was. The past image of me shows no connection to my current mentality. He finds no strength to speak to his own kind out of fear of mockery, but sees no purpose in a life of silence.

An observant listener would at this point suggest he simply conquer his fear of speaking, and that happiness would follow. But the realist would realize that conquering one’s fears is not the same as conquering one’s critics. And failing to do the latter is an invitation to be dragged down into the mucky waters that serve as the spawning grounds of new fears. In truth, he had spoken up, against his fears, time and time again, and by the time he approached Reala, those years ago, he had been dragged so deep into the murky waters that he had drowned in the terror that resulted- a state of mind that questioned the purpose of swimming against the current, and instead sought refuge in suicide, that is, of the spirit, not the body. It was a release of all hope.

“I give up,” he cries out. “You said that I could never be happy, and you were right, and you say that you can make things better. I want to know, please, what do I do now?” Reala laughs at the display. In this realm, words are useless. Only the soft-minded dreamers can be fooled by words alone. To the Nightmaren, action means the difference between truth and lies, and can save one’s intent from appearing as superficial as jewelry. He tosses him a dagger, one that is dull and blunt from practice. The boy is mortified, and when he finally picks the dagger off the ground, he knows what was expected of him. He turns the blade over in his hand, observing himself in the reflection on the smooth metal surface. His face is round and soft as dough, and his eyes are tiny beads of self-loathing, tear spurting immaturity. His angst turns to despair, and he commits to the act that everyone thought him too weak to attempt.

Reala’s eyes widen with excitement as the boy drops to the ground, the dagger jammed as deep as it could be driven straight into the boy’s heart. When he lifted me off the ground, I knew that there was something different about me. Matters that felt unshakable in their importance simply evaporated into mist. It made no difference if I lived or died, or if anyone loved me. None of it was any use to me any longer, as I had surrendered myself and all of my worldly feelings to Nightmare itself. I was dying as I was carried to the great hall, and yet my hands weren’t trembling, and I never felt like I was really experiencing any of it. I didn’t feel rescued, or tricked, or betrayed, or anything. All I felt was relief, as I was no longer required to be human. I was something radically different before I ever entered Wizeman’s hall.

At first I found it hard to believe that this is how all the Children of Nightmare are recruited. My troubles seemed so distinct and devoid of hope, and yet now I am surrounded by others who were just like me. Not all of us were given the dagger, but all of us took that same plunge, the turn away from the last light shining into our prison. It only became clear after I became versed in the art of deception- I learned the same techniques that Reala used to twist me further into myself, and feel so alone. Once I was able to manipulate others into the same mentality, I believed in the falseness of happiness and misery. There is no fulfillment, no heartache, and no love. There is only satisfaction and dissatisfaction, and once I, and all the rest of my brothers and sisters learned this truth, we understood Nightmare as well.

To a true idiot, Nightmare seems like a dismal place, where frightening and evil things are banished, while the good dreams are off in the other half of the dimension. In truth, Nightmare is enlightened- as its family has realized that there is no evil in seeking satisfaction from life, but there is evil in denying one’s self pleasures for the sake of others, especially when one is superior to them. No good, no evil, only bliss for those able to take it. We all know that when we have been shamed, we imagine our enemy’s demise, so why has the human race decided that acting on this pleasurable impulse is evil? And one satisfactory deed leads to another, as one who kills the ones who shame him will cease to be shamed very quickly.

As a Child of Nightmare, I can take pride in myself for what I have become. I am the bane of all who deny others the same twisted satisfaction I feel every night. And I am the terror to those who deny themselves that same pleasure. One day, you may find yourself wondering why you feel so miserable, in your life of false smiles and ideals and attempts at connecting with your fellow false faces, and you’ll have the same epiphany that I have had. You hate them all, and you’d love to see them suffer. And before you know it, you will be a Nightmaren like me!

Hello. It's been a long time since I've posted on this forum. I am very secretive with my drawing and writing habits, so I am only able to write this now thanks to the fact that I own a laptop for the first time in my life. Children of Nightmare is an idea for a NiGHTS AU, fashioned from the first game's vagueness and my observations of others who write and draw fantastic comics about the game. I've never played JoD, so I am basing the fan fiction purely off of the first games characters and settings, plus a whole extension into the real world and with plenty of OCs. The core concept is this: I always see people posting pictures of their fan characters, avatars of themselves, who live semi-normal lives in our world while having adventures in the Night Dimension. There are also fan maren, which leads me to believe that there are many of us who would prefer to fight on the other side- so I created this version of the universe where there's sort of a spy vs. spy element, where certain humans fight for each side and have their own secret societies during the day, while at night they participate in an open war against each other. Those aligned with Nights and Nightopia believe in objective good, and use courage and determination to overcome their fears and protect the world from the monstrous Nightmaren. The others, aligned with Wizeman and Nightmare, shelter themselves from their own shortcomings by insisting that morality is the problem, and resort to horrible acts to terrorize those who disagree.

Of course, I'd like some input on the idea, of whether it's original enough to warrant the time to write about it all, etc. I know that the above is a bit hard to read, what with the changing perspectives and all, but I really wanted the reader to have a taste of the mindset that the speaker is in, and how twisted his vision of life is. Also, my style just involves a lot of punctuation and excessive vocabulary, but i honestly just don't write the way I speak when I write fiction. Ah well, hopefully it won't be too bad.