2 Works in The Second Corinthian & Dream of the Endless | Daniel
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The Corinthian never forgot or abandoned a hunt, never let go until flesh had given way beneath his knife, until eyes were popping between his teeth, sweet and satisfying. There was none of that feeling of resolution, here. No lingering taste of blood to tell him he’d fulfilled his purpose once more. Whatever he’d been stalking had eluded him, somehow, leaving only a persistent itch, deep behind his eyes. It felt like static, like slowly-squirming maggots. Not painful, something to the left of that. The Corinthian knew how to deal with pain, but this? This was new, and utterly distracting. Uncomfortable. Like there was a foreign body lodged in his brain, like something had been extracted and replaced with sawdust, or cotton wool.
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There's no such thing as just a dream. Not when you're human, and most certainly not when you're a nightmare, and the first thing you ever see are the eyes like stars of Dream of the Endless.
"Now: live," Morpheus orders, his voice the echo of thunder exploding miles and eons away.
For the creature standing before the Dreamlord, those words are the first breath of air after an eternity spent drowning, the first taste of warmth when all he's ever known is ice, the sweet relief of water as it kills the fire consuming his innards.
"Who am I?" the new nightmare asks.
"I wove your flesh from the stuff of the Dreaming. I molded you into this form, sculpted you into your function. I am your master," Morpheus says as he paces around his new creation, admiring his craftsmanship. "You are humanity's dark mirror, a thing of darkness, unborn and undying. I name you: the Corinthian."