A Nightmare Hangover in the Slums
The warm light heating my body naturally drew my eyes open. Through the window, I could see the sun had risen. Morning already. My body was stiff and wouldn't budge. Guess I overdid it with the drinking last night. My mind was awake, but my body was still sunk deep in dreams. Probably because of that nightmare. I'd heard people who drank nightmares ended up like this. No panic—I circulated my mana. It soaked into my rigid limbs. Using that mana, I forced my body to move. The form slumped against the wall shot upright. Creaking sounds came with sharp pain. I gritted my teeth through it and started simple stretches. My still-sleeping body screamed in protest. No mercy, though. I was already running late. Had to open the shop quick. Gotta make money. That's how I'd take the exam again next year. Next year...
Damn, I'm truly screwed. I tried to shake off thoughts of the exam amid the pain of forcing my body to move. But I couldn't. The wound in my heart hurt worse than the ache in my flesh. This was my tenth time. I never imagined I'd be taking the exam this long. For the first entrance exam, I thought I was a genius—cocky as hell. Figured I'd pass no problem. Then I failed at lightspeed.
"Hmm, so the university gates are high after all." I played it cool, but I was shocked. How the hell do you even pass this? Second try. Failed again. A genius like me? "My realm's still immature. Gotta raise it and try again." Sure enough, at the Germination stage with just a sprout, I didn't have enough mana to finish the exam. So I advanced to Seedling in one go. Elevating the tree's rank like that—yep, total genius. Confident for the third try. Failed.
Fail after fail. By the time five years had passed since my first attempt, it hit me. I wasn't a genius. Just another commoner scraping by in this slum like the other mages, living only to step through those university gates. Ten years gone. Still begging on these streets. And today marked the start of my eleventh challenge.
Damn.
I dragged my body to open the shop door. A fresh breeze carried the stale stench inside. Money, gotta make money. Now my body finally woke up a bit, strength trickling back. I stretched hard, scanning around. The usual sight: most buildings half-collapsed, slumped figures like corpses littering the alleys. Just another ordinary morning with people rolling around like trash. Oh, that one's a real corpse. Froze to death overnight? I sent a flying bug doll to poke around. Already looted clean—no mana left. Bummer, thought I'd score some easy cash first thing. Shoved the body deep into the alley. Someone who needs it will haul it off. To kick off the day right, one thing first: beat that bastard's ass. That damn beer seller. Can't trust dream demons. Selling me beer laced with nightmares? Not letting that slide. Gotta smash him before more innocent victims like me show up! And I needed a dream demon anyway—perfect timing.
I locked the shop and hit the streets. Where would he be now? Probably underground hawking his booze. I headed through the crumbled ruins toward the cluster of somewhat intact buildings. More living mages appeared the closer I got. This was the slum's heart—the one spot with a hint of human life. People still littered the ground, but no corpses here. They chased out anyone about to die. I made for the biggest building. A guy with a sword at his waist leaned against the door, puffing a leaf cigarette. Gang enforcer ruling these streets. Faint mana hummed from the blade. Doorman, probably. I hated sword nuts the most. Every mage must despise them. Lunatics growing swords instead of trees. Short-lived but strong. Even in this exam, sword freaks looted all my dolls. The nightmare memory twisted my face. I brushed past him into the building. His iron-stink sword aura stabbed my nose. Ugh, the smell. I pinched my nose and wrapped myself in mana. That's why I hated them more. Flaunting mana like that—no class, zero class.
Inside buzzed with people—all mages. Anyone in the district stopped here. It was the gang's request broker. I came often too. Easy to source doll materials. Right, most of my dolls were wrecked from the exam—needed new ones. Jotted a few familiar ingredients on the board. With my shop's location noted, folks would come running. Nodded to familiar faces and headed to the corner stairs plunging underground. They led deep down. Eventually, a vast cavern opened up. More people swarmed than above. An underground market carved out to dodge monsters. Trading mana-tainted goods drew beasts, so they dug in deep for defense. Inside city walls, no need to hide like this.
There—the bastard. Baldy wiped his shiny dome, serving customers. His booze lined up nearby. Bet it reeked up close. I'd fallen for it and bought overpriced bottles. Pulled out a few flying bug dolls from my pocket. Injected mana—their hearts pulsed, and they buzzed into the air. Silently, they vanished to ambush near him. I stepped up.
"Hey, look at me."
I kicked a bottle. They toppled like dominoes. He stomped over, face screwed up. That gleaming head grated on me.
"Scamming folks again, Baldy?"
"Why ruin my business, Doll Freak?"
"Doll Freak? Says the guy spiking his own brew."
His face went sheet-white.
"W-what? When did I ever?"
He stammered. Nearby folks looked skeptical, eyeing their drinks before setting them down.
"Misunderstanding! I never did that!"
He scrambled to call them back, but the disgusted crowd started leaving with sour faces. He scowled, his ugly mug turning fiercer. He leaned in, voice low.
"We had a deal—no talking! I even paid you hush money with mana stones."
Yeah. About two years back, I'd caught him red-handed. Shocking stuff. The memory nearly made me hurl. I swallowed it down, burying it deep again. Never resurfacing. "I'd have stayed quiet if you'd kept your end. 'Good dreams only'? 'Happy dreams guaranteed'? Drank that yesterday and nearly died, you punk."
I smacked his head. He rubbed the spot, dazed, then flinched.
"Remember now? Bought it three years ago? Gave you ten mana stones for it. Warned you then—if it's spiked, I'd kill you."
He edged back. Trying to bolt? No chance. Bugs had him surrounded. Hidden flying bugs beat their wings. Explosive spells stacked on their backs. Run, and he'd ash with them. He eyed the dolls and slumped down. Bugs settled too. Next time, boom. I glared the warning.
"Still using those filthy dolls..."
"What?"
Filthy? These had been my lifeline since leaving the island. Without these suicide bugs, I wouldn't be alive. Calling my cute babies that? Slapped five or six onto his back. One burst, and his upper body's gone. Wings buzzed—he broke into cold sweats.
"Our little darlings are sad now."
"Sorry, sorry! I misspoke—they're great! Ah, haha!"
He forced a laugh. I halted the bugs, then stomped his leg hard as he relaxed—pinned him.
"So, what and how much did you spike it with?"
"Ugh, no idea what you mean..."
"Then die."
Signaled the bugs to blow. Wings revved louder.
"I did! Just a little!"
He yelled. No learning curve? Knows why I'm here but plays dumb. Just stupid.
"Yeah, tasted like pure nightmare. How much?"
"Just nightmares—a bit! Rest was happy dreams. Barely noticeable, how'd you..."
"Bullshit. Straight to nightmare after one sip."
Slapped his dome hard. Sharp crack, red welt blooming. First bald dream demon I'd seen—others had hair. Hard to believe he was only twenty. Kept smacking. Even red as dye, I didn't stop. Rage wouldn't fade. Stared at his pitiful face.
"Two choices."
Held up two fingers.
"One: I carve you up. One hand's enough. Need dreams anyway—glove from your skin lets me fish 'em out."
His face blued. Head swollen red, face pale—quite the sight. He opened his mouth; I wagged a finger. Bugs swarmed, sealing it.
"Hear the other."
Folded one finger, shook the last.
"Donate some tree fragment. Not too much—one tenth? Enough to culture a dream demon doll."
Face ghost-white. Bugs cleared; he rolled his eyes, looking to flee.
"Try running, I take both."
He deflated. Cheaters pay tenfold—that's my city rule. If the booze was clean, might've bought more. But he tricked me into a nightmare. Odds of a nightmare-pulled mage returning? One in a thousand. Insane risk.
"Ten seconds. No pick, I take both."
"Tree! Tree it is!"
He shouted. Nodded to start. He laughed hollowly, closed eyes, stirred mana. Gray dream demon mana quivered; he coughed up a gray strand. Snagged it with a mana vial. It settled in the liquefied mana. Sprout fragment—not yet Seedling. Definitely alien mana, not human.
"Most'd pick body. Interesting."
Tucked it away.
Ask any mage: body every time. Tree's everything. But he valued his flesh more. Dream demon thing?
"Regrow the tree. Can't regrow hands. That's my livelihood."
He grumbled. Got what I came for—released him. Waved; bugs burrowed into my robe. He collapsed, sighing.
"No wonder my neck itched all morning."
Chugged a bottle right there. Nice aroma, but no way I'd touch his stuff. Stretched fully. Ahh, refreshing. Handle grudges on the spot. Morning workout done—today'd be great!
Thought to browse the market, but junk everywhere. Wait for auction. Climbed out to street level. Back to shop—tons to do. Left it closed a week for exam; requests piled up, dolls smashed. Busy, so busy.