[GORE, VIOLENCE, LIGHT SWEARING]
A man walked through a street under the cover of darkness, his features hidden by a torn hoodie barely clinging to life. The moonlight blocked by toxic smog barely fell upon him and the breeze carrying fumes cooled his skin and burned his nostrils.
Behind him, he could hear the thunderous sounds of distant factories producing thick pillars of black smoke that drifted among the wind, engulfing the world in treacherous shadows and concealing the burning stars. The shrouded man was on his way back from one of those factories, evident by how much filth was stained on his clothing.
'No doubt my insides are stained too...'
Such was the life for an outskirts rat like him. You either give your fate to a greedy corporation that wouldn't spare a single empathetic glance, or you starve and die to some skinny kids. To be honest, either way you would end up dead... not even a week passed that a man at the factory was found dead... standing up, and...
'...I worked right next to that poor guy for at least an hour or two... gives me the chills.'
He kept his slow pace, carefully glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone followed him. Could never be too careful.
His worries proved right as his eyes pierced the darkness down an alley to see someone getting mugged. There was fresh blood amongst the grimy garbage, and his entire face looked... well, it didn't look healthy.
He didn't stay long once he noticed a big brute, the person who must've robbed the poor fellow, gaze in his direction.
It was a pity, really, but he couldn't blame someone for trying to survive. You'll do what you must, and he believed that entirely. That's just how the world worked.
'Spell... I hate blood.'
The shrouded man took a while to reach his destination, but nevertheless, he did so safely. In front of him was a large apartment block that looked like a dump. Shattered walls, trash all over the place, bums laid outside and within... it was a warm home.
He walked inside and danced across the halls, dodging all the bums sleeping and crying. Soon, he stopped before a door and quickly entered, not forgetting to lock it behind him.
The room he entered was veiled in shadows and faint light that came from a broken window. Below the window was a camping chair placed next to a makeshift kitchen. On the opposite side were two beds, one was a mattress that laid on the floor, while the other was something very rare in the outskirts.
It was a proper bed, one with somewhat clean sheets and a fluffy pillow, it even had a frame. Next to it was a small machine producing continuous beeping sounds that connected to a face mask. On it laid a frail-looking woman who slowly opened her wrinkled eyes after hearing the door close. Her hazy eyes reflected the light as her dirty brunette hair chaotically enveloped the pillow. As she attempted to sit up, the shrouded man revealed his face which was contorted in a worried expression.
His pale, youthful face carried a hint of adolescence, but also grim maturity. His similarly dirty brunette hair was long and unruly, and his emerald eyes pierced the darkness with a troubled squint. That was until he turned on the lights.
His voice betrayed the stereotype of a hardened factory worker.
"Mother, it's me, don't worry. I'll fetch you dinner right now."
Before he could even reach the bed, his mother gave him a fierce glare, somehow. Her sentences were slow and muffled from the oxygen mask on her face.
"Michael, sweetie... where... have you been? I may be... blind... but even I can tell... that it's a little too late... to be finished with school."
Michael walked over to the makeshift kitchen and prepared a light stew with the little ingredients he had.
"I was just fooling around with some friends after school and I lost track of time. Sorry."
To be honest, calling it a "school" was an incredible overstatement, but at least there was still a little bit of education in the outskirts. You can't exactly get a slum rat to work at your factory without providing some basic knowledge, at least.
The lady finally laid back down and painfully groaned as she caressed her withering skin.
"Ah, I see... was it fun?"
"You can't see, but yes, it was."
"Hehe... always a joke with you... has Joel told you when... he would come by next? It's been weeks since I've... last seen him."
Michael momentarily paused what he was doing before replying.
'It's been years...'
"No, he hasn't. He said he's been busy with a bunch of work recently, but he mentioned he would try to make some time soon."
That was a lie, all of it was. Joel was Michael's big half-brother, and he abandoned them years ago, simply because him and mother had a fight. He tried to bring Michael with him to the central district where he apparently found a job, but Michael refused. He had to take care of mother who couldn't be moved in her condition. They never saw each other again after that. Michael wished things were different, but they weren't. He can't bring his dream of them being a happy family again into reality, into this nightmare.
However, his mother forgot all of this. Old age was a terrible thing, but that's just how life was. Maybe in NQSC could someone be healthy in their thirties, but not someone in the slums, not his mother.
For all she knew, Joel was working hard as a civil servant who made enough money to even support them. He hated lying to her, but he did what he must. She couldn't know he risks his life everyday working at the factories, and she will never know.
His mother's angelic, raspy voice broke Michael's train of thoughts.
"What happened? I thought your loose mouth... would've mentioned my sight again... you're losing your touch."
=====
It was a new day and Michael just finished school. Despite the education being terrible, the teachers and other students weren't too bad. Most of the time, he would just fool around and talk to his favorite teacher, Mr Daniels.
But today didn't go so well since...
'...Why am I so damned tired? I can't stop yawning.'
He couldn't focus on anything at all, not to mention he nearly stepped on something closely related to someone's bowels on his way to school. You can't just wash something like that out.
During his walk to work, the flaming sun slowly fell behind the horizon, chased away by the chilly darkness. The cool breeze didn't exactly make his drowsiness any better.
'Do I need to drink coffee? I really hate coffee though...'
His childish thoughts were interrupted once he felt a heavy pressure bore down on his gut, causing him to collapse to the ground. He spent a couple seconds panting before he looked up, locking eyes with a couple thugs.
'Damn this drowsiness! I've lost my edge.'
"Hey brat, you got credits on you? We're just so hungry, please spare us some change."
"Come on kiddo, don't you know you should respect the words of your elders?"
"Give us all your money, or you're blood is going to paint the sidewalk."
Michael slowly stood up and tried to speak, but he was pushed into a wall with a knife against his throat.
"You gonna listen to us, or do we need to cut off your ears!?"
Michael knew just how to deal with people like them. He always had the perfect plan in his head.
"How am I gonna hear if you cut off my ears?"
'Damnation, me and my loose mouth.'
The thugs looked absolutely speechless before the one with the knife scowled and leaned in closer.
"You think I'm joking!? I'll kill you!"
"You're breathe is already doing the job, no need for the knife."
"You think you're in a position to joke around!?"
"You think I'm joking? I'm dying here."
'I did it again...'
Michael had no time to regret his decisions before he felt a fist land squarely onto his face, pushing him into the ground.
"Search him! Hurry up!"
=====
Michael couldn't stand back up until the ivory moon was already high in the sky. His entire face was battered and swollen, and his body was stained with crimson blood. He had no doubt his stench was deadly since he bled amongst a pile of trash and disgusting liquids.
These wounds and his sleepiness wouldn't stop him from working, though. All he had to do was just explain what happened and-
"You're fired."
"W-what?"
Michael's usually stoic facade crumbled under those words. His eyes darted around a small, decrepit office and landed on his manager, a fat, greasy old fool. Panic slowly consumed his mind.
"You heard me, you're fired."
"B-but, why?"
The fat scum somehow managed to stand up and slammed his hands on his desk.
"Why!? I don't want a nightmare creature walking around my factory!"
Michael's palms started to sweat and his head spun.
"What? What are y-you talking abo-"
"Are you too much of an idiot to understand what's happening!? You damned rat! You contracted the nightmare spell! Get out! Now!"
Michael didn't get much time to think until he found himself thrown outside, landing in more filthy trash.
'Too much, no... that's just too much.'
There was no way he contracted the spell, he's just sleepy, that's all. He couldn't have possibly been doomed to die like that, right? Surely the manager was pranking him, especially because payday was today, maybe this was a promotion ritual?
But... what if it wasn't? Payday... that was the same day his bills were supposed to be paid.
=====
Michael slowly returned home covered in blood and trash. He didn't even greet his mother, who was already asleep. He had just spent hours wandering, looking like a hollow. He just couldn't process what happened, and what will happen.
Once the power goes out, his mother... his mother needed that machine to survive.
'No.'
'There's no way.'
Michael couldn't believe what was happening, he could've never imagined it.
'This nightmare, it's too much.'
'Why can't I escape?'
'Is my whole life a joke?'
'Am I cursed?'
'What did I do to deserve this?'
'All I ever wanted was just to be happy, was that too much?'
'Why can't I be happy?'
'It's all I ever wanted.'
'Why does everyone get to be happy, and not me?'
'I want to be happy too.'
'I want to be happy.'
Tonight was the last night his mother was ever going to be alive, and yet she would never know. She would never know how she died or when. She would only know darkness.
She never knew how hard Michael worked and how much he sacrificed himself for her. She never knew that her oldest son hated her guts. She never looked into Michael's eyes, never knew who he really was. She never knew how much he truly loved her.
A failure.
He was a failure.
He couldn't even protect someone of his own blood.
He was cursed.
He ruined everything he touched.
He threw away his brother.
He killed his mother.
It was his duty to provide for her.
She was his blood.
And he failed.
He deserved to die a gruesome death.
In fact, death would be too kind.
He deserved to feel pain his whole life.
He deserved to lose everything.
He deserved this nightmare.
He was a rat.
He was a boy.
He was...
'...Cursed.'
The moon reached it's zenith and Michael crawled onto the bed and laid next to his mother. As the distant stars flickered with changing light, he hugged her tight, more than ever before. More then when Joel left, and more then when she told him that he would never know who his father was.
Michael balled as he clutched onto her, begging for whatever gods existed to just please end his nightmare. But they never answered, they were dead. Their flames were extinguished long ago.
The room went dark, and the machine stopped it's continuous beeping.
=====
'All of your suffering is meaningless.'
Michael wandered the streets as the sun slowly rose above the horizon, dyeing the sky in a beautiful golden glow. The ever prevalent toxic smog burned his nostrils and the soothing breeze cooled his pale skin.
Michael had no idea what he was doing. He couldn't sleep at all, it felt like something was calling to him, but he just couldn't answer.
'The world will move on without you.'
He had no idea where to go and what to do. What could he even do? He couldn't return home... it was too cold.
'You killed her.'
But, there was one person he knew that could help.
'Her blood is on your hands.'
It took a while to find the specific address, but once he did, he promptly entered the decrepit apartment block and scoured the halls for the right room.
He stopped his sluggish steps before a door and knocked. A few moments went by until someone opened the door, a man with thinning, black hair and generic features.
"Morning, Mr Daniels... I need help."
'You're cursed.'
"Huh? Good morning Michael, of course, please come in."
Michael was gestured to enter and did so. The room was small, just like his, but there was much more... storage. It seemed he had many things to his name.
'You're going to die'
Michael was guided to a stained couch and sat down. Mr Daniels sat next to him with a worried expression.
"Michael, you don't look so good, what's wrong? Your eyebags are awful. Have you been getting enough slee-"
"The nightmare spell."
Michael couldn't notice Mr Daniel's sudden expression before he replied.
"You're infected with the nightmare spell?"
A few seconds passed by in silence.
"That does explain your poor appearance, you must be quite tired, right?"
'You're going to suffer.'
Michael took a few seconds to respond. What was happening?
"Uh, yes... I am."
Mr Daniel had a wide smile on his face.
"What a shame, you were such a bright kid. Hey, do you want to see something?"
"...Sure."
Mr Daniels energetically jumped up and quickly walked over to one of the storage containers, a refrigerator of some kind... a cooler box?
Once he opened it, his nostrils were pierced with a thick scent of blood.
'You deserve to suffer.'
He looked inside before slowly walking back to Michael. His mouth was plastered into a psychotic grin.
"You were such a good guy. it's a pity, but I'm also glad. You've got such a... loose mouth, you know?"
"N-no..."
Michael tried to get up but his muscles weren't responding, he was too tired.
"Don't worry, your nightmare will end soon. I'll be sure to cut you up, you won't turn into a beast."
"Please, no..."
'You deserve this nightmare.'
Michael finally caught a glimpse of something in Mr Daniel's hands, a knife stained in blood. He gently placed it on the makeshift coffee table near the couch and walked away to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.
"Sorry, Michael. it's for your own good. Don't hate me for it."
'You brought this on yourself.'
'No! No I didn't!'
'Yes you did.'
'You're wrong! I did nothing to deserve this!'
'There's no point fighting your fate, it's written in your blood.'
Michael managed to slowly stand up, his legs shaking and head growing numb. He reached for the knife and stumbled over to Mr Daniels.
The fool didn't even notice Michael walking towards him until he felt something pierce his side.
Michael sliced down and Mr Daniel's insides fell out. His screams reached deaf ears, and his blood pooled onto the tiled floor.
Michael mounted him and carved into him.
After there was nothing left to slice, he stabbed. When there was nothing left to stab, he minced.
When all that remained was a bloody mess, after all the desperate mutilation, he tremulously stood up. He stared at the mirror coated in crimson and guts... and all he saw was a monster.
'It's your fault... you deserve to suffer.'
He pointed the knife to his stomach and pierced without hesitation, drops of blood falling onto the floor.
'I don't want to become an abomination.'
He sliced down, revealing his organs. He stabbed himself. Minced himself. Only when his jaw hung by a thread of flesh and his intestines pooled out onto the floor, he fell back into an ocean of scarlet.
The tiles were stained with blood and guts.
As he bathed in it, his eyes grew heavy and his breathing labored.
Michael finally died.
'My nightmare has ended...'
In the soothing embrace of darkness, he heard a hypnotizing voice echo in his ears.
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your first trial...]