Fighting the fearMature

The forms of the Voice of Darkness rush towards you, their swords clanging against their shields, the insults seemingly burned into their bodies, becoming more visible the closer they get. You panic, armed with only your fists, prepare for what might be your last dream. The distance closes even more, and you wonder if the Blurred You will get there in time, if you will, again, choose to run away. The smaller forms of the voice of Darkness reach even closer, and you panic even more. In that panic, you conjur into your hands a pair of small, flimsy looking daggers. To you, they look as if they're made of foam, and would break easily.
To the smaller forms, they only look like another reason to take you out.

The first wave of possibly trillions more rush at you, screaming, eyes red with hatred, no other goal in their heart except to end your life. You swing the daggers uselessly, missing the first few times. The forms laugh at you, call you names, tease you with secrets only you are aware of. The daggers find their mark in the face of one such form, burning brightly against the fog like substance that it's made of.
Instantly, the rest of the forms further out scream, holding the spot on their faces where you wounded their brother.
"You would dare injur me!? You would dare attempt to defend yourself against the only rightful reward you have coming towards you!? You would dare insult the mmeory of your father by attacking the only voice in your head that makes any sense!?" The Darkness screams outright, the hundreds of trillions of smaller forms following suit.
"You wish to survive, to live... to progress, even though the only thing you know how to do is run!? How very fitting that you should arm yourself with small knives then!" The Darkness taunts, the smaller form with the facial wound screams, both of its glowing eyes aimed straight at yours, even though with every new twitch and motion, the daggers drive themselves deeper into its skull.
'Don't worry! I'm close by!' The Blurred You says in your mind, but when you look around, all you can see is anger and resentment.
'Where are you!?' You mouth out, the words having weight ot them. N
o answer is heard, only the heavy footsteps on unseen ground, charging forward, their owners blood lust powering their ever increasing tempo.

You swing again and again, your stance, technique, and manner of attack all utterly ineffective at doing anything more than superficial wounds. The closest of the smaller forms launch a calculated attack, their blades slipping into your rib cage like rocks being tossed in water. You scream out voicelessly, your sight, for just a minute grows dark. The voice of Darkness comments yet again, clearing a path for you to fall downwards into the infinite white sea of space and time.
"You've failed to kill even one of my soldiers, and now you fail to learn to fly within your own mind. You've no purpose, no luck, no fortunate fate. Only a dismal track record of failure at every point in time. Perhaps you are better off dead... Perhaps the lives you create every night are just useless leafs, falling off a dying tree in a raging inferno? Pitiful." The voice booms, the island you escaped from launching its deformed, mutated, club like vines at you, smashing away at your frame, crushing every particle that you possess into a fine dust that scatters away into the sixteen winds.

'Don't give up! I'm right here! Just waiting for you to reach out! don't run away! Don't give up! I'm calling out to you!' The Blurred You screams into your now metaphysical head, the magnetic fields that bound your every atom together reacting slightly, your mind nothing more than simple electrical reactions to outside stimuli.
'Don't give up! you can do this! Just one big push! One big scream! That's all you really need!' They shout out, more positive than ever, even though you abandoned them when they showed up to help you. you think you might have a friend in them, or at least, that's the electrical reaction the grouping of particles that made up your brain thinks.
'One big push! Come on! I'll share my body with you if that's what it takes, just don't give up!' They scream out loud, crying as they do so, the Blurred You reaches out, swipes a hand full of hundreds of trillions of your scattered atoms and slams it into their chest.
You feel the sensation of fire as the word 'Zhuangzi' burns onto their right shoulder.
You shiver when the word 'Daozang' freezes into the left knee cap.
You twitch wildly with a powerful electrical current magnetizes both the Blurred You and your own atoms in a metaphysical sense, the sixtyfour hexagrams of the IChing slam both of your particles together, and at once, you see the Darkness for what it truly is.

Your new eyes open, seeing only in shades of black, white, and burnt orange. you look at your hands, wondering if you or the Blurred You is in control.
'Hello?' You think to yourself, wondering if they'd reply back.
When they don't, you feel depressed about the loss of your only potential constant in this shifting sea of mental realities. A memory surfaces of a message being wirtten only moments before the sixtyfour hexagrams of the Iching made their mark.
"Hey, I don't have much time." The message begins, "I want you to know that I forgive you for running away when I needed you...
"I guess things in your dreams can get overwhelmingly big, even if your subconscious somehow creates them...
"There's this thing, a being that's completely safe from the restarts of fresh dreams every night, its name is Bob...
"Tell him the Blurred You shot you his way... "
"He'll understand. Show this idiot whose mind he's in..."
"Good luck, my dearest sibling."

The message ends, the memory fades away into the darkness of your mind as you narrowly avoid another group attack by the smaller forms. You focus your mind, the sixtyfour hexagrams greatly helping you, and conjur into your hands a large sword with a three foot long grip, the pommel being a rather large and beveled scythe blade. It reflects your face, and you realize just what the Blurred You sacrificed to bring you back. Another wave of Smaller forms crashes into you.
Their weapons crashing into the ground, their disjointed voices singing songs of your eventual defeat.
Anger wells up inside your breast, and you let out a pent up scream.
In the moments that follow, you expertly vivisect four hundred billion Smaller Forms of Darkness, their innards being just a thick goopy smog. Their shining red and orange eyes infected by the diseased looking fog which bore them. Their bodies composed of maggot filled mounds of cemetery dirt that they must have buried in when the Memories had passed away.

You rage, you mind calculating every possible attack and countering them all. Many times over the point of your sword found the outside of the back of their heads, with you swinging downward hard, the blade slicing through their screaming forms, only for the scythe blade to tear into their midsections. the Darkness howls with fury, screams with trauma, and cries tears of desertion.
"You were meant to fall into nothingness! Disappear with the Sixteen Winds! Be crushed by the weight of your own depression! How are you finding this strength!? This can not be!!" It screams outright, daring you to speak to give its own devices the energy they might need to utterly defeat you.

Instead, you focus all your latent energy into a tightly spun ball of plasma at the tip of your extended pinky, wishing only Ming Yi Khan a spiritual jounrey.
The Plasma ball unleashes.
The remaining soldiers of the Voice of Darkness are violently torn apart.

The End

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