"Y'know detective, I think there might be somethin' we're missin' here."

[color=lightblue]"Yeah, ain't that embarrassing."[/color]

The police officer stood from the scene and walked off. Red and blue lights bounced and flickered across the paved concrete and polished marble steps of the mansion, in all its forgotten opulence. Its owner, a wealthy oil magnate, was dead, shot twice in the chest as he awoke at night to walk his dog. His corpse cooled on the plush carpeted floor within, a dark crimson pool soaking into the rug that he was sprawled on. Beside him, the dog, also dead, shot once through the top of the skull. A senseless crime, one without motive, without evidence, and most frustratingly, without a suspect.

The detective, knelt on the floor as he already was, observed the whole scene again. The corpse was laid on his back. Most likely he had been shot as he had opened the door. But why was he so far away? He swept his gaze over the rug, and found what he was looking for: depressions in the fabric and fur, from the victim most likely. Impressions would have to be cast, photo comparisons made between the depressions and the victim's fuzzy white slippers, but the connection was quite clear: the poor man had backed up, away from the door, as his assailant raised a gun at him and fired, twice, striking him in the chest. Two dark red holes were punched into his chest, slightly high on the sternum, close together. At this close, it was hard to miss, but such accuracy meant the shooter was trained to use small arms. A former law enforcer? Military man? Or simply a civilian with too much time? There were too many questions with too little answers.

He stood, brushing a speck of dust off his slate grey hoodie. With a sigh, he walked back outside to the front porch, where the majority of the response team was. As he left, he was passed by a medical team, clad in stark white jumpsuits, blue gloves and face masks, they quickly went to work snapping photographs, collecting minuscule pieces of evidence and dropping them into little plastic bags. No doubt later they'd all be processed, examined and handled in the city's forensics lab, shedding more light onto this mysterious case.

The officer that had left him earlier approached him as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Detective, find out anything else?"

He shook his head. A negative.

[color=lightblue]"Lotta questions, Calhoun. All I know is our shooter was probably trained to handle firearms, he surprised our vic and he has no sympathy for animals. Better get some guys to case upstairs, might have more crap too. Oh, and check the garage as well. Turn over everything, get ID, any payments, papers, bank statements, phone records, everything. Turn out his trash if you have to. We find everything we can on this fella, we'll have a lot to work with on this case."[/color]

The other man nodded and gestured to the small group of cops nearby. They proceeded inside the mansion and disappeared up a spiral staircase to the second floor.

The detective sighed. Three AM in the morning for this? It just wasn't worth it. With his luck it'd be a cold case by the first two weeks.

As he walked past the parked squad cars and ambulance to his bike, a small glimmer in the night air caught his eye. That glimmer expanded into a tear, then a full-sized image of an all too familiar skeletal figure.

[color=8493ca]"I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds."[/color]

[color=lightblue]"Yeah nice to see you again, Skelly. What is this now, an invitation? A tournament? You've gotta be joking. I've got commitments, man, and the last time we fought you kicked my ass anyway."[/color]

He scoffed and sighed, his breath escaping as a cloud that dissipated in the early morning air. The detective regarded his old friend carefully, for the words he spoke next would determine if he stayed or left his case.

In the end, after a few minutes of thinking and watching the forensics team leave with bags upon bags of material evidence, he nodded to himself and adjusted the brim of his square cap. Ice blue eyes peered out from underneath his shock of white hair, and the wolf straightened the tie under his hoodie and rolled his shoulders. He shook the light dusting of snow from his jeans and sneakers and adjusted the gloves he wore on his hands, before removing the NYPD badge that was clipped to his belt, stowing it in his back pocket. As he straightened his back and stretched the kinks out of his spine, ice gathered and froze on his torso and waist. A pair of pistols broke from within their icy tombs, seated within holsters of leather, and a sword emerged from its frosty home, sheathed in a scabbard black as night.

The wolf turned and stared at the image of his friend, giving it a little smirk.

[color=lightblue]"Ah whatever, I was getting bored with all this anyway. They can handle themselves. Take me away, Skallagrim. Whisk me away to this fancy new place."[/color]
[hr]
As he stepped into his new surroundings, he observed several others already present; a tall, lean and lanky man with a pack on his back, a larger man, clad in ornate grey armour and carrying a large, curved sword, a seeming maniac with only one eye, an apparent angel, and a dragon girl. A strange assortment, but obviously handpicked with the utmost care. The skeleton he called a friend was one of the smartest men(?) he knew, even better a detective than he was, being able to see into the past and future and all. The gate zipped to a close behind him, prompting him to pull a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a zippo as he gave the rest of the room a cursory glance. Wooded, nature in balance with civilisation, a nice, calm, relaxing place.

Skallagrim gave his speech. The detective listened attentively, his cigarette glowing slightly as he pulled on it. Obviously not the wisest choice considering this was a place where nature ruled, but nicotine helped him relax.

The whole thing reeked of a higher purpose, as was wont for the Dreamers. They were basically omnipotent, and a simple man- er, wolf like himself didn't quite understand the intricacies of "being in a thousand places at once" or "seeing all possible outcomes and determining the best one". These able men and women, fighting for a key, to what? A heralding nightmare? Some dark, terrible force of judgement to be released upon all of the multiverse, destroying everything in its path?

He took another pull on his cigarette and blew the smoke towards the ceiling, turning his gaze to the skeleton seated upon his throne.

[color=lightblue]"I've got a question, Skall. If we're all...fighting for this key to stop or aid the Lord of Nightmares, what's preventing you guys from, like, just gathering all of the best fighters in the multiverse and kinda siccing them on this dude if he gets set free? You can see into, like, every friggin' universe for cryin' out loud."[/color]