Freddy Krueger.
A dreamwalker.
A killer who could manipulate nightmares and make injuries in dreams manifest in the real world.
He could even forcibly drag people from a waking state into sleep.
It was because of these terrifying powers that people in the supernatural world called him the Nightmare King, feared and hated in equal measure.
Though he often got his ass handed to him on Elm Street, Freddy had been a dominant figure in the horror game for decades.
But today…
Today, he'd met both a personal and professional crisis.
His control over the dream realm—his core ability.
Had somehow been overridden…
By Orsaga.
He didn't know how Orsaga had done it,
Only that he was now a nightmare without the ability to control nightmares.
Which, in Freddy's professional opinion, was very bad.
Flashbacks of past victims and their gruesome ends filled his mind. And for the first time in a long while, Freddy—a seasoned, psychotic killer. Thought maybe it was time to try reason.
Because you don't quit.
You don't give up.
You negotiate.
Maybe—just maybe—he could use his years of experience to talk Orsaga down.
He opened his mouth, ready to unleash that famously twisted charisma—
Snap!
Chains coiled around his ankles, yanking him upside down and hanging him in the air.
Below, a large bonfire had already been lit.
And next to it?
A whole setup of grilling tools, spices, oils, skewers…
Freddy's face went pale—well, as pale as a charred face could go.
He flailed, panicked.
"Hey! Buddy! Handsome! Big bro! Let's talk!
It was just a joke, okay? I swear it wasn't that serious!!"
Orsaga calmly cranked the bellows, sending the flames roaring higher.
Feeling the wave of heat blow past his face, he nodded in satisfaction.
"Perfect. You're fresh, full of energy—excellent meat quality. Don't worry, I'm a professional. My grilling skills are top-tier. You won't go to waste."
His true self had often feasted on monsters.
But this puppet body wasn't nearly as strong—
If he ate the wrong thing, he'd get food poisoning.
It was one of the downsides of having a fragile vessel.
But now
Inside a dream?
Food poisoning didn't exist.
Which made this the perfect opportunity to test out his long-lost BBQ technique.
"Where there's a fire pit, there's a feast," Orsaga murmured, grabbing a skinning knife and a meat hook.
"We'll skip washing. Not eating the skin anyway.
First, we peel it off—then debone—
Relax. My technique is flawless.
No one's ever given me a bad review.
And don't worry, it won't kill you."
Freddy's terror spiked.
The glint of the knives was like a cold needle stabbing into his brain.
"Wait, wait, wait! We're both civilized men here! Can't we just… talk?!"
But it was no use.
Orsaga took food prep very seriously.
Once something was designated as "ingredients," negotiations were over.
"I'm sorry! Mommy! Help me!!"
Freddy's blood-curdling screams echoed through the dream realm.
The Nightmare King was now enduring a nightmare of his own. A dream within a dream.
---
In the real world—
After more than ten minutes of painful struggle, Jason—now regrown his limbs—finally pushed the police car off himself.
Wobbling to his feet, he stumbled toward Orsaga, whose consciousness was still trapped in the dream world.
Just as Jason raised his machete, about to claim the first kill from Orsaga's avatar body—
Reality warped. A strange energy pulse rippled outward And something was launched from the dreamscape.
It hit Jason square in the chest, knocking him back a step.
In that moment, Orsaga's consciousness returned to his body.
"Burp~"
He let out a satisfied hiccup and muttered,
"Not exactly full… but good enough."
Jason blinked, then glanced at what had just slammed into him.
It was a... thing.
Strangely shaped.
Its outer layers had been peeled off. It looked oddly abstract—Jason couldn't tell what it was.
Then — The object spoke in a rasping, broken voice:
"...Ja…son… my… hero… my superman… s-save… me…"
Time moved differently in the dream realm.
And in those few minutes of real-world time, Freddy had lived through hours of agony.
From humanoid form to… whatever that was.
At this point, Freddy didn't care about killing anymore.
All he wanted was for God or Satan to take Orsaga away.
All he wanted was peace.
His dreams were now very simple.
Orsaga's "cooking lesson" had been so traumatic, it had redefined Freddy's life goals.
"…?"
Jason, meanwhile, was completely thrown off.
That thing could talk?
What kind of monster was this?
Was it even worth chopping?
As a proud "Hundred-Kill Teen," Jason hesitated.
He didn't know if this target was even worth the effort.
Seeing that Jason's brain was starting to overheat from overthinking, Orsaga decided to do him a favor.
He raised his hand and threw a flying dagger.
One clean hit.
Freddy's soul finally departed.
After all, Orsaga wasn't about to let some random monster steal his hard-earned kill.
The XP belonged to him.
And with the current problem resolved, Jason's thoughts re-centered.
He looked at Orsaga again.
The new threat was gone—
But the old one remained.
This guy had sliced off his arms and legs.
Jason never forgot a grudge.
Low IQ? Sure.
But memory? Top-tier.
He once swam from America to Myanmar just to get revenge.
How many monsters can say that?
Jason's blade rose again.
He was ready for round two.
But before he could strike—
A barrage of gunfire rang out from behind.
Dozens of bullets pelted Jason from every direction, turning him into Swiss cheese.
Even his machete was blasted out of his hands.
The reinforcements had finally arrived.
Although their captain was dead and growing cold in a dreamworld grave, the officers he called had made it to the scene.
Jason, riddled with bullets, still tried to move forward.
Unfazed.
Unstoppable.
Orsaga let out a small laugh and casually flicked another throwing blade.
Shhhk—
Jason's head separated from his shoulders.
Just like that, his towering frame collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
After motioning for the officers to cease fire, Orsaga walked over and kicked Jason's body over.
Then, in full view of everyone, he took out his dagger and carved open Jason's chest.
The stench was revolting—rotted meat and festering sludge.
But Orsaga ignored it all.
He began to inscribe holy scripture—line by line—into Jason's ribcage and spine.
As the holy text took form, dark mist began to swirl, and haunting, ethereal wails echoed all around them.
The nearby officers—who had just been inching forward to ask what the hell was going on—froze, then instinctively took two full steps back.
Whatever this was—
It definitely wasn't normal.
If someone told them a demon was about to rise from the underworld, they'd believe it in a heartbeat.
_____
T/N:
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