Dreams changed first.
Not nightmares—those were common in a world ruled by the Church.
These were too vivid, too coherent.
Across the empire, people began to dream of lives they never lived.
A farmer dreamed of becoming a duke—and woke crying, clutching empty air.
A knight dreamed of saving a village—and woke to the smell of smoke that wasn't there.
A child dreamed of parents long dead—and woke screaming their names.
Something was rewriting longing.
Something was feeding.
---
The Awakening of Orzek
Beneath the Grand Cathedral, the sealed altar split completely.
Cracks spider-webbed across the stone, and black-violet mist poured out—not like smoke, but like thought given form.
The Pope stood before it, trembling—not from fear, but anticipation.
"Orzek," Pope Altharion whispered.
"Dream Demon. Ancient Sovereign. I have prepared your feast."
The mist coiled.
A shape emerged—never stable, always shifting. A crown formed and unformed above its head, made of broken halos and sleeping eyes.
A voice echoed inside the Pope's skull, intimate and amused.
"You smell of rot, little shepherd."
Altharion smiled. "And you smell of eternity."
The demon laughed softly.
"Thirteen villages," Orzek purred.
"Thirteen collective futures erased. Enough to wake me… but not enough to free me."
Altharion stiffened. "You promised—"
"Youth," Orzek interrupted.
"Yes. I will lend you what you crave."
The mist surged.
Altharion screamed.
His spine straightened. His skin tightened. Wrinkles vanished like illusions dispelled. White hair turned black. Clouded eyes burned gold.
Moments later, a young man stood where the old Pope had been.
Tall. Radiant. Terrifying.
He laughed—a sound filled with arrogance reborn.
"I can feel it," he said. "Time bends around me."
Orzek's laughter followed him like a shadow.
"Enjoy it," the Dream Demon whispered.
"You are young again… but still mine."
---
Lucifer's Warning
Far from Aurelia, Demian froze mid-step.
His vision blurred.
The world flickered—like a dream about to collapse.
Lucifer's voice snapped inside him, sharp and urgent.
"Stop."
Demian halted. "What is it?"
A rare tension crept into Lucifer's tone.
"Orzek has awakened."
Demian clenched his jaw. "Fully?"
"No," Lucifer replied.
"But enough to distort reality locally. Dreams will begin influencing fate."
Demian frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning your enemies may strike you using futures that never happened," Lucifer said.
"And your own memories may try to betray you."
Demian exhaled slowly.
"So the Pope got what he wanted."
Lucifer's voice turned cold.
"For now."
---
The Inquisition Moves
In the Holy City, the rejuvenated Pope stood before the High Synod.
They stared at him in disbelief.
"Y-Your Holiness…?" one whispered.
Altharion spread his arms.
"Witness," he said calmly, "the blessing of absolute faith."
The Synod fell to their knees.
"Prepare the Dream Inquisition," the Pope commanded.
"I want Demian Valen broken—not killed."
A pause.
"I want his despair intact."
---
The Dream Inquisition
They were not knights.
They were worse.
Men and women anointed with Orzek's partial blessing—eyes glowing faintly violet, armor inscribed with sigils that pulsed like heartbeats.
Each one carried a weapon forged from condensed unrealized futures.
They could wound what should have been.
Their leader knelt.
"Your will, Holy Father?"
Altharion smiled.
"Bring me the Blood Butcher," he said.
"I wish to see how he screams when his dream of revenge dies."
---
The First Dream Trap
Night.
A ruined city road.
Demian sensed it too late.
The world shifted.
The road became Rosenvale.
Whole.
Alive.
Children ran laughing.
His sister stood there—unburned, smiling.
"Brother," she said softly. "You came back."
Demian's heart cracked.
Lucifer roared inside him.
"IT'S A LIE!"
Demian staggered.
His knees buckled.
His sister reached out.
"Don't go to the forest," she pleaded. "Stay."
Demian trembled.
Then—he laughed.
Tears streamed down his face as he raised his hand.
"You're right," he whispered.
"This is my dream."
Black mist exploded outward.
The illusion shattered violently.
Three Dream Inquisitors were revealed mid-strike.
Demian's hand pierced through the chest of the nearest one.
"Then let me show you my reality."
---
Blood Meets Dream
The fight was brutal.
Blades cut memories.
Wounds appeared before attacks landed.
Demian was stabbed by a future where he hesitated—and bled.
Lucifer surged, furious.
"Give me control for five seconds."
Demian's eyes burned.
"Two."
Hell authority erupted.
Reality overrode possibility.
The Dream Inquisitors screamed as their weapons dissolved, their borrowed futures collapsing into nothingness.
Demian stood amidst the carnage, breathing heavily.
Lucifer spoke, impressed.
"You resisted Orzek's influence faster than expected."
Demian wiped blood from his face.
"I already lost everything," he said quietly.
"There's nothing left for dreams to take."
---
A War of Three Thrones
Far away, Orzek laughed in the depths.
"Interesting… the boy bleeds reality."
The Pope clenched his fist.
"Send more."
Lucifer's voice echoed inside Demian.
"This is no longer just revenge."
Demian looked toward Aurelia, eyes cold and steady.
"I know," he replied.
"This is a war."
A war between—
A false god chasing eternity.
A dream demon feeding on futures.
And a broken boy who refused to dream anymore.
---
End of Chapter 7
---