Even without entering the dream, Jenkins could tell from a spiritual observation alone that this Enchanter's dreamscape was anything but ordinary. The sheer scale of the dream was imnse; its surging spiritual power crashed against him like a tidal wave, even from where he stood by the wall.
The spiritual energy was a chaotic blend, clearly not originating from a single individual. This ant the Enchanter was linked, within the dreamscape, to tens of thousands of tobacco smokers. Such an act was incredibly perilous. To rashly enter a lawless, tangled dream connecting countless different minds was to invite one's own spirit to be battered by that vast, chaotic psychic force.
While the Dream Sprite he had recently encountered also possessed the ability to link dreams, it could soothe the individual dreamscapes it connected. The current situation was the exact opposite—the dreams were so jumbled they bordered on utter chaos.
But Jenkins had no fear of such things. His spiritual fortitude was imnse; a psychic assault of this magnitude was less of a threat to him than a Cursed Item. And compared to the alternative—smoking the tobacco himself to investigate—this present opportunity was far superior.
With no ti to even return and greet his cat, he took a plunge, diving into the Enchanter's dreamscape. From there, he passed through into the "collective dream," a nexus ford from the blended consciousness of millions.
He had expected a horrifying tableau, a chaotic tapestry woven from countless bizarre scenes. But once the image before him stabilized, all Jenkins could see was a prairie, unnaturally flat as if artificially made, under a gloomy sky and a fine, drizzling rain.
An endless stream of seemingly unconscious spiritual forms drifted past him. Jenkins mimicked their vacant state and moved along with the flow. After less than half an hour of walking, a massive altar ca into view.
At the center of the altar stood a bizarre sculpture. Though humanoid in shape, it lacked hands and feet, and its face was a featureless blank. No physical traits betrayed its gender, but staring at it for too long evoked a sudden, horrifying chill.
He followed the stream of spirits to the periphery of the altar, where he saw a dense, dark mass of people kneeling in a circle around it. The spirits were packed together so tightly they seed to writhe like maggots, their heads bowed as they whispered in unison. They murmured an ancient language Jenkins couldn't comprehend, and the imnse, droning sound bored into his mind like an insect, potent enough to give even him a headache.
In addition to the tens of thousands kneeling, he could faintly make out dozens of white-robed figures standing at the edge of the central platform. By the unique signature of their spiritual energy, it was easy to identify one of them as the very Enchanter he'd followed from the club.
"Clearly," he thought, "one purpose of this imnse spiritual power is to feed the statue at the heart of this dreamscape."
As he mulled this over, he lted into the crowd at the periphery, slowly backing away to avoid standing out among the kneeling masses.
"But that can't be the only goal," he mused. "There are far more efficient ways to harvest spiritual energy. This tobacco sche must be a multi-pronged plan—a single investnt yielding multiple returns. I just can't figure out what this statue is."
The world of dreams was a bizarre and wondrous place, and a sufficiently gifted individual could shape it to their will. This statue, however, was absolutely not the creation of a human mind. Jenkins knew the limits of mortals better than anyone, and this colossal stone effigy, drinking in the spiritual energy of thousands, had to be inextricably linked to so heretical god or a terrifying sealed artifact from another dinsion.
He wasn't reckless enough to start a fight on his enemy's ho ground. Having learned what he ca for, he prepared to exit the dream world and return to the club to gather more clues.
But the mont the thought of leaving ford in his mind, the unnervingly flat prairie beneath his feet began to tremble. The demonic, collective whisper of millions abruptly ceased, and every single prostrate figure turned their head to stare directly at him.
More terrifying still, the towering stone statue worshipped by the drears shuddered. A mont later, a single, enormous vertical pupil materialized on its featureless face. The eye, burning as if with an inner fla, fixed its gaze precisely on Jenkins.
"Oh, hell."
He cursed inwardly as his right hand snatched his cane from thin air and plunged it into the ground. But this ti, he couldn't draw a single sliver of life essence from the earth. It was then Jenkins realized this dreamscape was their domain; they could leverage the combined spiritual power of millions of drears to gain an absolute ho-field advantage.
Tossing the useless cane aside, he launched himself backward. His left foot found purchase on the air itself, followed by his right. As if ascending an invisible staircase, he retreated step by step into the sky, quickly gaining altitude.
He couldn't alter the entire dreamscape, but he could at least influence the small area imdiately around him. Seizing the mont while the Enchanters on the ground were still reacting and the statue seed to be gathering its power, he drew the White Bone Holy Sword. With a great swing, he sent a silvery-white arc of light cleaving through the air toward the statue.
Amplified by the phantom-like nature of the dreamscape, the brilliant blade of light shone more dazzlingly than ever. The attack pierced straight through the statue's chest, and in an explosive shockwave of spiritual energy, the entire effigy was cleaved in two.
As the stone shell crumbled and fell away, the thing at the statue's core was finally revealed.
There is an inexplicable terror that cos from staring into the blackness of the night sky—it is humanity's primal fear of the abyss, of the unknown. The colossal shadow revealed at the statue's core was the embodint of that fear. Chaotic colors rippled across its surface, its amorphous form shifting wantonly with every mont of Jenkins's observation.
Its indescribable shape, a manifestation of the deepest fears, directly warped the spiritual energy that composed the dreamscape. The drizzling sky was instantly swallowed by pitch-black clouds, and the prostrate crowd began to whisper once more, their voices joined by a blasphemous chant that seed to echo from inside his own head.
Nightmares are a part of dreaming, and they have been a source of terror for all sentient life since the dawn of ti. A formless nightmare manifests the fears hidden so deep within the heart that one is not even aware of them. And once that fear is given substance, even Jenkins could be affected.
He stared at the chaotic, horrifying shadow, goosebumps prickling his skin as he recognized the identity of the amorphous entity. The knowledge didn't co from reason, but from a deep, instinctual place within his very soul—an answer that arose on its own, for the thing before him was a fundantal part of the world itself:
"A fragnt of the sealed Beast of Calamity... the Sin Nightmare," he breathed. "They've connected to the deepest layers of the dream world and used this imnse spiritual power to lure out a piece of its very essence! Those madn... they're trying to release an ancient Beast of Calamity!"
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