A deep thunderclap roared suddenly from the horizon, illuminating Eva’s rain-streaked face in ghostly shades of blue and white. Faust clutched the wound on his arm and stepped forward, his voice low and urgent. “Have you checked the surveillance? Was it an inside job, or an intrusion?!”
“The footage was obviously tampered with. The stitched-together clips have clear snow and static at the beginning and end—it’s hard to say who did it…”
Lola’s voice trembled slightly. Her time studying under Eva in the laboratory had been enough for her to grasp the gravity of this situation. “That’s… a full 2000cc of blood. What if the thief plans to use it against the original body?”
“What about the other samples? None of them were touched?” Eva’s face was still ghastly pale, but her voice had regained its calm. “I left the lab three days ago. During that time, aside from your project, no one else’s work required materials from my lab. The scene should still be intact.”
“…All of them were destroyed. Every sample… every instrument.” Lola’s words carried a heavy heartache, tinged with caution. She dreaded Eva’s reaction to this news. “When I went in, the floor was littered with shattered glassware… Within three seconds, contamination reactions started. The senior researchers nearby dragged me out and gave me six full shots before it cleared.”
“It took a full five hours to decontaminate. When we finally went in to inventory, we found that only the container holding the Dream of the Ancient’s blood sample had vanished without a trace—no residue at all.”
To Lola’s surprise, Eva didn’t lose her composure upon hearing this. Instead, she seemed to breathe a silent sigh of relief. “With contamination that severe, no one could enter without a hazmat suit and vaccinations and come out unscathed… It wasn’t an inside job.”
No problems within GORCC was the best news the frontline agents could hope for. The real fear was fighting tooth and nail on the front lines only to find a rat in their own nest. “The enemy was after Ode… Why? Who would do this?”
A spark of intuition flashed in Faust’s mind like a lightbulb, then winked out just as quickly. He pondered that fleeting sixth sense as he snatched the phone from Eva’s hand. “Report on the other situation! Where’s the support team right now?”
“Right where you are, Chief. On the satellite map, our position markers overlap perfectly.” El’s voice came from the other end of the line. “But we can’t see the yacht anywhere…”
“I’m afraid that thing sleeping under the water has at least half risen from its bed, even if it hasn’t fully awakened. This is meaningless—it’s Cthulhu’s power at work—”
“Are you sure you’re still in reality? Could it be that you’re sailing through Cthulhu’s dream?”
“…………”
This was a possibility Faust hadn’t considered. He and Eva had theorized that someone might have erected a barrier around the yacht, and Eva had adjusted the phone’s communication settings accordingly.
“Doesn’t that mean the only way to get these deadweights off the ship is to kill Cthulhu?” Faust murmured.
“…”
The line went silent for a few seconds, the impossibility of the task hanging heavy.
“We can launch a synchronized attack on the real R’lyeh whenever you’re ready. Just give us the signal for fire support.”
El wasn’t one to let the mood stay grim. He cleared his throat and forced levity into his tone. “So, how are our little… er, our veteran deadweights holding up?”
Don’t go dying on us—no matter who kicks it, we’re all doomed!
Faust glanced involuntarily at the earpiece that had left the old man at a loss. “Maybe enjoying a deep, Behemoth-induced slumber. After all, Chorazin—the one who dishes out punishments in dreams—is tied up with other business.”
El: “…Huh?”
Faust kindly spared El the sour grapes. “Since waiting for the negotiation outcome is our only option right now, let’s talk about something else. Has the Black Brotherhood publicly claimed responsibility for this attack?”
“No…?” El sounded puzzled, but professional instinct kicked in. “Not surprising. If they didn’t want to advertise their infamy, why bother anonymously orchestrating an assault like this?”
Faust: “What if the Black Brotherhood never intended to make this so big?”
El: “What?”
Faust enunciated carefully: “What if their original plan was exactly as stated in that threatening letter they sent—just targeting the Prime Minister?”
“But during execution, one of the disposable pawns—someone they didn’t know, and who didn’t know them—had ideas of his own. He altered the original plan of ‘kidnap the Prime Minister and kill him,’ which would have stayed neatly within their… ‘professional’ scope. Instead, he turned what should have been another routine terror attack into a global crisis, with every nation’s eyes on them.”
“Uh… who is this genius?” Keys clacked on El’s end.
“Paine. A maintenance worker. His coworkers said he always had this gloomy face like his parents had just died, never talked to anyone. They only knew his surname.”
As Faust mulled it over, he continued. “Besides him… there’s another thing I need you to investigate.”
“Regarding that threatening letter—even though the Prime Minister doesn’t believe it could be from his political rivals, I still think demanding he cancel the conference is too pointed.”
“I want you to look into who stands to lose if the Prime Minister’s proposal passes. How many of them have the financial clout to bankroll the Black Brotherhood and get them to do their dirty work?”
The typing paused on the other end. El spoke slowly. “Do you remember… a few days ago, that ‘little tail’ we picked up from the Intelligence Department in London? The informant mentioned an underground organization in London, older than Britain itself, marked by a Great White Shark.”
“The Black Brotherhood isn’t your average mercenary outfit you can buy with pocket change. Beyond money, you need connections to even reach them…”
“You think the one who hired the Black Brotherhood for this errand is that London underground group?”
“Yeah…” Faust’s voice dropped, as he softly repeated, “Great White Shark… The peeper Ode saw outside Dreamcatcher Town—didn’t he look just like a Great White Shark?”
—
Meanwhile, in Chorazin’s dream.
What appeared to be a mindless tangle of savagery and primal instinct ended with uncanny accord. As Ode weakly flicked his fish tail to push Chorazin away, Chorazin planted his final kiss on the tip of Ode’s ear, where he lay face-down on the ground.
Damp, ink-black hair lingered caressingly over Ode’s back and arms before parting cleanly, as if the pair had maintained cool rationality throughout their seemingly fervent entanglement the second before.
Ode kept his eyes closed, not forcing himself to rise immediately. Two rounds in a single day had thoroughly exhausted him. Especially since Chorazin’s movements carried the vindictive edge of someone forced to swallow a risk without killing an ally to vent.
His self-healing was still mending the tip of his tail, which continued to twitch faintly.
“Even your biggest grudge should be sated by now, right?” Ode’s voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t had water in half a month. “Have you come up with any plans yourself on how to kill your true body?”
Chorazin rolled onto his side to admire the mermaid’s chest rising and falling with labored breaths. He reached out to touch that quivering, burgundy fish tail—only for the razor-sharp Fingertip Blade to nearly sever his fingers. “Hey! So fierce. What happened to the one who was wrapping his tail around me a moment ago? Sigh! Fine, fine, down to business.”
“I’ve weighed my options before. Even gathering all the power of my avatars, I couldn’t stand against the true body. The only feasible plan is to lure a being more powerful than the true body into killing the deity…”
Chorazin shrugged. “To be honest, I once considered drawing the true body into the Phantasmal Dream Realm—the dwelling of those Elder Gods.”
Through the earpiece, the old man—who was still adjusting to how quickly Chorazin and Ode switched topics—suddenly narrowed his pupils. “No! Absolutely not. Have you considered what happens if we kill Cthulhu?”
“This isn’t like when Ode killed Dagon. The Outer Gods might just laugh it off—no god would feel truly threatened. But if we make the move, the Outer Gods sensing the provocation will declare war on us immediately—”
“A full war between Elder Gods and Outer Gods—what good does that do humanity? Once that battle starts, do you think they’ll care about human territory?”
“You think that’s why I’ve stayed hidden this whole time!”
In the dream, Chorazin couldn’t hear the old man, but he anticipated the flaw in his plan. “The Dream Gods might not kill Cthulhu as I’d hope, though… If the true body doesn’t die and decides to destroy its avatars, I’m done. So that plan’s on hold. As for other methods…”
Chorazin considered his words. “Since we can’t strike the true body directly, killing other avatars to weaken it works too. Worst case, just trap the avatars so they can’t reinforce it.”
“The challenge is how to target one without alerting the rest—or even if they know, preventing them from helping.”
“…”
Ode appeared impassive, but he tapped out a code with the subtle sounds of shifting joints: 【Doesn’t anyone think this avatar is too ‘human’?】
This scheming demeanor didn’t match Cthulhu at all, who was known for brute force and nightmare power. They said an avatar reflected a facet of the true body—could an idiot facet possibly scheme as shrewdly as Faust number two?
Faust felt the same itch of dissonance: 【Listen to Him continue.】
Chorazin: “…I’ve thought of many schemes, but only one fits our current situation.” The look he gave Ode was practically shimmering with intensity. “We could try trapping the other avatars in the Phantasmal Dream Realm.”
The old man: “Hm?”
Back to eyeing the Phantasmal Dream Realm!
Ode frowned too. “How do you trap them? You lot can haul an entire yacht in and out of the Phantasmal Dream Realm at will.”
Chorazin bent one leg, propping his cheek with a light chuckle. For a split second, Ode caught a familiar shadow in him, though he couldn’t pinpoint why it felt familiar. The intense incongruity sent a chill down his spine:
“Forget about the Father of Sharks. Even I don’t have the right to summon him. If we end up having to kill the main body, He’ll be a massive problem we have to face.”
“But the Behemoth is much easier to lure. As long as we can trap It in the Phantasmal Dream Realm, the main body won’t dare enter the Elder Gods’ territory alone for the sake of an Avatar, no matter how much It jumps up and down in frustration.”
“And to trap the Behemoth… we don’t necessarily need the Elder Gods’ help. You just need to carve out a territory of your own in the Phantasmal Dream Realm.”
Chorazin said softly, “I can’t do that. You’re in my dream right now, but the Phantasmal Dream Realm rejects my dream. You are my greatest hope.”
The old man’s expression shifted slightly, clearly far from approving.
Faust caught a glimpse but pretended not to notice. He bit down on his cigar and slapped his thigh. “That actually has some feasibility. The Phantasmal Dream Realm is nothing more than a patchwork of individual dreams. ‘Creating a territory’ just means dreaming one up. Ode’s already inside Chorazin’s dream. With this gentleman here, getting into the Phantasmal Dream Realm should be a cinch, right?”
Faust sneered. “You’ve turned us down at every step of the way, sir. Surely you won’t refuse to lend a hand with even this? Oh, and speaking of which—you’ve been tailing us and Ode since Dreamcatcher Town, even boarding the ship with us, yet we still don’t know your name.”
Faust’s tone sounded like teasing, but his words carried a pointed edge. And he wasn’t wrong!
This Elder God had shadowed Ode the entire way without lifting a finger to help slay so much as a single Deep One. What was the difference between that and sitting on the sidelines, letting Ode charge ahead while they reaped the rewards? Even if their excuse was, “If we clash, you humans won’t come out of it any better off.”
“…” The old man’s face flickered through several expressions before he finally sighed in resignation. “Ctharnid. You should be familiar with me. The clock atop the church in Dreamcatcher Town is one of mine, and the hundreds of clocks in Chief Faust’s vault are all mine too. You’ve collected quite a few of my ‘works.'”
“…” Faust arched an eyebrow in silence before asking nonchalantly, “If that’s the case, then you must know everything that happened in Dreamcatcher Town?”
Ctharnid shook his head. “No, I arrived too late. After the incident, I wanted to check the clock in the Bell Tower for some records, but Yog-Sothoth destroyed it.”
Faust: “… ? Yog-Sothoth lurking outside Dreamcatcher Town to confront Yahweh was bizarre enough already. Why would They destroy the Bell Tower?”
Ctharnid shook his head again. “Who knows. Yog-Sothoth is one of the enemy’s Three Pillar Gods. Even with my command over time, I can’t match Them.”
He hesitated for a moment before adding on his own initiative, “I’ll go negotiate this with the other gods, but I can’t promise it’ll work. Most of the gods are proud sorts. They don’t take kindly to some… unfamiliar territory popping up out of nowhere in their backyard. And even safeguarding Ode isn’t something everyone among the gods agrees on.”
Ctharnid nodded politely by way of farewell and swiftly dissolved into the air.
In the dream realm, Chorazin watched as Ode fastened the last button on his suit. “Ready?”
“Hm? Ready for wha—” Ode looked up on instinct at the sound of his voice, only to meet Chorazin’s smile from inches away. His words caught in his throat.
In that instant, every hair on the back of his neck stood straight on end—because he suddenly recognized the source of that eerily familiar discomfort radiating from the man.
The proximity, the angle, those strikingly similar green eyes, that identical curve to the smile.
They stared straight at each other, exactly like every morning when Ode splashed water on his face, propped himself against the sink, and glanced up to see his own habitual polite smile staring back from the mirror.
“…” A prickling numbness raced up Ode’s spine from the nape of his neck in the blink of an eye. It took every ounce of his willpower to suppress the instinctive shiver.
The next second, he saw Chorazin curl his lips ever so slightly and mouth the words silently: ‘Ready to accept a little gift.’
Ode’s vision plunged into darkness. He didn’t need to guess—Chorazin had booted him from the dream. The sickening plunge yanked at his gut, forcing Ode to right his body on reflex. He hit the ground with a solid “thud,” and his sight cleared.
A breathtaking sea of clouds stretched before him.
Furniture and decorations—the tables, chairs, a grand piano at the center—protruded faintly from the mist, confirming that this was the banquet hall where the dignitaries gathered.
“Urgh…” Someone groaned as they stirred awake.
“Good Lord! It’s that strange fog again!” Another voice rose in panic.
“Weird—no nightmares this time? Wait! Who the hell are you?” Someone’s eyes locked onto Ode, who had landed squarely in the heart of the fog. His body went rigid, torn between standing tall and diving back into the mist.
“… Chief.” Ode took an involuntary step back. “Can you alter—”
【Memory?】Faust very nearly jumped out of his skin. 【You still have time to worry about that!? Once Chorazin sends his prey out of the nightmare alive, the Behemoth’s next—】
—To reap them.
A chorus of agonized screams ripped through the crowd. Limbs submerged in the watery fog were devoured by the frigid vapor in an instant.
The elderly professor had just settled his reading glasses in place and glimpsed Ode. On reflex, he took a step forward, his mouth opening in stunned recognition of Ode’s name—only for a searing, bone-deep agony to chew its way from his soles up to his ankles.
Terror seized him as both feet vanished, sending him crashing forward. That final second stretched out endlessly in his mind, long enough to grasp exactly how his feet had disappeared and what horrors awaited him in the fog below.
But before death’s scythe and fleshless bony grasp could enfold him, he heard the red-haired student he’d fretted over—the one who’d inexplicably appeared here—bark a sharp command: “Faust!!”
In the next breath, a lavish gilded alchemy circle blazed to life across the banquet hall’s floor. Everyone inside floated upward as if gravity had abandoned them, their backs slamming hard against the ceiling.
From this elevated perch, they beheld the scene at the center of the hall, the heart of the cloud sea, with merciless clarity. A lean, razor-edged silhouette rose slowly to its feet, utterly unscathed by the flesh-rending mist.
A howling gale blasted through the hall, whipping the figure’s clothes and tousled hair into a frenzy. A streak of black-red, lightning-like shadow flared along one arm.
The next instant, a hefty silver-gray machine gun materialized from thin air. The figure seized it one-handed with rock-solid poise and leveled it at the cloud sea below.
“You’ve delivered yourself right to my door so many times now, and you still can’t kill me. Useless thing.”
