The reanimated Siris forced a strange orb—bloody, dark, and foul—into Galad's mouth.
Cold, slimy, and writhing like a living parasite, it melted instantly, sliding down his throat before he could resist.
"Ugh!"
Galad's eyes bulged. With a burst of strength born of terror, he shoved away Siris's twitching corpse and fell to his knees, clawing frantically at his throat.
"Cough! Cough! Out! Get out!"
But the thing was gone. It had already seeped into his stomach, where it burst apart like ice shards, spreading with venomous speed through his flesh and bones. His limbs convulsed as the cold fire invaded every nerve, every cell.
Darkness swallowed his vision.
Rustling whispers rose around him, countless unseen mouths muttering in blasphemous hunger. In the abyss, a thousand eyes opened at once, fixing upon him, coveting his mortal body.
And beyond them—at the farthest edge of Darkness—something vast stirred.
A Giant. The inverted giant.
Mad gibberings echoed, shaking Galad's mind. The other presences shrank away in fear, leaving only him and that impossible being locked in a dreadful gaze.
"Ahhh!"
Veins swelled across his forehead. A flood of alien knowledge poured into his skull, unbearable, tearing at his sanity.
"I don't want to know! I don't want to know!"
He screamed, but the torrent didn't stop. Perceptions twisted. Reality inverted. The world was wrong—completely wrong!
The whispers thickened. His consciousness frayed, threads unraveling into the abyss. He could feel himself dissolving, merging with that insane giant, becoming nothing but another piece of its madness.
Then—
The sound of tides.
Soft, distant waves surged beneath his feet. A cool, damp sensation rushed upward, swallowing him whole.
An unseen ocean had risen in the abyss. Its waters surged around him, sheltering him from the giant's gaze. The whispers faded. The invasive force within his body quieted, settling deep into his cells as though pacified.
When the Darkness cleared, Galad found himself floating above the room. His body lay sprawled on the floor, while Cecilia clutched him, shaking him desperately.
"Galad! Galad!"
Her voice pulled him back. His consciousness sank, and—
"Ugh!"
He gasped awake.
"Galad, you're finally awake! Are you alright?" Cecilia asked, her eyes wide with fear.
"I'm fine," he lied, patting her shoulder. His head pounded, whispers still writhing at the edge of hearing.
Two policemen stood behind Cecilia, both pale as if they'd seen a ghost. Their gazes darted to Siris's corpse, covered in tumors, its flesh torn open grotesquely.
"You—don't move!" the older sergeant stammered, pushing his younger partner forward while he rushed out for reinforcements.
Galad staggered upright with Cecilia's help.
The world shimmered strangely. Colors sharpened, overlapping. He looked at the young officer: skin corpse-white, uniform black as coal. His sister's eyes glowed blue, like a lake under sunlight. And Siris's body…
A nauseous black aura oozed from it. The tumors had sprouted tiny mouths, all chanting prayers in unison.
Galad's breath hitched. What the hell...?
Neither Cecilia nor the officer seemed to notice. Only him.
It must be that thing Siris fed me…
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing calm. When he opened them again, the illusions dimmed. The whispers, however, lingered.
Cecilia met his gaze, silently asking, "What happened here?"
Galad tilted his chin toward the officer. Not now.
She understood, nodding faintly.
The room fell into uneasy silence. The young officer shifted nervously, glancing at the body, then at the siblings. The siblings exchanged only quiet looks.
The letter…
Galad suddenly remembered the parchment Siris had written to "Ms. M." He scanned the floor. Gone. Only ashes remained in the cauldron by the altar, with a single burnt corner of paper.
His chest tightened. Destroyed… How convenient.
A carriage rumbled to a stop outside. Heavy boots echoed on the steps. The sergeant returned with three new men.
At once, the sergeant excused himself, leaving the scene to the trio.
Their leader was a man around thirty, with eyes the color of silver-gray steel. After scanning the room, his gaze fixed on Galad.
"Mr. Galad Rondell, Ms. Cecilia Rondell. Correct?" His tone was calm but heavy.
"That's right," Galad replied, exchanging a look with Cecilia.
"Good." The gray-eyed man stepped forward. "Then, please, tell me what happened here."
Galad recounted everything—his illness, his parents' deaths, Siris's invitation, the attempted sacrifice, and his desperate self-defense.
But he omitted the letter. The orb. The ocean. And the whispers.
One officer circled the corpse, muttering in disbelief. Another drew out a citrine pendant and whispered incantations, eyes closed. When he opened them again, he whispered something to the gray-eyed leader.
The man's silver-gray gaze deepened.
"Mr. Galad," he said at last, voice low. "Let's find a quiet room. We need to have a proper talk."