Shiller was well aware that events in the Cthulhu Mythos differed from those involving superheroes, often building up over a long period before the true disaster revealed itself.
Previously, Shiller found the hotel to fit this pattern well, starting off extremely calm and then gradually exhibiting various eerie phenomena before evolving into a disaster that engulfed the entire city.
But if the time point he was in was the past, and the time point Peter was in was the future, the level of eeriness was beyond imagination.
Because it was quite evident that the hotel he was in was filled with abnormal phenomena, such as the 19th floor that one couldn't descend from once up, the incessant elevator noise in the middle of the night, and neighbours who clearly weren't in good shape—this all seemed like the aftermath of a bizarre event.
On the contrary, Peter's side was very calm, he checked into the hotel very smoothly, could move freely within it, his neighbours were all normal, communicative, and essential supplies were plentiful; no supernatural events had occurred.
But assuming at Shiller's time point things had already turned out this way, what was the deal with the peace at Peter's time point?
If the gap between the two were enormous, spanning completely different eras, it wouldn't be as perplexing, but the short individual living in room 1903 at both hotels was clearly the same person; judging by voice and appearance, not much had changed, meaning the span couldn't have been decades—it must have taken place within a year.
This meant it was impossible for a supernatural event to have wiped out the entire town, causing people to forget what happened and start everything from scratch.
Obviously, it was also impossible for the supernatural to erupt during Shiller's timeline and then mysteriously heal itself, suddenly getting better by the time it reached Peter's timeline, where everything became extremely peaceful.
That left only one possibility, the supernatural phenomena were actually worsening continuously, Shiller's hotel was before the deterioration, while Peter's hotel was after the deterioration, and all the peaceful scenes were just a facade, containing unimaginable horror on a deeper level.
Jerome's appearance at Peter's site was also supportive evidence, as far as Shiller knew, the investigator was able to make Little Bruce scamper all over the place; if the hotel at Peter's site really had no issues, he wouldn't appear there. On the contrary, his presence proved that the hotel's problems were unimaginably severe.
Shiller inwardly sympathized with Peter's misfortune, and just as he was about to use the communicator to remind Peter, he found the scene in the room beginning to change, and a person gradually appeared.
It was a beautiful, voluptuous blonde woman standing in the middle of the room, back to the window—the once messy living room disappeared, replaced by a luxuriously decorated guest room.
Shiller felt the figure looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't recall who she was at the moment; thus, he didn't move, leaning on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, preparing to watch the show unfold.
The woman was reapplying her lipstick, and after a while, she tidied her hair and finally turned around to face Shiller who was sitting outside the window on the sofa, saying, "Why are you still sitting there, weren't we going to chat?"
Shiller narrowed his eyes slightly, what was this? A honey trap?
No, that wasn't right, this woman seemed familiar; she must be someone Shiller had met before, and as he was trying to recall who she was, the woman walked over to the window, looking at Shiller with a smile and saying, "It seems you've forgotten me, do you remember? We once had a romantic date..."
At the word "date," it was as if Shiller suddenly remembered something, indeed he knew this woman; she was a socialite he had met at a party while studying in America in a past life.
Physical confrontation won't work, planning to switch to a battle of wits? Shiller thought with interest.
He wasn't surprised that some entity in the room could read his memories; beings from the Cthulhu Mythos were adept at manipulating memory, knowledge, and emotions. Their not employing such tactics would have been the real surprise.
Shiller even thought that this wasn't an Illusion caused by magic energy, but rather his brainwaves being interfered with, making the illusion appear just in front of his eyes as if a film had been placed over them.
Indeed, as memories related to this woman gradually surfaced in his mind, the room transformed into the likeness of a bedroom.
Shiller felt somewhat amused as the room seemed to be trying very hard to find moments when he experienced emotional fluctuations.
Logically speaking, memories of a first date with a lover would be good material to reminisce about the past.
But Shiller never played by the rules.
As his memories surged, a thought flitted across his mind—the body lying on the bed transformed from white flesh into a lively, bright red fish, with a stench so heavy it felt like it could burst the room.
With a whoosh, the illusion vanished.
The room's color palette darkened, becoming grey and somber. A stern professor with white hair was sitting by a desk reading; he pushed up his glasses and looked towards Shiller outside the window, saying, "Long time no see, how have you been? Have you published any recent papers?"
"Long time no see, Professor," Shiller said, as if truly greeting him, "Lately, there hasn't been any particularly noteworthy research achievements."
He began to recall the professor's face, and as he made an effort to dig out this image from his memory, countless memories associated with the old professor were unearthed simultaneously.
The room transformed into a sea of blood.
The surgical lights suddenly turned on, and the room slowly morphed into an operating room; a bed was wheeled in, with a pale-faced little boy lying on it. A nurse anxiously called out to Shiller, "Doctor! Chief surgeon! What are you doing standing there? The patient's surgery is about to begin..."
Shiller riffled through his memory once more, and the surgical table in the room suddenly split into two—one carrying a man with his abdomen splayed open, the other with a woman who had died with her eyes still open.
The scene of the operating room also began to fade away, but rather than a new illusion appearing, the room seemed stuck.
Yet Shiller laughed and said, "Trying to tempt me to go back by finding pleasant memories? You might want to dig a little deeper; I remember there were a few times that didn't end in homicide."
The phantoms in the room began to change again, and as the new scene emerged, Shiller felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity—it was the prayer room he often visited in his past life, and an old Father walked in through the door.
"You came early today," he said.
"Because I have things to do," Shiller responded out of habit. "You can go back to rest. I will take care of the other parishioners for you."
Then the scene shifted back to the church's back garden, in front of the rusty gazebo. The soil was piled high, and a large pit appeared in the center of the room, where a body that had not been dead for long lay.
Shiller leaned back on the sofa, relaxed, and said, "Those were indeed carefree days worth reminiscing about."
The body moved.
"Decided to haunt me at last?" Shiller muttered to himself as no one in the room responded to him.
"Why did you kill me?" The old Father, his face mottled with livor mortis, stood up and asked Shiller, looking out of the window, "I was not your enemy, nor did I ever stand in your way."
"Indeed, you even took great care of me," Shiller nodded, looking at the body, "Are you hoping I would feel guilty?"
"Shouldn't you feel guilty?"
Shiller shook his head and said, "You told the faithful the wrong truth. I was merely stopping you from spreading the fallacy any wider."
"You are a demon."
"And the angel you so dearly longed for did not come to save you either," Shiller said. "You were the first Father I knew. Your death was not without meaning, it gave me a good start."
"You killed innocent me."
"It was God who killed you, because He didn't save you," Shiller said calmly, looking at him, "Have you ever resented God?"
The other seemed to glitch again.
The fantasy in the room disappeared in an instant, and everything was back to its chaotic state. Shiller compared these memories and found they seemed to be playing in reverse chronological order.
Many corpses appeared in the room, most of them disfigured beyond recognition, standing together in a messy living room.
"Why did you kill me?"
"Why did you kill me?"
"Why did you…"
"Why…"
They repeated these words together, moving toward the window, reaching out through the broken window as if trying to drag Shiller back in. But obviously, the distance was not enough, and it seemed that the apparitions could not affect anything outside the window.
"It was God who killed you," Shiller replied. "Because when you were in agony and struggling, He did not come to save you, regardless of how devout you were or how much you had sacrificed for your beliefs. In the moment of your tragic deaths, the Almighty God was absent."
"It was you…"
"It was you…"
"It was you…"
Shiller glanced at his watch. It was now 11:00 PM. He said, "I guess you must stop before 'it' arrives. You have one more hour. If you want to continue playing a broken record, I won't stop you."
The corpses stopped their movements, just standing stiffly by the window. But since most of them were so disfigured that they couldn't even trigger the uncanny valley effect, they didn't look that frightening.
Shiller looked over the corpses with a sense of nostalgia—the unique memories that form the pillars of each individual's character traits.
Clearly, he had a hand in what these corpses had become, but that was a long time ago.
Memories surged within him, and the reflection of Shiller's soft expression in the glass vanished.
In its place was a face with eyes and brows sharp as knives.
The sudden appearance of these "old acquaintances" reminded him of his younger self.
The young Shiller was like a vast, surging wind; he came as a mighty stream and left with a heart full of frost and snow—proud, cold, and unstoppable.
Beneath the earth's veins, he stirred up deep-seated maladies, forging himself into a sword of intense sharpness with the black blood that flowed from the darkest corridors of evil.
On that face was a mix of murderous intent and chivalry, emotionless yet touching.