Online In Another World

“Begone.”

With a flick of his wrist, the Faceless One cast the summoned spirit aside like nothing more than dust to the wind, accelerating the particles of dirt caught in the wind to such speeds that they turned the armored hammer-wielder into nothing but mist within a moment.

‘Already!?’ Emilio thought, ‘Can we really beat something like this–? Is this the sort of power a Primordial has access to…? Maybe fighting isn’t the key here…If I think about it, there might be a way out of this…think.’

At the very least, the momentary distraction his summoned familiar caused released the binding effect on him and Asher, allowing them to land back down on the contorted street below.

“…Asher, you’ve fought it longer than me, so tell me if I’m wrong but…there’s no winning against it, is there?” He asked.

As they both looked up, that question felt answered as the pale, inhuman figure continuously altered itself, not adhering to a single constant as the sky rippled as if it were made of water; abyssal tentacles extended from the Faceless One as the fabricated moon suspended in the sky turned to an eclipse.

Asher took a moment to respond before finally nodding, “I wasn’t going to say it, but I can’t foresee an outcome where we break through this thing.”

The streets themselves changed as the concrete sidewalks were torn through by twisted roots, giving room for crooked trees to sprout, blossoming pitch-black and crimson spider lilies.

A Primordial; that which the Progenitor warned him never to face. Those warnings were realized no more potently than against but a simple strand of one such Primordial’s power, feeling more like a world-ending cataclysm.

“…For now, let’s run! Fighting it head-on isn’t going to change anything,” Asher said.

“Right!”

Just as the tendrils of abyssal complexion stretched out, leaving grime and darkness around the false cityscape, the two raced off into an alleyway, sprinting down its length.

It was reminiscent of the Unending Nightmare; having to run through a nightmarish, closed-off realm with an otherworldly horror looming over him.

Even as they went into the narrow alley, it wasn’t free from the prying gaze of the Faceless One, as those twisted eyes blinked open on the side of the buildings, staring right at them. There was no sound that came from them, yet they watched; countless of these eyes spawned along the walls.

“Look out!” Asher called out.

As he was following behind, he looked down just as a crooked limb suddenly rose from a puddle on the asphalt; a contorted arm of rotten flesh of varying complexions, stitched and bearing many eyes of its own as well.

He didn’t hesitate cleaving through the limb, but not a second after did dozens more spring from the walls around them, making the grimy, dark alleyway claustrophobic and dense with panic.

“In here!” Asher led, quickly gesturing for him to follow.

It was a circular sewer gate, which the Devilheart flipped up without any hesitation, fueled by the desperate circumstances as the depraved arms swiped and reached for the two desperately, getting too close.

Emilio followed, having to duck beneath one of the limbs as it attempted to grasp his hair, sliding across the ground as many arms tried to intercept his path, leading him to slide straight down into the sewer entrance.

“Seal!” He looked up.

Invoking a usage of rock magic, he blocked the entrance to the sewer as he entered, sliding down the ladder. As he dropped down with a splash meeting his boots, he reunited with Asher within the sewer to find it completely foreign to what would be expected of such repulsive depths: it expanded outward into a vast realm of faceless heads, faceless skulls, and headless, featureless bodies that stood as mountains in the distance. It was as if a new realm entirely had been entered.

‘…It’s a nightmare. It’s too similar–don’t tell me…the whole time, was this faceless freak responsible for Larundog in some way?’ He questioned.

There was nothing but this vast land of depravity; a land that provided no comfort and produced only a maddening air.

“Dammit,” Asher quietly clicked his tongue as sweat dripped down from his chin, “Where the hell even are we?…I never asked, but how did you find me? I overheard what it said to you when it was posing as me–we’re both dead, but it seems like you entered whatever Hell this is to find me.”

Emilio sat down for a moment, as Asher did the same as it seemed at least for the time being, the Faceless One wasn’t on their heels; what they sat on was a mound of crimson sand, as if blood had painted it–left warm and almost moist.

“It sounds crazy, but…we’re both trapped in a “book” right now,” he told the truth.

“A book?” Asher looked at him.

He nodded, “It’s how you arrive in the After–though it seems your soul is already fine. That brings me to something I was wondering–a potential way out of this hell.”

“If you have an idea out of this mess, then spill it,” Asher urged.

“It’s only a hunch, but since you’re not ‘unstable’, this could work…Let’s see…” He began to say, concentrating as he held his hand out in front of him.

A raised eyebrow came from Asher as he watched Emilio holding his hand out as if expecting something to come into his grip, though the rumbling of the hellscape made waiting around a tall order.

Asher jumped to his feet, equipping his sword as he glanced around, “Emilio, we’re not right on time here!”

“…I know, just give me a second…” He said, keeping his eyes shut as he focused.

From the hills of faceless heads sitting statuesque in the hellscape, nightmarish creatures rose from all around, closing in as they dragged along with them a force which bleached the ground they stepped over.

The Soul’s Mark realm was likely still itself, even if the Faceless One had “infected” it with his parasitic avatar–this was the theory that Emilio held. It was similar to a dreamscape, and one that was likely anchored by one item that always seemed to disappear and reappear around the Soul’s Mark.

‘The Bookmark…!’ Emilio thought.

–At least, through enough concentration, the emerald bookmark manifested into his hand. It was present all along, seeming anchored to him while he was in the Soul’s Mark.

‘If I’m right, this should work! She has authority over Soul’s Marks, most likely, even if the Faceless One is a Primordial–it’s at a disadvantage; it’s in enemy territory and only a fraction of itself. So…please!’ He thought.

“Hecate!” He yelled out.

Squeezing the bookmark as he called out for the name of the Curator of Souls, just as the realm around them became bleached, a light filled both Asher and Emilio’s eyes. It felt like the grace of an angel itself found them amidst the hellish corner, enveloping Emilio’s senses in warmth before–

“Pyuh!”

He found himself gasping for air, returned to the library of souls as he was on his knees in front of the book case. It took a moment for his senses to calm from their high-alert state after being under the prying eye of the horrific faceless deity.

‘…I made it. It worked,’ he thought.

“Nngh…”

Sitting against the bookshelf itself and rubbing his head as a quiet groan left his lips was none other than Asher, who managed to escape the Soul’s Mark alongside him. The darkly-dressed fellow reincarnator stood himself up before looking around.

“You alright?”

Helping Emilio up, both Blimpo and Joel hoisted him from his shoulders, though the amethyst-eyed young man gave them a nod to assure them he was fine. The look Vandread had along with that silence he held seemed to imply he could tell something went “wrong”.

“We’re out of that thing’s reach?” Asher asked.

“For the time being, yes.”

The answer came from the silken, wise voice of the beautiful, yet imposing woman that ran the mystical library.

There was a change of expression from the usual lack of emotion Hecate showed–one that was quite frustrated as she moved to the bookshelf the Soul’s Mark they just arrived from came. In a wave of her fingers, as if orchestrating an unseen force, she weaved an emerald spell that encased the shelf and its many books.

“‘For the time being’?” Emilio asked.

“It seems your presence has lured a troublesome one into my library; even a fragment of his essence is like a knot of tumors that is impossibly tedious to unravel,” Hecate explained, “However, the blame falls on me for allowing that faceless fiend to infiltrate the Soul’s Mark.”

“It’s not–” He tried to say.

Hecate faced him and the others after completely sealing off the contaminated bookshelf, snapping her fingers as the emerald bookmark that Emilio held flew back into the hands of the Curator of Souls.

“The fact remains that I did directly help you just now in escaping from that contaminated Soul’s Mark. As such, you cannot stay here any longer, I am afraid–still, you’ve found what you came here for nonetheless,” Hecate said.

“Wait, I’ve got questions myself–!” Asher stepped forward.

–However, a single snap of the librarian’s fingers warped the space of the library, seeming to shift its walls and floors as if the scenery itself changed before the entire group found themselves transfixed to another area.

“Huh?”