Nightmare Game
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 77
Bennett’s skill, a wide-range sonic pulse, didn’t just halt the swarm—it swept the spiders off Wesley’s body, clean.
Strangely, the thunderous roar left the group untouched, like a breeze passing over, no sting to their ears.
Ethan clocked it, pieces clicking. Blessings targeted Dreamplay’s monsters, harmless to Dreamwalkers.
The scattered spiders regrouped fast, merging into a massive, grotesque giant. Tiny bodies knitted into one hulking form.
“Shit!” Bennett cursed, eyes wide.
The giant spider moved fast—leagues quicker than the swarm. In a few breaths, it closed to under a hundred yards, its countless red eyes glinting.
At that speed, it’d be on them in seconds. Lion’s Roar? Five-second burst, once a day. No recharge till tomorrow.
Bennett paled, the stench of the beast already thick in his nose.
Wesley, spent, twitched at the sight, lips trembling.
“Time to go,” Oliver said, hoisting both men, one in each hand.
Wesley gawked. He’d seen Oliver’s strength felling the Darkgold Tree, but this? Dragging two grown men like sacks?
“Clench your teeth—don’t bite your tongue,” Oliver grunted.
The world blurred. In a blink, they were with Ethan and Hazel.
Their sudden arrival startled Hazel, but Ethan cut her off. “No time. Move.”
The threat wasn’t gone. Talk could wait—they needed Weaver’s Hollow.
The giant spider lagged but gained, its steps shaking the earth, a foul wind trailing.
It loomed close, its body bursting, tiny spiders raining down like a storm.
Ethan felt it then—a presence in the shadows, smirking at their desperate scramble.
Light dimmed. The group braced, eyes shut, expecting the swarm’s weight.
Nothing.
They opened their eyes to crumbling, web-draped houses.
Weaver’s Hollow.
No meadow, no monster.
A strange fondness hit them. Compared to the meadow’s radiant lure, this grim village felt ... safe.
Another loss—Tessa gone. Hearts heavy, words few, they trudged to the Guesthouse.
In the first-floor dining hall, they sank into chairs, silent, no one climbing upstairs.
Bennett broke the quiet, voice sharp. “Oliver, spill. What’s the deal?”
Oliver leaned back, casual, legs crossed, lighting a cigarette with a flick. “Chill, man, it’s not an interrogation. So I hid being Blessed. Big whoop.”
Bennett’s brow furrowed. “Why hide it?”
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