Chapter 82: Disaster Of an Eldritch Origin (Patreon)

[ALERT] 

[••• 22-12-21 21-4-7-6-15-12-9-9-8, 16-12-22-19 8-5-12-14-8-1-18-4, 25-9-19-9-20 51.5074Q, 0.1278Z] 

Bell floated in an empty hallway with dim light. He kept walking in the hallway as the floor behind him fell into the void. He wasn’t sure how he ended up in here, but he felt something he hadn’t felt for a long time. The numbers kept broadcasting on his ears on eerie tone, alongside with flashes of red text every time the number was said. 

The message kept repeating in the same pattern. However, the opening was different, it was opened by a music consisting of bell, similar to that Bell encounter on a train station, then it began to appear as the flash of red with the text right on top of it. The hallway was endless and eerily quiet, with void both in front and behind him. 

He felt scared. What if the void suddenly snatched him, it was a possibility, and a real one, at that. This wouldn’t even end well, so, all he could do now was to keep walking until he found an exit out of this purgatory. He couldn’t access his interface either, just like when he was with the cabal. So, was this another world again?

The air around him grew colder, a chill that seeped into his bones and made his breath visible in the gloom. Shadows seemed to flicker and move just beyond the reach of the dim light, forming shapes that were gone when he tried to focus on them. Whispers filled the air, an indistinct murmur that could have been the wind or something far more sinister.

[ACHTUNG] 

[••• 22-12-21 21-4-7-6-15-12-9-9-8, 16-12-22-19 8-5-12-14-8-1-18-4, 25-9-19-9-20 51.5074Q, 0.1278Z] 

Suddenly, a figure materialized in the distance, a dark silhouette standing still against the endless void. Bell's heart raced as he approached, unsure if this new presence was friend or foe. The figure remained motionless, an enigma that promised answers or perhaps harbored deeper horrors. He wasn’t sure about the figure, hell, he couldn’t figure if this figure was demon or not. 

[Beneath The Gaze Of The Unfathomable, The Secrets Of The Universe Unravel, Whispered By Entities That Dwell In The Spaces Between Stars]

Cryptic as hell, if there was a way to describe it. Even the text alone made little to no sense for him, but the mystery of the figure might be related to this one. He began to walk closer and closer, the wall of the hallway turned for the worse as flesh began to appear on the wall itself. 

[In The Shadow Of Forgotten Realms, Seekers Of The End Shall Wander, Thirsting For A Closure That Forever Dances Just Beyond Their Grasp]

The once white walls around Bell shifted ominously to a deep, pulsating red, a foreboding transformation that left him no choice but to advance towards the enigmatic figure. With the abyss yawning endlessly behind him, he pressed forward, driven by the hope that he would not succumb to the void's unknown horrors.

As he drew nearer, the figure's form became clearer, shrouded in robes that seemed to absorb the scant light around them. The darkness intensified, paradoxically blinding Bell with an invisible, piercing agony, as if invisible blades were slowly being twisted into his eyes.

[The Scripture Of The Ancient, Written In The Language, Reveals The Path To Enlightenment Or Damnation, Deciphered Only By Those Who Dare To Gaze Into The Abyss]

Suddenly, the ground beneath him transformed into a mirror, a reflective surface that revealed not just Bell's image but a horrifying version of himself. This other Bell was a grotesque figure, its clothes tattered and soaked in blood, with stakes impaling its eyes and broken horns protruding from its head. The reflection's face, unmistakably his own, was marred by a lack of ears, and its horns were fractured and jagged. Bell's own voice, distorted by torment and despair, echoed around him, forming a cacophony of unintelligible pleas and shrieks as the ringing in his ears intensified unbearably.

[Here, In The Void's Embrace, The Echo Of Lost Prophecies Beckons]

The words, a somber prophecy, resonated through the now pitch-black corridor, with only the ghastly reflection on the mirrored floor for company. Glancing down once more, Bell saw his mouth grotesquely sealed with staples, a silent scream etched into his visage. However, whatever happened, he must keep walking. He never felt this kind of fear before. What would happen next? An eternal purgatory in pain? 

[And In The Embrace Of This Omniscient Specter, Mortals Shall Seek The Peace Of Nonexistence, Only To Find The Abyss Gazing Back, Unyielding. And Thus, The Mortal Shall Seek His Own Destruction] 

Suddenly, an unexpected sensation of someone tapping his back sent a surge of fear through Bell. Paralyzed by dread, he hesitated, his heart pounding against his chest. The fear of what might be behind him was almost overpowering, but the need to know compelled him to turn. The sight that greeted him was beyond his worst nightmares—it was himself, but in that grotesque, demonic form he had seen in the reflection. Rendered mute by shock, Bell collapsed to the ground, his voice trapped in his sewn mouth as he tried to scream.

The monstrous version of himself pinned him effortlessly, rendering him powerless. Bell's terror escalated as the figure, a specter cloaked in shadows and blood, floated ominously closer. This entity, devoid of a discernible face and exuding a chilling feminine voice, materialized two stakes from the ether. With a slow, deliberate motion, it drove the stakes into Bell's eyes. His grumblings, filled with excruciating pain, echoed in the void, a desperate plea for the nightmare to end

The agony of the moment was unbearable, with the sensation of stakes driving into his eyes pushing Bell to the brink of his endurance. Amidst his unheeded screams, the air before him shimmered with ominous text, each message intensifying the torment as each message represented a stake impaled into his own body: 

[UNDERSTAND, MORTAL!]

[YOU NEED TO THINK!]

[THIS WILL LEAD TO YOUR DESTRUCTION!]

[THIS IS MY LAST WARNING!]

[THE NEXT ONE WILL BE WAY WORSE!]

Could this be retribution for the cruise missile strike? Had he inadvertently provoked the wrath of a cosmic entity? Rational thought was impossible for Bell; his sole desire was for escape from this excruciating ordeal. Was this merely a figment of his darkest fears, or a grim reality he had stumbled into? The distinction was lost to him.

The figure looming over him, an entity of unfathomable knowledge from a civilization that seemed to transcend the bounds of reality, instilled a profound sense of dread mingled with reverence. The messages it conveyed were not just warnings but a glimpse into the vast cosmic horror and marvel she embodied, hinting at an impending confrontation that could either be an illusion or an inevitable reality.

Suddenly, Bell felt an inexplicable sensation as a viscous liquid began to engulf him, rising swiftly to submerge his form. This thick substance, he soon realized with horror, was blood. It crept insidiously into his nostrils, a relentless tide that sought to suffocate him. As it filled his lungs, a searing pain flared within, the burning agony a stark testament to his suffocating plight.

Above him, the figure loomed, her whispers unfurling in a language alien to his ears, each word seemingly amplifying the torment he endured. The pain escalated, unyielding, as if each syllable was a curse meant to prolong his suffering.

In this moment of excruciating agony, one dire question pierced the fog of his torment: Would this be his end? Faced with the bleak choice between a prolonged purgatorial existence and the release of death, Bell found himself yearning for the latter. Death, in this instance, seemed a merciful escape from the relentless horror that ensnared him.

All of a sudden, everything went dark again. 

The figure was gone.