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墨書 Inktalez
Mocus sat in the chair, his back pressed deeply against the wall, trying to relax. He closed his eyes, attempting to convince himself that everything he was experiencing was merely an illusion, a temporary delusion brought on by overwhelming mental stress. He repeatedly told himself that the strange voices and intense feelings of fear were just his brain's response to external pressures; if he remained calm, it would all pass.
However, just as he tried to build this psychological defense, the low, cold voice echoed in his mind once more. This time, it was sharper and more biting, laced with mockery and disdain: "An illusion? Do you really think this is just an illusion? How ridiculous."
The voice pierced through the last flicker of hope within Mocus like a sharp sting. Its tone dripped with contempt, as if mocking Mocus for his self-deception. Each word carried a chilling sarcasm that pushed Mocus further into despair.
"Give up," the voice continued to resonate in his mind, growing stronger. "Accept reality; this is not merely an illusion. You know very well that this power is real—embrace it, accept me..."
A chill rose from the depths of Mocus's heart; he could no longer deceive himself into believing this was just a figment of his imagination. The voice swirled incessantly in his mind like an invisible serpent, coiling around his thoughts and gradually eroding his sanity. Each whisper felt like it was tearing apart the remnants of his belief, forcing him to confront the terrifying reality—that this evil force was infiltrating his consciousness, and there was no escape.
"How is this possible..." Mocus whispered in despair within himself, feeling pushed to the brink of collapse. The fear brought by that voice felt so real, far beyond the realm of mere hallucination. Every time he tried to rebuild his mental defenses, that voice would immediately shatter them, plunging him deeper into hopelessness.
He began to understand that he could no longer escape the existence of this voice. It was like a parasitic spirit dwelling deep within his consciousness, gradually taking control of his thoughts and actions. No matter how hard he struggled, this force was steadily stripping away his sense of self, leaving him unable to trust what he saw or felt.
Mocus's breathing grew rapid as waves of fear surged within him uncontrollably. He attempted to calm himself, striving to hold onto the last shred of rationality, but the encroachment of that voice had rendered him nearly powerless to resist. He knew he could no longer hide from this terrifying truth—this was not an illusion but a reality he could neither comprehend nor escape.
With resignation, he opened his eyes, a glimmer of despair flashing across them. He realized he could no longer deceive himself. The existence of that voice was real; this battle was no longer a simple mental struggle but a direct confrontation with some malevolent force. And he might be stepping closer and closer to an irreversible abyss.
At that moment, Allison approached with a small cup of water and a piece of medication in her hands. Her gentle smile remained on her face, her eyes filled with concern: "Mocus, this is a sedative; you'll feel better after taking it. Once you've taken it, go lie down for a bit and relax."
Her voice was soft and warm, like a soothing balm for the soul. Mocus lifted his gaze to her, struggling with confusion and conflict in his eyes. His thoughts were tumultuous when that low voice echoed again in his mind, this time with an urgent tone: "Take it; calm yourself down so we can have a proper talk."
The voice carried an irresistible power as if guiding him to obey its command. Mocus felt his thoughts becoming increasingly chaotic; he couldn't comprehend what this voice truly was or why it kept resonating in his mind. Was this presence born from the darkness within him or some external evil force? In that moment, he couldn't discern between the two.
However, just as he tried to resist the voice, his hand involuntarily reached for the pill that Allison had offered. Mocus's rational mind told him to fight against this unnatural control, but his body seemed completely unresponsive, as if manipulated by some invisible force.
Allison stood by, unaware of the struggle and fear within Mocus. She gently patted his shoulder and softly encouraged, "Relax, Mocus. Everything will be alright. Take the medicine and rest for a while; you need time to recover."
Finally, Mocus placed the pill in his mouth, picked up a glass of water, and swallowed both in one go. At the moment the pill slid down his throat, he felt a cold sensation traveling down his esophagus, as if the medication was not just meant to calm him but was also something lurking within him, ready to take root and grow.
"Good, now calm down..." The voice in his mind softened, as if comforting Mocus. Its tone was filled with temptation, making it seem like everything was under its control.
Mocus felt his body becoming lighter, as if the effects of the medication were taking hold rapidly. His thoughts began to blur, but that voice grew clearer, gradually replacing the voice within him. He had no idea what awaited him next, but one thing was painfully clear—this invisible dialogue could change everything.
Mocus walked step by step toward the bed; his legs felt incredibly heavy, each step dragging him deeper into a fog. His heart was still filled with doubt and fear, but he sensed the drug's effects working on him, gradually relaxing his weary body and tense nerves.
He gently lay down, and at the moment his body touched the bed, a warm sensation enveloped him. Mocus's heartbeat began to steady; the terror and unease he had just felt seemed to fade away. He gazed up at the thatched roof above him, his eyes gradually becoming vacant yet calm. The intricate patterns of straw on the roof intertwined into a blurry image, and Mocus felt the turmoil in his heart quieting along with those patterns.
In this moment of tranquility, Mocus began to think calmly. He wanted to understand what he had encountered and where this mysterious voice originated from. Was it a projection from deep within himself or some external, inexplicable presence? He recalled everything that had just happened, trying to make sense of it all.
However, just as he immersed himself in thought, that cold voice echoed in his mind again with an undeniable authority: "Stop thinking, Mocus. I know what you're thinking; no matter how you try to think otherwise, I know."
This statement pierced Mocus's heart like a cold blade, sending a chilling wave through him. His thoughts abruptly halted; it felt as if he had been frozen in place. The tone of that voice carried disdain and contempt, as if every thought and struggle of Mocus's were utterly meaningless.
"You cannot hide your thoughts; I can hear every one of them and feel every ounce of your fear," the voice continued coldly. "So stop wasting your energy; accept all of this—accept me."
A deep sense of despair washed over Mocus as he began to realize that no matter how hard he struggled, this voice was like his shadow—ever-present and inescapable. Every thought he had and every contemplation seemed to be under the control of this entity.
His heartbeat quickened once more, but this time, he felt no fear. Instead, an indescribable sense of calm enveloped him. This tranquility did not stem from inner peace, but rather from a complete surrender and acceptance. Mocus knew that he could not win this internal struggle, for his opponent was far more powerful than he.
"Relax, Mocus," the voice said in a deep tone, as if soothing him. "You just need to accept, and then we can begin our real conversation."
Mocus's vision gradually blurred, and his thoughts became increasingly scattered under the guidance of that voice. He no longer struggled; the light in his eyes slowly faded, leaving only an endless darkness surrounding him. The patterns of the thatched roof began to twist and distort before his eyes, as if the world was slowly collapsing, and he silently sank into the abyss of darkness along with it.
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