The Empty Mirror
Chapter 28: Hanging Gardens
"It is not permissible for me to reveal my name. It would be dangerous, both to the nightmare and to you. As for your second question, for now we share a common purpose. We are friends in this endeavour, so do not cease in your efforts to safeguard life," she replied, as if she agreed that she must share every ounce of wisdom and guide me as far as possible before her imminent departure.
"Are you aware of the name of this reverie?" - I inquired undaunted.
"Yes, I know it. It answers to the title of Hanging Gardens," he replied, as a grimace of distaste contracted his lips.
"Then, 'Hanging Gardens', must they be suspended over something? But disgusting sewers and an unreal circus tent are far from evocative of a garden," I questioned in delirium.
"You haven't really reached the Hanging Gardens yet. That was only the transition between the tangible world of As of Wands and the Hanging Gardens.
"I am deeply grateful for your help, Marchesa" - I pronounced in our last colloquy, as the lady faded before my eyes, and her voice, or what seemed to be her voice, faded with these words: "Hunger on trial will accompany you even in your nightmares. The day will come when you must restore it to me. Until then, goodbye... Clown".
I awoke from my lethargy, like a farce woven on the loom of a nightmare. The Marquise foretold it, and there it was, the necklace, that voracious choker, still imprisoning my neck. Hastily, I rose to scrutinise my surroundings and glimpsed the bullfighter's suit, made of human flesh, lying on the floor, more dismal than a card of the arcana. There was no trace of other cards; they had disappeared, leaving only the knowledge and the artefact "Hunger on trial". Around me, only the porcelain dolls kept me company. I resolved to leave the circus tent.
As I wandered among the rides and games, I came across an array of fairground amusements: ring toss, target shooting and games of skill, all offering prizes to contestants. However, such rewards consisted of grotesque balloons, like lungs blackened by tobacco.
In addition to these distractions, there were also simple mechanical rides, such as carousels, swings and small roller coasters, attempting to instil some excitement into those present. Unfortunately, everything was decaying, with pieces of rusted metal crunching under our feet, as if the very essence of metal was decaying before our eyes and innocence.
Among the attractions, there were also tests of skill, such as those of strength, which I decided to avoid at all costs, especially after the bullfighting festival.
In my wanderings, I was astonished by the lack of a labyrinth of mirrors, for I found no object that could reflect reality; not the metal, which had surrendered to rust, nor even the water, which flowed black and murky through the sewers. As I continued, I reached the far end of the circus, where I discovered empty cages that, instead of housing the beasts of the show, seemed destined to confine the clowns of this sinister place.
Later, I came to the preparation area, where the performers metamorphosed and prepared for their feats. These dressing rooms may have boasted mirrors, chairs and coat racks, but I could make out no reflections, and the circus garb was little more than a pile of flesh besieged by flies and maggots. The pestilent aroma and the whitish fluid exuded by the fleshy mass suggested a grotesque and repulsive sight.
I also spotted the make-up altars, where the artists applied their pigments before going on stage. While these altars may have been furnished with magnanimous mirrors and glittering luminaries, the reality was different: the light flickered intermittently, casting flashes in a yellowish hue. Make-up, instead of beautifying countenances, lay scattered on walls and floor in a cacophony of lively and cheerful tones, which only provoked disgust and dread.
The wardrobes, meanwhile, overflowed with pus and other gelatinous, pungent substances.
The rehearsal spaces, where the performers practised before facing the audience, in this nightmare scenario looked more like sewers leading to an even more disturbing corner. After what seemed like an eternity, the sewers seemed to come to an end, moving towards the show like a snake emerging from the earth, mouth and tongue crawling like purulent carpets. Then, we found ourselves before the infamous place known as the heart of the nightmare, Hanging Gardens.
As one enters this desolate place, it reveals an arid, mist-shrouded land, stretching to the very reaches of the heavens, barely allowing the majestic silhouette of a colossal building, like a monument in an ancient city, to be glimpsed through the mists. The atmosphere becomes more sombre and suffocating as you go on. The mist thickens to the point of barely glimpsing beyond a few steps, enveloping everything in an ethereal veil that distorts the perception of what is real.
The ground, once covered perhaps in dust and ashes, now shows deep cracks that run like veins in the skin of a corpse. The terrain becomes uneven and treacherous, with hidden chasms and rocky promontories lurking for those who venture beyond the limits humanity should know.
The contorted ruins and remnants of ancient structures are more noticeable here, emerging from the mist like specters of a past buried in oblivion. Fragmented columns and crumbling arches stand as witnesses to decay and abandonment, their forms distorted and eroded by the passing of time and human indifference.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The silence perpetuates itself, but is now permeated with an air of longing and unease. The wind murmurs through the cracks in the rock, carrying with it distant echoes of a lost and lamented past. Shadows contort and dance in the mist, taking on grotesque and twisted forms that defy all reason and understanding.
As he wanders deeper into this desolate landscape, the sense of being watched increases, as if faceless eyes were ever watchful from the threshold. Each step seems to distance you further from the known world and bring you closer to the abyss itself, where something lurks on its twisted throne of nightmare.
This arid, mist-shrouded land is a place of despair and desolation, where the sinister power of the rockers manifests itself in every shadow and every whisper of the wind. It is a distorted reflection of the horrors that await beyond the orchards, a grim reminder of the true nature of the world in which those who venture into the gloom dwell.
In the ether of that rapturous silence, where the mist took on deeper and deeper shades of grey and my footsteps became my only cicerone, I perceived a succession of strangled moans, like the most abject and heart-rending torment conceivable. They emerged from the bowels of the blackness, like a barely audible wail stifled by a throat corroded by stomach acid. As I slowed my gait, I felt something slimy cling to my footwear. I stepped back instinctively and discovered the source of the hideous groan of agony: a wretched creature, an amorphous mass crawling painfully on the barren ground.
Its twisted and disfigured body seemed to have been sculpted by dark and sinister forces, leaving behind scars and deformities that spoke of perpetual torment. The spawn's limbs hung heavily, twisted and uncoordinated, like useless appendages in search of something unattainable.
Bones protruded through the flesh at unnatural angles, as if about to give way under the weight of its own monstrosity. The creature's countenance wore a perpetual expression of pain and suffering, its eyes sunken into empty sockets and its mouth twisted into a rictus of agony. Its piteous moans and incomprehensible whispers filled the air, a symphony of pain and despair that seemed to echo in the darkest recesses of the twisted crown of the gardens.
As the execrable being moves over the ground, it leaves a trail of devastation and desolation in its wake. Rocks splinter and crumble under its immense weight, while its presence seems to distort nature itself, transforming everything in its path into a pale shadow of its former splendour.
Despite its endless suffering, the being presses on, desperately seeking a way out of its eternal torment. Its empty eyes scan the horizon for some sign of redemption, only to find a twisted, desolate landscape that mocks its anguish. It is a creature of nightmare, a manifestation of the darkness and despair that lurk in the darkest corners of the mutation domain. Its perpetual suffering is a grim reminder of the horrors that await those who venture too far into the darkness, and its presence is a harbinger of death and desolation for all who have the misfortune to cross its path.
It was then, as I contemplated their wretchedness with pity, that compassion vanished from my face as I watched those adipose trunks of bone and livid flesh begin to rise with an enormous weight, reminiscent of an elephant's shrivelled trunk. They swung menacingly, but lacked teeth, yet threatened to crush me into a pile of flesh and bone, as if I were ground meat, only to be slowly devoured by aged gums.
Although the creature did not look particularly robust, its size was impossible to ignore, reaching at least five metres in height if it were upright. Its trunk, proportional to its obese body, posed an imminent threat; a single blow could render me unconscious, a victim of body horror.
So I rushed away, feeling a stinging fear, and tried to use the "Hunger on trial" device.
The words "bite" kept flashing through my mind, my eyes squeezed shut and a lump in my throat, wondering if "Hunger on trial" would obey my commands or bite my head off.
I felt tormented. It was then, sensing a squeeze on my neck from the choker strap, that I opened my eyes and saw a flash of gold coming from one of the teeth in the collar's jaw. The central tooth glinted slightly with blackened gold.
Without warning, as if in a hallucination, I watched as the creature on the ground was devoured in one bite, dismembered in half. Its foul carcass was left as the only vestige, the outlines of its teeth outlined on the missing flesh, as if it had been bitten and mutilated.
The creature liquefied into a brown goo, instantly devoured by Hunger on trial. The choker had consumed the aberrant creature without hesitation.
I felt protected and confident for the first time, as if Hunger on trial could be a decisive ally, though I remained alert to any change in appetite.
After the creature's defeat, the choker seemed to feed and digest it, which meant that the next time I used the bite it would be stronger and more accurate. However, as a side effect, I felt a growing hunger and my stomach begged for food. As I touched my belly, I realised that nothing seemed to be edible to a normal person.
I could not feed on aberrations like Hunger on trial did. I had to find a way to satisfy my hunger before it betrayed me and devoured me first. As I searched for a solution, I remembered with luck that the first creature I encountered was slow. Had it been faster, I would have been dead by now, or perhaps "Hunger on trial" would have activated immediately and saved me, though I wasn't sure.
So, with no choice, I continued my wanderings through the mist until I finally reached the majestic structure known as Hanging Gardens, a monument of a singular nature. However, it was not exactly a hanging; although in the distance, shrouded in the dense mist, it seemed that the monument's pinnacle was suspended above the heavens, this perception faded as I approached.
Given its magnificence, it was unlikely that it was indeed hanging; rather, the garden seemed to 'overhang'. Perhaps the insistence on the hanging was not about the garden itself, but about something more creepy that lurked between the steps of the structure.
Hanging Gardens were a twisted, grotesque wonder that defied all logic and understanding. They stood in a series of ascending terraces, each supported by an intricate web of tangled roots and twisted stems that choreographed a chaotic choreography between what is hanging and what has fallen.
Each terrace was covered by a dense layer of decaying earth, an amalgam of rotting sludge and decaying organic matter that nourished the grotesque, twisted and contorted life forms that loomed over them. The roots of the plants intertwined in an indecipherable skein, forming tortuous passages and dark tunnels into the innermost depths of the gardens.
The terraces were connected by narrow staircases and walkways, constructed of marble and charred skeletal remains. As one ascended into the Gardens, the structures became more unstable and twisted, with passageways that narrowed and twisted at impossible angles, challenging those who dared venture through them.
The light filtering through the dense vegetation creates an ominous gloom, barely enough to illuminate the twisted contours of the plants and the creatures that swarm among them. The air is permeated with a smell of rot and decay, a mixture of rot and decay that clings to the throat and clouds the senses. Barely visible, the pinnacle of the gardens presents itself as an altar, an offering of sorts, indicating my mission to reach it. A satellite awaits my arrival, with twisted columns and distorted arches rising into the cloudy sky like the fingers of a petrified giant.