Chapter 36: Mysteries of the Worms

"You've been scared by the data left by the dark wizards, Olga, or perhaps I bear some responsibility," Tuskar said in a tone devoid of ups and downs. His gaze, hidden under the black mist, fell upon the Moon Beast, "This poor little fellow—he's not an independent species as they recorded, at least not now. He's merely a fallen one whose soul has been twisted."

"Great," the white owl hooted twice, its snowy face mimicking anger, though not very convincing. It seemed to be expressing sarcasm, "The deeds of these incomprehensible Evil gods are harder to understand than those mad Forkrul," she lightly snorted, like a cat sneezing, "Now, we have to guide the priests of Hood and rely on those incomprehensible Evil gods for our plans. What if I die in this wretched place? Who will take responsibility—will you?"

"Canis mortuus non mordet (A dead dog doesn't bite)."

"Oh, you're right... Pah, to hell with your 'dead dog doesn't bite'!" The owl angrily screeched, flapping its wings to scratch at his hood.

In the midst of his limbs' wild squirming and swelling, Nascarl slowly exhaled a warm breath.

The shape of the entire world changed in an instant—with his eyes squeezed into his skin, Nascarl 'saw' the two things in front of him again through his thoughts that had expanded beyond his body. The thing in black robe was filled with materialized shadows, quietly squirming and steaming under the robe, like smoke clogged in a chimney; while the owl, beneath its skin, was a incomprehensible thing, constantly changing its forms and species.

But that was unimportant.

With the power and speed bestowed by the god, he moved his increasingly bloated body, plunging his claws into the black-robed man's body, easily tearing flesh, breaking ribs, gripping Tuskar's heart, and then yanking it out, leaving only a string of blood droplets sparkling like jade in the air. He moved his limbs with incredible agility—completely unlike his grotesque form. 

He unleashed a spell filled with sacrilege and distortion, a dozen ghostly phantom tentacles condensed in the air, whipping towards the owl as he waved his arm, cracking in the air like a long whip striking a horse. The creature hooted, its sound seemingly mocking him, then lifted its snowy wings and flew through the tentacle’s gaps, heading towards his back in his mental vision.

The light illuminated his face, the face that was now just rows and rows of pink tentacles.

Nascarl crushed the still-beating heart in his hand, intending to turn and destroy the owl, but upon seeing Tuskar's appearance, he couldn't help but freeze for a moment: His cloak scattered like it had lost support, falling to the ground and melting. His body flowed to the ground like liquid poured from a water skin, disappearing along with the heart in Nascarl's hand...

What is this?

Something was gathering above his head; he tried to tear it apart with the tentacles on his face—but to no avail, a damp, cold black shadow lightly swept past his tentacles, like smoke passing through a sieve. The black shadow separated into writhing nooses and gripped Nascarl's neck, easily lifting his large and heavy body into the air. He struggled with great effort, while at the same time, more strands of dark mist continued to separate from the shadow's end, pressing against his skin, which seemed bleached in formalin.

A tearing pain.

The tentacles on his face fell off at the roots like they were cut by a blade, he reached to scratch the painful area, but his fingers were also sliced into pieces along with the places they touched—his belly and limbs' skin were torn by the shadows, exposing the flesh that burst forth through the cuts. He let out a painful howl, the sound like a hundred beasts' dying screams.

"When you die, I will forgive your sins," he heard the voice rise from the shadows, spoken by Tuskar to him.

You are the sin!

Nascarl thought angrily, he could no longer produce human sounds—he could have projected his thoughts into the souls of other creatures to communicate with them, or manipulate and torment them. But the souls of the owl and the black-robed man directly blocked his thoughts—a spell necessary for a mage with systematic education, though the principles and intensity varied, it was not something he could break through now.

He wanted to continue using the great god's bestowed magic to destroy these things, but it was too late.

Hundreds of twisted and slender shadows pierced through Nascarl's body, making him look like a naked corpse covered in women's long hair. His body shattered into pieces in the countless chains of shadows that slid, while his spells choked in his soul. The shadows engulfed him like water, lifting him higher into the air, his limbs' fragments scattering to the ground like a lover's clothes...

Tuskar slowly materialized his body. The owl hooted twice beside him, as if mocking.

...

Witchcraft lamps flickered in faint green outside pitch-black doors, while the bell tower crouching at the center of a dozen overlapping streets. The leaning pillars supported walls pressed tightly together, leaving only narrow gaps, making it impossible to see even a line to the sky. The crossbeam of the bell tower door hung with indecipherable writing, and above the door was a symbol shaped like a stack of books. Besides the narrow staircase just taken, there were no other paths leading to this entrance.

Salser watched Astolfo push open the door, the inside seemed to be dimly lit by oil lamps, while the room's contours were also blurry. Then, he heard the tinkling of wind chimes.

"—Hello?"

Astolfo poked his head in, cautiously knocking on the door frame.

Deep in the room, there was a long wooden table placed with an oil lamp and an open book, and next to it stood a mechanical clock.

A man wearing gold-rimmed glasses descended from the scaffolding.

"Welcome to my abode, those enlightened by revelation," he said softly, "I am Prinn, though I no longer remember where I come from, my poster tell me I am from Sassou."

Salser stepped aside, signaling Jeanne to enter the room while he entered last, closing the door behind him.

This place was more like a library-plus-museum than a bell tower room. The four walls were lined with filled up bookshelves reaching up to the ceiling, each shelf fronted by a long glass cabinet. The cabinets and shelves created aisles wide enough for one person, and inside the cabinets were all sorts of peculiar antiques: missing limbs statues piled in boxes, ancient coins and medals gleaming on velvet, and a few current popular small machines also placed on the cabinet tops.

Astolfo's eyes seemed to sparkle as well.

The man who called himself Prinn was a mature young man with bright blue eyes, his head full of shiny black hair stubbornly sticking up. He wore a black woolen coat, holding a closed black leather book, the cover embossed with several gold letters:

'De Vermiis Mysteriis'

"The Mysteries of the Worms..." Salser murmured, somewhat mesmerized.

"Do you know Latin?" During this part, Prinn paused, then asked Salser, "Or do you know this book?"

Salser glanced at Astolfo, then extended his spiritual tentacles, connecting to the young man in front of him.

"Cognoscetis veritatem et veritas liberabit vos (You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free)." This voice was only audible to Prinn.

"You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free..."

He murmured, seemingly lost in distant memories, "It sounds familiar, but besides the Moon Goddess and that dream doll, I've forgotten everything about myself, only these books remain with me." He sighed softly and also responded to Salser through his spiritual tentacles.

"Can you tell me what's going on here?" Salser told him, "Also, don't tell that man who looks very much like a girl about what we just discussed and my identity."

"Ah, so she's a man?" Prinn was somewhat surprised.

Translator's note:

De Vermis Mysteriis, or Mysteries of the Worm, is a fictional grimoire created by Robert Bloch and incorporated by H. P. Lovecraft into the lore of the Cthulhu Mythos.

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