Eternal Nightmare
"Time to go..."
Jinwoo shut down his computer and rose from his seat.
He dragged his sturdy black backpack—the one he always carried—over to the worn-out topper mattress laid out in one corner of the room. Inside were the bare minimum emergency rations and a water canteen. To that, he stuffed the hammer he'd just bought and a razor-sharp military-grade dagger. It was the minimal, most reliable preparation for any contingency.
Still dressed in his sweat-stained combat uniform, he lay back on the mattress, staring up at the familiar moldy ceiling stains for a moment before carefully retrieving the hefty Magic Grimoire and placing it on his chest. The cold leather seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, spreading through his entire body.
"Let's go."
With that low murmur, he closed his eyes. Space warped around the point where the grimoire touched his body.
A crushing pressure like drowning hit him, followed by the sensation of endless freefall.
The musty air of his cramped Semi-Basement Room vanished in an instant, replaced by dry dust stinging his nose and the metallic tang of blood filling his lungs.
When Jinwoo opened his eyes again, no moldy ceiling greeted him.
A massive crimson moon loomed ominously amid bizarre constellations in the night sky. All around stretched an endless Red Wasteland, dotted with jagged rocks towering like colossal tombstones. His hands grasped only crumbly soil and thorny, nameless dry bushes. This was a far cry from last time—a suffocating silence ruled by primal terror.
"Where... is this?"
Disgusting. This pathetic fragment of crude, filthy power.
The grimoire's voice, trembling with icy contempt from atop his chest, carried a raw disgust unlike before.
My master, I must correct your understanding of this Eternal Nightmare's true nature. It is no mere lowly plaything of the outer gods—it is a crude mimicry of your human tales.
They wield infinite power yet squander it like foolish children, ignorant of its use. To think they steal your mortals' childish ghost stories and nightmares to cobble together this shoddy theater! A mockery of true dominion and creation's artistry. This is nothing but their botched imitation of your North American 'skinwalker' tales—a nauseating puppet show.
No sooner had the words faded than a sickening crunch of bone and flesh erupted from behind a nearby rock, followed by an inhuman scream too agonized to believe.
It was English.
Jinwoo dropped low and crept cautiously toward the sound.
What he witnessed was a living hellscape forged from divine malice.
A group of Americans in hiking gear thrashed in a pool of blood and guts. One skinwalker gorged greedily on a dead man's entrails; another continued its vile desecration on a blonde woman's corpse.
Two men remained alive.
Their minds shattered, they sensed they were next.
The skinwalker that had been eating lifted its head with satisfaction, licking its dripping maw as it lumbered slowly toward them.
The men couldn't even scream, staring in hopeless despair at their approaching doom.
That was when Jinwoo stepped out. Dust billowing, he rose to his feet.
"That's far enough, you filthy things."
At his low voice, the skinwalkers' hollow gazes snapped to him. Unfazed, Jinwoo held the open grimoire in one hand and pointed the other at the ground.
Command me, master.
"Bind their feet."
Enslaving Mud
The instant Jinwoo issued the command, the dry ground beneath the skinwalkers turned into black, sticky mire.
Like a living thing, the mud coiled around their ankles and calves, dragging them down.
"Grrrk?!"
The panicked skinwalkers flailed to free themselves, but the mud clung like manacles, severely slowing them.
Jinwoo seized the moment.
He charged full tilt, slamming into the side of the gut-eating skinwalker. Shrugging off its thrashing resistance with his shoulder, he swung the hammer from his waist, smashing its temple with all his might.
Thwack!
A dull crack of shattering bone echoed as the skinwalker's head snapped sideways and plunged into the mud.
"Kyaaah!"
The remaining one raged at its kin's death and lunged at Jinwoo—but the Enslaving Mud made its movements comically sluggish. Jinwoo stared coldly, raising the hand clutching the grimoire.
"Don't move, you worthless worm."
Weakness Curse
The curse laced into Jinwoo's voice engulfed the skinwalker.
Its muscles spasmed violently, strength draining away. Its efforts to escape the mud slowed further, grotesque moans of pain escaping it.
Perfect opening. Jinwoo sidestepped the sluggish attack and closed in.
He drove the military dagger upward from under its jaw, into the softest flesh, deep into the base of its tongue and brain.
The blade's path through tongue root to brain transmitted vividly to his hand. A final "grrk..." and it slumped lifeless into the mud.
In the gore-strewn hellscape, Jinwoo indifferently brushed the blood from his combat uniform and dagger.
The two survivors stared at their savior in a daze, eyes mixing terror and awe.
Just going to stand there and admire, master?
The voice still dripped contempt, yet held pragmatic chill.
Crude imitations though they are, they carry remnants of the power that animated them. If you wish to craft proper items in your Magic Workshop ahead, gather these magical materials steadily.
"Materials?"
Indeed. Their unnaturally condensed life force hearts, cursed eyeballs fed on fear, tough tendons that endured twisted power. All prime vessels for your strength. Harvest them before they rot. Waste not a drop.
Jinwoo nodded without hesitation at the grimoire's words.
Before turning to the survivors, he pulled a white mask and black wizard's hat—bought that day—from his backpack and donned them. Combat gear with a wizard hat and white mask—an absurd mismatch, but perfect for concealing his identity.
As Jinwoo approached a skinwalker corpse and sliced open its chest with the dagger, one survivor snapped to, staggering forward at the gruesome sight. The other followed. They passed Jinwoo and collapsed upon seeing their mangled comrades.
"Oh god, Sarah... Mike... NO!"
The man's wail echoed hollowly across the wasteland. He clutched his friend's torn body, sobbing; the other sat frozen, dry-heaving in panic.
After an eternity of howling, the man lifted his tear- and snot-streaked face to the masked Jinwoo. Terror mingled with faint hope in his eyes.
"Who... who are you? What is this place?"
Fearing a language barrier, he gestured desperately as he continued.
"We were just... hiking. In Arizona. Then a fog... a strange fog rolled in, and when it cleared, we were here! Those things... they just came out of nowhere!"
He clung to Jinwoo's feet, pleading.
"Is there a way out? Please, you have to help us! Is this... is this what they call the 'Eternal Nightmare' on the internet?"