The basement was quiet.
After a long, deep breath, I managed to speak.
“Blood.”
“Circulating fluid.”
“...Hemorrhage.”
It’s definitely different from last time.
Simply saying words or conjuring associations no longer triggers the frenzy.
And that’s not all.
I recalled what I’d seen while saving Jang Hyundeok.
‘He kept saying “I don’t kill,” but there were wounds and bleeding, weren’t there?’
No matter how careful I was, I couldn’t stop him from slipping, scraping himself, and bleeding.
But the volume of blood wasn’t great, and most of it was washed away by the rain almost immediately.
‘I probably won’t have a seizure if I only see a small amount briefly.’
Thanks to my roughly 20 points in the Mental Strength stat?
In the original game, Mental Strength above 20 granted phobia resistance. This must be that effect.
But it’s not perfect immunity. If mere stat increases could prevent it, it wouldn’t be a penalty.
I still hate blood.
It’s terrifying, ominous, and gruesome.
Thinking about blood makes me slightly dizzy, itchy, and irritated.
‘It tickles.’
I scratched my head unconsciously.
My skin itches underneath. Fingertips sting, eyes water. I want to scratch the inner corners of my brows, the backs of my eyes, ten centimeters into my ears, the insides of my ribs.
‘With magic, I could thrust my finger in and scratch it.’
I might manage, but I’d die.
Calm down.
My body and mind feel mild symptoms, but it’s different from the game’s forced irrational frenzy. I can endure this.
“At least I’m functional enough to keep solving problems for now.”
As long as I’m not drenched deliberately or tossed into a B-grade slasher-movie scene, I think I can hold out.
‘The problem is, this world is a game where such situations happen all the time.’
But I have no choice.
I can’t pause activities for long.
I’m not confident for a full test, but I can probably shrug it off like the tragic heroes in old cartoons—nausea or fainting, maybe.
But if I cross that line, the madman behind the game messages will unleash another “gift.”
“What symptom will appear this time?”
I know real-world mental illness and phobias don’t work like this.
‘Reality is reality, and this situation is an illogical game by a narrow-minded developer.’
In Cthulhu World, a phobia is just a trigger.
You dread something and try to exclude it, but if you can’t avoid it...
You break.
You hear hallucinations, lose memories, become violent, or your mind splits into two or three.
Just as Claustrophobia triggered random hallucinations and Ichthyophobia caused amnesia, Blood Phobia will bring some new symptom.
“Well, I can handle it.”
I placed a large red orb on the table.
“Red’s overeaten lately...”
Originally, I injected magic into the blood that spurted as a side effect of magic, forming this orb, but Red gobbled too much over the past few days.
He swallowed an entire artifact, drank from the sea well, and even stored the remnants of Dagon’s avatar.
“It’s more like a chunk of Dagon’s power than blood now.”
It’s highly unstable.
The orb’s surface trembles. Sometimes it appears as two or four orbs.
Inside that little sphere is immense magic.
“If Red’s the problem, this might just explode if I handle it wrong.”
If it burst, it’d create a vast bloodlake here. And Deep-Sea Folk resembling me would spawn by the thousands in that lake.
“First, let’s examine it.”
I reached out and released magic.
Touch the object, analyze its components, and perceive it.
Wave upon wave of horrifying energy: sea magic, abyssal magic, viscous, raging anger. Singing. Chaos, chaos, chaos.
Among that, the part I can handle is small, sparse, and red—
“Ugh—”
I felt like vomiting.
Covering my mouth (or rather, the mask), I churned the other hand.
Clatter—
Items on the table scattered noisily.
‘This won’t work. I can’t do it this way.’
Seeing blood and touching it to analyze its makeup and use it as a magical medium is a different level of problem.
It’s not blood at fault.
This is impossible to control.
To control this, I’d need power on the level of Dagon’s avatar.
‘Conversely, if I remove some of Dagon’s magic, the blood’s density would spike too high.’
An ultimate dilemma.
Is it a useless object now?
I closed my eyes and pondered.
How can I use this—and where?
Fortunately, my 30-point Intelligence stat sparked some ideas.
‘First method: I eat it.’
It’d be like a health food containing the entire sea. I’ve eaten similar things before—
‘Other methods...’
I retrieved a high-purity mana crystal from my drawer and inscribed a complex ritual on it.
‘This should do.’
Turning, I extended a hand in another direction.
In the basement corner stood an immense magic circle surrounded by seals from East and West and a metal pipe. The barrier sealing the High Intellect [The Smiling One].
I gathered magic and opened the barrier gate.
Squeeeeeak—
“Help me, DoraXmon.”
In the darkness within the barrier, an apparition of Cheongho wearing the Mask of the Faceless appeared.
“What will you give?”
Though it looked like Cheongho, it wasn’t. Even the appearance differed greatly.
Complex magical runes crisscrossed his body like tattoos.
‘He’s grown stronger by consuming Nyarlathotep’s magic in the Mask of the Faceless.’
“I’ll share Dagon’s magic.”
“Mixing that will give me a headache later.”
“I’ll make it taste fine.”
I used telekinesis to lift Red’s orb.
I saw Cheongho flinch.
‘Second method: Use it in a deal with a demon.’
“What do you want to know?”
“Guess what I desire.”
Cheongho scratched his chin with a hand and replied.
“Like testing a fortune teller’s skill. The future is chaos of billions of possibilities. I only whisper so you can reach one possibility. You, an outsider to all possibilities, cannot be foreseen by me.”
“I understand. Then you don’t know how I can escape this world either.”
“I don’t.”
Damn, worthless.
I asked just in case:
“Do the Great Race know?”
“The Yithians? They might.”
The High Intellect [The Smiling One] can’t foresee, yet the Yithians—who also came from beyond this world—can?
“How can they know?”
“They too are from outside this world.”
“How do I meet them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“For the same reason I can’t foresee you.”
“Understood.”
“Will you give it now?”
“I haven’t told you anything; what should I give?”
“Naughty child. Aren’t you curious about anything else?”
“I’m not curious now.”
“Oh, you have curiosity. You know much but lack omniscience. You’re neither ignorant nor fully filled. A half-filled cup—capable of desiring the unacquirable.”
He’s rambling again.
“Then guess what I desire.”
“I can’t foresee, but I can predict. I can tell you what the Banquet Sacrifice means and what the Abyssal beings seek. I can reveal what they want to achieve through you.”
“That is certainly curious.”
“And one more thing. Telling you this will create a new curiosity.”
“What is it?”
“Is the Banquet Sacrifice truly your first?”
“Hm, intriguing.”
“Moreover, if you truly desire future foresight, I can make a more special offer.”
Indeed, it’s not entirely impossible for [The Smiling One] to foresee my future—I’ve had such an offer before.
“You mean I’d eat you and become one with you?”
“Exactly. The moment you become my thrall, you’ll truly belong to this world. From lonely cosmic drifter to having a place to rest. It’s simple.”
And it means my own destruction. I shrugged and replied:
“For such an important contract, I should consult my parents. May I think on it for a few days and return?”
‘Third method: Pretend I’ll give it, then don’t.’
“You mock me with pleasant talk again!”
“No, I’ll genuinely consider it. And I’m no total scoundrel—I’ll pay the price for the information you gave.”
I produced the prepared mana crystal. Top grade for a single crystal, but pathetic to a High Intellect.
“With just that—”
“Wait, I’m not giving this.”
I separated some of Dagon’s magic from Red’s orb and infused it into the crystal.
Given the orb’s volume, it was still “just” a bit, but I’d transferred a considerable amount.
“It’s still insufficient.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. You haven’t received anything formal.”
“If you want, I—”
I threw the crystal and said:
“Then see you tomorrow. Farewell!”
Bang!
I closed the barrier gate.
“Hm, he won’t let me do that again next time.”
Did I push him too far?
Anyway, this is the fourth method.
If there’s too much magic, just offload some.
And it’s not waste: I sent magic into the barrier interior.
[System: Gate anchor placed. Use Gate-Creation Spell to open a gate to this anchor at any time.]
‘The toxin in the Mask of the Faceless is nearly gone.’
I entrusted it to [The Smiling One] on purpose.
Like boiling to remove bracken’s poison. I can swap masks whenever needed.
“That’s done. Now, what’s next?”
I turned back to examine the orb. Now it’s manageable.
“Good.”
I extended my hand toward another spot in the basement.
“Now it’s your turn. Come here.”
Rustle—slurp—
From the basement darkness, quivering masses of flesh crawled out: byproducts from creating the child of darkness.
They moved like bland, human-skinned slime, but occasionally eyes, teeth, or hair sprouted.
They had no name.
Just lumps of flesh.
Beings capable of becoming anything or containing anything—akin to the proto-primal clay.
Some had become contract enforcers implanted in cultists; others, mindless tentacled monsters guarding against intruders.
These remained—children awaiting their purpose and form.
“You’ve been neglected too long. Sorry.”
I kissed each child of flesh and breathed my essence into them.
“Merge into one. Become a bird and I’ll let you fly.”
I tossed Red’s orb to the masses of flesh.
Rustle—drip—
They fused around the orb.
‘This is the fifth method.’
Regulating magic via blood is impossible.
‘So instead, enclose and reconfigure.’
I cast a spell on the intertwining flesh.
[Perceive]
Massive magic surged.
For Red’s new body, something larger would be better, right?
If it takes form now, it’ll be a bird larger than a person.
Its wings should be feathers, not reptilian membranes.
As I thought this, two pairs of wings sprouted from the writhing flesh.
Delicate, pure-white feathers unfurling.
A long, forked tail like a water plant.
And three legs.
Reborn into its new body, Red slowly opened its eyes.
A pair of ruby-red eyes, enchanting as gemstones, met mine.
“Good. How do you feel?”
“Kiiee—”
Its cry was unchanged.
