The next day dawned. The smog still choked the air. The sun was a weak orange smear. Buildings loomed, dark and grimy. Gears grinded. Steam hissed. Just a dirty, loud, and gloomy morning in Lotogear City.
Jack, still getting used to phasing through walls, had been exploring since he was here. In this strange world. Ghost did not sleep. That was his blessing... and curse.
He spotted her then. A young woman. Pretty, but haunted. Red-rimmed eyes. Dark circles like bruises. He felt a pull. Attraction? Curiosity? He didn't know. But he would find out. He shadowed her.
She worked in a clockwork factory. Gears whirred. Steam hissed. A symphony of industry, laced with desperation. He listened.
"Another night, no sleep," she sighed, collapsing onto a stool.
"Still with the nightmares, Maira?" her friend, a stout woman with grease-stained overalls, asked. "Those sleeping pills aren't doing a damn thing, huh?"
"Nothing," Maira said, voice cracking. "They make me drowsy, but the dreams... they're worse. More vivid."
Observing unseen, Jack paid a careful attention. 'Vivid? I wonder what kind of content?' he mused, unheard.
"Try Shaman Tinderlake," the friend suggested. "Heard he's got a touch. Down in the market district."
"A shaman? Vanny, you know I don't believe in that rubbish."
"Worth a try, innit? Can't hurt, right? Unless he tries to charge you an arm and a leg. Which he probably will," the friend, now identified as Vanny, grumbled.
'A shaman in the market district? Shamanism for mundane trade? Is this a common sense for this world?' Jack thought, rolling his non-existent eyes.
"I don't know..." Maira hesitated.
"Come on. I'll go with you. For moral support. Plus, I'm curious. Always wanted to see a real shaman at work." Vanny nudged her.
Maira sighed. "Alright. Let's try it. Can't be worse anyway."
'Okay. This is the thing I need to see,' Jack decided quickly.
That evening, Jack followed them. Down cobbled streets, past flickering gas lamps, into the labyrinthine market district. They stopped before a dilapidated building, smoke curling from its chimney. A sign hung crookedly: 'Tinderlake - Seer, Dream Weaver, Spiritual Guide.'
'Wait? Where is the word Shaman. He should be a shaman, shouldn't he? Seer? Seer and shaman are completely different,' Jack sniped internally.
Inside, the air was thick with incense and the scent of something vaguely rotten. Tinderlake, a portly man with a greasy beard and even greasier eyes, sat behind a table strewn with trinkets and tarnished silver. A nervous-looking assistant stood in the corner.
"Ah, Ladies!" Tinderlake boomed, his voice oily. "Welcome. I sense... a troubled spirit."
"She's got nightmares," Vanny said bluntly. "Doctor's pills ain't helping."
"Nightmares are whispers from the other side," Tinderlake intoned, waving his hands dramatically. "They require... delicate extraction. A ritual is needed. A cleansing."
'A cleansing of her wallet, more like it.' The invisible Jack muttered, getting more and more dissatisfied the more he observed. Nothing in this place gave out supernatural aura. Not a single thing.
Maira looked skeptical. "What kind of ritual?"
Tinderlake puffed out his chest. "A complex one. Involving rare herbs, ancient chants, and a… sacrifice." He paused for effect. "Some part of your wealth to show your serious intention."
Vanny raised an eyebrow. "How much?"
Tinderlake named a sum that made Vanny gasp. Maira looked defeated but she nodded and took her money.
'Alright! This is worse than highway robbery. This guy deserves a proper haunting,' Jack decided, recognizing the price to be even higher than two-month salary for a worker like Maira. He felt a surge of righteous anger.
The ritual began. Tinderlake chanted in an unknown language. It sounded vaguely Latin but was probably just gibberish. He sprinkled herbs, waved a tarnished dagger, and made pronouncements about banishing shadows. Jack watched, unimpressed.
'What a load of theatrical crap. My viewers would see through this in seconds,' he thought, disgusted.
Suddenly, an idea sparked. He focused his abilities: [Nightmare Shapeshift] and [Banshee's Requiems]. Time to spice things up.
He shaped the air around them, twisting it, bending the light. He amplified the flickering candlelight, making the shadows dance. Then, he unleashed the Shapeshift and Requiems.
A low, guttural growl resonated deep within their bones.
The shadows coalesced. They writhed. They took form. A towering figure materialized before them, wreathed in smoke and flame. Its eyes burned like embers. It roared, a sound that shook the very foundations of the building.
It wasn't a real demon. It was a projection of their collective nightmares. But to them, it was terrifyingly real.
Tinderlake screamed, dropping his dagger. The demon mirrored his deepest insecurity - a skeletal figure pointing and laughing, whispering accusations of incompetence and fraud. He saw his reputation crumble. His life's work reduced to ash.
His assistant fainted instantly. For him, the demon wasn't a singular form. It was a suffocating darkness. It mirrored the crushing weight of his mundane existence. It caused him simply ceased to be, swallowed by the nothingness he already felt.
Vanny whimpered, clutching Maira's arm. Before her loomed a demon-eye mirror reflecting not the youthful, vibrant image she desperately clung to. It was her face, but wrinkled and old. The demon's burning gaze was a cruel reminder of her fading beauty, the encroaching inevitability of old age and oblivion.
Maira screamed. Her eyes wide with primal terror. The demon's face shifted, resolving into the grotesque caricature of her estranged father. His booming voice dredged up buried memories of his rage. It reminded her of his disappointment. The constant feeling of never being good enough. The demon was his judgment, manifested in fire and brimstone.
Then, one by one, they all collapsed. Unconscious. Overwhelmed by fear.
"Oops. Collateral damage again. Guess I need to work on my control," Jack muttered, feeling a flicker of embarrassment.
He floated closer to Maira. He could still feel her fear, a raw, pulsating energy. And beneath the fear, there was something else. A deep, unresolved nightmare. An unnatural one.
He focused his [Fear Detection]. He delved into her mind, sifting through the layers of terror. He found the source of her nightmares.
It was a shadowy figure with flashes of painful memories. A recurring image of a burning world. The loss of loved ones. But this memories... didn't belong to Maira. In fact, it didn't seem to belong to human.
Hesitantly, he reached out. He couldn't physically touch her. But he could somehow hold the nightmare. He grabbed it tightly, and slowly dragged it out of the suffering woman. He pulled out the shadowy thing.
He could feel the nightmare weakening its effect on Maira. It was still a terrible nightmare in his hand. But, its influence on the girl was fading.
Jack hesitated again. He felt drawn to the shadowy thing on his hand. A strange hunger gnawing at him. The ugly nightmare seemed very appetizing.
He quickly made up his mind and consumed it. He absorbed the nightmare, the fear, the trauma. It was like a feast. A delicious, dark, and satisfying feast.
Then, it was gone. The nightmare was completely gone.
Jack looked at Maira. The girl's face was now softened. Her breathing has became regular. The tension in her body eased. She looked peaceful, finally.
Jack felt… satisfied. Full. It was a more profound feeling than any he had experienced since becoming Faceless Jack.
He knew he could devour fear and nightmare. But he never expected those negative things to be this delicious.
Jack inspected himself. Nothing changed. His attributes were still the same. His Karma was still neutral. Was the nightmare simply just s delicious meal for him?