The wiggling mountain of pillows in the center of the Hibernation Hollows finally came to a rest. Deep within its fluffy depths, the professional assassin sent to destroy me was unconscious. It was, I had to admit, a deeply satisfying sight.
This is ridiculous, I thought to myself, feeling a wave of deep irritation. I build a nice, quiet place specifically designed for napping, and this guy comes in making all this... effort. He's tense, he's poking things, and he's seriously ruining the vibe. This is cutting directly into my scheduled nap time.
FaeLina, her earlier panic having been replaced by stunned silence, just floated and stared at the pile. "...'Code Snuggle' actually worked," she whispered, as if saying it aloud might break the spell.
Just then, the sounds of cautious footsteps came down the stairs. Gilda and the other members of the Iron Gryphon, having recovered from the smoke bomb, entered the second floor. They froze, their weapons at the ready, and stared at the giant, twitching pile of plush.
"What... is that?" Gilda asked, her voice low and tense.
'My last line of defense,' I projected calmly.
At my command, the Pillow Fiends slowly and happily un-piled themselves, revealing the unconscious and thoroughly snuggled form of Klarg the Hobgoblin. The adventurers looked from the fearsome assassin to the innocent-looking pillows and then back again, their faces a perfect mask of confusion.
'I subdued him,' I thought, a quiet sense of satisfaction washing over me, 'with extreme comfort.'
As the adventurers secured the unconscious hobgoblin, I contemplated the choice the system had given me. Absorbing him felt wrong. Simply ejecting him felt like leaving a problem for later. That left only one option.
[Option 3: Initiate Dream Therapy selected.]
'I am going to see what makes an assassin tick,' I projected to the room. 'Don't be alarmed.'
I plunged my consciousness into Klarg's mind.
His Dreamscape was nothing like the fiery, fearful nightmare of the goblin scout. Klarg's mind was a cold, grey, and perfectly square training hall. There were no decorations, no windows, and no doors. The only thing in the vast, empty space was the dream-version of Klarg, endlessly and silently practicing sword forms against a row of faceless wooden dummies.
There was no anger here. No fear. Just relentless, hollow discipline. His nightmare wasn't a monster; it was the endless, joyless repetition of his training, with no purpose other than the training itself.
I realized that projecting images of warm soup or fluffy pillows would be useless here. This mind wasn't in pain; it was just... empty. So I tried a different approach.
I didn't change the grey room. I didn't stop his training. I just added one, single, impossible thing to the corner of the hall.
A perfect, blooming cherry blossom tree.
Dream-Klarg stopped mid-swing. He turned and stared at the tree. It was the only spot of color and life in his entire mental world. It was not a threat. It was not a target. It didn't have a purpose. It just... was. He didn't know how to process it.
I didn't offer a tart or a hug. I just let the image of simple, quiet beauty exist in his mind—a reason to stop training, if only for a moment.
Then, I withdrew.
In the real world, the assassin's stoic, unconscious face seemed to soften, just for a second.
[Dream Therapy on 'Klarg the Assassin' complete!]
[Subject's 'Hostile Intent' has been fractured.]
[Subject has gained a new, permanent status effect: 'A Lingering Thought of Peace'.]
[Bonus DP Awarded for 'Advanced Psychotherapy': +150 DP!]
'Fractured?' FaeLina's psychic voice was a squeak of pure amazement in my mind. 'A permanent status effect?!'
With my work done, I chose to eject him. In a swirl of purple light, the unconscious hobgoblin vanished from my floor.
Gilda and the other adventurers stared at the empty space, then back at my core, this time with a new level of respect that was mixed with a healthy dose of fear.
"Your methods," Gilda said slowly, "are terrifyingly effective."
FaeLina, however, was now fully on board with my brand of weirdness. 'That was brilliant!' she cheered in my mind. 'You didn't just beat him; you gave him an existential crisis! It's psychological warfare via... flowers!'
She was probably right. But I was too tired to think about it.
All that work, I thought, finally allowing my own consciousness to dim. I need a nap.