I was trying to find the seven pieces of my power. And the fourth was a field of rubies that I knew existed in a particular place. A research magical group had beat me there, and they were milling about the atrium of a luxurious building just on the bounds of the field.
They had found the rubies and were celebrating with champagne and tuxedos, media crews and lights. Though they knew as well as I did, that they would get no power from the gems. They were mine, tied to me and my power and my abilities in more ways than anyone could break. I was coldly angry, not frustrated.
That lack of frustration was mostly because I knew that I could always bury the blood of a thousand innocents in another field and reap my reward later.
But I didn't want to go through that again, once was enough, and they were taking what was rightfully mine.
There are flashes of the previous three pieces, but I forgot most of them on waking. One was a forest, coolly green, with pearly mist. What was striking was that it was perfectly and completely quiet. I've a feeling that what I'd kept there was why it was so white, so quiet.
The other was following John back to his labs, which were housed in squat, closely set concrete and steel bunker type buildings with safety orange painted steel girders and great huge numbers taking up the sides of each building, so no one would accidentally walk into the wrong building. There was a feeling that the 'wrong building' would likely be deadly.
The rooms in the lab were windowless, concrete bunker type rooms, small, cramped, dark, some of them, or only lit with overhead florescents. There were odd things in them, spiders that ate entire mice, flowers that bled blood. The dream-I regarded them as not-terribly amusing toys, by-products of the labs themselves, kind of like the toys that adorn most geeks' desks.
What I gathered from the labs was a crystaline whirlwind, in full motion, whirling amid a cloud of silver strands that kept it held even as it moved with an inner violence that matched what the rest of the dream felt like
What felt really strange was knowing, also, that what had gone into the making of that whirlwind was something as keen and methodical as the sharpening of knife blades. All razor edges and gleaming emotions that were as horrible, in their own way, as what had gone into the field of rubies.
Each item was an item of horror as well as power, and my dream self was aware but careless of the fact. It was simply the price of power. That felt very, very strange when I woke up.
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