Chapter 5: The Outer Gods

Afterwards, Salser continued to observe the hound troops that had died at the hands of the butcher. In the damp darkness, the monster's torch provided a slight illumination, under which was a bloated face swollen from gas, with stiff, fish-like decaying eyes staring at him. The moist stench crawled along the lumps on the corpse's body, like gray-green maggots.

He hadn't been dead for long, but the corpse already carried the stench and appearance of something left to rot.

“Ever since Hood’s divine authority got snuffed out, it’s been out of the scene for a long time. The undead Imass have torn through the land, not a damn sign of it,” Jeanne’s eyes darted to where the beetles skittered off. Nothing but the clammy dark and a corridor gaping like a mouth to the void. She looked away, voice dropping to a growl, “Now—I know for sure Claudius has been meddling with it. If the Church gets wind and it climbs up to the First Throne, her nation’s gonna be turned upside down by an army of T’lan Imass. Ten thousand of those tireless bastards, don’t need no rest, no grub, no drink, and they can even pull themselves together from ashes.”

It was rare for her not to gloat.

“Hood’s absence has indeed been prolonged,” Salser remarked, his curiosity piqued by the Scorcher’s reasoning, yet he refrained from probing further in the current circumstances. Inappropriate inquiries might be seen as provocation amidst unfamiliarity. He steered the conversation elsewhere, “In bygone days,” he continued, “the phrase ‘Breath of Hood’ was uttered both in prayer against the specter of death and as an imprecation upon misfortune. We held the conviction that, upon the cessation of life, the souls of the dead would traverse the Gate of Hood—how nostalgic.”

“Nostalgic? Ha!” Jeanne scoffed, her tone straightforward and laced with blatant sarcasm. “What’s there to miss? All it ever did was impale the souls of the dead like meat on a spit and roast them; its priests fawned over flies and maggots as if they were charming sprites, bathing in the blood of those they tormented—breeding those disgusting little things on their own flesh. And they had the gall to call it piety!” As she spoke, she tried to move her just-healed arm—it looked well recovered, as if it had never been injured. However, her incessant complaints did not stop, “It’s vile, all of it. Apart from your evil gods, I’ve never heard of nothing more disgusting than that abomination.”

"Respecting the Ascendant is a proper courtesy, believer of Eleint."

Salser half-raised his dark eyes, partially hidden under his black hair, and continued to observe the corpse beside him. Most of the hound troops who fought the butcher died horribly—that sack-wearing thing was covered in ancient and deadly spells, even older than humans themselves.

“The King of High House Death remains unvanquished, merely cast down by your Lord’s hand,”

His voice was soft when he delivered these warnings, with a peculiar melody.

“It’s a shame it ain’t fully crumbled yet.” 

Her golden hair framed a gloating gaze, her moist lips curved into a very beautiful arc. When Salser turned his face, even his gaze lingered for a moment.

And it's a shame to have such a face pasted on a Scorcher's head.

For some reason he didn't say this out loud, and like Miss Jeanne, he wasn't always as he seemed.

“It appears such topics are beyond our discourse,” he continued to prod the swollen lumps on the dead body, his face calm as if he were turning over freshly baked bread, "Forget it, I'll focus on how to escape."

Jeanne snorted lightly and didn't continue the conversation.

Perhaps a dissatisfied snort might make a girl look cuter, but her snort only made her seem colder, her black attire seemingly foreshadowing her mood as gloomy as the environment here.

The smell of rotting flesh grew stronger as he enthusiastically observed, the atmosphere of death making the air heavy to breathe, but these two in front of the corpse pile were obvious exceptions. Occasionally, a fleeting dim light would flash in the darkness, an abnormal chill seeping from the shadows, as if some invisible thing was wriggling and spreading through the surrounding air—those were the evil gods Jeanne spoke of, or rather—the outsiders' magic that deviated from the operation of the world's pantheon.

Jeanne still didn't intend to shift her gaze, only her eyes grew increasingly impatient. She leaned against the coffin, observing the direction his fingers moved, then asked, "I say, heretic—what have you learned now?"

"First—"

Salser pointed to a young man who tightly gripped a dagger, its tip stabbed into his own eye socket, his reddish-brown hair matted in blood like animal intestines, and an eerie smile on his face, as if he had seen a lover's embrace.

"Do you understand what this is?"

"I'd like to ask too..." Her tone was very displeased, "“But if you’re gonna pry—an spell from the Warren of Mind, maybe?”

“A long time ago, in the twilight of the First Empire’s fall, mages endeavored to conjure deities from alternate time-space to rebel against High King Kallor,” he didn't directly confirm the correctness of Jeanne's guess, but simply shook his head, “Consequently, outsiders, beings deemed malevolent gods by your standards, breached our realm. This very dungeon, along with its denizens bearing bizarre anatomies, are also the result of the arrival of outsiders—”

“History’s such a drag. Why don’t you and your dusty old books get lost?”

Communicating with barbarians is really difficult, Salser thought with some dissatisfaction.

“In essence, this place exists beyond the tangible world. Establishing a communication with the Warren—the source of magic—proves challenging here. The casting of conventional incantations necessitates the expenditure of one’s innate mana or the employment of special materials, such as spirits.”

"Or... like your unorthodox spells." Jeanne watched him with a slight sneer, "Don't tell me Hood and its priests are now bowing to evil gods, considering it used to be a god itself."

"The sun shines on the earth, regardless of human virtue or vice."

“…What’s your point?”

“The entities known as the Outer Gods stand in stark contrast to the deities of this world’s established pantheon. We regard these enigmatic beings with the same objectivity as one would a force of nature,” Salser said in a soft tone, “Historically, when they—or fragments thereof—arrived, some proved so fragile they were easily vanquished by the armies of High King Kallor, yet others induced a descent into lunacy among the Elder Gods, stripping them of their ordinary sanity. The prospect of Hood entangling with the Outer Gods is not unfathomable. I have dedicated almost half my life studying them—their greatness and beauty are beyond imagination, they are entities unconcerned with faith. As for the so-called evil god followers, they are akin to us, engaging with these beings while trembling with fear.”

When he spoke of the past, his pronunciation carried an archaic tone, like reciting poetry. This reminded Jeanne of the old priest who had taught her history, though he had been dead for a long time.

“I’ve no patience for arguing,” Jeanne said indifferently, "Debating is no more useful than a nail chair or a pair of pliers. But let’s say you’re right—if Hood’s indeed consorting with the Evil Gods, and its disgusting priests have harnessed their dark magics. Then, might it be—considering your knowledge of these wicked beings—that we can devise specific strategies to purify them?”

"Not really."

“.....Are you staging a clown show? Heretic, I ain’t here to play fool in in this disgusting place,” Jeanne put on a look of disgust, then switched to a malicious smile, “But hey, if the punchline’s you swinging from a rope—I’d be the first to clap and throw a rose at your dangling feet.”

“I would advise you to retake the general history of mages at the Church,” he said sarcastically in a calm tone, “Be it the Outer gods or the pantheon of this world, the notion of deities directly granting every incantation is a fallacy. A vast majority of spells—ninety percent, to be precise—are the fruits of meticulous research and design by mages, utilizing mana as their canvas. To conjecture the nature of incantations crafted by an Ascendant who has communed with the Outer gods is no easier than becoming an Ascendant itself.”

"It seems being here with you is just a massive waste of time."

"Indeed, tracing their path offers a pragmatic approach, conserving considerable exertion, don't you think?"

......

Translator's note:

The Outer Gods: a category of fictional entities of cosmic significance used in certain systemisations of the Cthulhu Mythos. 

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