"You are too unexperienced to be creating your own worlds. You haven't even found yourself yet," The sweep's mouth opened into a smile. It exposed a group of yellow and crooked teeth. Its bottom teeth crowded its front while its top seemed to not find a 90 degree angle. He looked as if he was ten feet tall but made of sticks. Behind his teeth a small fire burned. His voice washed over the writer like a blast furnace. His voice was too deep, too rugged, too angry, but harboring an intelligence that was greater than any human. He sat cross legged and now he spoke again, "I am Prometheus. Welcome to the Dreaming."

Before Prometheus could continue to explain what was happening around this hapless ttraveler, what this "Dreaming" was, and who truly this chimmney sweep was another being appeared behind the cross legged sweep. He was dressed in the robe of a Hindu priest. It's lavish colors was a distinct difference between the green grass of the cliff they were sitting on and the blue skies behind the writer. The priest was the color of milk. Too white, too creamy, and strangely beautiful. His hair was too black, too offsetting.

Prometheus' nostrils flare as if he was smelling the man behind him. His crooked mouth was sent into a frown. His underbite looked even more pronounced. As he turned he growled, "You son of a bitch. You know the rules. This one is mine. This one is not that bastard of a master you serve."

"No Prometheus. He owns them all. You tell that bitch to choke on her own vomit. He will own this place and all in it," The man in the robe's arms were at his chest but now fell to his sides with large iron chains falling to the ground. They lay at his feet like two dogs waiting for the signal to attack. Lazily saving their energy waiting for that opportunity. Prometheus shuffled uneasily but no fear shown in his eyes.

The two fell down on each other like wild animals. As the writer watched in horror he saw their hands tear peices from each other and spill to the ground. The holes and caverns only filled it almost immediately after they fell. Blood covered them in sheets. The air was thick with the hot blood. Like a fine mist. Suddenly Prometheus was thirty feet in the air. His huge legs grown even larger, his arms resembling a lanky gorillas, and mouth capable of devouring a rhinoceros. It was as if they just had not noticed how large he was, he was always this big, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

The chained priest started to whip at the giant beast of a man. With every whip he smiled. He relished giving pain to the top hatted monster. He wanted to punish him. It thrilled him, sent pleasure rocketing throughout his body. It excited him.

Prometheus smashed his hands into the ground missing him only by inches. More and more chains emerged from the hindu priest's back and arms. It was a steel octopus from hell. For every huge ash covered hand smashing at the chained priest it was retorted with an iron whip. Prometheus howled at the sky in rage and pain as if that was the one to cause this torment. It was soon forgotten as he was dragged off of his feet and onto the ground. His top hat fell to the ground as he bowed his head. His two hands kept his chest from the ground.

"Prostate yourself in front of your master!" The priest screamed in a maniac's howl. As Prometheus smashed into the ground from the pull of the chains he was assaulted by hundreds of buried chains. They criss crossed and pulled tight. He was stitched to the ground.

"This is where your train stops," He said to the writer. It was merely a whisper and with a spasm of his leg knocked the small man off the cliff. It was as if a flea was flicked off a dog, such casuality. As he fell through the air he was not afraid. But never once did he believe it was a dream. He merely was ready to end this. He heard Prometheus, "I will tear your eyes from your skull! I will find where you lay and I will leave it covered in your blood and the stench of your fear!"

Before he hit the ground he saw Prometheus. He was pulled as far as he could against his chains. His head was raised and every muscle was taut against the chain. Half pain and half rage he howled at the pale blue sky. Prometheus once again stuck in chains. Where was the vulture? The eagle? Where was Ethon?

"Such threats!"

"Such promises!" And he bellowed across the land. Every being in the Dreaming heard the blast furnace of a voice wash over them. Such promises.

He jerked in his chair. The water filled Justerini and Brooks spilt onto his lap. Sweat poured from brow and his lungs gulped for nourishment. He looked around his tiny apartment and swore. His head was swimming but his conciousness was drowning. As he touched the wet spot on the ground he sighed, "Such promises."