An Infinity of Ideals

I woke to a blur, my vision slow to adjust. The bed beneath me felt wrong—I was on top of the covers, fully clothed, sticky with dried blood. Movie posters plastered the walls, relics from what felt like another lifetime. The room was pristine, untouched—nothing like my own chaos at home. I'd never visited Dan's new place, but this had to be it.

Voices filtered through the walls: Dan and his guild, two men and two women. Dan's voice cut through the chaos, demanding calm while the others shouted over each other.

"What do you mean it's no big deal!" A man's voice thundered.

"You could have died!" "What were you thinking?!" The women's voices tangled together.

"Guys, please." Dan's voice stayed level, unnaturally calm. "What's done is done. You really think I'd let a friend die because it might be dangerous? Plus, we have no idea what happened. He just started screaming, his tattoo went red, and he passed out."

The goblin attack. It felt like moments ago, the pain still ghosting through my memories. I pressed the tattoo, and the screen materialized—not a dream then. But something was different. It now showed only "The First Step." My name, the references to dhamphyr and House Ishan—all gone. Perhaps Mythos worked differently than Ideals.

I swung my legs over the bed's edge and stood. No pain, no injuries—that was something. One step forward and I crashed face-first into the floor. The distance was wrong; I'd somehow crossed half the room. My body felt weightless, foreign. The changes from that other place had rewired everything—walking, moving, balance. All wrong.

Using the wall for support, I inched toward the door. My hand found the light switch, and flicking it on unleashed a blinding sun. I quickly turned it off, only then realizing the lights had been off the whole time. I'd been seeing perfectly in the dark.

My tongue explored my mouth, finding sharp fangs where my canines should have been. I pricked my tongue experimentally. Hot blood filled my mouth, rich and thick and—delicious? The dried blood on my clothes suddenly demanded attention. I wet my finger and touched it to the dried mess on my arm.

The scent hit like a freight train. My heart hammered, blood rushing through my veins. Hunger clawed at my mind, drowning out everything else. The voices down the hall transformed from irritating chatter to something else—prey. My muscles tensed, nails sharpening to points, drawing blood from my palms.

I brought my hands to my mouth, lapping at my own blood until the madness receded. What the hell was happening to me?

I needed answers. My knowledge of dhamphyr—or Daywalkers—came from comics and anime. Half-vampire, half-human hybrids with supernatural speed, strength, and healing. Sun-resistant. But this felt different, more primal. The Mythos was changing me, just as Dan's Ideal had changed him.

Opening the door, I realized the voices had stopped. The house felt empty, though I'd heard no footsteps, no doors. Fear gripped me—animal, instinctive.

I stumbled into the living room. Steam rose from four untouched drinks on the coffee table, but Dan and his guild had vanished. No blood, no lingering perfume, nothing. Room by room, I searched, until a horrible realization struck: there was no front door. No way out.

In the kitchen, I grabbed a chair, silently apologizing to Dan. The window showed a perfect spring day—too perfect. I swung the chair, and reality shattered.

I found myself back in the bedroom, hand on the doorknob, voices still chattering down the hall. The illusion had been flawless, crafting a house I'd never seen. I made my way to the living room, where four pairs of eyes went wide at my appearance.

"Hey man," I said, watching Dan's expression shift from shock to embarrassment, "I think your house is haunted."