Sinking (2)
A shape that resembled a swarming mass.
Slender bones, or perhaps things resembling tendons, were tangled with dark, rounded shapes amidst clotted masses of mucus.
Bound by mysterious white cords, the tumor writhed in response to our footsteps, as if sensing our presence.
—What is the meaning of this?
Tirmisia murmured low at the sight, lifting his head.
Pain flared within me as usual, but it was nothing compared to before.
Now that my energy had grown, I could endure more of Tirmisia's movements.
Just then, another voice pierced my mind.
—Ah, O Origin. Why have you descended again in such a guise?
Its chaotic emotions flooded directly into me.
The flesh covering the surroundings suddenly reared up and writhed.
Already on high alert, the knight and Bran swung their swords, instantly severing the tendrils of flesh reaching toward me.
"Is that... the beast you spoke of?"
Though "beast" didn't refer to a single specific entity, I nodded anyway.
I couldn't afford to lose focus; Tirmisia was currently conversing with the tumor.
The tumor's speech was slow and grating.
While some highly intelligent beasts occasionally used language to confuse their opponents, this was the first time I had ever heard beasts communicating with each other.
A conversation purely for communication, devoid of any mutual hostility.
Watching them, I recalled an almost unbelievable scene I had witnessed in my past life.
"..."
The horde of beasts.
Around the time the earth frozen by harsh winter began to thaw, the sound of hornpipes echoed as hordes of beasts trampled the muddy ground that clung to one's boots.
The overwhelming sense of helplessness washed over me again—the memory of beasts, each a living nightmare, moving in perfect unison toward a single purpose.
Beasts that once hunted and devoured each other to establish their own territories had united for a single empire, a world of their own, and began erasing humanity from existence. That was my final memory.
And I was reminded once more that the evil dragon who had stood at the pinnacle of that horde, mocking all life and insulting heaven and earth, now slept within my very body.
The evil dragon, Tirmisia, spoke.
—And why do you find yourself in such a pathetic state?
—Punish this disloyal servant, I beg of you. I devoured countless hordes of the lower creatures, but in the end, I was captured and forced to hide deep beneath the earth.
—And what is this cloth binding you?
—It is a barrier created to prevent the authority granted by the Origin from exceeding this physical vessel. The filthy, lowly creatures have used their petty tricks to twist providence and desecrate the source.
Though its voice lacked inflection, I could tell the tumor was furious.
From the sounds of it, humans had captured and sealed it here.
I didn't know if magic was capable of such a feat, but regardless, the tumor's abilities seemed to be heavily restricted.
During the ages when the beasts and their power had vanished, I never imagined that the magic replacing them would have advanced to this degree.
A method to suppress a beast's power.
If such a thing had existed back then, we could have driven the beasts out much sooner.
—But fear not. The ignorant fools have demanded more than what was permitted to them. Their greed will soon invite disaster and lead them to ruin.
—Explain.
—All preparations are complete. I have cleared away all surrounding obstacles, so please, O Origin, undo the wicked art binding my soul and flesh, and enjoy your amusement.
"...Very well."
What?
I snapped back to reality.
Tirmisia's voice, which usually echoed only in my mind, now rang clearly in my ears.
A flood of sounds rushed in, as if my ears had suddenly opened.
The sound of wet cloth tearing, and iron nails scraping against a wall.
The sound of something tightening, crushing a wooden structure.
Ragged breathing pushed to its limit, and desperate screams.
And my name.
"Kamil!!"
Bran shouted, hacking away at the flesh growing from the walls, ceiling, and floor.
His lower body was already swallowed up, preventing his outstretched hand from reaching me, while tendrils of flesh were beginning to seep through the gaps in the knight's armor.
Between Bran and the knight, who were being pulled to either side...
...a path of glistening mucus, smooth as silk, opened up a direct route to the tumor.
"Not a bad price for a first transaction, is it?"
I reached out.
Tirmisia's massive energy, finally shaking off its slumber, rooted itself deep within my body.
My lungs constricted of their own accord, and the breath escaping my throat spoke the language of beasts against my will.
And before I knew it,
The seal binding the tumor had been undone.
"It seems it has begun."
At the Prophet's words, Gyal left the Prime Minister's office.
Watching the Prophet's waving hand through the closing gap of the door, the Prime Minister also hurriedly rose from his seat.
From here, one could see everything happening in the capital at a single glance.
Leaning out the window to survey the red-light district, the Prime Minister bit his lip.
The first thing he saw was a corpse.
A headless corpse, spewing black blood, was mounted on top of a fallen royal soldier, stabbing him mercilessly with a jagged bone protruding from its broken wrist.
Horrified, the other soldiers tried to flee, but crawling corpses unable to walk dragged them down by their ankles, forcing them to share the same grim fate.
Teeth and claws tore into the falling soldiers, their final death rattles echoing in the air.
"Hear me, Military Commissioner! Blockade all routes leading to the red-light district immediately, and put all forces on defensive alert! Erect a barrier of fire and make sure not a single one of them gets through!"
At the Prime Minister's command, the soldiers waiting outside the red-light district dragged furniture and wooden barricades to block off every alleyway.
And before long, a line of fire was drawn.
Soldiers who couldn't escape in time and civilians who had been hiding launched boats or threw themselves into the sea.
The corpses of the fallen rebels threw themselves into the flames like moths to a light, flailing before turning to ash.
Terrified by the sight, the soldiers began piling on more flammable materials, feeding the blaze until it threatened to swallow the surrounding buildings, its fiery tongues licking the sky.
Through the chaos, a red-haired woman made her appearance.
"Out of the way."
A squad leader who had been staring blankly at her spun around in surprise.
A gust of wind from behind whipped the man's wild, long hair.
As the massive man frowned, the squad leader finally noticed the colossal greatsword held in his hand.
Fortunately, the squad leader had no desire to provoke someone far stronger and more dangerous than himself. He meekly stepped aside, and the massive man took his place beside the red-haired woman.
And with a deafening boom, a path opened through the flames.
Dumbfounded, the squad leader watched the two figures walk through the gap, only to scream and scramble backward.
The mountain of firewood collapsed behind them, sealing the path so that no one else could enter until the fire died down.
Suddenly, the threads supporting my entire body seemed to snap, and I collapsed.
The floor merged with the ceiling to form a wall, cutting off my vision.
No more words came from beyond.
Only a boiling, swarming sound.
The only sound was that of dozens of thin legs brushing through the fallen leaves scattered over the humus.
"Why... why did you do that?"
Bran and the knight emerged from the flesh that had suddenly vanished.
With the clanking of armor, the knight strode forward without hesitation, grabbed me by the collar, and threw me aside.
My mind struggled to keep up with the situation.
Stumbling to my feet, I drew the sword from my waist.
My sharply honed energy returned to its place, and my distorted vision cleared.
Tirmisia remained coiled, completely motionless.
As if nothing had happened.
"Raise your swords. They'll be swarming us soon."
"What are you even talking about? We don't even know what those things were. How do you expect us to just blindly follow your orders?"
"You have to survive first if you want to hear an explanation later."
As if to prove my words, a faint vibration began to ripple from the direction of the stairs.
The shaking grew until the loose hinges creaked open, and soon, something began to emerge into the dim reach of the light.
One. Five. Twelve.
An uncountable crowd was surging toward us.
Seeing this, Bran adjusted his grip on his sword, his face turning paler by the second.
"This can't be... This is impossible."
Half-shattered jaws dangled, clattering their teeth together.
To that discordant rhythm, dozens of corpses rushed toward the door.
Broken swords and intact blades thrust through the gaps, drawing vertical arcs of dark red.
Screeech!
With the sound of scraping bone, sleeves were shredded, and dark, sticky blood splattered across the room.
I kicked the door, which had already begun to splinter into pieces.
With an explosive boom, the corpses clinging to it were sent flying backward.
"Bran! Help him!"
Slash, thrust, crush.
Corpses with missing limbs rolled on the floor, spewing blood.
Shaking violently as he watched the carnage, Bran reflexively turned to join the knight, swinging his sword mercilessly to help him hack through a wall made of hundreds of layers of flesh with his axe.
I had a feeling it would turn out like this from the moment the entrance to the stairs was first revealed.
No soldier ant enters the heart of an antlion's pit, slays the waiting larva, and returns unscathed.
Even if they succeeded in the decapitation, escaping the pre-dug trap was another matter entirely.
And there were already countless others who had fallen into this trap.
"Are you sure you don't need help?"
"Don't worry about me! Just keep digging!"
"I've already dug a hole big enough for a person to fit through, but there's no end in sight!"
Before our eyes, rebel soldiers flailed as their limbs and heads were severed.
I didn't know what madman had thought of it, but they had apparently injected the tumor's fluid directly into their own bodies.
The tumor injected its fluids into the corpses of dead insects, humans, or wild beasts, controlling them like puppets.
The fluid separated the body from death, allowing it to transcend the limits imposed by pain.
Since that process took a significant amount of time, living creatures would normally escape its grasp.
This could not be explained by mere coincidence.
To willingly subject oneself to a living hell where one rampaged without even realizing they were dead...
I had never dreamed that an entire group, rather than just one or two individuals, would make such a choice.
An army of berserkers charging forward, oblivious to death.
Unless those puppets regained their sense of fear, the royal army would never be able to defeat the rebels.