Chapter 35: Moon Beast
For a moment, he heard a hissing sound, the flapping of bird wings, and then the hooting of an owl. The sound was unbelievably melodious and clear, as if it carried a mesmerizing magic, like some kind of horn or a summoning ritual.
Nascarl's gaze became somewhat lifeless—though it was already quite lifeless. He stood up, stepping out in a daze into the damp mud piles used as building materials, and walked towards the source of the sound.
His feet, stained with black mud, landed in puddles, making crisp splashing sounds, followed by dirty water droplets splattering with the mud.
Rainwater flowed down his face, soaking his beard. He hung his arms low, his gaze fixed straight ahead. It was as if a bright light had fallen on the rain-soaked ground, right in front of him—this light guided his path, and the sound stirred his spirit and soul.
Go forward, a woman's whisper echoed in Nascarl's mind, go forward.
He didn't have any thoughts of worry or unease.
It was as if something had blocked his consciousness.
He turned through winding corridors, descended narrow or wide steps, and passed through eerie, oppressive archways, as if traversing a three-dimensional maze of interlocking paths.
Closer and closer—the sound of flapping wings, and the guiding voice! A pleasant, gentle female voice!
Is it you? Is it Lady Maria? Is it really you?
No.
He always doubted, why did he always have to doubt!
Nascarl awkwardly stepped over the potholed road, past flickering streetlights crackling in the rain, like a moth flying into a flame. He recalled this feeling—the chase in the dream, the initial encounter in the dream, and the distance in the dream that could not be crossed or touched!
Uncertain, he was always uncertain, and now the feeling was so strong, yet he was still uncertain.
No, it must be you!
Following the guidance in his mind, he ran faster and faster, his head buzzing with ecstasy. Ahead of him was a tilting bell tower—he pushed open the door without hesitation. The light from the chandelier streamed through the crack, he brought water and mud into the floor, but he didn't care—finally, after waiting so long for his beloved—the dream doll was no longer just singing in that distant, untouchable dream, but directly singing to him in Zobeide City.
His internal organs seemed to be throbbing.
Slap—the door closed.
The glaring incandescent light made him dizzy, his vision filled with this light, he covered his eyes, and after a moment of painful adjustment, he slowly opened them, looking towards the thing that guided him.
"Where are you," he said through tears and excitement, "I've been looking for you for so long! Ma—"
Then, he saw something unexpected, which left him stunned... and angry.
It was a snow-white owl, its feathers smooth and glossy, staring at him with bright blue eyes. It spread its wings, awkwardly moved its fluffy feet and took a few steps. It squinted its eyes, hooting with a mocking sound.
"Who are you! Why did you deceive me?" Nascarl roared, his voice was like a madman's.
The owl slightly widened one eye, unmoving, staring at him as if it were just a decorative specimen, "Poor thing," it said, its voice was like suppressed laughter, "You've even forgotten who we are."
I don't know you—don't try to fool me—you stupid owl!
"He has been completely assimilated by this city and this dream," another voice replied, "He used to be a slave serving Hood priests." The speaker was like a wriggling shadow, dressed entirely in a black robe. In fact, Nascarl hadn't even noticed his presence before he spoke.
"But now, he's just a fallen one paving roads in this dream," the man said.
Who are you? I don't know you!
"Are you outsiders intent on invading Zobeide City!?" Nascarl accused them angrily.
The beautiful blue eyes revealed no emotion, but the owl's suppressed laughter became even more exaggerated.
"Yes, yes, we are here to invade your, um... Zobeide City—as outsiders," its voice sounded lively, its tone animated, "Hey, Tuskar," its two sky-blue glass bead-like eyes turned to the man in the black robe, "Do you think this slave can be saved? He doesn't even recognize your appearance. If he still had a shred of memory of the past, he wouldn't fail to recognize you—how could these slaves serving the priests of the gods not recognize a messenger of the Shadow Throne?"
Shadow Throne—Hood—what are those? Nonsense!
A bizarre fear gripped his heart—even though he remembered nothing, he still felt an instinctive fear, an inexplicable panic from those ethereal words.
"What do you want?" Nascarl asked, trying to calm himself down, "What do you outsiders want to do?"
No—I must eliminate them—I must protect this place!
They will destroy my dream!—destroy my reunion with that lady!
"Do what I should do—that is, take care of my business," the man in the black robe said indifferently, taking a step closer, "One of my duties is—for the poor souls who fall into the hands of the enemy, if I can't save them, then I clean them up on the spot."
Yes—yes—that's right—I must kill them! I must eliminate these malicious intruders and show them what I have seen!
What am I saying? What was the last sentence?—never mind, don't think about it.
"Ah, this guy looks like he's about to go mad, it's really unpleasant," the owl flapped its wings, it flew lightly and then landed on the man's shoulder. It gripped the man's clothes with its fluffy feet and announced, "I want a brandy," it said, "Tuskar, have you ever tried inviting a lady to drink coffee with brandy?"
"Olga, I don't want to joke around at a time like this."
That's right—kill them! Kill them! Kill them!
In an instant, Nascarl felt a huge shadow surge into his body, like some filthy yet sweet viscous liquid pouring directly into his soul through a strange, irresistible path. A fantastic sensation split open on his face, gripping his skin, oozing out of his body.
His face opened directly—centered around his mouth, from scalp to neck, everything curled and relaxed simultaneously, like underdeveloped infant limbs squeezed together, opening one by one, like intestines flowing out from a cut belly. They were pale, wriggling soft tentacles, their ends tainted with a sacrilegious pink. They trembled and squirmed continuously, pushing his eyes, nostrils, and hair into the pale skin beneath, like a long-soaked corpse, revealing his mouth without gums or a tongue.
Ah—how comfortable, how sweet the sensation—
I feel liberated—my soul and life are trembling with joy!
He felt his limbs swelling, his blackened skin turning whiter and revealing a nauseating yet sentimental light pink. His swollen muscles crushed all his clothes, causing the fabric to fall and melt in pieces. His fingers swelled wildly, twisted, and fused together, his belly inflated like a large vat of water had been poured into it, then drooped like liquid poured from a water skin...
"Ah!?" He heard the owl's voice, "Damn it, this is a Moon Beast—Tuskar, you bastard! Why did he become a servant of Nyarlathotep! Did you hide some information from me?"
Translator's note:
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