Reaching out,
Touching the switch,
Turning it on.
With a "click," the light came on.
Orpheus continued walking down and reached the basement.
Often, the sense of fear doesn't come from actual objects but from the "self-imposed imagination."
When the Immorales family was decorating their basement, they certainly wouldn't have designed it to look "sinister" or "oppressive." However, at night, no matter if you paint the walls Barbie pink, knowing there are two corpses lying inside would prevent any feelings of "warmth" or "cuteness."
The sobbing continued.
It came from Aunt Mary's workshop.
Orpheus walked to the door of the workshop, which wasn't locked… because there seemed no need to lock it.
Orpheus paused, not immediately reaching for the doorknob. Instead, he turned around and looked behind him.
The corridor behind him was lit, so it wasn't completely dark, but the winding ramp leading up to the first floor was still dim and unclear.
Closing his eyes,
Taking a deep breath,
Orpheus wished he could smell the sweet aroma of warm milk,
But alas, he wasn't a bloodhound.
Thinking about the dog,
Orpheus glanced down,
The golden retriever, which had been so enthusiastic about coming inside earlier, didn't follow him into the basement.
What a worthless dog, unworthy of love.
Reaching out,
Grasping the doorknob;
In an instant,
It was as if the "channel" suddenly switched, bringing on a faint sense of disorientation—not overwhelming but perceptible.
Immediately,
The sobbing inside the workshop abruptly stopped.
Orpheus turned back again, the corridor lights still shining steadily.
"Click…"
Turning the doorknob,
Opening the door,
He quickly reached for the switch and pressed it.
"Click…"
The lights in the workshop turned on.
Light,
Adequate light,
Can bring immense psychological comfort.
Two gurneys lay in the workshop, with Lazarus and Mr. Moisan lying on them.
Lazarus's face was coated in makeup, "radiant."
You could see it was heavy, and his hair was parted in the middle and slicked back with gel, looking… especially spirited, probably more so than he ever did in life.
Mr. Moisan, on the other hand, looked much more "normal," with only subtle and natural makeup, making him appear genuinely asleep.
Aunt Mary clearly "favored" one over the other in her work; the distinction between welfare cases and regular clients was evident here.
Of course, if Aunt Mary had known in advance that Mr. Moisan's children planned to cremate him, Mr. Moisan might have ended up competing with the young Lazarus beside him in terms of "extravagance."
Orpheus walked past Lazarus, noting that the earlier sobbing had a frail, elderly tone, clearly not something that could come from a young person like Lazarus—it could only be… Mr. Moisan.
But standing in front of Mr. Moisan now,
Orpheus only saw him lying there quietly, with no other "abnormalities."
Pulling over a wheeled stool, he sat down, propping his feet on the lower rail of the gurney.
Orpheus tilted his head slightly,
Just staring at Mr. Moisan.
At the same time,
His peripheral vision kept glancing through the open office door, focusing on the corridor… mainly the end of the ramp.
Time passed—fifteen minutes flew by.
And in those fifteen minutes, all was calm.
If you're a ghost, show yourself,
Give me some reaction, will you?
Orpheus sighed, ready to leave. The warmth of his bed upstairs was more appealing at this hour.
He stood up,
And as he passed by Mr. Moisan,
Orpheus noticed that the buttons on Mr. Moisan's collar were undone, so he instinctively reached out to help button them.
However,
The moment his fingers touched Mr. Moisan's neck,
A sudden dizziness swept through Orpheus's mind,
Like being in a smoke-induced daze, his body staggering.
Orpheus quickly steadied himself, his back leaning against the wall.
"Wooo… wooo…"
The sobbing resumed.
Orpheus immediately raised his head.
In front of him, Mr. Moisan still lay there;
But in the corner, a crouched figure hugging its knees seemed to reappear, crying softly.
Seeing this, Orpheus didn't scream in fear; he was mentally prepared.
For Orpheus, encountering a "ghost" was far better than not encountering one.
In the latter case, he'd have to question his own "sanity" and "mental state."
So, compared to "being insane," Orpheus preferred to accept that "this is a world of insanity."
"Mr. Moisan?"
Orpheus called out to the figure huddled in the corner.
But the figure didn't seem to hear and continued sobbing alone.
Orpheus stood up and moved towards "Mr. Moisan," but as he moved, the "distance" between his vision and reality formed a kind of "barrier"—the more he walked towards Mr. Moisan, the distance between them remained constant.
Even when Orpheus's face was almost touching the opposite wall,
The "Mr. Moisan" remained curled up in the "far corner."
Seeing a ghost hadn't frightened Orpheus so far, but this "supernatural fixed distance" only fueled Orpheus's curiosity.
"So, what I'm seeing isn't real?"
After saying this, Orpheus bit his lower lip,
"I just stated the obvious."
Then,
Orpheus tried spreading his hands and slowly shifting his stance.
In the next moment,
The curled-up figure of "Mr. Moisan" also started to move, no, not moving, but sliding.
It felt,
As if a projector was attached to his forehead.
Was this… a soul?
Orpheus wasn't sure about the "substance" of this thing; the distance made it impossible to reach out and touch.
But,
Orpheus suddenly had an idea.
As Orpheus continued to adjust his orientation, the sobbing "Mr. Moisan" and the actual body of Mr. Moisan were aligned in the same direction.
After aligning,
Orpheus began to "focus,"
Moving forward and backward, aligning the two "Mr. Moisans" as closely as possible.
Orpheus wasn't sure why he was doing this, but it felt natural, like "ghosts" should be with their bodies, so he figured he should try.
When the two overlapped,
Orpheus saw the previously curled-up "Mr. Moisan" stop sobbing and, looking confused, got up. Under Orpheus's "gaze," "Mr. Moisan" lay down over Mr. Moisan.
The entire process was swift, smooth, and seamless.
And as they fully overlapped,
Orpheus felt as if a hand had gripped his "mind"—yes, his "mind," not his forehead, back of the head, or scalp, but somewhere deep inside his brain;
"Crack,"
A forceful grip,
Pulling outward!
"Ugh…"
Orpheus let out a pained groan, collapsing to the ground, narrowly avoiding a face-first fall like Mr. Hoffen earlier in the day by bracing himself with his hands.
Even so,
Orpheus clearly saw drops of blood fall onto the blue and white tiles before him.
His nose… was bleeding again.
Covering his nose with one hand, Orpheus struggled to stand.
As he rose,
The now fully made-up Mr. Moisan on the gurney also sat up slowly.
Their movements were almost synchronized, wordlessly so.
"Ugh…"
Orpheus let out a low moan.
Although he knew this "reckless" behavior was of his own doing, seeing a corpse suddenly sit up in front of him was still a shocking experience.
The shock brought some confusion, some doubts, some bewilderment, and… absolute excitement.
Mr. Moisan shifted from sitting on the gurney to kneeling on it. His eyes were open but lacked any color, just a dull grayish-white.
"Please… please… don't burn me… don't burn me… cremating my body… is unforgivable… cremating my body… is unforgivable…"
Orpheus swallowed,
Watching Mr. Moisan, who was performing a "ritualistic" act of "worship" and "pleading."
Aunt Mary once mentioned that Mr. Moisan's faith didn't allow the cremation of one's body, and for a devout believer, the ultimate expression of faithfulness lay in two things: "birth" and "death."
Birth was the "rebirth" when joining the faith; death marked one's end while also symbolizing a religious form of "rebirth."
The sobbing Orpheus heard earlier was the lament of Mr. Moisan's sorrow.
"Mr. Moisan? Mr. Moisan?"
Orpheus tried calling out again.
"Please… don't burn me… please… don't burn me…"
Mr. Moisan continued his plea.
Oh,
So he's incapable of having a mutual exchange, operating solely on "instinct"?
Or perhaps, in terms Orpheus was more familiar with from his previous life, this was… an obsession.
But how did all this happen?
Aunt Mary, Uncle Mason, and
even Mina had never mentioned corpses behaving this way, indicating that, in the eyes of normal people, this world was supposed to be normal.
But from Lazarus to Mr. Moisan,
Orpheus had encountered two successive "corpse mutations,"
Forcing him to consider… no, to almost be certain, that this was all inherently linked to him. The trigger must be something related to him.
Was it due to the original "Orpheus," or was it the result of his own "awakening"?
"Please… don't burn me… don't burn me… don't burn me! Don't burn me! Don't burn me!!"
Orpheus noticed Mr. Moisan's speech was speeding up, his shoulders beginning to tremble, and his previously dull eyes were now being filled with bloodshot streaks.
The atmosphere grew increasingly menacing.
"Mr. Moisan?"
Orpheus called out cautiously again while starting to shift his body.
The onset was bizarre, but the development seemed to follow a "normal" trajectory, like when a corpse suddenly "revives."
However, just as Orpheus was maneuvering past Mr. Moisan,
Mr. Moisan jerked his head up:
"You dare… burn me!"
Suddenly,
Mr. Moisan's eyes turned completely blood-red, his body flung upward;
Yes, flung, as if all muscle and bone coordination ceased to exist, but he still managed to rear up like a fish flopping on dry land!
"Bang!"
Orpheus felt a heavy blow to his back, sending him sprawling forward.
Quickly flipping over, Orpheus saw Mr. Moisan lunging, hands outstretched toward Orpheus's neck.
Orpheus lifted his knee to block Mr. Moisan;
But this body was too frail, inherently weak, and now Mr. Moisan's weight seemed even greater than in life.
Orpheus's knee didn't just fail to repel Mr. Moisan; instead, under Mr. Moisan's pressure… he completely collapsed.
"You dare… burn me!!!"
Mr. Moisan opened his mouth,
Biting down towards Orpheus's chest.
"Thump!"
Orpheus felt a sharp pain, as if struck by a stone, but the expected bloody mess didn't happen because Mr. Moisan had lost most of his teeth while alive, and he needed dentures to eat.
So, earlier, Mr. Moisan had only managed a futile gnaw.
Yet, Mr. Moisan's hands had clamped around Orpheus's neck, exerting force. His limbs and body acted like an octopus, clinging tightly to Orpheus.
Orpheus struggled to pry his grip loose, but his efforts proved futile.
Facing near-certain death,
Pinned to the tiles, Orpheus could only turn his head toward the office doorway.
"You dare… burn me!!!"
Mr. Moisan raved like a madman!
"Snap!"
It sounded like a metal strike, a light bulb bursting,
Or perhaps,
Like a finger snap?
Orpheus couldn't clearly distinguish the sound, but relief washed over him. Thank goodness… saved.
Yet, after that sound,
"Aaaaaaahhh!!!!! Burn me! Burn me! Burn me!"
The previously frenzied Mr. Moisan now went completely berserk.
Orpheus felt Mr. Moisan's hands squeezing his neck with even greater force; his neck was about to snap.
Like a sausage gripped at both ends and twisted in opposite directions, ready to burst.
Orpheus's "eyes," "ears," and "nose" all felt as if they were about to explode.
"You dare… burn me!"
"You dare… me!"
"You dare…"
"Burn…"
Suddenly,
Mr. Moisan seemed to hit his limit, his body stiffened, and he collapsed.
As the grip on his neck released, Orpheus began gasping for air. The basement air was far from fresh, but at that moment, it felt incredibly sweet.
This wasn't an exaggeration; his throat was bleeding, and the nosebleed was now dripping into his mouth.
Orpheus pushed Mr. Moisan off, using his hands to prop himself up, slowly shifting his position until he was leaning against the wall.
Turning his head,
He looked outside the door again.
The nearby corridor lights shone dimly; further away, it was still pitch black.
Orpheus held his face with his hands,
After a while,
He patted his forehead with his bloodstained palm,
"Heh, heh, heh…"
He laughed,
After laughing, he took a deep breath,
And began cursing this world over and over, in a language unknown here:
"F*** this world… What the f*** is going on…"
…
On the sloping ramp leading from the basement to the first floor,
Dis stood there,
Beside him was the black cat Puer, crouching at the same height as the first-floor stairs.
Dis turned to Puer,
And asked:
"Was he speaking in a demon's language at the end?"
The black cat raised its head,
Looking at Dis,
And then,
It spoke in a woman's voice, uttering human words:
"I've lived for two hundred years and have never heard of a demon… creating its own language."
Then,
Puer added:
"Especially one… so complex and obscure."