Chapter 50 Part 1

Whether it was coincidence or not—probably not—Jack trudged through the entrance to the Phantasmal Dream Realm just as the bell rang to end class, looking utterly disheveled and exhausted from training. His hands shook with fatigue, and after fumbling with his key for what felt like ages, he still couldn’t line it up with the lock. Irritated, he glanced up—and his gaze locked onto the familiar face standing by the void. “—Zane!!”

All his exhaustion vanished in an instant. Jack bolted toward his brother on pure instinct. But he hadn’t gone more than a few steps when Zane, shrouded in his black robe, flicked the hem outward. A wind blade arced through the air like a crescent moon, slamming into Jack and sending him tumbling across the ground. He retched up several mouthfuls of blood. “Zane…?”

The black-robed man beside Zane let out an intrigued whistle. “What a touching brotherly reunion.”

The man crouched down in front of Jack. “But Jack, my boy, your brother has supported your ideals for so long. Isn’t it time you let him chase his own dreams?”

“Who… are you…” Blood bubbled from Jack’s mouth in a steady stream, and he shivered uncontrollably, struggling to form words.

With a gentleness that sent chills down the spine, the black-robed man smoothed back the stray hairs from Jack’s forehead and tilted his chin up with a finger. “Me? To be honest, after all I’ve done for you two, you brothers ought to call me godfather.”

The man leaned in closer, his orange-red eyes—split into three segments—like blazing irons in Jack’s blurring vision. “Think about it. Without my protection, could you brothers have safely made it out of the slums? Do you really believe your brother just happened to find a golden opportunity like Doctor White? But I won’t hide it from you, child. To make today possible, I’ve done some things that might bring tears to your eyes.”

“…” Jack’s pupils contracted to pinpricks the moment they met those three-segmented red eyes. Descriptions from his culture class about the features of Nyarlathotep’s avatars flashed through his mind. In that instant, he pieced together the black-robed man’s true identity—and certain inconsistencies from the past. “You…”

He struggled to push himself up. “Doctor White’s sudden heart attack… that was you, wasn’t it?! I heard the captain say he wouldn’t push me anymore. I wasn’t going near the railing again—but some force shoved me. That was you too, wasn’t it?!”

“You’re a smart one, my boy!” Nyarlathotep played the role of an exuberant tough-guy dad to perfection, hauling Jack into a crushing bear hug without a care for his wounds reopening. “I can even tell you this: yes, it was me who passed the forbidden technique for hauling the ship to the moon to your big brother.”

“Why…” Blood choked Jack’s words.

Nyarlathotep helpfully finished for him. “Why did I do it?”

“What else? Drama! Chaos! Fun! I’ll admit, I first targeted you brothers because of your ability to freely enter and exit the Phantasmal Dream Realm—it’s a rare gift. But then I thought, without you, couldn’t I do the same? Sure seems that way. But would I just peek at you brothers and walk away without leaving a gift? No, no, no—that’s not my style.”

“Zane.” Jack’s chin was gripped tight by Nyarlathotep, so he couldn’t turn his head. He strained his eyes sideways, desperate for his brother to hear. But his heart sank when Zane remained utterly expressionless, unmoved by it all.

Jack glared back at Nyarlathotep with pure hatred. “What have you done to him?! Give me back my brother!”

“Give him back to you?” Nyarlathotep chuckled as if it were the funniest joke. “Or shouldn’t you give your brother the right to pursue his own life? Come on, Jack, face reality. Your brother’s far more talented than you. Why not ask your companions who made all those sacrifices in Egypt lately?”

Amid Jack’s look of utter revulsion, Nyarlathotep leaned in maliciously. “You have an exceptional big brother, kid. You’re the one holding him back.”

At last, Nyarlathotep released Jack completely. Rising, it loomed over him, its tone laced with intriguing anticipation. “Today, I’m taking him with me. But I’m looking forward to your next meeting—brothers at each other’s throats, irreconcilable hatred. That’s classic human drama, isn’t it? I await the little show you’ll bring to entertain me.”

Nyarlathotep stepped back, finally sated with its performance and monologue. Satisfied, it reached out, clamped onto Zane, and set off for their destination.

When they settled in the London outskirts, it even tutted critically. “Why didn’t Jack scream ‘Zane!!’ at the end, tearing his heart out? So clichéd, but so classic—don’t you think?”

“…” Zane’s expression screamed “dealing with an idiot boss is infuriating.” “I think you should watch fewer human family dramas. …Why did you bring me here? Aren’t we going to the Royal Opera House for the show?”

“‘We’?” Nyarlathotep brushed off Zane’s shoulder. “No, no. I’m going—you and my true body can hole up in some unlicensed motel around here. I’m not parading your face all over London. Don’t you know it’s the most surveilled city in the world? Though that hasn’t done a thing to cut the crime rate.”

Zane let out a mocking huff and followed Nyarlathotep’s avatar toward the distant lights of a village without protest. Truth be told, he had no interest in whatever “show” this was—mainly because he couldn’t endorse Nyarlathotep’s taste.

In the night shadows, Nyarlathotep narrowed its eyes, watching the figure recede along the highway, then spoke. “Zane.”

“?” Zane halted and glanced back.

Nyarlathotep: “You know I granted your little brother’s resurrection from death, right? Don’t do anything to displease me.”

“…” Zane drew a calm breath, turned fully away, and plunged into the deeper darkness alongside the avatar without another word.

“Unpleasant fellow,” Nyarlathotep muttered. It shrugged off the black robe, straightened its white suit with chest puffed out, and strode onto Bow Street at the entrance to the London Royal Opera House, merging seamlessly into the throng amid the blazing lights.

By now, Scotland Yard had cordoned off the area, with masses of reporters swarming around the Royal Opera House. A few brazen third-rate hacks who tried slipping past the police lines into the Opera House were hauled out by armed special forces—one moment they were thrashing and yelling “I have a right to report!!”, the next they were cuffed and shoved into squad cars.

Nyarlathotep delighted in the chaos unfolding right before its eyes. Human desires swelled above the teeming crowd, clashing and twisting into something exquisitely—

—

A massive noise—audible only to Nyarlathotep—pierced its eardrums like a dagger.

In the cramped room of a dingy roadside motel, Zane had barely settled when Nyarlathotep’s true body—lying on the bed with corpse-like serenity, hands folded over its stomach—sprang up in a fury. Chaos erupted, shredding every piece of furniture in the room to splinters. “Yog-Sothoth!!”

“…” Zane quietly lowered the robe from his face, carefully eyeing his own unscathed black garment, then scanning the pristine white walls untouched by the destruction.

Ancient texts often depicted Nyarlathotep as an embodiment of chaos and madness. Yet the longer Zane traveled with this Outer God, the more he realized its seemingly erratic actions hid a meticulous, unbreakable underlying logic—one bent on preserving Azathoth’s dream at any cost.

Why did Nyarlathotep walk the Earth without its true body wreaking devastation? Because Earth was part of Azathoth’s dream too. As long as Azathoth slumbered soundly in that dream, the Outer Gods would restrain their destructive urges.

In the end, it all boiled down to survival. When Azathoth awoke, humans and Outer Gods alike would prove mere bubbles in the dream.

As the saying went, “The poor and rich are equal before death.” For monsters, it was more like “Ants and Outer Gods are equal before Azathoth.”

That was why, even in rage, Nyarlathotep held its temper, standing on the bed and reasoning across the void with Cavendish. “You’ve crossed the line, my blood kin! Erasing a third of my avatar? Do you want war? …And what the hell are you wearing? Why does it get more Flower Peacock every time I see you??”

The Flower Peacock lounged with legs crossed in the outdoor café at Covent Garden Square across from the Royal Opera House, a steaming cup of coffee at hand and an open book on his lap. “Leave London. This is my nest.”

“London? Your nest?? Ha!” Nyarlathotep laughed in sheer outrage. “Why not just admit you’re protecting that human? Leave London… You’d better pray he never leaves London either!!”

Nyarlathotep snatched back its black robe from nowhere, stomped furiously toward the door. “I’m out! What are you waiting for?!”

“…” This wasn’t the first time Zane had seen the deity in impotent rage. Nyarlathotep’s fuse was surprisingly short, Zane thought—like someone who’d never cut off another driver, exploding into a honking, foot-stomping fit the moment they did.

He hurried after Nyarlathotep’s footsteps. “No show anymore?”

“…” Nyarlathotep froze mid-stride.

After a moment’s thought, it spun on its heel, shoved Zane back into the room, and declared, “Why should I leave just because you say so… Now I have to watch this play!”

Not only would it watch—it would do so boldly, in plain sight.

Nyarlathotep dispensed with avatars, crafting a disguise for its true body that Zane found vaguely familiar. With long strides, it flashed to the café table where Cavendish sat.

Sporting a face deliberately sculpted to match Cavendish’s save for the eye color, it flashed a malicious grin at its blood kin, yanked out a wrought-iron chair, and plopped down. “What? Go ahead, strike at my true body if you dare. See if my gorgeous, fiery sister-in-law survives the fallout.”

It beckoned the server. “Get me one just like my brother’s!”

“Wow, you two really look alike,” the order-taking server couldn’t help blurting out.

“Of course. Even the people we like are so similar, aren’t they, brother?” Nyarlathotep stared at Cavendish, resting his arms on the table and leaning forward slightly. “So similar that the Lettuce Princess I’ve had my eye on since childhood ended up as my sister-in-law, and you’re guarding against me like I’m a wolf at the door.”

“…Whoa, sounds like I shouldn’t stick around this place.” The server clutched the menu stiffly and slipped away with a quick turn of his feet.