"KRIIIT... KRRIIIT... KRIIIT..."
The sound was rhythmic, sharp, and painful. Like nails being slowly dragged across a chalkboard inside a head throbbing with a migraine. Nu'al felt consciousness return not like waking up, but like being forcibly dragged from the bottom of the ocean. Her lungs felt heavy, as if filled with wet sand.
Nu'al opened her eyes, or at least she tried. Her eyelids felt as heavy as iron gates. Above her, long fluorescent lights flickered, passing by one by one with a hypnotic interval as she was pushed forward. The light was a sickly yellow, not clean white, giving the impression that the room itself was feverish.
An old song, a lullaby that should have been sweet but now sounded like a cursed mantra, drifted from a broken speaker in the distance. The static enveloping it made it sound as if sung by a ghost from the 1950s.
🎶 "Sleep my dear... the world has turned grey..." 🎶
🎶 "The clock is ticking... waiting for the day..." 🎶
🎶 "Lost dreams... will never return..." 🎶
🎶 "Only dust... remains to burn..." 🎶
Nu'al:
"W-Where... am I...?"
Her voice was just a hoarse whisper, gravel grinding in a dry throat. No answer.
She tried to turn her head, her neck stiff as wood. Beside her wheeled stretcher, the 'nurse' figure walked with an unnaturally stiff gait. Clack-clack-clack. That wasn't the sound of shoes on the floor, it was the sound of hard plastic striking tile. Nu'al forced her eyes to focus. It wasn't human. It was a life-sized mannequin, wearing a dull white nurse's uniform stained yellow. Its face was smooth, featureless except for a smile painted red, far too wide.
Nu'al's body didn't respond. She was completely paralyzed. She tried to move her pinky finger, but nothing. It felt as though her entire nervous system had been severed, or perhaps destroyed. Her last memory was the hell in the village—the titan clash between Oldred and Grog, then... that pressure. Spiritual pressure so heavy, hot, and suffocating it felt like her internal organs were being squeezed into juice. That Sin Aura... that's what did this to her.
Nu'al glanced to the side—or maybe forward, her orientation was skewed—and saw another stretcher being pushed parallel to her by a different mannequin nurse. On that stretcher lay a cracked porcelain doll, silent and lifeless. Was that a patient? Or... her future?
Suddenly, a humming sound began to be heard. Not from the radio, but echoing through those cold concrete corridors. Humming that followed the tune of the song on the radio with terrifying precision, yet the tone was much sadder, more alive.
The mannequin nurse suddenly stopped for a moment, her hands made of hard, cold plastic covering Nu'al's ears roughly. As if the sound was poison that shouldn't be heard.
"Ding."
They entered a large, rusty cargo elevator. The iron door closed with a heavy thud, separating them from the outside world. And they began to descend.
Down...
And further down...
The falling sensation in Nu'al's stomach didn't go away. How many floors had they passed? Ten? A hundred? Into which belly of the earth were they heading? The air grew colder, more humid, and the smell of antiseptic mixed with the smell of wet earth grew more pungent. Nu'al's head throbbed violently, her vision spun. Darkness crept at the edges of her sight, forcing her to surrender to invisible anesthesia.
...
...
"Click."
A stinging white light exploded in Nu'al's retinas. She jolted awake within her paralysis. A giant operating lamp hung directly above her face, shining with the intensity of a small sun, creating a painful halo.
In the midst of that whitening glare, a silhouette bent over her.
A figure of a woman. Or something that used to want to be a woman. She wore a clean white doctor's coat that strangely looked ancient. On her back, a pair of giant white bird wings spread out, the feathers smooth but the tips looking sharp and clinical. But it was her face and neck that made Nu'al's breath catch.
From the nose down, to the upper chest, her flesh and skin were replaced by beautifully curved transparent glass. Inside, fine white sand continuously flowed down from the head cavity to the chest cavity—a living hourglass that never ran out, yet never filled up. Time flowed within her throat.
On her pale doll face, there was only one human eye, a clear blue one on the left. In her right eye socket, a golden pocket watch was embedded, ticking backward. Tick-tock-tick-tock. She had no ears, no nostrils. Perfect and terrifying.
Dahrea (Age):
"Shh..."
The voice didn't come out of a mouth—because she didn't have a mouth—but echoed softly directly inside Nu'al's head, like an injected thought. Her cold, hard doll finger pressed against Nu'al's lips.
Dahrea then hugged Nu'al's head. She pressed her cold porcelain cheek against Nu'al's warm cheek, a gesture of affection that felt alien and frightening.
Dahrea:
"Poor child... little lamb lost in the storm of sin. Don't worry. The day of salvation will arrive for you all. The new 'God'... He will come bringing the scalpel of compassion, to save you from the selfish demons who have been wearing the mask of 'God's' face all this time..."
Dahrea straightened her body again. Her doll hand, its joints clicking softly, stroked Nu'al's cheek, then felt the dirty bandage covering Nu'al's blind eye. Gently, like a mother tidying her child's hair, she brushed Nu'al's white hair aside.
Then, the atmosphere changed.
Dahrea's slender and hard index finger descended onto Nu'al's closed eyelid. And without warning, she pressed down.
SQUISH!
"AGHHH!!!!"
Nu'al's scream caught in her throat, muffled into a pitiful silent gurgle. The pain exploded, white and hot, piercing straight to the brain. The doll finger forced its way between the eyelid and her blind eyeball, tearing fragile tissue.
Nu'al's legs kicked wildly, hitting the IV stand, knocking over a metal tray of surgical instruments. CLANG! CLATTER! But she was tied down tight.
PLOP.
With a disgusting wet sound, Dahrea gouged out Nu'al's damaged eyeball. Fresh blood flowed profusely, soaking Nu'al's face and Dahrea's white hand.
Dahrea calmly placed the organic eyeball into a small glass jar filled with preservative fluid. She then took a piece of gauze, wiping the blood off Nu'al's face with methodical movements, as if cleaning sauce stains off a toddler's face.
Then, she did the unimaginable. Dahrea's hand moved to her own face. To her remaining human eye. Without hesitation, without pain, she plunged her own finger in and pulled out that blue eye. No blood. Just a clean, dry socket hole.
Now, Dahrea only had the ticking clock on her face.
Dahrea:
"Accept the past... Since you have understood your role in this grand scenario, then accept your fate gracefully, Child. This is a gift."
She held her still-warm blue eye, then forcibly pressed it into Nu'al's empty and bleeding eye socket.
Dahrea:
"See with my eye. See the time that will run out."
The pain from the forced nerve fusion was so extreme that Nu'al's body arched stiffly on the operating table. Her system couldn't withstand the shock. Her consciousness cut out instantly like a snipped wire.
Nu'al's body went limp. Silence.
Dahrea tilted her head, the sand in her neck flowing a little faster. She picked up a gleaming silver scalpel.
Dahrea:
"Pity... There's still much to fix."
With a steady hand, she drew the knife from the base of Nu'al's neck down to the navel, slicing the girl's chest wide open, exposing internal organs damaged by the pressure of the Sin Aura, ready to be replaced with... something else.
Far away in another corridor, in a room that was absolutely white—white floor, white walls, white ceiling, with no visible corners—a figure was confined.
The figure was wrapped neatly in white medical bandages from head to toe, like a sanctified modern mummy. A pair of white wings, their tips fading to a dirty gray, were folded on its back. Giant chains, as thick as human arms, wrapped around its body, neck, and wings, anchoring it to the floor and walls. The chains hissed softly, as if coursing with electricity or suppressing magic.
The figure hummed.
"Lost dreams... will never return..." 🎶
The voice was melodious, yet broken and fragile. She was the source of the echo Nu'al heard earlier.
The automatic sliding door opened with a hiss of hydraulic air. A mannequin nurse entered, carrying a tray containing a syringe with dark purple liquid. A horse-dose sedative.
The bandaged figure, Mariak, stopped her humming. She shifted her bound body, resting her bandage-covered head on the nurse's shoulder as the nurse bent down to inject the needle into her neck. She rubbed her chin on the doll's shoulder, seeking warmth that wasn't there.
Mariak The Mad:
"I knew... I knew you would come. I waited so long, you know... inside this boring white."
She spoke with a terrifyingly spoiled tone, like a small child tattling to her mother.
Mariak The Mad:
"Big Sister Madela... you feel it too, right? I feel something strange out there... far beyond these white walls. Something free... Something wild and no longer chained by those boring tangled threads of fate."
The syringe needle pierced the bandage, entering the neck. Mariak didn't flinch.
Mariak The Mad:
"Big Sister Madela... I want to see that place. It's so lonely here... But not anymore, right? For now? As long as we still inherit the same feelings... we are one, right?"
The mannequin nurse pulled out the needle, her face remaining a frozen plastic smile. She turned, her task done, and began to walk away without a word.
Mariak fell silent. Her head tilted.
Mariak The Mad:
"Madela?... Sister?..."
No answer. Only the sound of plastic footsteps moving away.
Silence. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds that felt like eternity.
Mariak The Mad:
"I understand..."
Her voice changed. The spoiled tone vanished, replaced by a cold, flat emptiness.
Mariak The Mad:
"You are not my sister."
CLANG!!
Without warning, Mariak thrashed with the strength of a monster. The giant chains went taut and clashed loudly, creating a deafening metallic crash in the narrow room. She slammed her own body, pulling at the stocks holding her.
Mariak The Mad:
"MADELA!! MADELA!!!!"
Her scream wasn't one of anger, but of pure panic and despair. The scream of someone realizing they are alone in hell.
Mariak The Mad:
"AGH!! MADELA! WHY DIDN'T YOU COME?! MADELA!!!! HELP ME!!! DON'T LEAVE ME WITH THESE DOLLS!!"
The sliding door closed. Hiss-Thump. The nurse was gone. Mariak's screams were cut off by the soundproof door.
Inside, Mariak stopped thrashing instantly. The sedative began to work, or perhaps her madness had its own cycle. She sat still again, bound by chains, bowing her bandaged head.
And with a soft, trembling voice, she began humming again, continuing the song cut off earlier, alone inside the eternal white box.
🎶 "Only dust... remains to burn..." 🎶
"HUH-AH!!"
Nu'al woke with a violent jolt, her lungs greedily grasping at the dusty air as if she had just been pulled out from the bottom of the sea. Her back slammed against the hard wood of the wardrobe she used as a door wedge, sending a dull ache that brought her back to reality.
Her wild eyes swept the dimly lit room. No blinding operating lights. No hourglass woman. No cold scalpel slicing her stomach. There was only a musty village bedroom, illuminated by sickly moonlight seeping through the cracks of the boarded-up window.
Cold sweat soaked her temples, making her white hair stick limply to her forehead. Her heart pounded frantically, thump-thump-thump, trying to burst through her ribs.
What the hell was that? A dream? Hallucination?
It felt too... visceral. The cold feeling of metal on her skin, the pungent smell of antiseptic, and the pain when her blind eye was gouged out... Her nerves still throbbed remembering the sensation.
Nu'al:
"Maybe... maybe just a side effect..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "The Sin out there is too thick... must be messing with my brain. Hah... haha..."
Her laugh sounded dry and broken, a pathetic attempt to convince herself she wasn't crazy. She straightened her back, trying to regulate her breathing.
Nu'al:
"How long have I passed out here?"
She sharpened her hearing. Silence. Out there, the world seemed dead. No more fanatical screams of cultists, no thundering steps of pursuit. This silence... suspicious, but for now, it was a blessing.
Suddenly, a strange sharp pain shot through her lower abdomen. Not hunger pangs, but a sharp, uncomfortable sting, as if something had just been stitched inside there. She winced, her hand reflexively holding her stomach.
Nu'al:
"Ugh... damn it..."
She forced her trembling legs to stand. Stumbling, she approached the old vanity table in the corner of the room. She yanked open the drawer roughly, rummaging through its contents, hoping to find painkillers or at least alcohol.
Nothing. Just rusty hairpins, dust, and a crumpled pack of coffee candy.
Nu'al:
"Tch. Fate."
She tore the candy wrapper with her teeth, then threw the hard brown granule into her mouth. The bitter-sweet taste, artificial and slightly stale, spread on her tongue, at least giving a little stimulus that she was still alive in the real world.
While sucking on the candy, she stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror of the vanity table in the corner. Her face was dirty, pale, and exhausted. But her brain, that survival machine, began to spin again.
Nu'al:
"(Okay, focus, Nu'al. Focus. The situation is simple: We are trapped inside a giant birdcage.)"
She began formulating a strategy in her head.
Nu'al:
"(First, I need a living shield. That Iron Mask Man... that walking monster. He's strong, stupid, and durable. He will be my sacrifice. I will use him to find the weakest point of this Dome layer, then... BAM! My hand magic will tear a way out.)"
She crunched her candy with a crack.
Nu'al:
"(But if my magic fails to break out... then there is only one other crazy way. Break inwards. Head to the heart core of this Dome and shut it down from the source. A bad choice, but better than rotting to death here.)"
Nu'al sighed deeply, her breath misting up the mirror surface slightly. She stared at her own reflected brown eye, then shifted to the dirty bandage covering her blind eye.
Nu'al:
"Hah... You're really lucky, huh? To be alive this far..."
She brought her face closer to the mirror, pressing her forehead against the cold glass surface. The cold sensation calmed her hot thoughts.
Nu'al:
"Somehow, you can always get back up. Like a cockroach refusing to be stepped on. Resilient. Disgusting. But alive."
The corner of her lips lifted into a small smirk. Her narcissism, her main defense mechanism, began to take over.
Nu'al:
"Or maybe... you're not just lucky. Maybe you really are great. Very great. A genius, even."
Her eyes sparkled with an unnatural flash of self-admiration.
Nu'al:
"To survive in this carcass world relying only on a sharp brain and empty-handed magic... that requires the quality of a Nu'al. The Genius Nu'al."
She puckered her lips, leaning forward until her lips touched the glass surface.
Nu'al:
"Mhmm~... Smooch~... Chu~... Mwah!"
She gave several narcissistic kisses to her own reflection, leaving faint lip marks on the dusty glass.
Nu'al:
"Ah, you are indeed enchanting."
She pulled her face back. However, the smile slowly faded. The genius smirk cracked, replaced by a dark, gloomy shadow. Reality crept back in.
Nu'al:
"Or maybe... both are true."
Her voice lowered, becoming a bitter whisper.
Nu'al:
"Lucky enough to always be the bringer of death to others... Trading the life of the pregnant mother in that cell for your own... Making someone else a sacrifice so you could run..."
She dropped her body onto the wooden chair in front of the vanity. She looked down, her hand unconsciously patting her crotch area gently. The memory returned—the sharp, hot pain when she used her own 'Void Arm' magic to forcibly tear her hymen, faking menstruation to avoid the sacrificial altar. That blood... that pain...
Nu'al:
"And you are great enough... great enough to stay alive to see tomorrow's sun without a shred of shame after doing all that."
She leaned her back against the chair rest, lifting both legs onto the vanity table roughly, crossing her legs next to a small ceramic pot. She balanced the chair on just its two back legs, rocking gently. Her eyes stared sharply at her own face in the mirror, as if challenging it.
Nu'al:
"Hey, Nu'al... If you keep cutting, dismantling, and discarding parts of yourself to survive... are you still the same Nu'al?"
She pressed her heel against the table edge, the chair creaking in protest.
Nu'al:
"Or is it precisely... this manipulative monster that is your true self? Huh?"
Nu'al grew increasingly annoyed with her own question. She pressed her feet against the table too hard.
SCREEECH—
Her center of gravity vanished.
Nu'al:
"Hya?! Eh—"
CRASH!
The chair tipped backward. Nu'al fell flat on her back, hitting the wooden floor hard, her legs kicking the air. Dust flew around her.
For a few seconds, she just lay there, staring at the dirty ceiling. Her head throbbed from the impact, and a ridiculous sense of shame crept over her face.
Nu'al:
"Ouch..."
With an annoyed growl, she sat up. Her eyes burned with anger. She snatched the small ceramic pot from the table. Without hesitation, driven by frustration and hatred for her own pseudo-philosophical reflection earlier, she threw the pot as hard as she could at the mirror.
SMASH!!
The mirror shattered into pieces. The reflection of her face destroyed into a thousand shapeless fragments. Glass shards fell onto the table and floor with a clinking sound.
Nu'al stared at the fragments with breathing heavily. She wiped hair from her face, then let out a very weary long sigh.
Nu'al:
"Screw identity. Screw reflection."
She stood up, patting dust off her butt.
Nu'al:
"What matters is I'm still breathing. That's enough."
Nu'al took a deep breath, holding the oxygen in her lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly through clenched teeth. She tried to lower her wildly racing heart rate. With hands still slightly trembling, she began ransacking the room, looking for anything—weapons, medicine, or just a distraction to divert her mind from the madness outside.
She opened wooden drawers stuck due to dampness, rummaged through an old wardrobe smelling of mothballs. Nothing. Nothing useful. Until her hand touched something cold and metallic in the pocket of a hanging worn coat.
An old silver zippo lighter.
"Not bad," she mumbled. It was the only entertainment she had besides herself and the broken mirror shards on the floor.
Nu'al sat back down in front of the vanity table whose mirror she had destroyed. She picked up a large shard of glass, sticking it into the table wood so she could see the reflection of her own eyes. She began playing with the lighter.
CLICK! — FWOOSH...
A small orange flame danced, reflecting in her pupils.
CLICK! — FWOOSH...
She turned it off and lit it again. The mechanical rhythm helped her think. The small heat at her fingertips was the only thing that felt sensible right now.
Nu'al:
"Think, Nu'al. Just think. Use that genius brain of yours."
Her brain began weaving a common thread from this chaos. The figure worshipped by the madmen out there... 'Father', or 'Forest God'. They need sacrifices. Routine. Every night. To keep this damn Dome standing.
Nu'al snorted, the corner of her lips lifting cynically.
Nu'al:
"God? Tch, nonsense. This isn't a cheap TV show where I have to face a cliché Satanic Demon from a children's storybook. People nowadays still believe in an almighty entity sitting pretty up there, asking to be worshipped without doing anything but eating blood? What century is this? So primitive."
She stared at her lighter flame swaying in the wind from the window crack.
Nu'al:
"This Dome... clearly this isn't pure magic. It's Sin. The Sin Aura is so oppressive, so specific. This is man-made. Specifically, a very powerful Sins user. A human playing God."
Nu'al turned off her lighter. She took the remaining soil and plant from the pot she broke earlier. With her index finger, she smeared the black soil onto the wooden table surface, starting to draw a crude mind map. A circle for 'Father', a line for 'Danica', and a cross for 'Sacrifice'.
Nu'al:
"But... what is the sacrifice for? Energy?"
She glanced briefly at the boarded-up window. The moon out there looked strange, distorted like an undried oil painting.
Nu'al:
"This Dome must have lasted a long time. That root-controlling bitch—Danica—seems very convinced of her dogma. The way she kills, the way she leads... that's not new fanaticism. That's routine. If not a month, maybe it's been a year. Or even a decade."
Nu'al bit the coffee candy in her mouth until it crushed, bitter taste spreading. She refocused on the soil scribbles on the table.
Nu'al:
"Okay, let's assume the sacrifices are batteries. They recharge the old 'Father' with Sin energy. But why specific? Why must it be a pure woman? Why are disabled people skipped? Why are pregnant women ignored?"
Her brow furrowed. This puzzle was the key to survival.
Nu'al:
"You can't contain what will explode your container. Does this 'Father' have a capacity limit? Or... intolerance?"
She tapped her chin.
Nu'al:
"Sins are a manifestation of Ambition. Strong will. Ambition is fuel, but also poison if it doesn't match the blood type."
Her eyes narrowed, formulating a deduction.
Nu'al:
"Disabled people... or war veterans... they mostly have been through hell to survive. Their ambition is sharp, rough, and full of rebellious desire. That would be a 'thorn' in the Father's throat. Pregnant women? Hah... A mother carrying has a primal instinct to protect her child. That will is too strong, too protective. It's poison to an entity wanting total control."
Her finger stopped at the scribble word 'PERIOD'.
Nu'al:
"But why is menstruation skipped? That Horse Woman... she can heal her own eye, manipulate biology. To them, Sins are tightly bound to physical condition. Ambition is part of the body's vitality. When the body weakens or is in a disposal cycle like menstruation... Sins energy might not be pure. Not optimal."
Nu'al grinned widely, a cold smile of victory.
Nu'al:
"Ah, greedy bastard. That Horse Woman... she's afraid to feed the 'pet' she worships with junk food or poisonous food. She wants top quality wagyu meat—pure soul, healthy body, without strong ambition of resistance. She wants obedient sheep, not wounded wolves."
Nu'al wiped the soil dust from her hands.
Nu'al:
"So the key is to become poison. Very easy... in theory."
She whispered softly. However, her smile faded as she remembered another variable no less dangerous.
Nu'al:
"And... That Iron Mask Man."
She drew a big question mark next to her mind map.
Nu'al:
"Not everything will go smoothly. That person... he's an anomaly. Without him, I can't get out of here. My magic is suppressed completely by this Dome. I need him as a battering ram, as a living shield to penetrate the protective layer."
Her face became serious.
Nu'al:
"Between the Iron Mask Man and that Horse Head Bitch... one has to die, or at least the Iron Mask has to be on my side absolutely. I could try manipulating him, convincing him we're in the same boat... But one wrong step, he could tear me in two before I can blink."
Fear crept up her spine.
Nu'al:
"But what if he fails to poison 'Father'? What if he turns around and kills me because I'm a burden? Damn..."
Her thoughts began to scatter again. She stood up, pacing back and forth before finally pressing her face to the gap in the window boards, staring at the sick sky.
Nu'al:
"Come on think, Nu'al! Think! Use your brain!"
She stared at the distortion in the sky.
Nu'al:
"Pretty sure... If this Dome is powered by human Sins users, then the Lunarians—those damn moon creatures—should have penetrated this long ago and slaughtered everyone. But they didn't attack. Why?"
Her eyes widened as realization hit her.
Nu'al:
"This isn't a steel shield. It's camouflage. Like a one-way mirror. This area isn't visible from the outside. To the outside world, this forest might just be empty mist. And I... I can't get out without the key holder's permission."
A crazy plan began to form. If she couldn't get out quietly, she had to make a noise that couldn't be ignored.
Nu'al:
"If I can... I have to create a beacon. Something bright and massive to attract the attention of the moon dwellers so they destroy this Dome from the outside. But my magic is too weak here to create a light explosion."
She stared at the dry pine forest in the distance.
Nu'al:
"What if I use the manual method? Burn this forest? Smoke... Smoke pollution trapped inside a closed dome... will eventually make the air here toxic. It will turn the Dome into a giant gas chamber, forcing the Horse Head to open a gap to breathe."
The idea was brutal. Mass suicide to force one door open.
Nu'al tapped her forehead gently against the window frame. Thud. Thud.
Nu'al:
"I never believed in karma... ghosts, or any superstition..."
She whispered to the cold glass. But the image of the pregnant mother's corpse in the cell flashed in her mind. The woman who committed suicide (or was killed?), whose corpse she exploited to just buy time. She had taken too many chances from other people's lives to extend her own breath one more day.
A cold feeling crept up her neck. A fear that the universe was counting her life debt.
Nu'al:
"But to live... I have to expect the worst. I have to be the worst... to achieve the best result."