Moss Moon and the Lunar Spring, Part 23

>You are Anon, a human warrior.
>And you have chased down your prey.
>In the back of an alleyway, you've caught him.  Cutter.
>He stands atop a pile of what you realize, despite the flickering shadows, must be barrels.
>In one hand he clutches a burning brand, in the other, the Black Horn.
>Over the stench of smoke and fear, the faint smell of sulphur assaults your nose.
>"Do you know what these are, Boy?"
>His face is full of mirth, dead eyes glinting in the light of the brand, but he cannot keep the shaking from his voice.
>"It's powder, boy.  I'm going to blow this place sky high."
>Your grip on the dream halberd remains neutral
>It does not matter to you if he is bluffing, or telling the truth
>You are merely watching the amorphous mass of his dreaming, the essence masked by the weapon in his hand
>Waiting for an opening
>"You must understand.  The Asperi are no longer interested in these podunk little villages.  Too little to offer.  Too ripe for rebellion.  They want this place gone.  They want all these little flying rats obliterated."
>He's waiting for you to respond, gauging you for fear, but you have none
>You feel next to nothing
>Even as the Goddess chatters in your ear, urging you on, telling you to kill, to snap the Horn, crush it to dust, and scatter it to the wind
>"Don't you have anything to say, Boy?  Or are you afraid?"
>You know Cutter doesn't care about the Stronghold, or the Asperi
>Always he has used the agenda of the Frozen Princes as an excuse to indulge his own impulses
>You know that the only reason he would ever blow this place apart would be if he thought he could kill you in the process
>Could Cutter truly bring himself to do it?  Could he truly bring himself to commit suicide, just to end your life?
>"Yes, you fear me, you know that I hold it all in the balance, that I could end you with but a whim!  I have won, Boy!  I will finally see your Father avenged!"
>No.  No, you just can see it.
>He is too weak.
>He is nothing like Father.
>He is afraid.  And his fear is overwhelming the obfuscating power of the Horn.
>You see him trembling there, see the fear he cannot hide, and suddenly the mask falls away
>A subtle hiss spills out from the air, a hiss of anger from the weapon that should never have belonged to Cutter in the first place
>Cutter's dreaming appears.  The black mass of it, a roiling bubble into which you can pry and peel apart his reality.
>You can see the span of Cutter's life.
>The burning of his hands.  Sobbing, crying child.  The beatings.
>The murders.
>The gleeful twisting of his grin as he cuts apart his prey.  Their screams, a thousand dying screams.
>You see and hear and smell it all.
>The beating of his fearful heart.  No, no, no.
>Watching you.  Watching Father.  No.  How he loved Father, no, how could you - how could you have killed him,  Boy?
>How could you?
>The nightmare plays over and over in his mind, every night, every horrible night, watching himself watch you kill Father over and over again, watching you stab him through the back, no, no, Boy!  No!
>You realize, distantly, that you are his nightmare.
>You are the thing this wretched creature hates and fears the most.
>It is the easiest thing in the world to end him.  You had already killed him long ago.
>The half-moon blade of dreams slices through Cutter's mind.  The maw of the Goddess yawns wide.
>He screams, screams, screams as she swallows him whole.
>And then he is dead.  Standing dead atop the mountain of barrels, struck down without you even touching him.
>Cutter drops the burning brand.  It falls upon the barrels of powder, flames sputtering, then blazing strong once more.
>His body collapses, spitting blood, and he falls out of sight.
>From his hand, the Black Horn falls.  It clatters to the ground.
>The ancient weapon thrums ominously at your feet, pulsing with unfathomable power.
>Removed from its weak host, it is ready to take on a new owner.
>A new champion.
>"Pick it up, Boy."
>A dark voice in your mind.  A new voice.  The Goddess is trying to speak, but you can barely hear her over the droning of the Horn.
>You look up.  Father is looming up before you.  Great, shaggy-haired Father with the blazing white grin.
>"By rights, it is your weapon," he says.  "Do you deserve to wield it?"
>There is a flash of purple light, an eerie scream.  The braying of a nightmarish stallion.  You can see it in the space beyond your eyes.  A creature looking back at you from the abyss.
>The Black Horn is in your hands.
>"Destroy it, you wretch!"  The Goddess screams, though her voice is barely audible.  Vaguely you feel her anger, her fear.  "Destroy it now, before it is too late!"
>You feel so numb.
>Floating in some dark space.
>Where are you?  What are you becoming?
>You struggle to remember yourself.  Who you are.
>Training with Father.  Practicing the steps, the cuts, the killing blows.
>"You are a killer," he says. "You will always be a killer.  That is all you will ever be.  That is what makes you human.  Never forget that."
>You move in time to block his strike, deflecting the Black Horn as Father brings it down to bear upon your head.
>"There can be no hesitation," Father says.  "The moment you hesitate is the moment you die."
>He swings again, driving you back.  Back into the void.
>You can't hear the Goddess anymore.  You can hear no dark voice, hear no thrum of the weapon.
>There is only you, and Father, and the fight of that day, when you could bear that life no longer.
>"Kill me," Father commands, attacking again and again, a blur of blades.  "Kill me, if this is what you hate.  Kill me, as you did before."
>You parry and backstep, avoiding the arc of the Horn.  You feel no exhaustion, no impetus to ever stop.  You could fight forever.  Kill forever.  If you wanted to.
>Trapped like this for eternity.  Fighting, as your blood demands.
>No -
>This is not what you want.
>The Black Horn swings toward you.
>The nightmare presses in around you.
>You focus.
>You remember.
>Dull gold eyes, green hair.
>Her embrace.
>You open your eyes again, and find yourself in the Dreaming.

>All around you are the shapes of countless creatures.
>You see the dreams of insects, the dreams of bats, the dreams of the dead.
>The pink waters of the sea of dreams, rippling beneath your feet.  A sky vast and deep, dark blue.  A brilliant full moon, pure and without fault.
>A shining path appears before you, winding across the water.
>You follow it.  Trees of spindled gold fiber sprout beside you at every step, blossoming with great white flowers, vines of plump golden fruit.
>Stars of many colors shimmer overhead, forming constellations, changing, dreaming.
>You walk for what seems like hours across the ever-changing sea.
>In time you come across a white orb, a little ball of warmth that is alien, yet oddly familiar.
>It can only be your own dream.
>Tentatively you reach out with a hand, and thumb through its contents.
>You pass through your childhood, looking upon the face of your Mother that until now you could hardly remember.
>Seeing those brief moments of happiness that punctuated the horror that was your existence.
>You continue ahead, through adolescence, into adulthood.
>To Moss Moon, meeting your gaze for the first time.
>Moss Moon, sharing with you a mango.
>Moss Moon, in your arms, telling you how she felt for you.
>You telling her the same.
>Moments you want to remember, always.
>You know now what you must do.
>How to free yourself.
>You return to that day, that day when you were still just a Boy.
>The image of you and Father.  The nightmare of that day, when you took from him his life, and felt your own seep away.
>The eternal combat, that even now rages in your mind.
"Enough."
>You reach out with your hand,
>and you tear it down.