Magister Insanity

There was no chance of winning a direct confrontation against an armed enemy, not without a distraction.

My ability to see in the dark was utterly useless; the sun had yet to set, and as long as Ezra's eyes were on me, the advantage was his.

Standing here inside this temple, where the shadows had gathered the most during the setting sun, there was something — a hidden card — which could tip the situation in my favor. And the circumstances were just right.

That thought alone kept me calm.

I lowered my gaze, careful not to stir suspicion.

My eyes met my shadow on the floor. No words were necessary. Its intelligent eyes seemed to understand my intent and stirred on its own, moving through the gaps where Ezra could not see.

During this time, my sudden silence caught his attention.

"Why are you suddenly quiet?"

Silence.

"Well?! Say something, damn it, or I'll really put a bullet between your eyes!"

His voice carried a threatening tone, but I neither answered nor met his eyes. My body quivered, stiff with cold.

With a shallow, trembling breath, I watched in horror as colossal shadows gathered, weaving themselves into a monstrous shape. Silence was the only refuge. My chest heaved in sync with the frantic pounding of my heart.

Then, at last, a flicker of realization crossed the young man's gaze. In an instant, he spun, his gun snapping up with lightning speed.

What followed next was the expected reaction.

"What the fuck...!"

Horrified and alarmed, Ezra stumbled back, his finger tightening on the trigger. The muzzle flashed once.

Crack! A gunshot cracked through the temple.

But the bullet sank harmlessly into the writhing mass of darkness, swallowed whole without so much as a spark. The shadows shuddered, then moved forward, stretching high and wide until they towered above him like a living nightmare.

Ezra's face drained of color.

"No… no, that's impossible!"

The thing did not speak. It only moved, a silent avalanche of black consuming the faint light that lingered in the ruined temple. Its outline grew clearer: with arms long, a torso twisting like smoken and a head that seemed to bend with the weight of countless eyes.

Driven by desperation, he fired again and again frantically.

'Now!'

Capitalizing on the opening, I lunged forward with every ounce of strength I could scrape together.

Step. Step. Another step.

By then, Ezra had already stopped firing, whether from an empty magazine or the dawning realization that something was wrong, I couldn't tell. But it no longer mattered. Three strides were enough to close the distance.

Before he could turn, my hand clamped down on his wrist, locking his gun in place. With the other, I drew the paring knife in a swift motion.

And stabbed his neck mercilessly.

Crimson flowed, accompanied by a bloody scream.

Ezra thrashed wildly. His free hand clawed at me, desperate to pry me off, but the strength was already leaving his body. Hot blood sprayed across my arm, soaking into my clothes.

I wrenched the blade free and stabbed deeper this time.

Fueled by adrenaline, my hand moved in a relentless rhythm: thrusting, pulling, stabbing again and again.

The young man buckled, his knees hitting the stone as the pistol slipped from his grasp. His hands clutched at his ruined neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, but the remaining strength within his body was already leaving him.

Moments later, even the will to kneel deserted him. He collapsed onto the cold floor, life draining away with every shallow breath.

I picked up the gun and in the same moment, a realization struck me.

"Ah… you're still like this? You can stop with that already."

The words were meant for the massive, writhing shadow.

Gradually, almost reluctantly, it began to shrink, its towering form folding in on itself until it reduced to something far smaller, more manageable. The shadow slithered across the floor and returned back to its rightful place.

Ezra looked at me. There seemed to be confusion and disbelief in his eyes.

I let out a bitter laugh.

"Oh, that's right. You didn't know I could do that. Honestly, I only recently realized my shadow could move like this. For some reason… it just can."

He said nothing, but the horror in his eyes was unmistakable.

Was he misunderstanding something?

"Why are you looking at me like I'm some kind of devil? Afraid of an ordinary shadow? Don't worry, it's completely powerless. It won't eat you."

Ezra coughed, blood spilling from his lips. "Y-you bastard… An ordinary shadow… cannot move on its own!"

"Is that so?" I shrugged. "I guess you're right. But weren't you a shitty bastard too? Why did you try to kill me? Look at what you made me do. Was it worth it? Did you want to live that badly?"

A quiet sigh escaped me.

"But your words from before were right. One of us had to die in order to survive. But did it really have to come to this? We could've found another way. Yet you… you always force cruel logic on every situation, huh? Now this is the result. Just why did you try to kill me, you jerk."

Crouching down to his eye level, my voice softened into a mutter.

"You know… at some point, I was already prepared to die. Even if — by some miracle — It's impossible for everything to return the way it was after an experience this gruesome."

It was a sad tone. However, a moment later, it was gone. Only indifference remained.

"But that changed some time ago. Suddenly, every time I encountered death, I wanted to live."

With a pause, I continued,

"This world… it's unnatural, sinister in every way. If you die here, you'll be consumed and forgotten, every last moment erased without anyone ever knowing. Isn't that… unbearably sad? Unfair? For such a wicked world to exist?"

A slow smile spread across my face. I probably looked scary.

"That's why I tear it down. Rip it apart. Maybe it's arrogant of me to say, what can a weak, pathetic human like me accomplish? Still… my hatred for this world is that vast. I don't mind becoming a demon for it. Do you think anything less would ever be acceptable?"

No answer came. At some point, Ezra had stopped twitching. His hands, stained with his own blood, had fallen limply to the ground. His eyes were now lifeless, void of any color.

I sighed.

He'd probably died while I was busy monologuing like some third-rate villain.

"Well, nothing can be done about that."

Since he was already dead, why not use his body for the ritual?

After a moment, I managed to drag his lifeless, heavy body to the altar. I paused briefly to catch my breath, then gently pushed Minho — may God bless his unfortunate soul — off the altar and threw Ezra on top of it.

The blood flowed from this neck, and once again, the black marble absorbed every drop greedily like a vampire.

However,

"..."

There was no reaction. Even after two delivering two sacrifices, absolutely nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

† †

How much time has passed? Minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks?

There was no way to tell, not anymore. My smartphone had already died and all the extra batteries were spent as well.

Worse still, the ritual had failed, making it impossible to leave the ruined temple.

Grrr… My stomach growled in protest. I clutched my gut, wincing at the pain.

"So hungry..."

Before arriving here, we had already run out of anything edible... two days ago, to be precise. I hadn't eaten a thing since.

Moreover, my body was so weak that every so often I would start to doze off from sheer fatigue, only to jolt awake the next moment.

No one needed to tell me: if I fell asleep here, I would die.

Somehow, by sheer will, I had managed to survive till now like a stubborn cockroach.

A normal person surviving in the wild under these conditions would have been impossible. Perhaps it was a miracle I had lasted this long.

But my streak of luck and misfortunes was about to run out.

"So I'm going to die, aren't i?"

A faint smile tugged at my lips, though it never reached my eyes.

Wasn't I the same person who had raved about destroying this world? And now, here I was, rotting away, waiting for the inevitable.

My gaze swept around. The bodies of Minho and Ezra could be seen. They were the remaining survivors from our group but now they were dead.

All because of that epitaph.

How ironic. When we first arrived at this ruined temple, I told them to survive with me. But in the end, I was the one who killed them.

Well… not both of them, strictly speaking. Ezra had been the one to finish off the other guy.

What was his name again? I can't seem to remember.

Just then, my shadow flickered, moving oddly, as though trying to wave me over. I blinked, staring as it gestured again, clearly pointing toward the stone slab.

"Hm… you want me to go there?"

The shadow gave a small nod.

Why the hell would it want me to approach the epitaph?

It didn't matter.

That thing was nothing but a waste of time. Most likely the handiwork of some deranged cultist who scrawled it down and infused it with cursed magic to snare anyone dumb enough to wander into this ruined temple.

Even so,

'If I'm going to die anyway, why not read it one last time? Not that it would change anything.'

Sitting still was beginning to become dull. Gathering what little strength I had left in my legs, I rose and made my way toward the epitaph.

I read it carefully:

"To those who enter, abandon the hope of return. Only the marked one may cross the threshold of eternity.

Persecute thyself, stain the altar with the worth of blood.

Let the veins be rivers, let the heart be flame,

let the breath that departs be the hymn of devotion.

Cast the spell, weave the thread, bind the blood, nail the head, kill the sun, break the chains, free the soul. Only than would you be redeemed.

All hail the Almighty Ruler of Imaginary, Vanishing Dream God!"

Looking at it one more time, several questions ran through my mind:

What does all of these mean?

Had there been something I missed or misunderstood?

Had it possible to escape without sacrificing anyone?

With these questions in mind, I reread the epitaph over and over again. Eventually, my gaze landed on a particular phrase: "Only the marked one may cross the threshold of eternity."

The words [Marked One] struck a strange chord, as if I had seen them somewhere before.

— Wait. Could it be…?

Hurriedly, I summoned the runes and read the description in my Traits.

[Mark of Judgement] — Trait Description:

"For obtaining forbidden power, you have escaped the strings of fate. In doing so, you have angered the gods and forsaken the gift of fortune. Misfortune and Terrors will now be drawn to your presence."

"No… this can't be…"

The truth hit me like a blade. The ritual had failed all this time not because the sacrifice wasn't lacking. The true sacrifice hadn't been slain.

The sacrifice… was me.

"Hehehe..."

Overwhelmed, laughter emerged as though I had gone insane.