The suffocating weight of the void pressed down on Nawasir, crushing any semblance of resistance from his being. It trembled, utterly powerless against the immense force bearing down on its, and the only thought that could escape its shattered mind was a desperate, anguished question:
"This pressure! How powerful must this being be!?"
He dangled helplessly in the grasp of an entity beyond comprehension, a being whose presence eclipsed the very fabric of his reality. As Nawasir's consciousness wavered, he glimpsed something within the suffocating darkness of the void. For a fleeting moment, he saw a vast expanse of stars, galaxies spiraling endlessly, and amidst them, shapes and presences he could not begin to name.
But one stood out: clearer, sharper, and more overwhelming than the rest. It burned itself into the core of his perception, an image that clawed at his sanity. He struggled to hold onto it, desperate to make sense of the vision, yet even his memories began to dissolve like smoke.
This was new. This was terrifying. Nawasir, a being who had faced countless horrors and ancient entities, felt something he had never known before: fear.
It mind fragmented as the alien pressure wormed its way into his essence. Memories splintered, thoughts unraveling, yet it clung to a single thread of fading recollection. Delving deep into the recesses of its soul, it finally reached a chaotic place veiled in fog. In that chaos, it caught a fleeting image; a radiant, pure blue of unparalleled beauty. But before it could linger, the void struck again.
A searing mark burned itself into its mind, a blue seal, ancient and otherworldly, branding him with the will of the being before him. He was yanked back into reality with such force that the transition left him hollow and trembling.
And in that moment, Nawasir's will was no longer his own. There was only one thought, one absolute truth in the depths of his shattered consciousness:
Surrender. Eternal surrender.
Even the faintest flicker of rebellion was extinguished by the weight of the being's presence. He dared not think, dared not act, for fear of inviting its wrath.
With trembling lips, he whispered in a broken, distorted voice:
"The source of the plague, Naiwesen, submits wholly to you, O great and ancient master of the boundless void. You dwell beneath the fog. You rule within the chaos. You are the wielder of the blue will, my supreme master."
The sound of his voice; strained, alien, and unnatural, echoed faintly. For Luther, the one who stood as the host of this ancient power, it was both unsettling and thrilling. As the voice faded, the system's calm notification appeared in his mind:
[The blue seal has been engraved. The source of the plague, Naiwesen, has been successfully captured. Note: The captured Old One is currently in a state of absolute submission to the host. Absolute submission: will not betray the host.]
[Blue Seal: A unique mark belonging to the host. Enables the host to acquire abilities from the engraved entity and maintain a permanent link with it.]
Luther exhaled, feeling the faint, pulsing connection between his mind and Nawasir, who now sat silently in his hand. The creature had become subdued, an obedient shadow of the defiant plague-born entity it had once been.
Lifting his other hand, Luther pressed his temple, his brows furrowing as a strange vision flitted across his mind. For the briefest of moments, he thought he had glimpsed Earth, not the Earth he knew, but something distant, something… wrong. A parallel world, perhaps? A warped reflection in the fifth dimension?
Shaking his head, Luther dismissed the thought. The complexity of such ideas was a distraction. He didn't have the luxury of indulging in metaphysical speculation, not now. There were more immediate matters to address.
Lowering his gaze to Nawasir, he spoke in a calm but commanding tone:
"Rid the clinic of the plague. Now."
Nawasir's response was immediate, its voice carrying an eerie, neutral resonance.
"As you command, great master."
The creature leapt gracefully from Luther's hand to the ground. Its form began to swell grotesquely, its surface bubbling and warping as it absorbed vast quantities of gas from the air. Each bubble, once formed, shrank and collapsed inward, vanishing into nothingness.
Within moments, the heavy, suffocating stench of decay that had lingered in the room was gone, replaced by an eerie stillness. The system chimed softly in Luther's mind, confirming the success of the task.
He regarded the creature for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, as if testing the limits of his newfound power, he spoke again:
"Before dawn, I want every trace of the blood plague in Eternal Night Town eradicated. Every human infected must be cured. Can you do this?"
Nawasir bowed, its distorted form rippling as it spoke:
"Your will is absolute, great master. However, I require the temporary use of the Touch of the Plague. Do you grant me permission?"
Luther's gaze darkened. He waved dismissively.
"Do what you must. I only care about results."
After hearing its name called, the Touch of Plague, a trembling mass of flesh hidden in the shadows, froze in terror.
For a brief moment, it dared not move. Then, as if its instinct for survival screamed louder than logic, the creature swiftly retracted its slimy tentacles, coiling its body tightly into a trembling ball. It burrowed further into the corner, hoping praying; it could simply disappear.
It didn't want to get involved. It didn't want 'any' of this.
"Why me?" it thought desperately. "I'm just an ordinary ball of meat! I wasn't made for this chaos. I should be left alone, forgotten in some dark corner, far away from all these absurdities."
The memories of recent events flashed before it; horrors it could not comprehend, dangers it was woefully unequipped to face. None of it felt fair for something as simple as itself, a being barely a few years old.
But Luther was not in the mood for its theatrics. As soon as he spotted the ball's desperate attempt at self-concealment, he let out an exasperated sigh. He could see right through its act.
"Really? Is now the time for you to add drama to your little corner performance?"
Narrowing his eyes, Luther fixed his gaze on the spot where the creature's tentacles had retreated. His voice dropped to a menacing tone that brooked no argument.
"Touch of Plague, if you don't want to end up as barbecued meat, I suggest you get over here. Now."
At those words, the trembling ball jolted as though struck by lightning. Resigned to its fate, it unfurled its body and rolled forward, wobbling hesitantly until it stopped at Luther's feet.
It wasn't that it wanted to obey. No, this was survival instinct at its purest. Disobeying Luther wasn't an option.
To curry favor, a short, slimy tentacle hesitantly extended from its body and began licking Luther's boots with pitiful desperation. Its thoughts screamed internally:
"Please, oh great master, be pleased by this! Don't send me off with that monstrous thing again!"
It had every reason to dread. The last time it had been sent on a task, it was paired with its dreaded "ex," a cruel entity who enjoyed flinging it around like a toy. The memory alone was enough to make the Touch of Plague quiver.
Luther rolled his eyes at the display of pathetic groveling and gave the creature a firm kick, sending it skidding across the floor toward Nawasir.
"Go on," Luther muttered.
The ball collided lightly with Nawasir's side. At the contact, the Touch of Plague let out a shrill, low-pitched squeal, its entire form deflating in defeat. It stretched out its gooey flesh like a limp rag, and, as if resigning itself to fate, sprouted dozens of small, writhing tentacles from its underside.
"No choice," it thought miserably. "Do the job, survive, and hope for mercy later."
Nawasir, cold and composed, regarded the ball with indifference before turning toward the window. Its voice was low and commanding as it whispered:
"Let us proceed."
With surprising speed and efficiency, the Touch of Plague hoisted Nawasir onto its back using its tentacles, securing the otherworldly creature like a grotesque passenger. Then, like a grotesque turbo-charged duck, it bolted for the open window, launching itself into the night with astonishing agility.
Luther blinked, momentarily stunned.
"Wait, it can do 'that'?" he muttered under his breath. He'd never expected the Touch of Plague to possess such… versatility. He stared at the now-empty window for a moment before shrugging.
Well, it didn't matter. The important thing was that the blood plague was no longer his problem. With Nawasir and the Touch of Plague taking charge, the town would likely see its salvation by dawn.
"Good," Luther murmured to himself. "Low-profile survival. That's the key. If the plague gets eliminated by its own source, then Eternal Night Town can regain its footing without me drawing any unnecessary attention."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Luther felt the tension in his chest ease. He exhaled deeply, relieved to have one less crisis weighing on him. Yet, even as he savored the momentary reprieve, he knew his work wasn't over. Harley's issue still needed addressing.
Outside, as the first rays of dawn broke across the horizon, Eternal Night Town began to stir.
In countless homes, residents woke with a start, their dreams lingering at the edges of their minds. Each of them had experienced something strange, a vision impossible to distinguish from reality.
In the dream, they had knelt on the ground, overwhelmed by the presence of a towering figure cloaked in a radiant, pure blue light. It was an otherworldly glow, warm and comforting, like the embrace of a long-lost mother.
In that light, their pain melted away. The sickness that had plagued them was replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace and serenity.
When they awoke, their bodies felt different, lighter, free of the aches and exhaustion that had clung to them for so long. Whispers lingered in their minds, faint but clear:
"The master of the blue will…"
As the sun rose higher, the streets of Eternal Night Town filled with people, their faces wet with tears of gratitude. They knelt in the open, silently giving thanks to the nameless, ancient entity that had delivered them.
In one of the town's modest homes, Hailey stirred in bed. She felt an itch on her face and lazily reached up to scratch it. The sudden sensation jolted her awake.
Blinking against the sunlight streaming through the window, she rubbed her eyes, her heart racing as fragmented memories surfaced.
"Was it all… a dream?"
Hailey turned her head, scanning her surroundings anxiously. Everything looked the same as it had before she'd gone to sleep. The familiarity brought her a brief moment of relief, though doubt lingered.
She sat up, rubbing her arms uneasily. "Yeah… just a dream," she whispered to herself. But even as she said it, the image of that radiant blue light refused to fade.
The creak of a door suddenly drew her attention, and she turned sharply toward the sound, her heart skipping a beat.