The final iteration.
The two of them stand in the same instant, but by the time he's stepped out of the cover of the wood towards the burning vehicles, his companion is gone, halfway to the site.
By the gods, does he move fast! And quiet!
He can see, behind the wreckage, a tall, lean woman with bright red hair streaming out behind her, accompanied by three others - hulking figures that conjure in his dream-memories racial names - a troll and two orks, he thinks. All four of them, along with Michael, moving almost faster than the eye can follow.
By this time, the doors of the limousine - which is miraculously untouched - have burst open and armed men dressed in crimson and black striped uniforms, all bearing a curious corpoate logo that reads 'Aztechnology' beneath it, are emerging from it. In a moment, three of them have been killed, one of them sporting a new, feathered arrow shaft from his forehead.
The grisly action continues. Gunfire erupts into the silence as the people engage each other, and yet he holds back. he can feel power building within him, waiting...watching...
...and from the limo climbs a final man.
This one is dressed in what looks like a suit. Even from this distance, he can tell that this is no off-the-rack affair, even though the cut and design is very foreign to him. The man himself is obviously Hispanic - olive-brown toned skin, dark eyes, black hair.
But something about the way the man cooly assesses the situation before him screams dangerous. And it is then that he knows that this is the man he is waiting for.
The nebulous power within him suddenly climaxes, and from his lips issues a sound - a hissing, spitting sound almost, like the sound a snake might make before it is about to strike - as the power explodes from him, its target the suited man.
He knows, even before the spell is released, that it is meant to stun, not kill or damage. Something in this dream - a memory - tells him that the man is wanted alive.
But whoever this man is, he's very good. And he seems to know that he's the target. There is a flash of watery light as his spell is repelled, the shack wave of it flaring out around the man.
At the same instant, he feels it - the oncoming headache, the feeling of nausea. Always the same, though this time it's light. But distracting all the same.
The target snarls at him as one of the orcs close with him, looking to knowck him unconcious. The suited man is faster than could be believed - he manages to sidestep the attack and in a flash is behind the orc, a knife in hand. Blood spurts from the orc as his throat is slashed cruelly from one ear to the other.
And in that moment, all hell breaks loose.
From the draining corps comes a keeing cry as a horrible, bloodred vision, bloated and horrifying, unidentifiable except as a disgusting mass, springs to life out of the cooling, bloody remains of the orc.
A blood spirit.
A terrible vision of evil, darker magic, fueled and brought to life by the sacrifice of a victim.
The first person it turns its attention to is Michael, opening a maw that reeks of rotting flesh and blood. As Michael raises his sword to defend himself, the bloated bloody spirit swats him aside as if he were a toy. Micheal flies across the open ground to slam into a tree with bone-crushing force.
Terrified, he watches as the monstrosity turns its attention to the woman with the red hair next, who is busy firing her guns into the massive monster.
Uselessly.
At that point, he feels something inside him snap him into action. He dros into a sitting position, closing his eyes, reaching out to the power within himself, drawing on it, using his anger and rage and mind to eject himself from his own body.
Opening them again, he can see the monstrous being in the astral world, and looks down at his own slumped form, then down at his spirit-self.
A massively muscled man, made of light, wielding a sword of the same, stands over his fleshy form.
He doesn't know why or how he's doing this - only that he cannot allow this thing to hurt the man or the woman.
Will not allow it.
He charges the being, his form of light and spirit moving as fast as thought.
The beast reacts, sensing his presence, by swinging a massive limb out at his spirit form. Easily, he dodges, and the sword of light in his hands swings across, cutting into and through the limb with as much ease as a hot knife through soft cheese. The beast roars, whether in pain or rage he can't tell. At the same moment, he summons all of the strength his spirit has to offer and raises the sword overhead, bringing it down with all of his might.
The sword extends, flaring white-hot brightness as it slashes down through the middle of the blood spirit, cutting it cleanly in half. There is a repeat of that keening, roaring wail as the monster disintegrates.
For a long moment, he hangs there, looking around. He catches sight of the redhaired woman, relived to see shi is all right, then looks around for Michael - and freezes.
There, next to his body, is the man in the suit. kneeling over his slumped body.
Knife at his throat.
Looking up at him, into his eyes.
A cruel smile on his face.
There is an instant of comprehension, as he realizes his mistake.
And then the blood cascades from him as his meat body's throat is sliced open.
He sits up, eyes wide, a scream of denial and rage trembling behind his lips.
And for just an instant, he almost has it in his grasp...
...and then it is gone.
He's never gone that far in the dream before. To see the instant of his own death.
Is it the past?
The future?
What's going on here?
For a long time, he sits on the bed, head in hand, trying to understand.
Finally, at last, he speaks.
To the empty room around him, he speaks the name, the only name that comes to him in this moment of confusion and fear.
"Pheus..."
