Arlo fought like he'd never fought before. Not just for himself by a long shot. But for Vega. So long as this thing, that woman had hold of him, then Vega was in danger and he was useless to her. But no bolt from his bow, dagger from its sheath or blow from his fist seemed to make any difference. Whatever the tentacle was made of seemed to shift accordingly and remain impervious to any of his efforts. He wasn't unlike the Immortal he worshiped in that way. Arlo had a lot of fight in him, and wasn't inclined to accepting defeat. He only fought harder for as long as he could.
Vega shouted at him, and so did Lyova though no one could hear her but him...presumably. The little blue diri buzzed around him like a whirling dervish, in and out of the crystal where he'd been drawn, alternating between trying to rally him and swarming Perfection like a one diri swarm of angry bees. As if it would do Lyova any good.
Weapons, brute strength, physical skills had failed him and all Arlo had left was a well developed strength of will. Mind over matter, mind over matter he kept reminding himself. The problem was that the woman was meddling with his mind. In this case, Lyova proved to be his best weapon, and sensing what was happening due to their strong mental connection, the diri abruptly changed tact. She kept up a running commentary in his mind, even after he'd felt himself slip into a strange sort of sleep that as a dreamwalker, was bothersome in its own right.
Lyova though, she kept at it, reminding him of where he was, who he was, what he was and who needed and was depending on him. Somewhere between sleep and a drunken sense of wakefulness, the diri's efforts began to seem like a buzzing in his ears, her voice like tinkling glass bells there, but hardly there. What he experienced then wasn't unlike an outing in Emea. In fact as a dreamwalker, there hardly seemed to be a difference. And as for lucid dreaming, walking in dreams, Arlo was good at that and a fair hand of knowing it for what it was. Or at least seemed to be.
And then there was the man on the shore of lake Lovalus, a place that Arlo had visited on countless occasions when he was a child. It was as if the figure had stepped right out his boyish imagination, and become just as he'd dreamed he might be. Back then at least. The trick however was that this particular figure was one what Arlo hadn't dreamed of in arcs. He'd outgrown it without realizing. And there was his mother too, who was gone. A dream. One that would be all too easy in his current position to indulge in. But also a dangerous one.
What struck him though was that everything around him was an ideal, too much of an ideal to be anything close to reality. A dream created by a woman who seemed to think she knew him. But in truth she somehow only knew the child he'd been, and not the man he was. "You're not my father," Arlo said. No matter what man had sired him, Arlo came to understand, he hadn't been a father in any way that mattered. Perfection might have done much better to show him a different face. "Jonas Creede is my father."
Looking over the man's shoulder at Nella, Arlo nonetheless smiled at her. "Not this trial mom. I've still got things to do. I'll see you again later on." And with that, to whatever extent he was able, he redoubled his efforts to banish Perfection from his mind, focus on Lyova's voice instead, and again redoubled his efforts to escape the prison he was in, both crystal and dream state.
Vega shouted at him, and so did Lyova though no one could hear her but him...presumably. The little blue diri buzzed around him like a whirling dervish, in and out of the crystal where he'd been drawn, alternating between trying to rally him and swarming Perfection like a one diri swarm of angry bees. As if it would do Lyova any good.
Weapons, brute strength, physical skills had failed him and all Arlo had left was a well developed strength of will. Mind over matter, mind over matter he kept reminding himself. The problem was that the woman was meddling with his mind. In this case, Lyova proved to be his best weapon, and sensing what was happening due to their strong mental connection, the diri abruptly changed tact. She kept up a running commentary in his mind, even after he'd felt himself slip into a strange sort of sleep that as a dreamwalker, was bothersome in its own right.
Lyova though, she kept at it, reminding him of where he was, who he was, what he was and who needed and was depending on him. Somewhere between sleep and a drunken sense of wakefulness, the diri's efforts began to seem like a buzzing in his ears, her voice like tinkling glass bells there, but hardly there. What he experienced then wasn't unlike an outing in Emea. In fact as a dreamwalker, there hardly seemed to be a difference. And as for lucid dreaming, walking in dreams, Arlo was good at that and a fair hand of knowing it for what it was. Or at least seemed to be.
And then there was the man on the shore of lake Lovalus, a place that Arlo had visited on countless occasions when he was a child. It was as if the figure had stepped right out his boyish imagination, and become just as he'd dreamed he might be. Back then at least. The trick however was that this particular figure was one what Arlo hadn't dreamed of in arcs. He'd outgrown it without realizing. And there was his mother too, who was gone. A dream. One that would be all too easy in his current position to indulge in. But also a dangerous one.
What struck him though was that everything around him was an ideal, too much of an ideal to be anything close to reality. A dream created by a woman who seemed to think she knew him. But in truth she somehow only knew the child he'd been, and not the man he was. "You're not my father," Arlo said. No matter what man had sired him, Arlo came to understand, he hadn't been a father in any way that mattered. Perfection might have done much better to show him a different face. "Jonas Creede is my father."
Looking over the man's shoulder at Nella, Arlo nonetheless smiled at her. "Not this trial mom. I've still got things to do. I'll see you again later on." And with that, to whatever extent he was able, he redoubled his efforts to banish Perfection from his mind, focus on Lyova's voice instead, and again redoubled his efforts to escape the prison he was in, both crystal and dream state.
