Book2
The outisder
Chapter Three:
From Behind
The chapter begins on the shores of the frozen seas, in a place far removed from civilization, where nothing is heard but the violent howling of the wind through the cracks of solid ice, and where shadows dwell upon the stiffened surface of the water. There, aboard a rusted ship that seems as though it was swallowed by time—a ship still trapped in the ice, silent as an abandoned tomb in the midst of this desolate white world.
The stranger, Mikhail—that mysterious man with lifeless eyes—lay asleep on the bed in the ship's cabin. The cabin was narrow, dark, illuminated only by faint lamps swaying in the wind, emitting the stench of mold, iron, and old memories. His body twisted beneath a tattered blanket, his face as pale as one who had spent years in a dark prison cell. Suddenly, he coughed up blood and screamed in pain, as though burned by a hidden curse gnawing at his insides.
Captain Enrique spoke, his voice laced with trapped fear, a tremor in his eyes:
"What's wrong with you, Mikhail? What pains you now? You never even told us about this strange illness of yours… Not even our ship's skilled physician could understand it."
Mikhail replied with a desperate calm, as if pain itself had become his companion:
"This wretched body of mine means nothing to me… What hurts me most now is the grave mistake I made."
In the cabin, the glass windows rattled from the outside air pressure, and the moonlight reflected off Mikhail's sweaty forehead while the captain stood in the shadows, eyeing him warily.
Captain Enrique said:
"A mistake? What mistake are you talking about, young man?"
Mikhail responded in a terrifying voice, rising from the depths of the darkness within him:**
"It was enthusiasm… enthusiasm was the mistake. The door of knowledge has limits we must not cross. If we do, we bear a weight of understanding no creature should. And you will not be happy as you first believed. I was cast into this sea because of that error, General… The story I am about to tell may shatter your enthusiasm—perhaps even make you reconsider your journey beyond the Antarctic lands. I will leave the choice to you after recounting these horrors. Listen well… for you will learn how we lost everything."
"I sailed, sir, into the heart of this empty, absurd world in search of meaning… but all I found was a slap to my face. All my dreams shattered… I reached the peak of despair and sorrow."
The captain let out a heavy sigh, its vapor freezing in the frigid air:**
But Mikhail… if you reached such depths, why didn't you kill yourself?"*
Mikhail answered, his voice trembling as if emerging from a grave:
Kill myself? Suicide, my good sir, is the closest thing to impossible in our world… Suicide is not the frail, trivial act the media and films portray. I, sir, am a genius—though I did reach the pinnacle of despair, I still couldn't plunge a dagger into my own flesh, knowing full well the agony of such a hellish death… knowing I would remain alive for at least eleven hours before finally perishing."*
"And always, even if you're alone, there's the chance some curious passerby might save you… All you'd gain then is permanent disability or the loss of a limb… and life would go on."
Mikhail looked at him with eyes drowned in blackness, as if filled with a nebula of stagnant darkness, and said:
"Suicide is nihilism itself."
The captain whispered:
"Then… why do you live, Mikhail?"
Mikhail replied, a sorrowful smile playing on his lips like a devil's trick:**
"I… I live, sir, to make humanity realize how small they are in the universe. To make them understand how meaningless their struggles, their concerns, their dreams, their ambitions, their very existence truly is."
"I am a mirror—a reflection of truth."
"I am the darkness."
"I am the night."
"I am the raven."
Captain Enrique laughed hysterically, nearly to the point of madness:
"My boy… I feel you will be* **the challenge from beyond.
The winds and sea mist carried us away from this lost ship adrift in the ocean's darkness, as if the universe itself were slowly pulling back the camera, leaving the vessel to sink into oblivion—taking us instead to the recent past, when his mother, Vanessa, decided to hire a private investigator to look into his father's murder…
On that day, Lucas was sitting in his house, anxious after hearing the news—his brother, the detective Sebastian Petrick, had been hired by the matriarch of the Costnas family, Lady Vanessa Costnas, to investigate the strangest case in American history. A case in which every detective had failed: the mysterious murder of the enigmatic millionaire, Risky Costnas. He found a letter left for him on the table from his brother Sebastian, written on the envelope:**
"Though you are my assistant in investigations, Lucas, I will take this case alone—for it is far more dangerous than usual."
When Lucas carefully slit open the letter with a scalpel and read its contents, what he found was nothing short of astonishing.
---
"Lucas, it's me, Sebastian. If you've found this letter, know that I am at the Costnas family estate, staring death in the face. I need you to find the killer, my boy, and save me from this house. I will write down every observation here, from the moment Lady Vanessa entered my office..."
"This is bigger than I imagined. It's not just a mysterious murder—I'm trying to piece things together logically, but the horrors here are beyond description."
"Good luck.
—Your beloved brother."