In the morning—or at least what he assumed was morning—Karl awoke to the sharp pangs of hunger. His stomach growled, an insistent reminder of his craving. In his groggy state, he barely registered the scattered and splintered wood around him. Yet, a nagging sensation gnawed at his senses, as though he had forgotten something crucial.
He rubbed his temples, trying to shake the feeling.
If I can’t remember it, it probably wasn’t important. he told himself.
His gaze shifted, and there it was—the strange specter beastman, muttering silently to himself.
Why am I even seeing… Karl shrugged, pushing the thought aside as he stood up from the cold floor.
Monica, who he thought was still asleep, suddenly yawned and smacked her lips before glancing around. After a moment, she asked, “Where’s the rest of the meat?”
Karl’s eyes flicked to the many crates nearby. For some reason, the wooden surfaces bore deep scratches and scars. Had something attacked them?
He smiled faintly, dismissing the thought. Nothing wrong can happen in the castle.
Pointing at the crates, he said, “Check there. The hall must have provided more.”
Monica nodded, seemingly trusting the hall’s generosity. It had been a savior to them both.
Karl watched as she searched and fortunately uncovered more meat, always in pristine condition, as though freshly cut from some unknown animal.
What animal did it even come from? The thought flickered briefly before he dismissed it. His attention turned to the dark end of the hall, a weak spark of curiosity igniting within him. Gripping his sickle and a few corrosive claws, he doubted he would need them—but caution was second nature now.
He paused, contemplating. Leaving Monica here felt unwise. She might eat all the food. And besides, why leave? The hall had always protected him. Here, he was free of danger, free of responsibility. He could live safely, beyond anyone’s control. Nothing could touch him here.
Yet…
A desire, faint but persistent, still smoldered inside him.
What did he truly want? Was safety and freedom from control enough?
Karl felt there was more—something deeper that drove his actions. But what was it?
Frustrated, he slammed his palm against his forehead. His forgetfulness was maddening. The siphoning was to blame, but wasn’t he forgetting too much?
Maybe it’s just not importa— He paused, a new thought dawning. He glanced into the hall’s shadowy depths.
What if there were monsters lurking there?
No, the hall protects. There can’t be. But if the hall sought his wellbeing, wouldn’t it know what he desired? Karl looked down at the sickle in his hand.
And then he remembered.
I want power!
He drew a chilled breath, hunger gnawing at him, but his focus was elsewhere. If the hall truly wanted his well-being, wouldn’t it provide monsters or sanguine creatures for him to slay and grow stronger?
Yes! This is right! This is true. He smiled, a spark of defiance lighting his eyes. The hall protects, doesn’t it?
With that purpose, he casually strode into the cold, dark depths of the hall.
The darkness thickened with each step, and even his enhanced vision struggled to penetrate it. He stumbled over stray chairs and tables—some embedded in walls, others floating inexplicably.
Encouraged by the prospect of gaining strength, Karl pressed on, his sickle gripped tightly. His eyes darted around, vigilant for any sign of danger.
As he walked, faint specters appeared, glowing softly in the darkness. Some resembled people he knew, their lips moving in silent mutterings.
What is this? The thought flickered and faded as he ignored the apparitions, determined to push forward. But the specters grew more numerous—men, women, even a young girl in ragged clothes. They all muttered something unintelligible.
They’re not important. He told himself this, though a small part of him felt they might hold some meaning. Perhaps the hall was trying to communicate with him.
Still, he ventured deeper. The cold grew more intense, biting into his flesh, and seeping into his bones. He shivered, the chill becoming unbearable.
Should I turn back? There seemed to be nothing here.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
But he couldn’t stop now. He needed to reach the end, to find power, to seize his freedom with his own hands.
This was what he had always wanted. His ultimate.
Karl stood still, peering into the oppressive darkness. No light, no movement—just cold and shadow.
He wanted to move forward, but where was he supposed to go?
Then he noticed something.
A few steps away, the blurred figure of the strange beastman stood alone. The other specters were gone.
Was the hall finally—
It opened his mouth.
“Won’t you…” it said.
It spoke! Karl’s eyes widened, despite the cold that threatened to freeze them in their sockets. The hall—
“For damn’s sake. Remember!”
“Friend?” The word escaped Karl’s lips as his legs buckled, sending him crashing to his knees. His hands slapped against the frigid pavement. Weakness swept over him.
He was remembering… remembering everything.
There had been a battle—a relentless, unending battle. He had fought something, day after day, for who knew how long. A monster? A being that devoured their memories and pacified them with food. Food that it—
Karl’s stomach churned violently. Bile surged up his throat, and he vomited onto the floor, splattering his arm and palm with the foul mess.
The darkness around him began to lift, thinning like the night's mist before a rising sun.
“Why do you always come here?” The shrill voice pierced through the clearing gloom.
A chill deeper than the cold ran down Karl’s spine. His eyes snapped up, and he saw it.
Just a few feet away, the creature sat like a grotesque king upon a throne of shattered dark stones and wood. A bear-like beast with three heads: one spewing icy wind, another exhaling dark fog, and the central head weeping endlessly.
He remembered this creature. He had fought it many times before.
The monstrous figure dug into its bulging, fleshy stomach with delicate care, pulling out chunks of its own bloody meat and tossing them into crates. The flesh morphed into fragrant fruits, the same food they had been eating all along.
Then, it collected scattered bottles and held them beneath the crying head. Tears flowed like a waterfall, filling the bottles.
Their water.
Karl’s stomach heaved again.
This thing… it’s controlling me!
His hands tightened into fists, his vision sharpening, sounds fading into a distant hum. Then everything snapped back to clarity.
Nothing came. No vision. No revelation.
He slammed his fist into the ground. “How dare you!” he roared. “That is mine, not yours!”
The creature’s shrill voice echoed, but with three heads, it was impossible to know which one spoke. “Why do you keep remembering?” it hissed. “I’ve done everything for you. Protected you, fed you, taken away your pain. And still, you resist. Why?”
Karl’s memories flooded back. This wasn’t the first time. He had discovered the truth countless times before, fought the creature, and lost. Each time, it devoured his memories and instilled a false sense of reverence.
The ruins, the shattered crates, the scattered debris—they were the aftermath of his futile battles. Each time, the creature didn’t bother cleaning up. It simply restocked their “foods"
They were eating it while it fed on them.
“You must have enjoyed it,” Karl said, his voice trembling with fury. He staggered to his feet. “You must have loved controlling me, making my decisions for me. Feeding me your flesh and tears in exchange for my servitude.”
“I want to save you,” the creature said, its shrill voice pleading. “Only with me can you be saved.”
Without hesitation, Karl hurled his sickle.
Futile.
The head that spewed frost widened its maw, unleashing a torrent of icy wind. A wall of ice surged upward, sealing off the path to the creature.
Karl spun on his heel and dashed in the opposite direction. He knew he couldn’t win—not like this. He needed more. Greater strength. In every past attempt, his downfall had been hubris.
He always believed he could defeat the creature through sheer will. That arrogance led to his defeat, his memories devoured once more.
Not this time.
His rage burned hot, but he tamped it down. In the past, rage had driven him to reckless attacks. Each time he acted on it, the creature stole his memories, his very identity.
He couldn’t let that happen again.
He ran, his breath coming in sharp bursts. The cold intensified, biting into his flesh, the darkness deepening around him.
The creature was closing in. He could feel it.
Don’t think about that. Focus!
What I need is power! He remembered Frederick’s words: The visions will give you power. But where was that power now, when he needed it most?
A thought sparked. Rage!
I need to get angry! But the idea was absurd. He was furious already, yet no power came.
Or is it the monster? he wondered. It devours my memories, even thoughts that might threaten it. I need to surprise it. I need to gain my rage so quickly that it can’t take it away.
The power that comes with rage.
A surge of apprehension gripped him. Could he really acquire that kind of anger? Could he use it fast enough to escape the creature’s influence?
No! No time for doubt. Not when something is controlling me.
He needed a trigger—something that could ignite his rage instantly.
He knew what it was.
A bitter taste filled his mouth at the thought, but he dismissed it.
It doesn’t matter.
He ran harder, the cold searing his lungs, the darkness pressing in.
What I need is something to spark that fury. Something to remind me…
His grip on the sickle tightened.
No more forgetting.
Just then, he saw it—a faint gray light filtering through the shadows, illuminating part of the hall.
Rows of tables lay before him. Karl sprinted, his breath ragged, but the cold denied him the sweat that should have accompanied his run.
Monica, who had been grilling meat, startled at his abrupt entrance. But he didn’t have time to care.
He reached the table where he had slept, his hands diving into his pouch. He pulled out the corrosive claws. He would have preferred his sickle, but that was likely embedded in the monster by now. This would have to do.
Without hesitation, he began etching words into the table. Not in Canese, nor any language from this world, but the words of his previous life. He needed a reminder—something potent enough to fuel his rage. And it had to be something the monster wouldn’t understand or erase.
He worked quickly, his hands trembling, the claws scratching deep into the wood. He knew the creature wouldn’t have time to decipher or destroy it.
These words would be his lifeline.
A shiver ran through him. The air grew heavier.
A powerful growl reverberated through the hall. Monica froze, her gaze locked on the dark edge of the room. Slowly, the monstrous figure stepped into the light.
Its stomach hung open, entrails dangling like bloody veins. White frost and dark fog streamed from its three heads. The center head’s ceaseless weeping stained the creature’s fur with tears.
“Why this battle again?” it hissed, the shrill voice echoing.
Karl didn’t look up. His focus was on the lines he carved into the table. Faster. Faster. The message had to be complete.
Monica’s scream sliced through the air.
Everything went dark.
----------------------------------------
Karl awoke with a gasp.