Snow swirled lightly through the trees, wind whispering along the frozen hillside.
Laurick Andersson stepped through the open door of the government-funded safehouse, the cold biting at his skin—but he didn't shiver.
He stood tall.
Still.
Too still.
His eyes were half-lidded, glowing faintly beneath a shadowed brow. Not with fire. Not with light.
But with presence.
A pulse of unseen pressure radiated outward from him, subtle but undeniable—like the world itself was holding its breath.
Across the slope, all three heroes turned toward him.
Vegar, the first to notice, narrowed his eyes. "Something's not right…"
Hilde took a step forward. "He doesn't look like—"
Brynjar cut in. "That's not just adrenaline. That's something else."
Laurick didn't answer.
He wasn't looking at the heroes.
He was looking straight at Mikal Thorne.
[Flashback – Several Hours Earlier]
The safehouse kitchen was quiet save for the soft hiss of the kettle. Hilde Akselsen leaned against the counter, arms crossed, flame flickering faintly at her knuckles.
Laurick stood nearby, tense, but attentive.
"We can handle this," Hilde said firmly. "You stay inside. No matter what."
Laurick's brow furrowed. "What if he gets through?"
Hilde held his gaze. "Then you defend yourself. But only then."
She stepped closer, tone softer.
"You're not a weapon, Laurick. Not theirs. Not ours. Don't let anyone push you into becoming one."
He didn't respond.
But the weight of her words sank deep.
[Present]
"Laurick," Vegar called out, taking a cautious step toward the boy. "You need to stop. Right now."
No response.
Laurick's breath fogged the air—but there was no tension in his shoulders. No urgency. Just a calm, dangerous stillness.
And behind his eyes—
Something shifted.
A flicker of green lightning crackled across his fingertips.
The Wizard's power.
Vegar's voice sharpened. "Laurick. This isn't you. Listen to me."
But Laurick's gaze didn't break.
His hands clenched slowly at his sides.
Across the field, Mikal Thorne grinned through bloodied lips.
"There you are."
He watched the standstill for only a heartbeat before lowering his stance.
Then—
He charged.
Vibration pulsed under his boots, each step a tremor. Trees rattled. Snow leapt from branches. The ground beneath him rippled like water.
And he came straight for Laurick.
"Let's see what you're really made of!"
Vegar's eyes went wide.
"Laurick! MOVE!"
But Laurick didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
He raised one hand—slowly, deliberately—green sparks dancing down his wrist.
And the air around him began to shift.
CRACK!
A blinding green lightning bolt erupted from Laurick's hand, arcing across the snow-dusted battlefield with a thunderous snap that echoed across the valley like a cannon blast.
The bolt struck Mikal Thornepoint-blank, just meters away from reaching Laurick. He didn't have time to dodge.
The electricity pierced into his body—not to burn.
But to invade.
For a brief moment, Mikal froze mid-stride, eyes wide, muscles spasming. His vibration quirk flared out wildly, uncontrolled—sending tremors in all directions as his body screamed in resistance.
"Wha—… what the hell is—!?"
The lightning didn't stop.
It coiled, twisted, and slithered through his nerves like a serpent of pure will.
Mikal screamed.
High above on the ridge, Maja and Tormod watched the scene unfold.
Vegar, Hilde, and Brynjar froze, all three staring at Laurick—shocked.
"That wasn't any normal electric attack," Hilde muttered. "That is… possession."
"Does Laurick have another quirk?" Brynjar asked, glancing at Vegar.
Vegar didn't answer.
His eyes were locked on Laurick—still standing calmly, the green lightning gone, his hand now lowered. His expression was unreadable. Too composed.
"It definetly is his quirk 'Nightmare Manipulation', but how his quirk is capable of this, I cannot answer," Vegar said softly.
Inside Mikal's Mind
Darkness.
Chains.
Laughter.
Mikal was suspended—conscious—but paralyzed, like a puppet strung from the ceiling.
In front of him, inside his own mind, stood a tall figure in a tattered cloak, glowing emerald lightning swirling around his arms and curling like mist around his skeletal fingers.
The Wizard.
"You have such a loud body," the Nightmare Monster mused, turning Mikal's consciousness like a page in a book. "So chaotic. So easy to hijack."
"Get out of me!" Mikal screamed mentally.
The Wizard smiled—not with cruelty, but with detached interest, as if reading a particularly amusing footnote.
"You'll get your body back… eventually. I only need it for a moment."
And then, the mindscape faded, and the Wizard's will took full control.
Reality
Mikal's body straightened, the constant vibration ceasing like someone cut the engine.
His eyes flared green.
He lifted one hand—mechanically—and snapped his fingers.
A ripple of green arcane lightning cracked the air.
From a distance, it was clear:
This wasn't Mikal anymore.
From the Trees – Simon Watches
Still disguised, hidden in the forest's edge, Simon lowered his binoculars, face expressionless.
"So… he can channel them."
A beat passed.
He whispered to himself:
"What do you do now, Laurick?"
He didn't blink.
Didn't move.
He just watched.
Back on the Field
"Laurick," Hilde called out. "What just happened? Who—what was that?"
Laurick didn't respond.
Not out of defiance—but because he didn't what to answer.
Behind the flicker in his eyes, the Nightmare Monsters stirred.
The Wizard had slipped free.
Now standing in Mikal's body, the Wizard turned toward the group of heroes and tilted his head.
Then he slowly rotated toward the government-funded safehouse.
His smile widened.
"The Dreamcatcher," he said with Mikal's voice layered beneath his own. "You're the one keeping the door shut."
He raised his hand, lightning beginning to swirl again.
"Time to erase the lock."
The wind shifted.
The pressure in the air changed.
It wasn't just Mikal Thorne anymore. The way he stood—the way he moved—was wrong.
Gone was the brawler's swagger, the stomping quake of raw force.
Now, he was precise. Calculated. Elegant.
The Wizard, speaking through Mikal's body, moved like a dancer with a blade—fluid, terrifying, and deliberate.
Hilde Akselsen didn't wait.
She ignited.
With a roar, her Hellfist quirk flared back to life, flames trailing from her forearms as she launched herself across the snow-slicked ground, fists blazing white-hot.
"You're not going near that house!"
The Wizard smiled.
A flick of Mikal's wrist—vibrations pulsed forward in a sharp, narrow arc. Not wild, but surgically directed, lifting a ribbon of earth to intercept her charge.
Hilde blasted through it—but in that split-second of slowed momentum, he moved.
Behind her.
She twisted mid-air, raising a burning elbow—
But he caught it, seamlessly redirecting her force, his foot planting into her ribs and launching her back with a controlled quake burst.
She skidded, flames fanning around her.
"He's fighting differently!" Hilde shouted.
From the edge of the field, Vegar Magnus launched into motion.
Shadows surged from the black nodes embedded in his coat—runes activating in a silent flurry of defense glyphs. A pair of jagged, rune-etched disks shot forward from his gloves, spinning toward The Wizard like boomerangs.
The Wizard pivoted, snapping a finger.
A sharp green pulse of possessive lightning shot out, intercepting one disk and instantly disrupting its quirk energy.
The disk clattered harmlessly to the ground, smoking.
"Tactically clever," The Wizard mused. "I like this body. Stronger than expected."
Brynjar Paul arrived next, sliding into the fray with a massive air-crafted warhammer in his arms.
He mimed a spin—whump!—the force of the imagined motion creating an audible sonic boom as the weapon struck the ground.
The Wizard jumped, the force narrowly missing, sending snow into a cyclone.
"You're not fighting a man," Brynjar growled. "You're fighting a ghost."
Above, nestled high on her ridge, Maja Våpenhånd had her sniper scope fully trained on the battlefield.
One hand transformed into a sniper rifle, her other pressing her earpiece tight.
"This is Våpenhånd, reporting from Bjørnevika sector.
We have confirmation—Mikal Thorne is under external control. Target exhibits complete change in combat behavior and elemental signature.
Likely under the influence of a hostile quirk. Requesting immediate tactical review from Hero Association HQ."
She adjusted the scope, eyes narrowing.
"Also… Laurick Andersson is not moving. He's just standing there."
And she was right.
Laurick hadn't shifted.
Not since the blast.
He stood, eyes glazed, jaw slightly clenched. The wind tugged at his clothes, but his expression was blank.
Like a thread had been severed.
Or connected to something far, far deeper.
I released him, Laurick thought distantly. I let one of them through…
And deep in the pit of his stomach, the others watched.
Waiting for their turn.
The frozen field was a chaos of heat, quakes, and green lightning.
Hilde, Vegar, and Brynjar worked in perfect coordination—dodging, striking, and flanking—but the opponent they faced now was no longer the brute force of Mikal Thorne.
It was the cold precision of The Wizard, piloting that strength like a conductor wielding an orchestra.
He flowed through Mikal's body like ink through water—using vibration pulses not just as weapons, but as movement. Each stomp sent him sliding. Each finger flick triggered micro-shockwaves that disrupted rhythm and spacing.
And yet—
The heroes held the line.
"Keep him away from the house!" Hilde barked, her fists wreathed in superheated flame as she deflected another quake-pulse that shattered a stone near Laurick's position.
Across the valley, nestled atop her sniper perch, Maja Våpenhånd received the response from Hero Association HQ through her earpiece.
"Authorization granted to engage with lethal suppression if necessary.
Primary directive is to prevent breach of safehouse and Dreamcatcher unit.
Secondary: Monitor Laurick Andersson's condition. Engage only if risk escalates."
The message ended in static.
Maja exhaled sharply and opened her comms again.
"Tormod, we've got greenlight. You ready?"
On the far cliff, Tormod "Runesetter" Iskesson stood unmoving, eyes locked on the battlefield, his coat fluttering in the updraft. His runes pulsed softly across the ledge beneath him, forming a series of glowing glyphs like a magical chessboard.
"Runes are hot. Just say the word."
Maja's eye never left her scope.
"Hold position. One more breach, then we drop him."
Back at the Battle
The Wizard snapped his borrowed fingers.
A green bolt lashed out toward Brynjar—who countered with a massive air-formed kite shield, its imagined mass absorbing the crackling arc.
"That's the third time he's tried to break the line!" Brynjar shouted.
Vegar moved behind him, slamming a rune-tag onto the shield's edge. It glowed violet.
"Reinforcement glyph—should give you one more block."
The Wizard's smile widened. "Persistent. Loyal. Admirable."
Then he turned his head.
To the safehouse.
To Laurick—still standing unmoved on the porch, his eyes dim, his breathing shallow.
The Wizard's expression shifted from curiosity to intent.
"Ah… the lock itself," he whispered.
And then—
He moved.
Faster than before.
With purpose.
He sent a concussive pulse through the ground that buckled the snow and rock, creating a launch ramp.
"No!" Hilde roared.
She ignited to full blaze, launching after him—only to be intercepted mid-air by a wall of resonating force that flung her sideways into a tree.
Brynjar tried to intercept—but The Wizard vibrated beneath the surface, disappearing into the snow like a signal vanishing in static—then erupting again mid-air above the house, aiming straight for the roof.
"The Dreamcatcher must be broken!" he snarled.
On the Ridge
Maja's scope locked onto him.
"Tormod. Now."
"Engaging."
Tormod raised both hands, slamming them into the glyph-etched stone.
A giant glowing rune appeared high in the air—then exploded outward in a net of arcane chains, launching down toward The Wizard's trajectory.
Laurick blinked.
His eyes sharpened—awareness returning just as the shadow of Mikal Thorne/The-Wizard fell over the house.
He's coming for the Dreamcatcher.
The wind howled.
Laurick didn't move.
But inside, something stirred.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
CRACK—SHOOM!
From the heavens, Tormod's arcane rune-net descended like divine judgment. The glowing web twisted with radiant lines of ancient power, racing downward to intercept the possessed Mikal Thorne mid-flight—mere meters from the safehouse roof.
The Wizard's expression changed—not with fear, but fascination.
"Ah… a trap with flavor."
The moment the net touched him, it detonated in a burst of violet light, wrapping around his body with heavy, glowing chains that crackled with anti-quirk energy.
He dropped hard—slamming into the snow, the chains anchoring him to a set of glowing runes beneath his feet. Tormod had pre-placed them, each inscribed with energy meant to contain volatile quirk outbursts.
The ground beneath Mikal's body sizzled as it tried to resist.
Vegar and Brynjar approached fast—wasting no time.
"We've got him!" Vegar shouted. "Push the suppression!"
But the Wizard—ever smiling—whispered something under his breath.
The green lightning pulsed again.
The chains held—but strained.
On the Porch
Laurick remained frozen at the threshold.
Not because of fear.
Because something inside him was fighting back.
The closer the Wizard had come to the Dreamcatcher, the more pressure built in Laurick's chest—like boiling water under a sealed lid. He staggered slightly, clutching his temple.
Don't do it, he told himself. Don't let them in.
But they were already there.
[Inside Laurick's Mind – The Dream Realm]
He stood in the endless dark, surrounded by stars that blinked like eyes.
Around him, the Nightmare Monsters had gathered—half-curious, half-pressing forward.
The Wizard's projection stood at the edge of a green lightning storm, whispering to himself while controlling Mikal's body outside.
Behind him, the Moon hovered—silent, watching.
"You see what he can do, Laurick," the Moon said in a voice like cracked glass. "He's not even using his full power."
"He's you, Laurick," said the Detective, flipping one of his paralysis mines between his fingers. "We all are."
Laurick shook his head, backing away.
"You're not me. You're just… just pieces. Mistakes."
The Man with Long Green Hair stepped forward, blade slung across his back.
"Then stop using us."
They began to close in.
Laurick fell to one knee, the pressure overwhelming.
And in the distance, he could hear the Wizard's voice—whispering through his own veins.
"Let me handle this, Laurick. I can protect us both. All you have to do… is stop resisting."
Reality – Outside the Safehouse
The chains around Mikal's possessed body shuddered violently, runes cracking, the green lightning glowing brighter.
"He's breaking through!" Brynjar shouted.
Hilde emerged again from the tree line, bloodied but burning.
"Then we hit him together!"
Maja adjusted her sight from afar, watching the balance tip.
"Tormod, reinforce now. He's about to tear loose."
Tormod's fingers danced across the etched surface beside him, preparing another rune.
But the Wizard had already begun chanting something through Mikal's mouth—an incantation twisted by emotion and madness.
And the Dreamcatcher inside the house flickered wildly, as if under spiritual assault.
Laurick's body trembled.
And then—
He stepped forward.
Eyes clear.
The runes cracked beneath his feet.
Green lightning coiled violently around Mikal Thorne's possessed body, but now it was joined by something darker—a slow, rising aura of black and purple magic that billowed like smoke from his pores. It pulsed with an ancient wrongness, one that seemed to tug at gravity itself.
The Wizard, speaking through Mikal, raised his bound arms with slow theatrical elegance.
"Did you forget, little guardians?" he whispered. "I am not just a green lightning puppeteer."
His voice deepened.
"I am the Arcane."
He slammed his palms down—and the runes anchoring him exploded outward in a burst of black-purple force, their light instantly snuffed.
A shockwave of anti-energy blasted outward, tossing Hilde and Brynjar back as if struck by a wave of shadow. Brynjar braced, throwing up an air shield that cracked but held.
"That wasn't quirk energy," Brynjar muttered. "That was… something else."
The ground beneath The Wizard's feet warped unnaturally, symbols drawn in inky black glyphs spreading outward. Purple flames crackled around the remains of the broken rune cage.
"You were wise to trap me quickly," The Wizard said, slowly rising into the air. "But you hesitated to erase me."
"And now…"
He thrust a hand forward—a spear of black flame tore through the air, twisting like a snake as it lunged toward the safehouse roof.
On the Porch
Laurick stepped forward.
His hand moved without hesitation—without thought.
A patch of purple dense smoke emerged out of his palm, clashing against the oncoming dark spear.
WHOOSH!
The two forces collided midair in a violent spiral of black and purple.
Smoke and fire exploded outward in all directions. Shingles flew off the rooftop. Glass shattered.
Laurick stood firm—eyes glowing with purpose now, not confusion.
"You're not going to touch it."
The Wizard—hovering now just a few meters off the ground—tilted Mikal's head.
"Ah… so the sleeper stirs."
He grinned wider, dark magic rippling from his fingertips like blood in water.
"Then let's wake you properly."
Inside the Dream Realm
Within Laurick's mind, the nightmare monsters froze.
Even the Moon seemed to pause.
Because for the first time ever—
Laurick was no longer on the defensive.
He stood upright, staring at the Wizard's mental echo across the boundary of mind and magic.
"No more whispers," Laurick said quietly.
"No more deals."
"If you want control—"
Purple smoke erupted behind him.
"—you'll have to take it from me."
The Wizard laughed.
"Oh, Laurick…"
"That's exactly what I planned to do."
The storm of purple smoke and green lightning raged between them—Laurick on the ground, still as stone, and The Wizard, suspended in the air, cloaked in writhing tendrils of arcane energy.
The others watched from the perimeter—Hilde, bruised but alive; Vegar, ready to assist; Brynjar, breathing heavily with a conjured greatbow at the ready. Maja and Tormod stood vigilant from the ridgeline, waiting for any signal to fire again.
But no one moved.
Because they saw Laurick raise his hand.
Palm forward.
Eyes focused.
Like he'd done it before.
Like it was natural.
The Wizard—still inside Mikal Thorne's body—paused, smile faltering.
"...What do you think you're doing, child?"
Laurick didn't answer.
Instead, his fingers tightened.
A low hum began to build in the air. The snow on the ground around Laurick started to lift—grains of frost trembling as if gravity had shifted.
Purple smoke emerged from Laurick's arm, then coiled into a vortex that formed in his outstretched palm.
He's not casting…
He's calling.
The Wizard's eyes widened.
"No. No, you're not ready for this—"
"You don't belong here," Laurick said quietly.
"You're mine."
Then—
SNAP.
A sudden pulse of dream energy surged forward—black-tinged with violet undertones—and hit Mikal square in the chest.
The effect was immediate.
The Wizard screamed—not in pain, but in rage—as his presence was forcibly peeled from Mikal's nervous system like a parasite torn from flesh.
"NO—THIS BODY IS MINE—!"
Tendrils of black-purple smoke erupted from Mikal's mouth, eyes, and fingertips, twisting through the air, shrieking like banshees.
Laurick clenched his palm into a fist.
And with a final crack of green lightning—
The Wizard was gone.
Sucked backward through a dimensional fracture in the air, pulled violently back into the Dreamworld.
The moment he vanished, the storm stilled.
Mikal Thorne collapsed, unconscious, limbs limp in the snow.
All was silent.
The frost settled again.
The skies cleared.
Laurick lowered his hand slowly, his breathing heavy—but steady.
He turned to face the others.
Vegar, Hilde, and Brynjar stared at him.
No one spoke.
Even Tormod and Maja, watching from afar, exchanged brief, uncertain glances.
Vegar finally stepped forward.
"Laurick…" he said cautiously. "What… was that?"
Laurick's voice came low. Controlled.
"That was me… cleaning up my mess."