Ch.103

# Chapter – Hyperborea – Comorium

*You* awaken.

A white palace appears against the blue sky. Though it’s white like the first snow, unlike other stones, it doesn’t reflect light. It simply absorbs light silently within itself. Every time *you* see the columns made of gypsum, *you* are filled with admiration. Their unique marble patterns inspire awe, as if clouds from the heavens were brought down and erected here.

On the palace balconies, male and female servants dressed in white garments scatter flower petals. Red, blue, white, and yellow. Thanks to the gentle breeze embracing the palace, the petals fall evenly upon all the citizens of Comorium.

As the petals touch the citizens, they begin to crumble one by one. In the blink of an eye, not a single citizen remains in Comorium. The petals wither, becoming garbage rolling on the ground, and the sky turns its back on Comorium, the first capital of Hyperborea. Where citizens once stood, only beasts remain.

These beasts have mouths split between their two hands, eyes located at the tips of their fingers, and faces spread across their chests and bellies. Their bodies resemble monkeys or gorillas, but their fur is as coarse as a hedgehog’s. Though these creatures fill the world, they share a single name.

*You* remember his name. K-nadin Zaurum, the traitor. K-nadin Zaurum, whose head was severed at the execution ground, would return alive the next day only to be executed again. New bodies sprouted from his severed head and dismembered body, and with each sprouting and division, his form changed slightly.

Like cells. Like cells that distort and warp with each division. Not all cells in the body are beautiful. Just as cells that endlessly divide and refuse to share what’s theirs are called cancer cells, K-nadin Zaurum was the cancer of the ancient kingdom of Hyperborea.

Yes. *You* are sitting on the throne of Hyperborea. All citizens have fled. The glorious first city, Comorium, fell like that. The K-nadin Zaurums do not notice *you*.

“They don’t know *you*.”

At the familiar voice, *you* turn to the right. A familiar woman stands there. Crimson hair with freckles on her face. Long hair. Slender with long limbs. But rather than appearing delicate, she gives off an impression of being prickly. Like a dried-up thornbush. A rose vine. Different from her twin sister…

“This isn’t the real Hyperborea anyway.”

*You* answer.

“Then where is this?”

“It’s one of *your* many memories, Usurper. In my sister’s words, this is one of the books in *your* mind’s bookshelf. Perhaps a book you bought but never opened.”

Usurper. *You* know that name. Firebreathe called *you* the Usurper. But that title doesn’t speak the truth. *You* are not a usurper. There’s no need to be. Emma Scully’s quiet eyes stare at *you* intently.

“Are you Catherine Scully’s twin sister?”

“Yes.”

Emma answers straightforwardly.

“My sister.”

“Why are *you* inside my mind?”

“Doesn’t the apocalypse say something like, ‘Therefore keep watch, because I will come like a thief’? I’m not sure if that’s exact, but I think it was something like that. I ‘broke’ into you.”

A shadow falls across Emma’s face. Though she has the same face as Catherine Scully, Emma’s face is somehow seductive, precarious, decadent yet cynical, simply because her hair is longer, the area under her eyes slightly darker, and she uses all her muscles as if dancing with every step she takes.

“My sister isn’t the only one who can walk into ‘other people’s minds.’ Both she and I were born with this ability. But I received the blessing. I was honest, but she wasn’t.”

The medal on her waist gleams. It’s familiar to *you*, but *you* don’t remember where *you’ve* seen it. Instead, *you* ask another question.

“Is this Hyperborea, then?”

“Yes.”

“Send me back.”

Emma looks at *you* indifferently, as if gazing at scenery outside a window.

“Where to?”

“Innsmouth. I need to go. Crayfield is waiting for me.”

Emma utters an unfamiliar word that *you* cannot understand. *You* realize it’s the true name of Innsmouth. Though she doesn’t hold a violin, she sings and circles around *you*. Each time she stretches her legs, her pale bare legs show beneath her garment.

“Ah. I can’t let you go. After finally finding you through such hardship, this easily? No.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

*You* explain.

“A conspiracy is unfolding. A conspiracy against Innsmouth. I must prevent the end of the world.”

Unexpectedly, Emma stops her song and dance. She is ‘astonished.’

“What?”

“I said I need to prevent the end of the world. When the Doomsday Clock points to 12, irreversible things will…”

“Wait. Wait. Hey. Could you speak in terms I can understand?”

*You* are starting to get irritated. Increasingly, *you* suspect this woman is a misplaced page, an excerpt from the wrong book, perhaps a publisher’s error. After all, what *you* want to see isn’t a woman spouting such nonsense. Shouldn’t *you* return to the adventure in Innsmouth?

*You* lose interest. The sky of Hyperborea flips over like a page. The gypsum resembling clouds peels off like a sticker being removed. The entire world is stripped away like a calendar, like a memo pad covered in stickers, like an object draped in curtains.

“Is there actually anything you can do if you go?”

The world freezes in place. The page of Hyperborea has turned halfway, and the rest has changed to the dark and gloomy landscape of Innsmouth. But it stops right there.

“I don’t know. But Crayfield would surely know the answer.”

A gentle smile spreads across Emma Scully’s face.

“I wonder. If Crayfield is such a great figure, ‘why’ would he need you?”

“He said I was the mastermind. That I am the protagonist and the one who completes the narrative.”

“Do you believe him?”

Numerous doubts arise in *your* mind, but it seems better to speak indirectly rather than confide your true feelings to this strange woman. ‘Why should I trust her?’

“More than I trust you.”

“Haha!”

Emma Scully laughs as if something is terribly amusing. She shakes her head.

“Fine. You’re honest. But no. *You* shouldn’t leave here. How much time do you think remains in your current body? You’re not the only ones trying to prevent the end of the world. So am I.”

“From those beasts?”

*You* point to the K-nadin Zaurums. Emma sighs.

“It’s true those furry creatures caused Comorium’s collapse, but Hyperborea didn’t fall easily just because its capital crumbled. It moved elsewhere. And those creatures, though hideous, aren’t even a single breath compared to ‘you.'”

“What exactly am I?”

*You* clearly raise that question for the first time.

“What am I? Who am I? Why do people constantly ask who I am, speaking as if they know me, while I… I?”

But Emma looks as if she doesn’t understand.

“How can you not know that? You are…”

Flames kindle in Emma’s eyes. She stretches out both arms.

“In the name of Even-Gazi, I command you to reveal yourself.”

What you see are vines. Vines. Vines. Vines. Withered vines. Persistent vines climbing up dead trees.

“I’m sick of these weeds! Why did you bring this thing here? Didn’t you think there might be a reason it was buried on Mars for 4.5 billion years?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The crazy woman trying to see you again somehow! Thus you shall know. Flesh turns to stone, stone becomes earth, and earth scatters as dust, O dead ones! Go where you must go! Do what you must do! Become what you must become! As is proper!”

It was useless. The dead branches quickly climb up pillars and buildings. Vines that can climb no higher gather and clump together. Soon they transform into a familiar form, the appearance of Firebreathe. More precisely, it looks like a straw doll made in Firebreathe’s image.

[ I miss you ]

[ I miss you ]

Emma Scully glares angrily with raised eyes. Her long hair is engulfed in flames. From her mouth flows a blasphemous foreign language that cannot be understood or accepted. Her mouth is like a furnace and her tongue a greedy flame; the foulness of her words makes even the dead branches tremble in fear! But even that, even that is only momentary. Emma is exhausted. She gasps for breath. Like a signal of retreat, a thin reed pipe sound comes from her mouth.

“Sister.”

“Cut it out.”

“Your sister is in Innsmouth too.”

Emma’s tired eyes look up at *you*.

“Catherine wants to see you.”

“Ah. You mean my sister who ruined my life. How nice.”

“Help me.”

*You* plead.

“Someone told me that only I, Crayfield, the person who told me, and Catherine Scully don’t wish for Innsmouth’s destruction. The situation has grown too large. It’s too much for her alone. And she won’t stop. She’ll try to handle everything with reason.”

Clear mockery appears on her face.

“That can’t be. I know her. A frightened child who hides behind reason and logic?”

“She’s changed. She fights, commands, and struggles. She doesn’t take care of herself. And she misses you. Whatever happened between you two… wouldn’t it be better than here? Priestess of Hyperborea.”

“You remember that title well.”

Emma Scully looks at *you* and at the withered plants that continue to grow. Her spells return them to earth slower than they grow.

“Let me protect your sister.”

“I’ve protected her all my life. Even though she ruined me. But she’s still my sister. I accepted my fate solely because of my family.”

A bitter thought crosses *your* mind, wondering why family members who care so much for each other hate each other.

“…Fine.”

Finally, Emma accepts.

“Remember. My real body, of course, isn’t here. What’s here is my thought-form, and it’s my thought-form opening the door for you, and it’s my thought-form accompanying you. So others won’t see me, so please don’t talk nonsense to the air. The exit is over there.”

Emma points to a wall. There’s no door. When you stand there blankly, Emma rushes over irritably and kicks the wall. The wall opens as if a door panel has fallen off.

“Get out!”

* * * * *

June 4, 1929. 9:44 PM

Between Main Street and Water Street

Innsmouth

“Assistant? Hey! Assistant! My goodness, are you finally coming to your senses?”

It’s Crayfield’s voice. I feel intense pain in my jaw, back, and chest. I got up. Looking at the clock, only 5 minutes had passed. I raised my hand to indicate I was fine.

“Good heavens. Are you alright? Or do unconscious people normally snore so peacefully? Anyone would think you’d fallen asleep after working overtime for days!”

Crayfield extended his hand, and I stood up. Various parts of my body felt stiff, numb, and painful. Holmes was nowhere to be seen, of course. I almost screamed when I saw Emma Scully leaning against the wall behind Crayfield. She was somehow translucent, like ghosts in old horror movies. Emma Scully playfully rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

“Hey? Are you really alright? You look like someone possessed by a ghost.”

[ That’s accurate. Ah, only you can hear this too ]

You pat Crayfield’s shoulder to assure him you’re really fine. You finally feel like you’ve properly returned to Innsmouth. But with all our leads cut off, what do we do now?

“What do you mean what do we do, my friend? Let’s get out of here first. My limbs are aching, and the smell of rotting fish is about to make my nose fall off!”

We went out into the night in Innsmouth. The stench of rotting fish was terribly foul, as if it had attached itself to our nostrils. Since the streets were extremely dark with barely any lighting, we walked along the main road. It’s better to have an open view than to risk being ambushed in an alley. Even the sound of barking dogs from beyond the darkness seems distant and subdued.

The thought-form, or soul, or whatever it was of Emma Scully, flitting about in front of us, made Innsmouth’s dreary landscape even more eerie. Even a bad joke or an outdated April Fool’s prank would be less horrifying than this. Still, Crayfield remains energetic.

“Good. Awareness is at <5/12> and the Doom value is at <6/12>. The Doom progression has increased more, which confirms that the game of tag between Clarisse Holmes and James Moriarty was suppressing the Doom value. Now that it’s been disrupted, we can see the Doom level rising immediately.”

In other words, they were preventing the rise of the Doom value at the cost of planting bombs in innocent civilians’ bodies. Holmes disabled one of the explosive boxes, and we chased away the citizen group, disrupting Moriarty’s scheme. At least tonight, the citizen group won’t let their guard down.

But problems still remain. We still don’t know what’s happening in Innsmouth. We don’t know Assistant Klein’s true purpose. Crayfield is familiar with Innsmouth, but that’s based on the previous work. All our leads have been cut off, and we can’t figure out where to start. I shared these concerns with Crayfield.

“Everything will be revealed when we reach the finale anyway. Even in the worst case, we can stop it then. We’re not like a child trying to plug a leaking fountain with one finger.”

Emma Scully’s thought-form tapped on Crayfield’s head. Of course, Crayfield didn’t even feel the tickle on the back of his head.

[ Want some advice? ]

I answered affirmatively, a response that worked for both Crayfield and Emma Scully.

[ If I were you, I’d check out Devil’s Reef. You might not see it, but I can. The way the sea and the land beneath are howling. It’s like watching a rat being devoured under a sewer. ]

I suggested to Crayfield that we go to Devil’s Reef. It’s not too far from here, and we haven’t been to the beach yet. Since the Dagon statue suggests this town has a deep connection with the sea, wouldn’t it be good to take a look?

“Nothing much seems likely to happen in town tonight. Alright, let’s go. But be prepared to walk longer to get back to our hotel. There are no taxis here.”