For Duncan, amidst the whirlwind of cryptic messages he received from the mysterious being known as the “Nether Lord,” the clearest piece of information was the first one. It said that something initially engineered to function for just eight thousand years was now overburdened and running beyond its capacity.
Immediately, Duncan thought of the artificial sun called “Vision 001,” which currently shone over a vast oceanic expanse. This fabricated celestial body, which had recently begun malfunctioning and shedding components, was created by the Crete Clan under the leadership of the Nether Lord during the time of the ancient Crete Kingdom. Intriguingly, Vision 001 has been in operation for ten thousand years. So, if it was designed with an eight-thousand-year lifespan in mind, its present instability starts to make logical sense.
Adding another layer of complexity, the Nether Lord hinted that “they” have been waiting for a signal from “somewhere” within that time frame but have yet to receive it. Duncan found himself wrestling with two immediate questions: Who are “they,” and what specific location is denoted by the word “somewhere”?
“We have not received the signal from &*%? beyond the deadline,” Duncan recollected the exact wording from the mysterious figure, likely an ancient deity. Drawing from his understanding of a prior text known as the “Book of Blasphemy,” Duncan ventured to guess that “they” could refer to the “Ancient Kings.” This group would comprise not just the current Four True Gods but also a variety of other ancient and forgotten deities. This singular clue could radically upend the understanding of the entire world.
What was even more shocking was the implication that the Four True Gods and the universally recognized “Evil Ancient Gods” might be waiting for the same event or signal, thereby sharing a unified purpose. If Vanna, an old friend of Duncan’s, had heard this revelation, she would likely have been stunned and did a jump chop out of reflex.
Yet what gnawed at Duncan even more was the latter part of the Nether Lord’s statement: the “signal from &*%?…” What could that garbled noise signify? If it is linked to Vision 001—the artificial sun—which the Nether Lord also described as a “brief burst of noise,” could it mean that this unintelligible signal is of a similar nature or status to Vision 001? Could there be a substantial similarity between the two?
And what attributes define Vision 001? Is it an ancient construct? Was it created by long-forgotten gods? Is it of such a grand scale that its malfunction could have global consequences? Is there a relationship between it and the mythical “Black Sun”? Or could it even contain structural elements from the “Old World,” such as mysterious artifacts like long “Lost Stars”?
Might the cryptic signal also have roots in the Old World, as hinted at by the “burst of noise”?
Mulling over these questions, Duncan raised his hand to lightly massage his forehead, which had begun to ache from the intellectual exertion. He paused, his eyes settling on his own hands, contemplating his identity.
“Usurper of Fire”—it wasn’t the first time he had been called that, and he wondered what that title would come to mean in the unfolding chaos.
Both the enigmatic figure known as the “Black Sun” and the equally mysterious “Nether Lord” refer to themselves using these grand titles. What they primarily have in common is their membership in the august circle of “Ancient Kings,” a cadre of powerful and ancient deities.
However, from Duncan’s interaction with the Nether Lord, it became apparent that the latter only has a vague awareness of the title or concept “Usurper of Fire.” He seemed ignorant of the specific powers and the true nature associated with being the “Usurper,” offering only a cryptic clue: that the Usurper would come into full awakening at the “End of the Cycle.”
This led Duncan to ponder about the other “Ancient Kings”—like the Goddess of Storms, the Eternal Flame, and the God of Wisdom. These deities, who still seem to maintain some level of influence or connection with the human realm, might have more insights into this mystery.
With a soft sigh, Duncan shook his head, his face tinged with a sense of helplessness. It was frustrating enough that the world was enshrouded in so many uncertainties and enigmas, but what compounded his annoyance was the fact that these so-called “Ancient Gods” and “True Gods” appeared to know more about him than he did about himself. And as if to add insult to injury, these gods were notoriously hard to reach, as though they had inconsistent and unreliable lines of celestial communication.
Duncan was also thoroughly perplexed about what the “End of the Cycle” might signify and found himself too drained to ponder this further.
He walked along the edge of the garden and stopped before a stone pillar that seemed to be abruptly placed there. At its base, nestled amid thorn bushes, lay a silver-haired doll in repose. Whether it was the Nether Lord who had conjured this ethereal place, referred to as the “Alice Mansion,” or whether the mansion predated him and he had merely utilized it as a conduit to the real world, one fact was indisputable: this sleeping doll was intimately connected to the real-world individual named “Alice.”
Duncan carefully took out a wind-up key that he had been carrying with him. To return to the real world, all he needed to do was insert this key into the doll and wind it up.
However, just as he was about to do so, a fresh thought arrested him. Quietly stowing away the key, he turned and made his way towards the garden’s exit.
Navigating through the dark and luxuriant foliage, he eventually arrived back at the mansion’s grand garden gate. This gate was embellished with intricate stained glass and ornate ironwork that seemed to narrate an ancient tale.
The gate was slightly ajar, allowing snatches of conversation, footsteps, and intermittent strains of music to waft out from what appeared to be a grand hall inside the mansion—almost as if an eternal ball were in full swing.
Pushing the gate open, Duncan entered into a long, shadowy corridor that seemed empty. But as he took his first step into the hallway, an eerie figure materialized. A headless butler abruptly appeared from the shadows a few meters away as though he had been lurking there all along.
“Ah, the guest with the key,” the butler greeted him warmly, his voice low and muffled as it emanated strangely from his torso. “Have you greeted the mistress?”
Caught off guard but intrigued, Duncan was left to ponder his next moves and their larger implications.
Duncan regarded the unsettling, headless figure before him with a measured gaze. “Have you been watching me?”
“I have merely been awaiting the summon of a guest. You’ve only been gone a short while, so I have remained here,” the headless butler replied, bowing slightly. His tone was as polite and formal as ever. “May I ask what your next instructions are?”
Only gone a short while?
Duncan’s eyebrows furrowed in thought, recalling the butler’s earlier comments about the mansion’s peculiar sense of “time.”
Could it be that no matter how much time he spends here in the mansion, only an infinitesimal moment elapses in the real world? Conversely, regardless of how long he exists in the real world after departing from this mansion, would it equate to just a fraction of a moment for its inhabitants?
Is the mansion operating on an entirely separate temporal scale, distinct from the real world? Is it more than just a pause in time but a completely different dimension of time itself?
What could possibly be the mechanism behind this phenomenon?
These questions swirled in Duncan’s mind in rapid succession, but outwardly, his expression remained placid. He offered a slight nod to the butler and asked casually, “Has there been any change in the mansion during the ‘short while’ I was gone?”
“Everything is as usual, sir,” the butler answered promptly. “The mansion seldom undergoes change. As far as my memory serves, it has always maintained this appearance.”
Duncan hummed in acknowledgment before casually tossing another question into the conversation. “Before me, have there been other guests who have ventured into that garden?”
“Other guests?” The butler seemed momentarily taken aback but quickly recovered. “Certainly not. As you might be aware, only the mistress and the gardener have permission to enter the garden area. Beyond them, access is granted only to guests possessing the key—why do you inquire?”
Ignoring the butler’s question, Duncan pressed on. “This ‘gardener’ you mention—what is his appearance?”
“The gardener… well, nobody really knows what he looks like,” the butler replied, appearing increasingly uneasy as if he had never faced such a probing line of inquiry. “The gardener has been absent for quite some time. Once the garden no longer required his attention, he returned to his place of origin. His duties diverge from those of us, ordinary servants. His primary task is to ensure that the environment remains tranquil and undisturbed when the mistress is at rest. Beyond that, he has no additional responsibilities within the mansion and, furthermore, he does not… communicate with me.”
“It’s interesting to note that even you, as the ‘butler,’ seem to have limited knowledge about this mansion,” Duncan remarked, studying the headless figure before him with an air of detachment. “Have you ever heard of a certain name?”
“A name? Please, do elaborate.”
Duncan listed the titles: “The Nether Lord, King of Darkness, LH-01—He could go by any of these three names. Have you heard of Him?”
The butler hesitated for a moment as if sifting through vast volumes of memory within his headless frame. Finally, he spoke, the sound emerging eerily from his hollow chest, “I apologize, sir. I have no recollection of such a name.”
The butler’s tone was genuine, leaving Duncan in a unique position. With no face to read or eyes to scrutinize, all Duncan had were the intangible cues of the butler’s posture and tone, which remained impeccably formal and devoid of emotional nuance. Given the circumstances, Duncan had little choice but to provisionally accept the butler’s word as truthful.
“Very well, thank you for your response.”
The headless butler inclined his upper body in a slight bow. “I hope I have been of assist—”
Abruptly, he cut himself off, his body stiffening as though jolted by an invisible electrical charge. He pivoted sharply, facing away from Duncan.
Simultaneously, Duncan sensed a tangible shift in the mansion’s atmosphere; the air grew taut, pulsing with an urgency that hadn’t been there a moment ago. The silence of the hallway was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps and hushed conversations.
“What’s going on?” Duncan demanded, his voice tinged with alarm.
“Intruder alert, sir. I must excuse myself,” the butler replied tersely. Then, without another word, he whirled around and strode swiftly down the hallway.
Intruder alert?
The words hung in the air, jolting Duncan from his thoughts. Before he could fully process the situation, the butler had already disappeared down the corridor. Hesitating only for a fraction of a second, Duncan sprinted after him.
As the butler navigated the labyrinthine halls, he subtly angled his torso to acknowledge Duncan trailing behind him, but he didn’t stop or slow down.
Encouraged, Duncan quickened his pace, following the butler up a staircase and into a long corridor on the second floor that led to a row of “bedrooms.” Here, a collection of shadowy figures—headless maids and butlers like the one he had been speaking to—congregated in anxious huddles, their whispers a discordant murmur of restless energy.
Duncan recognized this stretch of hallway. He recalled that it led to a bedroom where the soul of the Frost Queen Ray Nora had once been imprisoned. But that room had since been “erased” from the mansion’s framework, replaced by what should be an endless void.
“Move aside, move aside! Do not touch the intruding object!” The butler’s voice resonated with an authority that belied his disembodied state. He wove through the crowd of servants, emanating the decorum and gravity befitting a chief butler. “Where is the intruder?”
As if heeding an unspoken command, the assembled servants parted, creating a path in the corridor.
Peering over the butler’s headless shoulders, Duncan finally saw what—or rather, who—had set off the mansion’s intrusion alarm.
His expression momentarily froze.
A small bag of garbage was lying inconspicuously on the plush corridor carpet. The sight was bewildering, ludicrous, and oddly unsettling, all at the same time. Why would a bag of everyday trash cause such a commotion? And why did it feel so eerily familiar?
