The moment Dratini used Thunder Wave on Logan in the real world, his consciousness in the psychic realm snapped from 'sleep' into 'awakening.'
Now fully lucid, Logan immediately saw the cracks in this fabricated world—its illogical seams, its laughable imperfections. In his 'sleeping' state, his mind had been too dulled to resist, leaving him a puppet for his captor's amusement. But now… the tables had turned.
"Big Brother stopped running? Will you play with me again?"
A child's silvery laughter tinkled from above. Logan, now eerily calm, patted the Gabite beneath him. Its form dissolved into smoke, vanishing back into reality.
"Huh? Big Brother only wants to play alone? That Pokémon was cute too~~"
The little girl pouted, though her face remained eerily blank—her "smile" nothing more than a twitch of her lips.
"Of course I'll play," Logan smirked, hands in his pockets before suddenly shouting at the sky:
"…Didn't expect this, did you, Sabrina? I woke up in your little mindscape. You underestimated Mewtwo's power—your arrogance blinded you! But your biggest mistake? Using your child self to erase me instead of your adult mind!"
He scoffed. Follow current novᴇls on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⁂𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾⁂𝔫𝔢𝔱
"Then again, I get it. The tragedy of adulthood, isn't it? Even knowing you could 'kill' me here, you couldn't bear to expose your true self—your secrets, your scars. So you dredged up this broken, childhood version of your psyche, hoping its lonely madness would crush me."
"Too bad. A child's mind is fragile. If I hadn't woken up, I'd have been trapped forever. Had you faced me as an adult, even in this state, I'd have been powerless. But… there are no 'what-ifs' in battle. No second chances. Whether by luck or your own arrogance, the tables have turned. Now, Sabrina… it's you who needs to run!"
Logan's grin turned feral. He wasn't the type to forgive—not even for beauty. A pretty face didn't erase a knife aimed at his throat.
(After all, if a woman killed you, would she even mourn? Or would she just find another man by dawn?)
"Run, Sabrina. Run! Unless you want to play my game first…"
A snap of his fingers—and the skyscraper-sized doll beside her shrank into a harmless toy. The girl blinked, clutching her doll tighter before hurling it to the ground. Nothing happened.
This was the power of lucid dreaming: the moment you realized the dream was yours to control. And Logan, with his grasp of psychic mechanics, now ruled this world. Against Sabrina's adult self, he'd be outmatched. But a mentally unstable child version?
Another snap. The world twisted—streets melting, the sky collapsing—until only a child's bedroom remained.
The girl (no, Sabrina's past self) finally trembled, backing into a corner like a cornered rabbit. "B-Big Brother…? I thought we were playing?"
"This is the game. And don't call me 'Brother'—call me Daddy." His voice dripped venom. "Your games were boring. Let me teach you an adult's playtime. First up… 'Ghost X'."
In a mental world, everything obeyed its master's will. Logan's mind—fueled by fury and survival instinct—summoned every dark fantasy he'd ever consumed. (In reality? He'd never cross that line. But here? Here, he was god.)
"B-Big Brother, stop—!"
"D-Daddy, no—! AHH! IT HURTS! I DON'T WANT TO PLAY ANYMORE—!"
He ignored her screams. This wasn't real—just a puppet Sabrina had crafted. And with time flowing differently here? He had hours to break her.
Game Two: "X-Beast Academy."
(Logan's form shifted—tendrils, claws, things unspeakable—as he molded her into a "magical girl.")
Game Three: "Hospital Horror."
(A syringe the size of a spear. Her whimpers music to his ears.)
Game Four: "Faceless X."
(Her mind frayed, her child-self shattering—)
The little girl was gone. In her place stood Sabrina—the real Sabrina— her adult form icy but her eyes flickering with something new: fear.
"Took you long enough," Logan sneered. "Too late, though. This world's mine now. You wanted to turn me into a vegetable? How about you rot here instead? Unless… you can flee fast enough."
He'd won. Not by strength, but by cruelty. By exploiting the one weakness of psychic battles: the mind's fragility.
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