Nightmare Egress, Part 3 - "I'LL TAKE YOU TO BURN"

I'LL TAKE YOU TO BURN
Leonard Joseph Vine of the Major Explorer Group, a senior researcher older than half of the others his level within the establishment, was tasked to handle and conduct research relevant to an unprecedented supernatural phenomenon.
Vine was a hefty man with an irate countenance, a greying beard nearly as long as he was wide, and a fairly overwhelming muscular build. Not balding yet; Vine was known for his signature wavy hair, almost reaching his torso, and his aura of professionalism radiated by his standard laboratory coat and round-frame glasses. He was fit for an operative’s tasks, and for the whole role, even. Although, for a strong man like himself, the multiple misfortunes he had to encounter during his lifetime and presence within The Backrooms were crushing enough to make him doubt how much practical control he would have with that role. Fate had plans for him that involved handling proper, comprehensive knowledge regarding all sorts of irregularities and logic twists with painstaking precision and care.
Though, what he and his establishment were dealing with now was of petrifying magnitude.
Leonard worked uninterrupted in a large tent accustomed to his liking and necessities that was part of a gargantuan outpost in Level 1. With him on board, conclusions were arriving at an impressively rapid rate. However, no good researcher works alone. In fact, none of them work alone. Solitude is an offense when one is in The Backrooms. Atticus Ruyer, a younger but intellectually potent researcher, was a trustworthy companion of Leonard, but he had a busy schedule, considering he was sought in a roster of research fields.
The tent Leonard was occupying had a big piece of archaic furniture blocking the entrance, intended to be taken as a door. An outpost that took a remarkably tremendous amount of materials and effort to construct is a ticket to being short on resources, which left personnel within the outpost with no option but to use anything they had at their disposal. This included makeshift tools and useless objects capable of being repurposed as useful ones. That worn yet intricate structure of wood that served as a door was one of these. Although large, it wasn’t as heavy as it looked; the intention was for it to be pushed to the side carefully until one is able to penetrate the tent through its entrance, and once inside, they are to reach out and push it back to its initial spot as an act of “relocking the door behind them”.
Atticus, reaching the tent after receiving a call from his superior, carried out the procedure after dropping his blade nearby. It was prone to being stolen, as the exterior wasn’t guarded. On the contrary, the inside of the tent was not just where Leonard worked, it was where he ‘’lived’’ now. Therefore, he guards it sharply, even while working, like a canine.
“Hey, boss,” Ruyer called out from the other side of the tent. “You called?”
Leonard sat silently for a moment, then stared at his companion. “Ruyer,” he spoke, with a quiet and cavernously deep concentrated voice. “It has come to my attention that the phenomenon assigned to us is exceptionally puzzling to determine,” already worrying words, but when somebody as experienced as Leonard says it, that’s worse. 
“I don’t doubt you,” muttered Ruyer. “At this point, it’s less about delivering information and more about expunging misinformation. That’s the best we can do. Any fruitful research we’ve gotten to as of now is just dumb luck. This isn’t something we’re in the best condition to deal with right now, sincerely.”
“Is that why I’m noticing your absence, Ruyer?” said Leonard. “We’re dealing with some sort of supernatural abstract cancer, and abstractions are a bane of modern science. The keyword is trying. We’ll get to something if you stiffen up and bare with me.”
Atticus frowned. “Sir, you must understand that we’re not accustomed to dealing with something this big. No matter how hard we try, this thing is always a step ahead because it’s metastasized; a crack in the orthodox fabric of something spawns in somebody’s dreams, and suddenly, everybody is dreaming about reality-bending spiders! It’s not predatory glowing smiles, or a twisted rabbit in a trench bent on physical assault. It’s something on a scale that’s beyond the capacity of conventional research. The only reason I keep trying is because you keep telling me to and I look up to you for guidance! But in retrospect? This is all futile. You’re lucky people even still trust us with this transcendental mindfuck, let’s be honest. It’s already been months since we started this project, man. You’ve now become a maniac fueled by that profound urge to go even deeper into this rabbit hole. There’s a kid that heard about the Supernightmare and is starting some cult about a completely separate entity which the poor dumbass claims to be the real thing. He didn’t even provide any evidence yet people are still succumbing to his demented new order bullshit.” He quieted down slightly. “Yeah, I’m telling you, Leonard. They wear cult robes and do stereotypical rituals trying to summon some deity to wreak havoc. It’s petty. They’re all scum, and we’re dealing with them right now because it doesn’t seem like there’s anything else we can do.”
“Kid,” said Leonard. “I hate those hasty shitbags as much as the next guy, but without documentation, we’re giving up like pissbabies. I don’t blame you for being too sick of this to keep up with a workaholic wreck like me, but if you want to resign, the door’s right behind you.”
Atticus grits his teeth and takes a swift look to the side, acknowledging the door Leonard pointed at. He grunts in frustration and sighs. “Fine. I’ll humor you.”
“Good, come take a seat. We’ll recap.”
The complex threat that constituted such an imminent cause for panic was a product, or depending on interpretation, an enhanced form of what seemed to be an abstract disease. Groups of wanderers en masse would report recurring dreams with particularly unnerving intrusions, a noteworthy number of which were completely out of the blue and not directly based on their phobias. It went from ordinary variables – like animals – with supernatural properties to conceptual things wanderers didn't even know they feared… until they knew. That wasn't where it started, though; this is where the "metastasis" plays in. 
When a theory formed by one Operative Mitchell first surfaced in 2006, a term within such a context made it clear that what Researchers Vine and Ruyer were dealing with was practically dream cancer. This was cause for alarm, and a vast conflict which was still going by the time of their conversation. Nightmares were in metastasis. They denied orders to be subdued; to be restricted to their sole host. Instead, even the most bizarre and unforeseen parts of one's nightmares would spread through the "dreamscape" and others would begin to dream about it too. Constantly. It targeted whole groups, then other whole groups, forming an image of itself, then another as a follow-up; a serial nightmare generator.
Eventually, its deeds formed a network of indisputable links, with some wanderers even deducing information about the threat through their nightmares. With the new information rolling in, it began to look more like an actual entity and not some brilliantly orchestrated phenomenon, which had Vine intrigued enough to coin a name for it: the Supernightmare. An exceptional nightmare. A nightmare complex. That was the term that stuck with him as he did his research: complex. For Vine, it was like solving a typically inconclusive crime as a professional detective. For Ruyer, it was as if the world was ending and all hell was about to break loose.
Perhaps both of them were right.
However, the most notable feature of this entity was that it had avatars, manifestations in the real world. It would metaphorically reach out to a myriad of entities and plunge a tendril of its otherworldly essence into them, like a hand transfixing a mass of clay with a needle. Then, it would proceed to pump a good dose of itself from its core into theirs until they are wholly locked out of contact with themselves; until the Supernightmare has full access to every nook and cranny of their very existential framework. This converts them into fragments of its full physical form; eyes which it sees through and hands which it operates with, tied together with its figurative parasitic sinew, and they are entirely subordinate to it. 
It had one vulnerability, though: its access was limited to the fabric of The Backrooms alone. For it to reach out to mankind’s world – Lord forbid – it would have to carry out the daunting task of infesting everything and everyone in The Backrooms. It would have to “spit” on every corner of every level and every sub-level, then operate on the ruined complex, now bathed in its essence, until The Backrooms itself is now a mere vessel of the Supernightmare. Subsequently, if it succeeds in horribly massacring every wanderer, colony, and entity within, it would unleash a hypothetical liaison agent, an entity of sorts, to construct a “bridge” between The Backrooms/the fragmental complex/the Supernightmare’s new form and the universe. Its nightmare mass would then open its door and begin seeping through the worn down edges of reality via the dimensional bridge, leaving what was once known as The Backrooms behind as a battered, hollow, rotting mess of rooms and corpses. It would eventually reach Earth, and do God knows what to it.
Among personnel existed a theory that somewhere out there is a focal point, or a nexus, where the Supernightmare’s fragments overlap and amalgamate to form its core; its ultimate physical form, the nightmare network just as researchers see it. It would be unfathomably large and powerful; a full image put together by puzzle pieces, with a toothed maw set ablaze by the eternal conflict of the helpless fragments within. Nobody knew what its definitive goal was, and though it may seem likely, most have ruled out the possibility of it willing to reach out to Earth. They have inferred through their visions that its flaw is that it isn’t productive; its process of infestation and infection is slow enough for it to be clear to anyone which variables in the equation were part of the Supernightmare and which weren’t, yet fast enough for it to be a major problem. What everyone involved in the project was looking for was a way to render the Supernightmare sterile; to lock it out and prevent its reach from broadening.
"But what would that be?" said Atticus. "It's not like we work with sorcery around here, and those who do aren't experienced with it in the slightest."
"That's what I would have been trying to figure out this instant if it weren't for my trustworthy assistant bringing the few strands of confidence left in me down," scoffed Leonard.
"Look, Leo–"
"Save your energy, kid. I'm way past hearing another rant."
"No, boss," stuttered Ruyer. "I just wanted to say I’m sorry. We've got the establishment's best interests at heart right now. It ain't the time to resign."
Leonard smiled subtly at his partner's compliance. "That's the spirit, kid. Hey, let's get moving out of here. I've got some documents to send to the higher-ups."
"Aye," said Ruyer.
Vine, having lost his wife to cancer nearly half a decade before inadvertently no-clipping into The Backrooms, coped with loss by blinding his grief with hours, days, weeks of science; he read books continuously, reinforcing the parts of his lifetime’s knowledge that were decaying courtesy of his age. He still reads now that he’s at least a universe away from Earth. Although, without any books to read, he has to resort to articles from the database. The knowledge is mandatory now; he needs it for survival. He never smoked, and especially won’t do so now for fear that he might die to what his late wife had to suffer from. In fact, he can’t do so even if he wanted to because nobody has cigarettes and lighters with them while no-clipping. Unfortunately, almost everyone has cancer now, but it’s different. Researching its nature is what he has dedicated these recent months to. He thought that if he could accomplish this goal, perhaps his mind would be put at ease; perhaps his wife would find her final resting place and proudly watch over him from Heaven. What he feared more than anything was his clock ticking before he could finish his task and thus forcing him to meet his wife in Heaven empty-handed. Thankfully, he had Atticus Ruyer on his side. As arrogant as he can be, Leonard thought of him as his one and only companion, and as somebody who can be counted on as opposed to the majority of officials they worked with in the Major Explorer Group. Ruyer knew how to keep himself stable even in a realm designed to dethread his sanity and strength and that was the virtue of his Leonard approved of. 
Leaving the tent, Atticus leaned over to pick up the blade which he left on the ground a few feet away from the wooden “door”, smiling at the fact that it hadn’t been stolen despite him not leaving it under surveillance. He yawned silently as he stood still, waiting for his boss to sort the documents he wanted to deliver. Leonard took a quick glance at the floor, having noticed something out-of-place around the corner of his eye, which his partner didn’t pay attention to because he wasn’t looking. 
It was a drawing, like a cult mark or a rune, crudely sketched on a piece of paper with a felt-tip pen. By the time Ruyer did notice it, a quick burst of anxiety became apparent on his expression. It wasn’t there when he dropped the blade, before he went inside the tent. He thought that somebody might have taken his blade and returned it. He checked it for fingerprints, but there were none. “What’s this?” he spoke.
”I thought you’d tell me,” Vine said, before walking closer to the drawing and examining it thoughtfully. “It looks like an open door with a sun intersecting it halfway through. Are you familiar with it?”
”Not as such.”
Leonard reached out to lift the piece of paper up, attempting to place one corner of it between his index and thumb fingers, but he couldn’t despite his notable physique. It was seemingly glued to the ground. He saw no traces of moisture, though; for it to be stuck to the floor like this, it would require one to heavily glue the ‘’center’’ of the paper from behind. That wasn’t the case, however. If it was stuck to the floor like that, he could have been able to lift its corners up, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move any part of the drawing a single centimetre above the floor. It was something meant to stay where it was put. He stood up and sorted the documents which he held tightly to his chest once more. Nobody was around to see this. The atmosphere was deathly silent. It was as if everybody in the outpost left in a silent stampede. Now closer to Atticus, he continued contemplating the symbol with his fellow researcher until suddenly, the paper began rustling.
Atticus mistook it for the sound of the documents Vine held, but it was distant. He couldn’t determine the source until they got closer to the drawing, which remained entirely static, but both of its onlookers were certain that’s where the noise came from. Eventually, it started shaking, moving in an inconsistent trajectory. 
Something tore through it.
It stood tall, a physically imposing entity; it was a gigantic, stiff black stinger, like a spider’s leg, with sharp protrusions on each side, its lower half decorated with an odious, slimy “mosaic” of smaller, smoother tendrils. It was thick enough to completely destroy the piece of paper above the floor it emerged from with one concentrated perforation which left nothing of the paper but a fragile frame that quickly came apart as soon as Ω manifested. It spoke with a barely coherent sentence structure, like an audio recording of a person’s words pitched down beyond being recognizable as properly human. ”MALFORM ESSENCE, END OF MEDIUM AND START OF HEADER,” Ω hissed loudly, before being cut by a burst of static and beginning its next intangible phrase: “PUNCTURE AND IGNITE INFERTILITY AGENT, DISFIGURE AND RENDER INERT.”
It had no eyes, no sensory organs at all, but Vine and Ruyer could feel Ω looking at them as it tilted its sharp extremity downwards to face them. Ruyer didn’t speak a word, but he motioned at the entity with his blade, threatening it as he took a few steps backwards, almost reaching the tent and gripping Vine’s arm in a position of protective anticipation.
“What do you want?” Vine muttered. 
Ω didn’t make a single noise but a constant, quiet hum of static which cut through the paranoid silence. It cocked its “head” to one side, then the other, in an almost hypnotic fashion which worried the researchers it seemed to be targeting. After a grueling moment, it spoke:
“LEONARD JOSEPH VINE?”
”That would be myself,” said Vine as he approached Ω, his arm still tightly wrapped by that of Ruyer, who seemed to be even more worried. “What brings you here?”
There was nothing but silence.
”What brings-”
Ω swayed forward with an ear-piercing roar, backhanding Researcher Vine and tearing one side of his clothes horribly with its natural defenses. The man’s weighty body fell on that of his companion, causing both of them to collapse painfully near their tent, with Atticus almost goring himself on his own blade. Having sufficiently incapacitated its target, it wrapped itself around Leonard and lifted him high enough above the floor for him to be beyond Ruyer’s reach. The latter, startled, only barely managed to grab his weapon and return to equilibrium. Running towards Ω and intending to release his companion by stabbing it, Atticus was caught off-guard as one of the organic wires on the monstrosity’s lower half began to writhe, then two, then four. The mass quickly targeted him and scraped his fingers and face, causing him to gurgle in pain as he collapsed again. Ω then lowered itself as its victims screamed, phasing through the floor and leaving no traces of its presence behind aside from the blatant environmental damage. Eventually, as the entity took Leonard with it, all that was left on the other side was the pained groans of his weakened partner. 
Ω rumbled as it extended itself across the void, perpetually holding Vine captive. Its protrusions uncomfortably poked every part of his body, inches away from stabbing him fatally and ending it all. He was on the verge of tears, although he somehow didn’t realize it. ”Rose, Atticus,” he grunted as he lowered his head in defeat. The first name was that of his wife. “I’m so sorry.”
“RECONDITIONING, EXPELLING NORMALCY,” Ω yelled at its prey with a vocal pitch that hit rock-bottom now. It held him in suspension as it “stood straight”. There was no visible light, but Leonard could feel himself elevating. It seemed to be building up momentum. It released him by throwing him aimlessly into the void as he screamed again.
…and he was knocked out for a dozen horrific seconds.
Leonard regained consciousness somewhere else, almost drunken with dizziness, his sudden predator nowhere to be found. Nearly asphyxiated and completely jarred, alone and with nothing to listen to but the swift and frantic movement of his palms on the wet sand and the counterproductively irritating noise of the water ahead’s raging waves. He was staring down at the sand and supporting his weight via his palms and knees, inhaling heavy amounts of air and exhaling acutely. The sky was a dark hue, or more accurately, a dark gradient; a mix of warm colors, like how you would naturally see it when the sun is low, topped by a dim shade of blue. He was near a beach, but it took him a while to notice. If anything, what he first took a quick mental note of was that the surface below him was darkening as what he interpreted to be sunset commenced. Before Leonard, something was floating in the distance, either claiming the scene or leaving it. He could see it through his peripheral vision. Something with a very simple shape, albeit of titanic size and equally tremendous range. Something primarily associated with heat. He had to piece all of this together, since he was never as shocked as he was now. He came to a clear conclusion: that would be the sun. It was going lower, leaving the scene. Leonard looked up, returning to consistence, getting ready to deaden his shock; preparing himself for this sudden transition to click in, and—
That wasn't the sun. It was a door.
And it was opening.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLG1ys2CGcI
TO BE CONTINUED
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Concept and Writing by me, NexnapThePhilsophist/Nexnap. This is an entry of Nightmare Egress, a canon belonging to myself.
Category:Tales
Category:Nightmare Egress