[The magic inherent in this place is clear; it reminds him of the Sanctum, though maybe less pronounced in scope, the residence of someone who lives and breathes the arcane, the mystical. Though his wondering (however little he allows himself of it in a moment like this) is cut short when, after darting after the creature, Stephen stumbles into what he assumes is a living area. The nightmare entity is already tearing into the fabric of reality of its own accord, creating its own gateway through brute force itself, as though it has split a tear in the middle of the room, and pushing itself through.

That enough is alarming. The fact that there's a stranger brandishing a wine bottle at him and shouting commands is just the icing on the cake. Stephen scoffs almost indignantly, planted in place, but calling forth magic which gleams at his fingertips in sparking amber.]

I don't know who you are, but you don't know what you're dealing with.

[His magic forms into a searing bright whip. Stephen lashes out with it, and it snaps and curls around the monster's shadow-like form, yanking it away from the gateway. It clings and hisses, lashes its limbs stubbornly, not quite pulled off.]

Get out of here! Unless you want to start reliving your worst nightmares in real-time!

[There is a reason this creature exudes the night, why it ekes with the horror of disturbed sleep. A reason why Stephen has had a hell of a time pinning it down. He doesn't need collateral damage piled up along the way.]