Reading Jack's mind had been effortless, like peeling layers from a fragile onion, but Deimos's divine perception quickly grew bored of mere mental fragments. The mortal's thoughts, their hopes and fears, were only the surface. Beneath, Deimos saw the true vessel's weakness, his fragile flesh trembling like a leaf in a storm.
This body is an insult, Deimos grumbled. In the past, I've inhabited kings, warriors, beings forged in chaos and battle. Their flesh was resilient, their spirits unbreakable. This, he sneered, is like trying to fit a mountain into a cracked, crumbling shell. One wrong move, one misstep, and this fragile body will shatter like glass beneath my presence.
He sensed the trembling heartbeat, the shudder of trembling muscles, the way Jack's breath hitched in his chest. Deimos's divine awareness perceived how delicate this vessel truly was, a house of cards teetering on the edge of disintegration.
But it will do, he decided. For now, it's perfect. A weak, trembling host, just what I need to sow chaos.
He chuckled darkly, a sound that vibrated through the vast emptiness of Jack's mind. Soon, this fragile flesh shall serve my purpose.
Yet Deimos was painfully aware of the inevitable: he would have to deal with Jack's family eventually. Their constant presence, their love and hope, could be dangerous. But for now, they were inconsequential. His focus was on growth, on rebuilding his power, hidden beneath this mortal guise.
And the competition? he mused. A perfect disguise. With Jack's memories, I'll craft something that will make even the bravest men, the fiercest Valkyries, shudder in terror.
His senses turned to Jack's PC, especially the Game Developer App, an unassuming gateway to creation. With divine power, he entered the digital realm, and his intent was clear: create a nightmare so visceral that it would haunt the dreams of mortals for eternity.
Deimos's divine fingers, though invisible moved with deliberate precision, weaving nightmares into the fabric of code. His mind was a dark loom, spinning threads of dread and despair.
Let's begin with serenity, he thought. A peaceful night, a humble inn nestled in the woods, an idyllic refuge. He conjured a scene of warmth: flickering candlelight, the gentle crackle of a fire, rain pounding softly against the windows, shadows dancing on the rough-hewn walls. It was a fragile illusion of safety, a fragile calm before the storm.
But the storm is coming.
He chose a familiar opening, a classic, one he knew would set the perfect tone of unease. The quiet was suddenly pierced by a guttural scream, a primal, animalistic wail that clawed its way from the depths of hell.
The scream was a visceral, sickening sound, wet, ragged, filled with raw terror. It was a scream that made the blood run cold, echoing through the darkness like a curse.
Let's make it worse.
Deimos layered the sound with subtle whispers, like the rustling of dead leaves, growing louder and more distorted. Then came the bang, a deafening, bone-shaking explosion that sent shockwaves through the room, shattering windows and splintering furniture. The scream intensified, becoming a chorus of agony, a symphony of suffering.
This is where the nightmare begins.
Suddenly, the scene plunged into darkness, an abyss so complete that even the bravest would feel their senses unravelling. The blackness was alive, pulsating with malevolent intent. It pressed in from all sides, a void so thick it seemed to devour light, hope, and sanity itself.
Deimos infused the darkness with a sinister intelligence, an endless emptiness that whispered of despair, of eternal suffering. It was a maw that could swallow entire worlds, and it was waiting.
Now, for the true horror.
He inserted a flicker, an almost imperceptible movement, then, it happened. From the depths of the darkness, a figure emerged. A shadow twisted into the form of a woman, her body torn and bleeding, her face contorted in agony. Her guttural scream re-echoed, raw and primal, tearing through the silence like a jagged blade.
This was no ordinary scream. It was a cry of pure, unfiltered terror, the kind that clawed at the soul. It was a scream that would haunt the dreams of anyone who heard it, gnawing at their sanity until they questioned their own perception of reality.
And then, the figure's eyes, empty, black voids, locked onto the player. The scream continued, now intertwined with the sound of shattering bones and splintering wood, as if the very fabric of reality was ripping apart.
Let them feel it, Deimos thought with wicked satisfaction. Let their minds drown in the chaos.
He layered the scene with images of blood and darkness, of shadows creeping along the walls, of unseen horrors lurking just beyond the edge of sight. The room, the inn, was no longer a haven but a trap, a gateway into a nightmare that would never end.
The pitch-black void, the in-between space, was a place from Deimos's own travels, a realm where nightmares are born and fears incubate. It was a place of silence so oppressive that it screamed.
And the final touch.
Deimos infused the darkness with a whisper, a faint, sinister lullaby that sounded like a thousand voices crying out in despair. The void itself seemed to pulse with malevolent life. He knew that even the strongest of men, the fiercest Valkyries, would tremble at what they feared most: the incomprehensible, unending darkness that consumes everything.
He leaned back, savouring his creation in his mind's eye.
Soon, he thought, this will become a legend, the nightmare that haunts their very souls. And Jack's fragile vessel will be the vessel of my terror.
End of Ch 3: Corruption the water with Ink