Count’s Territory (6)
Count’s Territory (6)
The Dead Shadow extended in a spiral structure, encircling the city of Beldana and stretching deep underground.
The further one descended, the narrower each level became.
The third layer of the Dead Shadow was inevitably somewhat confined.
Of course, that was only in comparison to the other levels.
When taken on its own, the third floor still boasted an overwhelming expanse.
A vast chamber unfolded before Mapheltan’s eyes.
There were no structures—no pillars, no doors, nothing.
Only an endlessly spreading ceiling and floor of ashen white.
An inexplicable sense of emptiness welled up. It was like staring out at the boundless sea.
The sheer emptiness of the space itself swallowed whoever beheld it in vague unease.
Mapheltan spoke.
“The Heavenly Womb is here, you say?”
One of the cultists serving as a guide answered.
“Yes. Somewhere within this place, the Heavenly Womb rests.”
Illea fixed her gaze on him.
“Then guide us there quickly.”
The cultist glanced nervously at Mapheltan.
“A lowly one like me cannot dare to set foot on the third floor. The moment I tread upon it, Belzarak will claim my life.”
Belzarak, an ancient demon. A high-ranking fiend who mocked and desecrated humankind.
Belzarak dug into the emotions and memories of others. He pieced together their innermost depths to lead his prey to ruin.
Any human targeted by him would inevitably have their sanity eroded until death was the only end.
The moment one entered this chamber, every intelligent being—save the Count himself—would become Belzarak’s prey.
The cultists of the Hyungshin Society were no exception.
None here could escape Belzarak’s gaze.
When the cultist hesitated to step forward into the third floor, Mapheltan’s lips curled upward.
“To claim lives, hm. I am most curious to see what manner that may be.”
He suddenly seized the back of the man’s head with a crushing grip.
“W–wait! O End!”
“Let’s see for ourselves.”
Mapheltan hurled the cultist into the chamber.
The remaining cultists recoiled in shock, stumbling backward.
The man who had landed on the third floor cried out in terror.
“I–I have to get out! Quickly!”
Panicked, he scrambled and crawled back toward Mapheltan.
“Help me! Please…”
Then, his body suddenly stopped moving.
His eyes, once wide with fear, turned pitch black.
Mapheltan watched him with an intrigued expression.
Illea murmured.
“He’s already possessed. By Belzarak.”
The cultist shot upright and began to mutter strange gibberish to himself.
Mapheltan spoke.
“Watch carefully. That is how humans are controlled.”
Illea’s eyes glowed blue.
She was observing Belzarak’s power in precise detail.
Since they would soon face Belzarak directly, she needed to uncover his weakness beforehand.
She nodded.
“He strikes at the mind… until his victim finally goes mad.”
Just as she said, the cultist ran about in a frenzy. Screeching, he clawed ceaselessly at his own neck.
Even as his skin tore and red blood spilled, he did not stop.
Mapheltan said.
“Exactly. Belzarak splices our memories together, showing us the worst future we might face.”
Abilities of this mental domain invariably weakened when the target was conscious of their nature.
That was why Mapheltan had thrown one of the cultists in as a test subject.
Now Illea too had gained a rough grasp of Belzarak.
She spoke.
“If one cannot break free of the illusion, they’ll end up ending their own life. Like that man.”
The cultist continued to mutilate himself as he ran through the chamber.
A long trail of blood marked his path.
Soon he could no longer even be seen.
Somewhere in the vast chamber, he must have collapsed, dying.
Mapheltan said.
“Now it’s our turn. Before that, would you care to observe once more?”
He glanced toward the remaining cultists as he said so.
They all staggered back in terror—then turned and bolted.
At that, Illea finally lowered her hood and removed her mask.
Her doll-like face came into view.
“I would have liked to watch it again at least once, but they all ran away.”
“If need be, I can go fetch them.”
Illea gazed quietly at Mapheltan, then spoke.
“Mapheltan, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Mapheltan had already claimed dozens of lives in the Dead Shadow.
Just now, he had so casually driven another human to death.
The man who once had been tormented by guilt was nowhere to be found.
Mapheltan shrugged.
“Well, I won’t deny it.”
He clearly felt pleasure in killing.
Since his victims were villains, not even a shred of guilt lingered.
Illea said.
“Amusement in moderation is fine. But don’t lose yourself. One day you might cross the line.”
Mapheltan nodded.
“I am aware. Do not worry.”
Illea gave a gentle smile.
“Good. Then, shall we go?”
By now, surely the Count had realized what was happening in the Dead Shadow.
He was likely rushing here at that very moment.
Mapheltan had no more time to waste.
He had to seize the Heavenly Womb as swiftly as possible.
He began to walk.
Into the ashen chamber.
***
Kim Johan, age thirty-one. He was a man who had lived through the most chaotic age in Earth’s long history.
The year Johan was born, a sinkhole appeared on Earth—the “Labyrinth.”
The Labyrinth overflowed with resources and mysteries unknown to Earth. Through its new fruits, Earth’s civilization leapt forward.
Science fused with magi-tech. Life became more abundant than ever, and the human lifespan grew exponentially.
With every floor of the Labyrinth conquered, humanity achieved meteoric growth.
Everything visible to the eye grew dazzlingly bright.
But what lay beyond the eye’s reach was different.
The brighter the world shone, the longer the shadows stretched.
Johan’s parents perished during the Great Upheaval.
He was an orphan from the moment he was born.
What the world called a divine blessing—the Labyrinth—was nothing but a curse to Johan.
He received none of the benefits it offered. Not even an awakening, a power nearly every modern human acquired, ever came to him.
Scorn and ridicule always trailed behind him.
An unawakened orphan. His life was a string of misfortune, yet Johan did not dwell on it.
For he had one strength.
Unshakable perseverance and will.
He lived each day for the sake of the younger orphans.
In caring for them, he found the meaning of his life.
Though circumstances were difficult, his heart was always fulfilled.
A well-raised younger sibling was worth more than gold.
Some of them awakened now and then, and they returned to repay Johan’s kindness.
His life gradually grew more abundant, and before long, he too stood in the sunlit world.
By any measure, he had lived a successful life.
In an unjust world, he had carved his own path.
Johan loved Earth. He longed to return. He missed his siblings dearly.
He believed those feelings were genuine.
But the sight before his eyes now denied that belief.
Under a shadow cast across the heavens, the world howled.
Skyscrapers burned, people shrieked.
Rivers and seas ran red with blood. Entrails and flesh hung from every corner of the city.
Civilization lay in ruins.
The wails of lament resounded everywhere.
Countless demons ravaged the surface.
And at the center stood Mapheltan.
From the distant skies, he burst into mad laughter.
“Weep louder! Answer your trampling with tears! The mouths that once spat scorn and derision now beg for their lives!”
Horrific malice and rancor echoed across Earth.
Mapheltan was immersed in ecstasy.
None on Earth could halt the End.
Drunk on overwhelming power, in that very moment, a streak of blue light sped toward him.
Mapheltan clicked his tongue.
“Futile antics.”
At a snap of his fingers, black chains descended from the heavens, seizing the oncoming radiance.
A man struggled in midair, bound tight.
“Filthy demon bastard! Release me! Now!”
He glared directly at Mapheltan.
He resisted with the bearing of one who had transcended humanity.
It was an affront to Mapheltan.
With a chilling voice, Mapheltan spoke.
“Impudent mortal, I shall grant you torments beyond death.”
Mapheltan swung his arm. The man’s clothes disintegrated into dust.
Just as Mapheltan was about to begin torture, he froze.
For he saw the tattoos etched across the man’s body.
Crooked script, countless names engraved.
───Blue Sprout Home────
Kim Johan, Kim Dawit, Kim Daon, Kim Samuel, Kim Enoch, Kim Elijah… and so on. Names of biblical style scrolled endlessly.
Suddenly, old memories surfaced.
‘Josep, I told you not to get tattoos. You’ll regret it someday.’
‘But it’s our family’s name. Johan is first. When I make it big, I’ll take care of him first. Just wait.’
‘Tch, you blockhead. When will you grow up?’
‘Pfft, you like it though. I still need to add the others’ names, so you do the dishes tonight.’
The image of his younger brother walking off lingered vividly before his eyes.
Mapheltan stared at the man with a dazed expression.
“Could it be… Blockhead?”
The man, struggling against the chains, stiffened slightly.
“…What did you say?”
There was only one person in the world who ever called him Blockhead.
Kim Johan. His brother.
Mapheltan suddenly clutched his own head.
“W–why am I…”
All of this was an illusion.
Yes, he already knew that much.
But one thing baffled him.
Why was he seeing such a future?
The illusions Belzarak showed were stitched together from the subject’s memories and psyche.
From the deepest recesses, dragging out only the ugliest fragments. In other words, the visions bore some relation to the subject’s own desires.
Johan had secretly harbored hatred toward the world. Though he found reasons to live, an unfilled emptiness had always remained.
He was, in the end, a surplus human. To keep from breaking, he needed something to lose himself in.
Devotion to his siblings had ultimately been a means of protecting himself.
A terrible self-loathing welled up.
“So I was nothing but a worm after all.”
Humans who faced their own ugliness often shattered.
But for Mapheltan, this illusion did not break him so deeply.
Still, a scratch was carved into his heart.
And if such wounds piled up, someday they would fester and burst.
For now, he could only resolve to remain wary. There was nothing else he could do.
Gathering himself, Mapheltan said.
“Blockhead, it was good to see you again. I’ll be going now.”
To awaken from the illusion, he had to find Belzarak.
“You bastard! Who are you! Why do you keep calling me that!”
But just as the man shouted, a familiar voice sounded above his head.
“Mapheltan, what is all this?”
Mapheltan lifted his eyes to the higher skies.
Illea was gazing down quietly at the earth.
Startled, Mapheltan asked.
“How are you here?”
“I don’t know. I just awoke to find myself in this place. But tell me, where is this?”
To her, everything beneath her feet was alien.
It must have been her first glimpse of such a civilization.
Mapheltan himself hardly knew how to explain it.