While he was still feeling adrenaline coursing through his body, he decided to take the advice of the man. He breathed out, shutting his eyes as all thoughts were forced from his mind.
Pushing away the thoughts of the nameless killer was difficult; like a virus in his head every time he closed his eyes.
Still, enough concentration left a canvas for him to fill in—
["Dreamwalking Initiated."]
Through that cold kaleidoscope, he felt confident in where he'd end up. As his heart throbbed in his chest and his mind ran a hundred miles of thought, he didn't open his eyes again until he felt the air shift.
That dust-filled air, the smell of unwashed steel; he opened his eyes.
He was back, standing in the depths of the hellish basement as a nauseating stench greeted him immediately; the scent of death. The hairs on his arm stood as he looked down, finding a puddle of blood beneath his boot.
It was hard to even look down, as his eyes had immediately begun to blur as they watered up, already assuming what he'd find. At his feet, he found that stomach-sinking sight; the silver-clad knight was laid on his back, clasping at his own throat with weak gargles.
"Jasper...!" Finn shouted.
He immediately knelt down to try and help cover his friend's neck, though his hand was grabbed by the bleeding man's own.
"Jasper?--" He looked down at his companion.
Though the cut on his throat was lethal, the look in Jasper's eyes back up at him was resolved, as if telling him not to worry and to keep going. It was difficult to stand back up, leaving his friend there in such a state, but he forced himself to his feet.
The thought remained–where was Nikko? Charlotte?
It was far too quiet in the huge, dark room; much too silent.
Further steps were taken without noise as he gripped the handles of his daggers as tight as he could, listening for the slightest hint of the killer's presence.
"F...Finn...?"
The weak, almost whisper that trembled out brought him to step closer as he found the voice through the darkness.
Leaning against a shelf, sat on the floor, the bloodied sight of the blue-haired girl immediately filled him with despair and anger.
Considering all of that, when staring down the knife-wielding freak that seemed to be savoring the situation, waiting for him to approach, he didn't feel disheartened.
'--I don't have to do this alone. That night–you were there with me, weren't you? So, I hope you won't mind if I ask for your help again,' Finn resolved, looking at his palm.
Stuffing a breath into his lungs, he pushed the air out with a quiet, firm word, "Replication."
The invocation lured in the black mass, emerging from the seams in the ground as it rose and took the shape of what was imprinted on the young man's mind.
To his right, he looked over at what, or rather, who was summoned by the skill; the stature of the man who stood a head taller than him, broadly built and clad in bulky armor. That same pose, carrying that oversized axe over his shoulder as though it were made of plastic.
"Damian," Finn said with a small smile.
It felt nostalgic, standing there beside the warrior, facing down an enemy in a life-or-death situation. A Tuesday for him, after all–that's the world they lived in. Still, accompanied by a recreation of his lost friend, the exhaustion that plagued his body was pushed aside, subsided by the warmth of hope.
"We're up against a real monster here, so...Well, I don't need to tell you. I'm sure you know what to do," Finn spoke to the replicated warrior. "Just have my back."
Sight was lost of the nameless man ahead, though Finn felt the malicious presence directly behind him. He spun himself around, ducking beneath the slash of steel that attempted to split his neck wide open.
In the same motion as he turned and bent his knees, he moved his arm with the intent of eviscerating the killer's abdomen with his dagger. At the same time, the axe of the warrior moved for the enemy's head; a two-front assault.
The resistance forced the malicious figure to slip back, immediately delving back into the chaotic environment. He chose not to let him, hunting down the murderer without a second thought as he sprinted towards the fleeing shadow.
'Is he trying to buy time–? Wait for us all to bleed out? No–he has to be on the same clock, and that's not how this one thinks–he enjoys the hunt,' he considered amidst his sprint.
When approaching the corner between shelves where he watched the man go, he pressed the soles of his boots against the concrete flooring. Coming to a grinding halt, he slowed his momentum just enough as a sharpness passed just in front of his neck.
A moment later in discovering the bait would've led him to a bleeding throat as he flipped back. As he landed, he slammed his right foot down just as that sinister figure emerged from between the towering racks–
["Commanding Stomp"]
The concrete caved in beneath his boot, shattering as a shock wave roared forth. For the first time, the killer seemed to be caught off-guard by something as the rippling force seemed to interrupt his balance for just a moment.
That brief second was enough; Damian closed in from the flank of [Nameless], swiftly arriving with his imposing stature as the axe was swung for the enemy's neck.
SQUELCH
The blade of the axe met flesh, though didn't greet the killer's neck quite yet; as an impromptu shield, the thick, muscular forearm of [Nameless] intercepted the blade. Though the inhuman act of stopping that mighty axe with nothing but a forearm was an incredible fear, it was Damian managing to harm the killer that surprised Finn in that moment.