A few hours had passed. Or so it felt.
My hands were numb from the endless grinding.
"Greetings, Senior Brother!"
The guard bowed, one hand curled into a fist, the other flat beneath it—a gesture of respect. He addressed a similarly dressed man descending the slope into the cave.
His hair was long and black, his eyes dull with weariness. He wore the same Taoist-style robes, though an ornament hung from his waist—distinctly colored, etched with strange symbols that looked like Chinese characters warped by age or meaning.
"Master has deemed the materials sufficient. I'll be taking some with me," the man said flatly.
He stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone as he entered the cave proper. His gaze swept over the room—and then, without word or hesitation, he began pointing.
First, a boy with a bloated face and pinched eyes.
Then, the deranged girl who had pestered me.
Next, a few with extra limbs—mostly conjoined twins.
Then, a seemingly normal boy, muttering nonsense to himself, his voice more shrieks and howls than words.
And then—he pointed at me?
Without speaking, he turned and beckoned us to follow. Most did, even if they didn't understand why.
I followed too.
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," I muttered.
We moved silently through the narrow, tunnel-like passage, eventually emerging into a vast open space. Mountains loomed in the distance—real, towering, and wild. It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen. I'd grown up surrounded by skyscrapers and sirens. I'd never seen a mountain in my life.
Still chewing on the last bits of snake meat, the deranged girl skipped beside us, unbothered. The rest trudged forward like cattle.
Eventually, we stopped.
In front of us stood a massive metal cauldron. Patterns swirled across its surface—cloud-like, otherworldly. Beside it, floating in the air, was a man.
Or what remained of one.
His scalp was mostly bald, dotted with blister-like growths that gleamed wetly. His eyes were sunken, shadowed. When he opened his mouth, rotting teeth and blackened gums were revealed beneath papery lips. His green robes fluttered, pristine and elegant despite the grotesque thing wearing them.
"Good, good. The materials are promising, hmm?"
Then he scowled.
"You fool. You brought an extra. I said only one Phantasmael! One!"
Still levitating cross-legged in the air, the old man raised his hand. Something invisible lashed out—not at us "materials," but at the disciple who led us here.
The man's arm twisted unnaturally, bones snapping, flesh crumpling like paper. He didn't scream. Didn't flinch. But the pain was clear in his eyes—rolled back, mouth slack in silent agony.
The old man laughed.
Then, he turned his hand toward us—the "materials."
One by one, we began to rise into the air, drawn toward the cauldron like leaves caught in wind. The others jerked and flailed, screaming in agony. All except the deranged girl. She laughed, cackling with delight.
Their bodies convulsed, then went limp—before bursting.
Blood. Viscera. Bone. All rained down into the house-sized cauldron in wet, splattering heaps.
"What the hell…"
I couldn't process it. My brain refused to believe what I'd just seen. My stomach churned. My heart thundered like a war drum. Vision blurred. Breath caught.
Everything went dark.