Several figures clad in dark coats or hooded robes were threading their way through the depths of the dense forest.
A faint black smoke dust shrouded them, and pitch-black Symbiotic Chains extended from their bodies, ferocious Profound Demons flanking them—Richard and his "kin" had been operating in this Dreamscape for so ti, and according to the death on bird’s perception, they were now very close to the "Wall of Silence."
But suddenly, the team ca to a halt.
The atmosphere in the forest subtly shifted—from a certain mont, a thin layer of mist began to erge from sowhere, andering through the spaces between the trees, and with the ergence of the mist, the entire dense forest was becoming even more... "quiet."
Dumon frowned deeply, rembering when they first entered The Dream of the Naless, one could hear various sounds in this forest—those were unknown birds flapping their wings in flight, unknown beasts roaring in the distance, and though one could never see those "birds and beasts," the various sounds signifying life were always present.
However, now those sounds had vanished, and only the occasional sound of the wind and the faint rustling of leaves swaying remained—making this place even more eerily silent.
Any change within The Dream of the Naless had to be approached with caution.
"There’s sothing off about this mist," another Annihilation Cultist murmured, a creature resembling a Smoke Dust Jellyfish floated in the air beside him, its tentacles gently wavering midair with an uneasy tension, "My demon feels panic and stress... it’s the ’forest’ itself releasing these emotions."
"The Dream of the Naless has emotional changes; it is itself akin to a vast mind," Dumon spoke gravely, "Its emotions suddenly changing could an soone has touched the core area of this mind... Could soone have found the ’Wall of Silence’?"
"Could it be our people?" asked the Annihilation Cultist bonded with the Smoke Dust Jellyfish.
"It’s still uncertain, we cannot contact other kin sent here by the assemblies," Dumon said, and then he looked towards the end of the group with a slight frown—that figure had been scratching himself all over since a while ago, "Richard, what are you doing?"
Richard suddenly ca to and realized he had been scratching the skin near his neck and waist. He looked puzzled as he lifted his hand and saw many tiny white fibers in his fingernails, looking like...
"Cotton." he said softly.
"Cotton? What cotton?" Dumon asked, his brow furrowed, "You don’t seem quite right."
"No, I’m fine," Richard imdiately lifted his head and patted his clothes that had been disheveled from his scratching, "I’m just feeling a bit itchy, this mist makes uncomfortable."
Dumon nodded and didn’t suspect anything, but turned his gaze to the others: "We must have entered the influence of the Wall of Silence. According to those ’missionaries,’ this is the ’Mind Gaze Zone’ of Silantis, if you see or hear sothing that’s never appeared in the forest before, make sure to tell the others."
Listening to the voices near his ear, Richard felt a bit of turmoil in his heart.
Dumon had already begun leading the team with the stance of a "leader," his self-righteous arrogance was always unpleasant... Indeed, the team needed soone to give orders, but originally that role should have been his...
"It’s so infuriating..." a slender voice said in Richard’s mind, "Rabi thinks this is very unfair, Rabi feels sad for you..."
"It isn’t fair," Richard’s mouth barely moved as he whispered in a voice only he could hear, "But this is the arrangent of the saints... and Dumon does have the capabilities..."
"Isn’t the most important reason because there are still many annoying people watching?" the voice in his mind whispered softly, with a caring concern and a trustworthy tone, "If no one were watching, it wouldn’t be troubleso at all..."
Richard frowned, slowly shaking his head as if instinctively feeling sothing was amiss, he was still hesitant: "But... what should I do..."
"Patience, a bit more patience, my lovely rag doll, Rabi is just telling you so possibilities, but now’s not the ti... There will be a chance, when soone is alone..."
Richard covered his forehead, indecisive: "But I can’t... they are my kin..."
"Right, they are your kin, lovely rag doll, you must not hurt them, Rabi wouldn’t want to see you hurting each other—so you must help them."
"Help them? How do I help them?"
"Haven’t you noticed? Your kin... they are empty inside, not even cotton in them, how pitiful. Without cotton, no warmth; without cotton, no soul; without cotton, nothing... You already have cotton, lovely rag doll, give them so cotton as well, Rabi can lend you cotton, as long as... rember to return..."
The tiny, endearing voice in his mind gradually faded away.
Richard blinked, suddenly feeling puzzled—he felt as if he had just heard soone speaking to him, even rembered having a conversation with them, but in just a mont of distraction, the voice vanished, as if it was all just an illusion.
He lifted his head and looked at Dumon ahead, and his other kin beside him.
How pitiful they are.
They didn’t even have cotton.
"... We’ll set the marking point here," Dumon seed not to have noticed Richard’s gaze, as he had already begun assigning the work according to the plan, "This place already has an effect on the underlying psyche of Silantis, making it a suitable area for deploynt."
The surrounding cultists nodded and then each produced the ritualistic tools from their person—a type of dagger with a bizarre shape, painted in jet black and with a curved blade.
Richard was taken aback for a mont, then he reached inside his chest and felt for his own bone shard dagger.
It was a small carving knife, only the size of a palm, made from pitch-black bones, covered with bizarre and complex patterns, emitting an ominous aura.
Richard rembered that the raw material of this dagger ca from the remains of a Profound Demon that had failed in its summoning ritual—not all summoning and symbiotic rituals were successful, and the failed ones would beco fertilizer on the sacrificial altar. The less gifted followers of oblivion would cleanse the altar with their blood, while the bones left by demons that died due to the ritual gone awry could be used to craft tools.
This should be "common knowledge" for every cultist promoted to the priestly rank, yet for so reason, as Richard recalled this knowledge, he felt a strange... sense of novelty.
He shook his head, dismissing this peculiar feeling to the side, and looked at Dumon, "We need to set as many ’marks’ as possible before the end of this Dreamscape, splitting up might increase our efficiency."
"... Spreading out ans danger," Dumon seriously considered the suggestion, shaking his head, "Don’t forget the failure you encountered before—those who acted alone were virtually powerless when facing ’His’ followers."
Dumon appeared to be truly just offering a serious reminder, with no mockery or disdain in his words, yet Richard felt he saw a flash of scorn in the man’s eyes, and he imdiately felt rage surge within him like a venomous fire.
He felt he had been subjected to great humiliation.
But the next second, the rage that was like venomous fire was abruptly extinguished, replaced by a cold rationality, and Richard himself was surprised by his own ability to remain so calm—
He looked at Dumon with a face full of sincerity, and his words carried persuasive power, "We definitely can’t act alone, I an in pairs or groups of three, ensuring mutual support while completing the tasks quickly—and honestly, even if we did encounter those ’followers’ and were at a disadvantage, we could quickly withdraw from this Dreamscape. From what I observed last ti, those ’followers’ don’t seem to have the sa freedom to co and go in the Dreamscape as we do..."
Richard’s sincere expression and calm, steady tone had an effect.
Dumon thought it over seriously again.
A fellow cultist with multiple dream exploration experiences—even though his condition had not been very good since the last exploration, his advice was clearly well-considered and trustworthy, with every reason holding ground.
To continue disregarding or refuting his proposal would make it seem as if he were deliberately targeting soone experienced—being seen as petty and narrow-minded would do no good in leading the team.
Dumon felt he should accept the suggestion—as a new, de facto leader, taking advice was also a part of consolidating authority.
After all, if sothing really went wrong later on, the responsibility would be Richard’s.
"Okay, we’ll go in pairs, setting marks along the edges of the mist," Dumon nodded, quickly made arrangents, and then looked at Richard, "Richard, you’ll be in my group."
"Of course," Richard smiled, seemingly very pleased with the arrangent.
Dumon was also satisfied.
"Well then, let’s get going."
The cultists imdiately sprang into action.
In pairs with ritual daggers for leaving "marks," they headed towards the paths in the woods, where thin mist stread, quickly vanishing into the depths of the dense forest.
Richard also walked toward Dumon with his ritual dagger—but he was cautious, knowing he had to wait a bit, wait until the other groups were far enough away, wait until Dumon focused his attention on the "work" of setting up marking points.
Then he would be able to "help" him.
"Let’s begin, my cute puppet," the voice in his mind said.
"Let’s begin, Dumon," Richard said.
Reviews
All reviews (0)