The Oldest Game of All

Choronzon: Ssso, You know the rules, dreamlord? If you win, I will return your helmet.
If you lose, you will ssserve as plaything of hell, for eternity. Our ssslave.

Very well. I have the first move. I am a dire wolf, prey-stalking, lethal prowler.

Dream: I am a hunter, horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing.

And I feel the grass beneath my hooves, the flanks between my legs.

All is real. Nothing is real. Choronzon’s move.

Choronzon: I am a horsefly, horse-stinging, hunter-throwing.

Dream: There are many ways to lose the oldest game. Failure of nerve, hesitation… Being unable to shift into a defensive shape. Lack of imagination.

I am a spider, fly-consuming, eight legged.

Choronzon: I am a snake, spider-devouring, poison-toothed.

Dream: I am an ox, snake-crushing, heavy-footed.

I feel the snake writhe beneath my hoof, its spine crushed.

Choronzon: I am an anthrax, butcher bacterium, warm-life destroying.

Dream: A change in direction, but still an old gambit. I think…

I think I understand how Choronzon plays. How I can turn it against him.

I think I will abandon the offensive.

I am a world, space-floating, life-nurturing.

Choronzon: I am a nova, all-exploding… planet-cremating.

Dream: I am the Universe—all things encompassing, all life embracing.

Choronzon: I am anti-life, the beast of judgement. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… of everything.

Sss. And what will you be then dreamlord?

Dream: I am hope.

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Neil Gaiman is the best writer I have ever known. He's like, the pinnacle of good writing. Next would be my brother.