Chapter 12 – The Mother's Embrace
[Mission Reminder: Escort the boy to his mother]
[Warning: Target specter remains unstable]
---
The air was wrong.
It wasn't silence—it was something heavier. The building itself had stopped breathing. No hum of bulbs. No distant creaks of pipes. The stillness pressed against Lumian's ears like the deep sea, threatening to crush him.
He stood in the middle of the dim room, the boy's hand held tight in his own. That hand… cold as ice, small as a bird's wing, yet so steady. The child looked up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. There was no malice there. No horror. Just trust.
And that trust was heavier than iron shackles.
"Uncle," the boy whispered again, his voice carrying that faint echo as if two walls were pressing the sound together. "Will you… help me?"
Lumian swallowed, his throat dry as dust. "…Yes."
The word came out cracked, weak, but the boy's eyes lit up anyway, as though the promise itself had weight.
"Really?" the boy pressed, as if needing to be sure. "You'll help Mama and me?"
Lumian forced his lips into a smile. It hurt—like stretching scars that hadn't healed. He crouched down, looking into those innocent eyes that didn't belong in this nightmare.
"Yes. I'll help you."
The boy's lips curled upward, small and fragile. The hope in that expression made Lumian's chest tighten with pain.
After a long silence, Lumian spoke again, carefully.
"There's… another reason I came here. To take you back to your mother."
The boy blinked. For a moment his expression was blank, as though he didn't understand. Then his lips parted, trembling slightly.
"Mama's… looking for me?"
Lumian nodded, still holding that bitter smile. Only he knew the truth. He remembered those pale, clawed hands around his throat, squeezing until his vision blackened. He remembered the severed head's bloodied smile. And yet… he couldn't destroy this child's hope.
"Yes. She told me to bring you back. That's why I'm here."
The boy's small fingers squeezed his hand. His voice was soft, almost a breath. "Okay. I miss Mama already."
---
Lumian stood. His grip around the child tightened, unwilling to let him go. He stepped toward the door, his free hand resting on the cold knob. He froze there, heart hammering.
Beyond that door lay the corridor. The corridor where Simon roamed, crawling across ceiling and walls, blind eyes searching, jaw forever gnashing. Somewhere else, Carl lurked—a serpent waiting to strike.
He hesitated.
The boy tilted his head. "Uncle? What happened?"
Lumian forced a breath, trying to steady the storm inside him. "Nothing. Just… thinking."
But a thought gnawed at him. How had the boy come here at all?
The child had been in this very room, far from the mother specter. Alone. Unharmed. The system had even labeled him a special shade. Lumian's mind ticked: Why? Why didn't Simon attack him? Why can he move freely when other ghosts are bound by restrictions?
Slowly, Lumian crouched again, his voice low. "Does… Uncle Simon not hurt you?"
The boy shook his head immediately, innocent as sunlight. "No. Uncle Simon is kind. He and Mama take care of me. Sometimes he plays with me too."
Lumian's chest tightened. Plays? That hulking nightmare dripping with pus and blood? He clenched his jaw and stood.
Fine. If Simon won't harm the boy, then I'll use that chance.
He adjusted the makeshift bandage on his arm—just torn cloth, already soaked with his blood. Then, with a deep breath, he turned the knob and pulled the door open.
---
The corridor stretched endlessly, suffocating in its silence.
Lumian stepped out, holding the boy close. His every footfall echoed too loud, bouncing against the walls like a warning. He forced himself to move slowly, cautiously. One step. Two. Another.
Every few feet, he stopped. Turned back. Stared into the shadows. Nothing.
But then—he noticed.
The boy wasn't watching the hall. He wasn't watching Lumian either.
His small face was tilted upward. And he was smiling.
Not at Lumian.
At something above.
Dread tightened around Lumian's throat. He felt it before he saw it. The weight of a gaze. The chill of something crawling where it shouldn't be.
Slowly, stiffly, Lumian raised his eyes.
It clung to the ceiling like a grotesque insect.
Simon.
A body stretched too far, warped beyond human. Flesh split open in places, oozing black ichor. Jaw twitching, chewing ceaselessly at nothing. Blind sockets staring downward.
A drop of that black liquid fell, splattering against the wooden floor.
The boy whispered in delight, "Uncle Simon!"
And Simon dropped.
He landed in silence, his limbs bending too many ways, long arms dragging against the ground. The chewing grew louder, wet and obscene.
The boy grinned, innocent, unafraid. "Uncle Simon, this is Uncle Lumian! He said he'll help me and Mama! He even said… he'll punish my dad!"
Goddammit, Lumian thought, his stomach dropping.
The creature's twitching head turned. First to the boy. Then to Lumian.
A single hand stretched out, fingers splayed.
Then the other arm burst apart into writhing tendrils.
They lashed out, striking Lumian's chest and limbs, dragging him from the boy, slamming him against the wall with bone-jarring force. His ribs screamed. The tendrils coiled around him, squeezing, crushing.
He gasped for air, his vision sparking white.
The boy cried out, desperate: "Uncle Simon! Stop! He's here to help us!"
The tendrils froze.
Lumian seized the chance. His chest heaved, and with every shred of strength left, he forced words past his bloodied lips:
"Simon… I know… I know what was done to you!"
The creature twitched, head jerking violently.
"That monster—Carl! He did this to you! To your body! To your mind! You suffered… you starved… but it wasn't your fault!" Lumian shouted through clenched teeth. "You want revenge, don't you? I can give it to you!"
The creature twitched harder, growling deep in its throat.
"You're trapped here, bound to these halls. But me… I can move. I can find him. I can drag him here. And you… you can devour him!"
The boy's wide eyes flicked between them, trembling.
Simon's mouth tore open wider, black ichor spilling down his chin. From the abyss of his throat came the words, broken and bubbling:
"Hungry… Brother… Hungry…"
The tendrils loosened. Lumian fell to the floor, coughing blood, his lungs burning like fire.
The boy rushed to him, clutching his arm. Lumian gave him a weak smile, breathless. "Thank you…" He looked up at Simon. "I'll bring him to you. You'll have your revenge."
The monstrous form twitched again, then crawled backward into the shadows, vanishing like smoke.
---
Lumian staggered to his feet. His legs trembled, but he held the boy close. Together, they moved to the final door.
The handle was icy against his palm. He took a shuddering breath and pushed it open.
Cold surged out, thick with the stench of blood.
The room was black, except for the faint red glow spilling from the bathroom door. The sound of dripping echoed inside.
And then the door creaked open.
She emerged.
The headless woman.
Her dress was a deep, soaked crimson, clinging to her form. Blood leaked endlessly from her neck. One hand held her severed head by the hair, its eyes flickering open.
The head blinked. Its bloodied lips curled into a smile.
Slowly, she raised it, pressed it against the stump of her neck. It did not fit, the face tilting sideways, almost falling. But she didn't care.
The boy leapt from Lumian's arms, running forward with pure joy. "Mama!" He threw himself into her embrace. "I missed you!"
The wraith trembled. Her claws twitched. Then, carefully, she lowered her headless form, wrapping one bloody arm around the boy. With her other hand, she stroked his hair, her lips quivering.
For the first time, there was no hatred. Only a mother's touch.
---
The air rippled.
[Sub-Mission Completed]
[You have returned the boy to his mother]
[Reward 1: Favorability toward Wraith-class specter increased]
[Your friendliness with Mother and Son has risen]
Lumian smiled faintly. In this hell, allies meant survival.
Another message flickered.
[Reward 2: Memory World Fragment]
[Processing… 1%... 3%... 20%...]
Pain detonated in his skull. He collapsed, clutching his head as fire tore through his thoughts.
When he opened his eyes, everything had changed.
He was small. Too small. His hands—tiny, bruised, shaking. His legs covered in welts. Clothes of a boy, not a man.
"No…" he whispered, horror flooding his veins.
From across the floor, a woman crawled toward him, her face bruised and bleeding, her lips trembling.
Familiar. So familiar.
Her voice cracked as she whispered through tears:
"Son… stay there. Mother will come to help you."
Lumian's blood turned to ice.
This isn't a vision. This isn't just memory. I… I became the boy.