Chapter 3: The Locked Door

Chapter 3: The Locked Door

The new orb pulsed in Dracular's palm—cold, oily, and whispering. Unlike the golden warmth of Thomas's fantasy, this one writhed. Its light didn't illuminate. It devoured.

He stood at the edge of the cosmic realm, facing the God of Fantasy.

"This one will test you," the god said, voice heavier now, like prophecy and burden woven together. "It doesn't want to be fulfilled."

Dracular's fingers tightened around the orb. It throbbed in protest.

"Then why give it to me?" he asked.

"Because you said you'd try," Deceit hissed behind him, voice curling around his spine like smoke.

The stars bent. Space cracked. Reality yawned open once more.

TRANSFER INITIATED

Fantasy Integrity: 64%

WARNING: Host consciousness is fragmented. Proceed with caution.

The floor vanished.

He landed hard.

Darkness. Stone. A corridor that smelled of rust, sweat, and old regrets. Water dripped somewhere, irregular as a dying heartbeat. The air was thick—heavy with tension and something else, something primal.

The orb had vanished. In its place: a door. Tall, black, metal reinforced. Locked.

He reached out to touch it.

System Analysis:

Host Fantasy Detected

Name: Subject #004: "Nathan."

Age: 18

Status: Comatose. Long-term trauma detected.

Desire: Unknown. Blocked by psychic defenses.

Fantasy Core: Fragmented. Root Path Obscured.

Dracular frowned. "How do I enter a fantasy I can't see?"

The system responded in jagged lines of text.

Access Method: Immerse in Subject's subconscious maze. Progress by unlocking emotional barriers. Clues may be symbolic. Disturbances likely.

A breath behind him.

He turned.

A child stood at the corridor's edge—no older than six. Pale skin. Hollow eyes. Mute.

"Hey," Dracular said softly. "Are you—?"

The child turned and ran.

Without thinking, Dracular followed.

The corridor twisted. Became a stairwell. Then a hallway filled with photographs, all blurred at the faces. The child ran ahead, silent, barefoot. Dracular kept pace, his breathing shallow.

They entered a new room. A school hallway. Lockers stretched endlessly, lined with graffiti etched not in ink, but in words:

FREAK. MONSTER. KILLER.

The lights above buzzed and flickered. The child vanished around a corner. Dracular turned it—and stopped.

Nathan stood at the end.

Not a child.

A teenager. Skinny. Pale. His eyes were deep sockets of fear and rage. He wore a hospital gown stained with ink and blood.

And in his hand, he held a knife.

"You don't belong here," Nathan said.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

"You're already hurting me."

Dracular took a step forward. The knife flashed. Not at him—at the world.

The lockers shattered. The hallway cracked.

Dracular shielded his face as shards of broken memory flew past.

System Notice: Fantasy Defense Triggered. Memory Collapse Detected.

"Stop!" Dracular shouted.

Nathan's voice twisted. "You're just another liar."

Then he vanished.

Darkness returned.

When the lights flickered back on, Dracular stood in a bedroom. One wall was lined with posters—video games, anime, fantasy art. The bed was made with mechanical precision. But in the corner, a metal cabinet stood chained shut. From within, something scratched.

He approached.

System Analysis: Barrier Identified – Locked Memory

Condition to Unlock: Empathic Echo Required. Simulate a familiar presence.

Dracular looked around. On the desk, a notebook. He opened it. The writing inside was jagged, angry, raw.

"They say I'm sick. That I need help. But all they want is to fix me. I'm not broken. I'm just... scared."

"She said it was okay. That I was allowed to feel. But then she left."

A photo slipped out from between the pages. A teacher and a boy—Nathan. She had warm eyes. Her name was scrawled on the back.

"Miss Alina."

Dracular closed his eyes. Reached into himself. Let the memory settle.

When he spoke again, it wasn't his voice—it was hers. Gentle, kind, unwavering.

"Nathan. It's okay to feel scared."

The chains on the cabinet snapped open.

The door creaked wide.

Inside: a collection of torn paper figures. Some were family. Others... monstrous, with teeth and eyes drawn in fury. And in the center—a music box.

Dracular lifted it carefully. It began to play a lullaby.

Nathan's voice echoed through the room, disembodied and soft.

"She was the only one who ever saw me."

"Where is she now?" Dracular asked.

"I don't know. She said she'd stay, but she didn't."

"She didn't leave because she wanted to. People sometimes get taken away."

Silence.

Then: "Can I see her again?"

Dracular didn't know the answer. But he knelt beside the cabinet and placed the music box in its center.

"I can't promise. But I can help you remember her the right way."

The room pulsed.

Fantasy Integrity: 73%

Barrier 1 Cleared. Memory Fragment Stabilized.

The door behind Dracular opened.

Beyond it: a living room, darkened and cold. A man sat on a recliner, face obscured by shadow. A belt hung loose in his hand.

The child stood beside the couch, staring at the floor.

"No," Dracular whispered.

The air was thick with violence.

A command appeared:

Do Not Intervene Yet. Observation Required.

The man rose.

The child flinched.

"Look at me," the man growled.

The child obeyed.

"You think crying makes you real? You think feeling something gives you worth?"

The belt lifted.

The child said nothing.

The blow never landed.

Dracular stepped forward—his body moved without permission, as if the fantasy itself needed it to happen.

The belt froze mid-air. The man's figure shattered into glass.

Dracular knelt to the child, whispering: "You didn't deserve that. It wasn't your fault."

The child trembled. Then, for the first time, lifted his face.

Nathan's face.

He dissolved into golden light.

Fantasy Integrity: 85%

Barrier 2 Cleared. Core Fragment Unlocked.

Dracular awoke again—this time in a version of Nathan's mind that looked like a theater. Empty seats. A single spotlight.

Nathan stood onstage.

This version looked older—twenty, maybe more. Dressed in black. Wounds still visible. But calmer.

"You've seen it now," he said.

Dracular nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're the first one who didn't turn away."

Nathan took a breath. "But I still don't know what I want."

A pause.

Then: "I want to forget. But I also want to remember without breaking."

The system pulsed.

Final Choice Available:

Erase the fantasy. Let Nathan rest.

Anchor the pain. Help him carry it.

Dracular stepped forward.

"You don't need to forget. You just need someone to carry it with."

Nathan looked up. His eyes shimmered. "Will you?"

Dracular smiled. "I will. For as long as this lasts."

The spotlight bloomed.

The theater exploded into white.

Dracular gasped.

Back in the hospital room. Nathan lay motionless, but his breathing had changed—no longer shallow, but full.

His fingers twitched.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

The orb in Dracular's hand exploded into sparks.

MISSION COMPLETE

+200 XP

+Empathy +5

+New Trait Unlocked: Painbearer – Gain resistance to emotional manipulation. Unlock hidden dialogue paths for traumatized targets.

Dracular staggered.

This time, when the cosmic sky returned, it didn't feel like triumph.

It felt like a burden.

The God of Fantasy stood silently. Deceit and Hatred were gone.

"You chose the harder path," the god said. "You walked through another's pain and didn't flinch."

Dracular looked at his hands. They were shaking.

"Will it always be like this?" he asked.

The god nodded. "Or worse."

A new orb descended. Red. Cracked. Crying smoke.

Dracular caught it.

His hands stopped shaking.

"I'm ready."

NEXT TARGET: ALENA

FANTASY TYPE: DELUSION. POWERFUL. DENIAL-LADEN.

WARNING: Subject actively resists assistance. Expect projection and psychic attack.

And then—

TRANSFER INITIATED.