Another success, thinks Grimm. Thinks the Nightmare King. Thinks the Heart, even, in the tiny span between expecting at least a moment's respite and being terribly wrong.

Fear is the Nightmare's domain, and it rules that domain in absolute. But that does not mean the Nightmare cannot fear, and it terrors -

Grimm in the physical is clutched by shade and panics. Spells fizzle, either in the mind or against the Void, and he cannot get away, cannot fulfil the role into which he was cast -

The Nightmare's Heart pounds in frantic arrhythmia, lightless Void coiling up the seams. They might as well be squeezing, even if they aren't. Nothing should reach so deep. Not past the vessel and the King, and speaking of -

Nightmare King Grimm has been pacing the arena. Nightmare King Grimm stills and freezes. What the Lord of Shades does to Grimm does the same to his mind, and in that arena thorned Void coils in whether they mean it or not. The King retreats, slowly, towards a corner.

Every fraction of the Nightmare fears.

Grimm, in the present, fears least.

Ignoring the pound of the Heart, ignoring the gravity of the King: quite deliberately, Grimm suddenly hangs still.