Ezkiel was still in shock. The prisoner's words had rekindled the same feeling he'd had when he received the dagger: he would die if he didn't make this choice. Unfortunately, the dream was guiding him to commit acts unthinkable in his life. And now, to have a chance to survive, he would need to collect the dream of the man before him—which meant his death.
Me, kill someone? No... Why is this happening to me? It's just a dream, Ezkiel, a damned, motherfucking dream! You're not a murderer! You're being forced to do this!
But deep down, he knew: there was no greater force manipulating him, nothing external forcing him to kill that man. Only the desire that reverberated in his gut, his mind, and in that emptiness that bubbled in his stomach.
Pure survival instinct.
The blinding will to not be killed, to not give up. This feeling grew stronger and stronger within his mind. His own body was teaching him what needed to be done, as if the very essence of the dream world were leaving its legacy in each hormonal surge of danger and desire.
Ezkiel felt different, but he didn't understand what had changed. It was already a part of him. He was no longer the same boy who had fallen asleep next to his girlfriend. In just one hour, everything he had been was reconstructed amidst trauma. And yet, he hadn't lost himself. Only his perception of the world had changed.
Even he didn't know the path he was taking; he only understood that he needed to survive. And for that, he would have to kill the man before him and collect his dream.
— How do I do it... collect your dream?
Ezkiel's voice trembled on the first words, until it found confidence.
The man laughed loudly again, not caring that the subject was his own death. His black hair with its several white streaks shifted against his pale face.
— You're asking me? You're the Dream Collector! If I knew how to collect them, I certainly wouldn't be in this situation...
The man paused to think and let out a huge snort, in the midst of choking on his own laughter.
— I'd be in a much worse situation!
Ezkiel stared at him for a moment, moving the knife closer to the hanging man. He was taller and suspended, so the boy could only reach the thin abdomen between the chains.
The prisoner's breathing became ragged. His amber eyes looked down on Ezkiel like those of a predator about to be struck down by its prey. The chains now seemed like traps that had captured a once-powerful, but now starving, great wolf.
The trembling dagger moved between the chains, aligning itself to enter a small space between them to wound the man's flesh. Ezkiel wanted to cry, but no tears would fall from his face; his body wouldn't obey that command, for it knew what had to be done for survival.
The blade entered the gap in the chains and touched the thin skin, but couldn't pierce it, only drawing a small red drop of blood from the scratch it made.
— Don't be afraid, boy. Do it! I'm giving my life to you, so don't make such a scene!
The man's solemn voice had a playful air, but the seriousness was noticeable in the deep timbre that resonated in Ezkiel's head.
In turn, the hard-to-pierce material, the prisoner's skin, became less rigid, accepting the knife as a farewell gift inside his body. Ezkiel thrusted with more force, crying on the inside as the blade plunged completely into the host's body.
— What's your name?
Ezkiel questioned, thinking it was only fair to ask the man whose life he was taking.
— Ah... my name? Just a prisoner!
He gave a soft, slightly weakened laugh, as if he were controlling his own body to accept death.
Just a prisoner... I'm sorry I have to do this, but I have to collect your dream!
Blood began to leak onto the chain-covered ground, dyeing the silvery-white crimson.
Purple-blue threads appeared in Ezkiel's vision, mixing with the dark environment around him like aimless waves. The red of the blood, the metallic glint of the chains, and the surrounding darkness blended with the blue tones like a single symphony of colors.
" A Dream has been detected "
" 『Collect Dream』 can be activated "
Yes. Collect dream.
An illusory dreamcatcher, similar to the gift he had received from his girlfriend, appeared in front of him. Several threads connected it to Ezkiel's body, pulling the man's energy into him. The purple-blue essence flowed out from the dagger's wound, gushing into the filter which devoured it with an insatiable voracity. The energy was transformed into small blue threads that intertwined, connecting to the filter and, in turn, to Ezkiel.
Ezkiel felt a profound sense of fulfillment. The satisfaction of the collection intoxicated him, completing his senses, even as the man writhed in pain. It was as if a part of his soul was being ripped out. The pain was almost palpable, mixed with the familiar despair that Ezkiel already knew intimately in this dream.
The prisoner thrashed in anguish, in a useless attempt to resist the pain. The feeling of being offered up as a martyr rested in his eyes. He was willingly giving his dream to the boy before him.
— Remember, Ezkiel Arcs... Do not trust the Gods, neither the old ones and especially not the new ones.
The weakness was reflected in his paralyzed voice. There was no more amusement on his face.
— Let this world that hated me suffer... It is my last request to you... Make good use of what motivated me and forgive me for passing this burden on to you...
Silence devoured the room. The man's dead body rested, hanging from the crimson chains of his own blood. The silvery glint they once had vanished, along with the amber light of his eyes.
The illusory dreamcatcher flickered one last time, disappearing into the darkness. Leaving Ezkiel alone with the body of the only man who had helped him in this damned nightmare.
" Dream Collected "
" You have acquired the Dream: 『The Prisoner's Anathema』"