Chapter 13: Ghoul.
Deep in the black fog lies a world beyond human imagination.
A dark canopy studded with dim, multicolored glows like shattered stars. An eternal reddish-bronze giant moon, a rotting eyeball, hangs low over the black horizon, coldly watching the ebony land.
Two figures—one tall, one short—wade through knee-deep, viscous, icy black swamp. Each step sinks into mud with teeth-gritting squelches.
Tattered cloaks, soaked, cling to exhausted frames. Gaunt faces caked in filth, matted hair plastered like seaweed.
If Renat were here, she’d recognize them: the subwomen who sabotaged the lead wall and fled into the Black Domain half a month ago.
“How much longer in this hell?”
The tall one collapsed on a rare patch of solid ground jutting from the water, panting hoarsely. “Over ten days—no sign of pursuers… Melta, did we fail?”
“Shut up! Never call me that vile name!”
The short one sprang up, shrieking, slapping her hard. The crack echoed unnaturally in the dead swamp.
“Thinking of that fake absolution makes me sick! Last time: I am Enric, Enric, Apostle of Night!” Her ghostly green eyes blazed with venom, demonic in the gloom.
The tall one cradled her cheek, head down. “S-sorry, Enric… do we keep going?”
In Eternal Night, lowest were “Night Servants.” Subwomen, fog-resistant, jumped to “Night Apostle” on joining.
Same rank, but Enric’s seniority gave dominance.
“Hmph…” Enric snorted, wringing her sodden cloak, calming slightly. “You might be right—the disruption wasn’t big enough… Wait two more days. Now, find food!”
The tall one obeyed, scavenging swamp edges. Soon: two bulbgrass roots, starchy, faintly fragrant.
She dug a slimy, foul dark-red mushroom. Uprooted, its stalk writhed, sprouting tiny tendrils that coiled her wrist.
Rotpain fungus. Raw, it caused limb phantoms, but tasted sweet, silky. Sun-dried a week outside, decent food.
In this twisted black world, true poison was rare. Anything not instantly fatal was sustenance for subwomen.
Enric snatched the bulbgrass, devouring greedily. The tall one choked down the wriggling fungus, gagging.
Hunger eased, Enric rubbed her belly, exhaling grassy reek, scanning around.
Only stunted, twisted swamp shrubs. No tall plants—just endless black water and slow-crawling eerie lights.
Suddenly, at vision’s edge: stooped, swaying shadows.
Enric tensed, crouched, crept back silently.
“Melta… Enric… my hands… feet hurt…”
Rotpain kicked in. The tall one curled in grass, phantom agony racking limbs, whimpering.
No rebuke for wrong name. She pounded painless arms and legs, sat up, looked—empty spot. Dread hit. She whipped around.
Hundred meters off, three hunched Black Domain creatures approached silently. Withered limbs, cracked-bark skin, crimson gleams in sockets.
Ghouls. Three-Eye Society: corrupted monkeys, corpse-eaters. Adult: third-tier max.
But ghouls never solo. One meant a pack nearby! Blood-frenzied, they’d swarm fifth- or sixth-tier demons—infamous pests.
“No… NO!” Tall one paled, shaking violently, screaming shrilly. “Enric! You can’t! Don’t leave me—save me!”
Toxin paralyzed; she couldn’t flee.
Enric submerged in fetid water, only green eyes showing, staring 100+ meters at her.
Ghouls dropped stealth, leaped, claws like poisoned scythes whistling down.
Rip! Crack!
Flesh tore, bones snapped. Limbs wrenched from torso. Her inhuman shrieks echoed.
More ghouls swarmed from swamp and shrubs, hyenas to blood, joining the feast. Soon, the subwoman was bloody chunks.
Fresh meat wasn’t prime. They’d drag pieces to deeper muck or foul soil, wait for rot and maggots—true delicacy.
“Hr… yoo…!”
A gaunt elder ghoul on watch howled ghostly.
Feasting paused. Dozens crimson eyes locked on Enric’s water patch.
She froze, then trembled. Found.
Survival instinct: she lurched up, stumbling back, muck streaming from rags.
Over a dozen stooped shadows fanned out, closing from all sides. Glowing claws, drooling fangs sealed escape.
> Supreme God of Night, Avatar of Chaos, End of All!
> Take my shattered life; let Your fog consume it, nutrient for void.
> Take my frail soul; let Your whisper reshape it, eternal slave.
> Take this world’s false light; let Your dark annihilate it, pure dust.
Enric gave up. Knees buckled into cold mud. Eyes shut, hands clasped, voice shaking the Eternal Night offering—for her dead companion, for herself.
Nearest ghoul leaped, withered frame unfolding mid-air. Maw wide enough for a head, reeking rot. Scythe-claws glinted bronze moonlight.
A long black shadow whistled past Enric’s ear, shearing hairs.
Thud.
A tough, snow-white tentacle coiled, crushed the airborne ghoul mid-leap—bones cracking clear.
More white tentacles whipped like frenzied lashes from behind Enric. They ensnared, lashed, pulverized closing ghouls.
Fetid black blood, guts, bone shards rained on Enric.
Pain or death never came. She opened shocked eyes: over a dozen ghouls now five or six. They screeched terror, fled deep swamp, abandoning kin.
Heart pounding, Enric turned stiffly, incredulous.
“Supreme Night God… what…” she whispered, pupils dilated in awe and fear.
Before her: a seven-meter-plus snow-white meat mountain, enthroned in the swamp.
Three ruby eyes triangulated on its massive head-sac. Elegant pale-red veins ran from below to thick, python-like tentacle edges.
Tentacles deftly tossed ghoul corpses into its dense-toothed maw.
A classic juvenile Fool Mother. Oblivious to the ant-like subwoman, even casually barring a spare tentacle between her and the corpses—mine.
Newly hatched: barely fifth-tier. Juvenile: rapid growth to seventh-tier overlord, crushing most Black Domain beasts. Adult: mountain-sized, could slay ninth-tier demons.
Fool Mothers usually timid, aimless wanderers, devouring anything—ninth-tier eye-magi to first-tier blood-ants.
Disturb their meal? Instant “priority dish.”
Recognizing the behemoth, chills shot from Enric’s soles to crown. Breath stopped. Eyes rolled. She fainted rigid.
“Woo… whiwhi?”
Splash below halted feeding.
Huge head-sac turned. Three ruby eyes focused on the floating body. A white tentacle probed curiously, touching the cold, soaked form.
Ruby depths clearly reflected the subwoman’s curvaceous—even in coma—figure, and mud-masked yet refined face.
The little Fool Mother tilted its head-sac, pondering something incomprehensible.
Seconds later, interest lost. Tentacle scooped final ghoul remnants. The vast white bulk turned slowly, stirring viscous water, gliding deeper into darker swamp.
The bloody turmoil at the swamp’s edge rippled briefly like a stone in a deep pool, then sank back into silence.