"Hawk, there's something I need to tell you" As Brock begins to explain his nightmare and almost everything he experienced. Not taking any time to explain his sentences, just rapidly firing them. One sentence stuck out to Hawk
"I got these weird powers. I struck a broken Pole in the ground, and a huge light burst erupted out blinding me and I think the silhouette too." Brock mentions heavily staring at his hands and the black snake like veins. Taking deep breaths in between his stutters.
The room's silence was heavy, broken only by the low hum of machinery and Brock's unsteady breathing. The metallic walls, though felt kinda familiar yet Brock doesn't know where he knows them. Outside the window, trees swayed gently, a pure contrast to the chaos he'd just escaped.
Brock sat on the edge of a metal bench he saw in the corner of the room, his gaze fixed on his hands. The black, vein-like tendrils creeping beneath his skin, pulsing faintly. They were a constant reminder of the nightmare. Even though Brock wants to forget the nightmare he can't.
Hawk approached cautiously, concern etched on his face. "Brock, you mentioned something about powers... in the nightmare?"
Brock nodded slowly, his eyes still on his hands. "Yeah. There was this moment... I was cornered by the Silhouette. I grabbed a broken pipe, struck the ground, and this burst of light erupted. It blinded both of us, giving me a chance to escape."
Hawk's eyes widened. "Light? From a pipe?"
"I think it came from me," Brock admitted. "The pipe was just a conduit. The light... it felt like it surged from within, like the tendrils channeled it."
Hawk took a step back, processing the information. "So, these tendrils... they're not just marks. They might be the source of this power?"
"Possibly," Brock mentioned, not sounding happy. "But I don't understand it. It was instinctual, like a reflex. I didn't think; I just acted."
The room fell silent again, the weight of the revelation pressing down on both young men.
After a moment, Hawk spoke. "We need answers. This isn't just about you anymore. If that nightmare realm can bleed into our world, and corrupt people we have to understand it."
Brock looked up, determination in his eyes. "There's someone who might help. Harrow. He was in the nightmare, guiding me. He seemed to know more than he let on."
Hawk frowned. "Harrow? Who is he?"
"I'm not sure," Brock admitted. "He appeared human but felt... different. Like he was connected to that realm. He warned me, guided me, even gave me the courage to face the Silhouette."
Hawk nodded slowly. "Then we find him. Maybe he can explain what's happening to you, to us."
As they prepared to seek out Harrow, the tendrils beneath Brock's skin pulsed again, a subtle reminder that the nightmare wasn't over.
"So let's get out of here brock" Hawk mentions with a bold and brave voice.
They step out of the metallic shelter, the air is thick with anticipation. The forest before them was shrouded in mist, the trees casting shadows under the moonlight. Each step they take is echoed by the soft crunch of leaves, the silence only broken by distant calls of owls and crickets.
Brock's gaze remained fixed on his hands, the black tendrils beneath his skin pulsing faintly, a constant reminder of the power he barely understood. Hawk, walking beside him, kept a watchful eye on the surroundings, his senses heightened.
The path ahead was uncertain, but their resolve was clear. They needed answers, and the mysterious Harrow was their only lead. With each step into the unknown, the boundary between reality and the supernatural seemed to blur, the forest itself gets louder as the duo ventured deeper into the core.
Brock's voice broke the silence louder than the animals making their mark, with a voice low and strained out. "We need to find a place to sleep."
Hawk nodded, his eyes scanning the dense forest. The trees loomed overhead, their branches intertwining to form a canopy that was lit by the moonlight into scattered beams. The forest floor was uneven, covered in roots and fallen leaves.
They moved off the path, deeper into the woods, searching for shelter. After a short while, they came upon a small clearing, where a fallen tree lay across a patch of moss. It wasn't much, but it would suffice for the night.
Brock sat down on the moss, his back against the fallen tree. He flexed his fingers, watching the black tendrils beneath his skin pulse faintly. The power within him was still a mystery, one he hoped Harrow could help unravel.
Hawk remained standing, his senses alert. The forest was alive with sounds—the rustling of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the occasional snap of a twig. But beneath it all, there was something else, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"We'll take turns keeping watch," Hawk said. "This place doesn't feel right."
Brock nodded, understanding the unspoken tension in the air. They were venturing into the unknown, and the forest seemed to be watching them just as closely as they were watching it.
I'll take the first watch," Brock murmured, his voice flat. "Not sure I could sleep after everything."
Hawk paused, studying him. The day's toll was evident in Brock's slouched shoulders and the fatigue shadowing his eyes.
"You sure?" Hawk asked, concern threading his words.
Brock managed a faint smile. "Yeah. Go ahead and get some rest."
With deliberate care, he stood, moving as if each motion required effort. He let out a soft grunt as he climbed onto the fallen tree, settling atop it. From his perch, he scanned the darkened forest, the black tendrils beneath his skin pulsing.
Without hesitation, Hawk drifted into a deep sleep, his breathing steady and quiet beneath the sheltering branches distant hoots, and the occasional snap of a twig—played on, undisturbed by his peaceful slumber.
Brock remained vigilant, perched atop the fallen tree, the black tendrils beneath his skin pulsing faintly. The weight of the day's events pressed upon him, yet sleep had no effect on him. His gaze scanned the darkened woods, every shadow and sound of a potential threat. The boundary between reality and the supernatural felt increasingly tenuous.
As the night deepened, Brock's resolve hardened. They were venturing into the unknown, seeking answers from Harrow. Whatever happens, he would face it head-on, determined to uncover the truth behind the power coursing through him.