Calliope, or known as the Lady of Chaos. Is a being of phenomenal power. Created by a group of mystical entities, who call themselves Lords of Chaos. They wanted a envoy to sprout Chaos at every turn they could get. To walk among man, and inspire ch...
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From a distance, I observed as Dream grappled with the vortex and his own creation, the Corinthian. Though I could have intervened to aid Dream, I chose instead to simply observe, refraining from further entanglement in his affairs. The Corinthian had gathered a cult of serial killers who revelled in the act of murder. Even amidst the collective presence of these individuals in the room, their minds were consumed by thoughts of death and their next victim.
I positioned myself at the rear of the conference hall, which was located within a hotel hosting this convention. He served as the primary draw, attracting all these individuals. Yet, as I listened to him expound on the subject of killing solely for the sake of it. He instructed the audience to shut their eyes, to envision themselves in a dream, committing acts of murder, and becoming an improved iteration of themselves.
In an instant, Dream materialized halfway down the aisle of chairs, his gaze piercing into his creation. The intensity of his disdain for the Corinthian was palpable, reciprocated in kind.
"You disappoint me, Corinthian," Dream started, his voice rough yet possessing an underlying smoothness. "You, and these humans you've inspired and created," he began, walking up towards the stage, eyes casting around the people around him. "Disappoint me,"
"I've done my best to be what you made me," Corinthian retorted.
"No, you've done your worst, which was in so many ways what I had hoped," Dream countered. As he drew nearer to the stage, he veered to the right, making his way toward the steps. "You were my masterpiece. A dark mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront," I observed as he ascended the steps, positioning himself mere inches from his creation.
"That's what I am... That's what I've done,"
"No. Look at you, walking this Earth for over a century infecting others with your joy of death, but what have you given them?" Dream questioned, his voice slightly rising. "What have you wrought? Nothing... Just something else for people to be afraid of. That is all," he spoke the hard truth to his creation.
"So what now?" The Corinthian began. "You send me back into their dreams?" He asked, before opening his jacket pocket and brandishing a knife. "'Cause I won't go willingly," I could see Dream's eyes flicker to the knife, almost smug expression glinting his expression.
"A knife against a dream?" Dream retorted stepping closer to the Corinthian, unafraid of it.
"You don't think dreams can die?" The Corinthian remarked. "Let's find out,"
"Enough," Dream declared, his patience exhausted with his creation's antics. Raising his right hand, grains of sand sprang forth from his fingers, coiling around the Corinthian. Yet, before the sand could fully ensnare him, the Corinthian swiftly thrust the knife into Dream's palm, withdrawing it with precision. Dream gasped, momentarily dropping to one knee as he felt the pain course through him. Despite the urge to rush to his aid, I forcibly restrained myself, resisting the impulse to intervene.
