Chapter 479: Omen (1)
In a vast underground cavern, the campfire was the only source of light.
From one corner, the darkness stirred, twisting into a vortex as space tore open. A shadow darker than the void emerged from the rift—unyielding Knees, the Skunk Boy, and Pan's Shadow stepped out.
“Damn it…”
The Red Warlock Knees muttered in a low voice.
All the companions who had accompanied him were wiped out in the battle between the creatures and the Holy Knights, leaving him the sole survivor. It was a natural reaction.
How disgraceful and painful it was.
Yet, what troubled him even more was the Black Magician who had obstructed him twice—Dave, the fixer from 30th Street in Landa’s T-District.
That man had known he was using the souls of his fallen companions and had even managed to counter it. Knees couldn’t comprehend how it was possible. Black magic depended more on materials than mere skill... At least, that was what he had been taught.
That was why he had resorted to using even his own kin as materials for black magic.
But that man had mixed emotions, life force, and magic power to create an energy resembling a soul. Although it couldn’t truly compare to an actual soul, what mattered was that it had been enough to thwart Knees' black magic. And he did it without sacrificing anyone.
Knees felt an indescribable emotion.
A tangled web of helplessness, inferiority, and guilt—a complex and tormenting feeling.
For someone like Knees, who remained composed under any circumstances, this was enough to visibly shake him.
However, he wasn’t the only one in poor condition. Both Pan’s Shadow and the Skunk Boy were in bad shape as well.
Pan's Shadow was suffering from overexertion, having pushed himself too hard while under the influence of disease-weakening-type black magic. Now, his deteriorating condition was apparent at a glance.
Meanwhile, the Skunk Boy was on the verge of hyperventilation, wheezing as if he might pass out at any moment.
It was no surprise—he had nearly been split in half by a Holy Knight wielding a dreadful expression. If it hadn’t been for Dave's sudden intervention, his body would have been cleaved from head to groin.
‘Why did he help?’
It was a natural question to have. But none of them had the time to ponder it deeply, for Pan approached them from within the darkness.
“Well, well... Judging by your looks, you all must have had quite the rough time.”
Everyone lifted their heads to look at Pan. Though the campfire’s light created a backlight, obscuring his appearance, especially his face, which was completely shadowed, making it impossible to see his expression.
“There was... an unexpected variable.”
“What kind of variable?”
Knees couldn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t sure how to describe the variables he had encountered.
The artificial soul that mimicked a real one, the shadow maw that was similar to his own Shadow Teeth, but worlds apart in power.
Things that were hard to believe even after witnessing.
The overwhelming presence was no less intimidating than when he had faced Pan or the Eternal Puppet.
“Hey? Are your ears clogged? What—what’s wrong with this idiot Tootles?”
Pan looked at Tootles, who was huddled up and trembling next to Knees, along with his own shadow.
“Damn it! What’s wrong with you? Huh? What the hell happened?”
Pan spoke to the boy and the creature that had worked hard to carry out his orders, grumbling lightly and emotionally.
But they had grown used to it, so no one got angry. They were just curious.
“Didn’t you see?”
“What?”
“I asked if you didn’t see… You can see and hear everything that happens inside the Intestine Tunnel, right?”
“Oh, I was watching something more interesting.”
Pan pointed his thumb towards the campfire—the only flame lit for the ritual.
The ceremony was still ongoing, just as it had been when Knees had left. The huge bonfire, the totems erected around it, and the companions drumming and dancing.
‘...What?’
Something seemed off. The drumming and dancing meant to captivate the demon's interest were unnaturally consistent. Even the most skilled dancers couldn’t repeat the exact same movements over and over again, but now they were doing just that.
It felt almost unreal.
That wasn’t the only strange thing. The dance itself had changed.
Instead of the warrior’s traditional dance of the tribe, it had become a grotesque, writhing display, as if someone was yanking them around by the hair.
A chill ran down Knees' spine as he looked at Pan.
“Lord Pan.”
“Hold on a moment, let me snap this fool out of it.”
Pan roughly slapped Tootles, who wore a skunk cloak, across the face as he helped him to his feet.
“Get a hold of yourself... Snap out of it.”
“T-Taezang…?”
“What happened that’s got you acting like a bedwetting coward?”
“K-Kkkeuh—”
“—I don’t care!”
Pan slapped Tootles across the face again. Though it might have looked like a joke, he was serious. He truly didn’t care in the slightest.
“The important thing is that you’re Tootles of Never Land. Tootles. You stutter, people call you an idiot, and you smile without fear in any situation. That’s why you’re Tootles. If you’re a sniveling coward, then you’re not Tootles! If you’re not Tootles, then you’re useless to me!! So, who are you?”
“I-I’m…”
The frightened boy, known as Tootles, stammered, as if he had something he wanted to say. Pan warned him.
“Remember this. If you’re not Tootles, then I don’t need you, and if I don’t need you, you can never return to Never Land. Is that what you want? Huh?”
Never Land.
Tootles reacted to that word, feeling a terror greater than when the Holy Knight’s axe had nearly split his skull.
Fear lent him physical strength. It forced him to stand up and smile brightly, even though he was scared to death.
“N-No, Taezang... I’m Tootles. Heehee.”
The boy, about five years old, laughed while under the grip of fear.
Watching him, Knees felt an inexplicable sense of disgust and rage.
Pan, however, didn’t seem to care at all.
“Shadow… you don’t look so good either, do you?”
Pan addressed his own shadow, whose form had been twisted by disease, and the shadow forced itself up to show that it was still capable.
I’m fine. I’m still functional.
“Hmm... Doesn’t seem that way.”
Pan asked casually, and the shadow froze in terror.
It was like the expression of a child about to be expelled from a factory for being unable to work anymore.
“Hmm... Should I make a new one?”
Pan muttered, as if discarding a broken lighter in favor of buying a new one.
The lightness of that statement caused the shadow to stiffen, and Pan burst into laughter at the sight.
“Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! Just kidding, just kidding. Why would I replace you…? You’re my most capable shadow. I won’t replace you… Can you still move?”
A nod.
“Do you remember everything I said?”
Another nod.
“Good. Now, then, let’s start preparing...”
...
Knees got up and grabbed Pan's arm. He could no longer tolerate this.
“...Why?”
“Where is Lily? And the others?”
Knees asked about what worried him the most. Apart from those performing the ritual, many other tribesmen had been here, especially Lily, who had danced atop the giant drum. But now, there was no sign of her.
Pan pointed toward the campfire as he had before.
“Go see for yourself.”
Knees felt a foreboding sense of dread as he instinctively ran toward the fire, where he could soon see...
His companions with eyes blackened, blood oozing from their noses, mouths, and eyes, yet still dancing grotesquely without stopping.
Their feet split and bled, painting a ritual formation in blood.
Seeing this, Knees felt a profound terror rising from the depths of his being—an ultimate fear beyond words.
This was a terror of an entirely different kind from curses, flames, swords, or guns—an incomprehensible horror from the unknown.
Knees felt nothing but helplessness and worthlessness, unable to understand or resist.
His body stiffened like stone as cold sweat dripped from his back, and he even forgot to breathe.
The only thing that moved was his gaze, darting around in a paradoxical attempt to escape the terror, as if entranced.
“...What?”
Knees, struggling to move only his eyes, made a hollow sound as he beheld something.
It wasn’t his companions, who continued dancing despite their shattered legs, nor the tribesmen burning in the campfire's flames, nor his younger sibling, who was trembling with eyes closed in fright.
It was Lily.
She lay collapsed atop the giant drum where she had danced, but her appearance had changed into something dreadful and startling.
The once vibrant Lily, fresh like a spring bud, now looked like a starved old woman, her limbs and face withered and emaciated.
The only place where there was any flesh left was her belly, which bulged as if all her body’s nutrients had pooled there, resembling a pregnancy.
‘No…’
Knees denied it. This was nothing like a sacred, holy pregnancy. It was the complete opposite—profane and grotesque. It was something that insulted the very concept of life.
All that could be felt from it was disgust, fear, and despair—overwhelming despair.
“Should have brought the prince, huh? Then she wouldn’t have ended up like this, right?”
Hearing a voice behind him, Knees turned to see Pan speaking casually, as if it were someone else’s concern.
At that moment, Knees was finally able to see Pan’s expression.
He was smiling—a filthy smile of satisfaction, as if his desires had been fulfilled.
Knees realized everything then. They had been lied to. They had been told the ritual was to sacrifice city dwellers to summon a demon, and that was why all the tribespeople had been gathered here. Even Lily, who had been his friend!
Realizing the truth, Knees felt such rage that it eclipsed his terror. He grieved as he regained control of his body and attempted to cast black magic at Pan...
...
A cold sound echoed in the vast underground cavern, and Knees tilted to one side and fell. Along with him, he saw the clown wielding a toy sickle and the severed leg lying on the ground.
“...Aaaaargh!!”
Knees fell into the pool of his own blood and screamed.
The Eternal Child Pan shouted gleefully at the sight.
“Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! Now, let’s get ready! Prepare for the hunt!”
...
“What’s going on?”
A red-haired Holy Knight grabbed Oliver by the collar and asked, lifting him with immense strength.
It was a nerve-racking sight, made even more unsettling by the gleaming axe blade. However, Oliver remained calm.
“Apologies. I stopped it instinctively.”
Oliver said the same thing as before. He really didn’t know why; he had moved on impulse.
“That’s your reason?”
The Holy Knight demanded, not letting go of his collar. Though he was struggling to breathe, Oliver understood.
The red-haired Holy Knight’s rage stemmed from Anselm's condition. He deeply respected Anselm, and it was because of his injuries that the knight was so furious.
Since Oliver had interfered amidst all that, it was only natural that his collar was being grabbed.
Feeling that brushing it off would be impolite, Oliver made an effort to answer, despite not being entirely certain.
“Well... if I had to say, it’s just that…”
“What?”
“No matter what, seeing the head of a five-year-old split open right in front of me… It just didn’t sit well.”
Oliver spoke uncertainly, as he hadn’t actually seen it happen and couldn’t fully grasp the feeling. He had simply acted on the thought that if it had been Kent, he would have intervened.
Oh, that seemed to make sense. He would have intervened if it had been Kent.
As he spoke, the reasoning sounded more plausible, though it didn’t seem to convince the Holy Knight.
“Don’t give me that crap. You stopped it because the kid’s a child? Even though you’re a Black Magician?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t see what that brat did?”
Oliver had indeed seen that Anselm had been poisoned by the Skunk Boy's projectile. Although Anselm’s physical wounds were healed through holy magic, the poison hadn’t been fully neutralized, leaving him in poor condition.
“I apologize for that… but still, certain things are just wrong.”
“This little—”
“—And besides, aren’t you Holy Knights?”
The Holy Knight hesitated.
“You are the shield that protects the world and its people on behalf of the Divine. If you harm a child just because you’re angry... Isn’t that a bit much?”
Oliver spoke openly about what he felt.
No one could deny it, because it was true.
“So, you stopped it because it didn’t suit a Holy Knight’s conduct?”
“I hadn’t thought about it that deeply, but it seems about right.”
“I see it differently.”
“What?”
“Isn’t it more likely that you’re in league with Pan?”
“...?”
“I mean, think about it.”
The Holy Knight tightened his grip on Oliver’s collar.
“You controlled the intestines filling the abandoned mine, effortlessly subdued the Red Warlock’s shadow, did nothing when Anselm was attacked, and only acted after he was hurt… It’s suspicious, isn’t it? You even stopped us from taking down the enemy.”
“Because he was a five-year-old boy—”
“—Or maybe it’s more plausible that you’re a Black Magician conspiring with Pan to trap us.”
The Holy Knight readied his axe, gripping it firmly as if prepared to strike.
After pondering for a moment, Oliver replied.
“Well, that argument does have some merit... It would have sounded much more convincing if your feelings toward me didn’t carry any malice.”
The Holy Knight’s temper snapped, and he raised his axe high.
Joanna, who had been nervously watching, was startled and grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Wait, please. He didn’t mean any harm—”
“Shut up, you damn wench!”
The red-haired Holy Knight pushed her away and yelled.
“I saw you earlier! Making eye contact with him and coordinating moves! You’re in league with the Black Magician, aren’t you?! You filthy trai— Urgh!”
The Holy Knight’s speech was cut off by a sudden sharp pain in his arm.
Turning to look, he saw that Oliver, who had been dangling from his grip, was clutching his wrist with a bony, emaciated hand.
As Oliver tightened his grip, the Holy Knight’s arm, which was holding him up, gradually lowered.
Everyone watched in silence.
“I’m sorry... I couldn’t breathe.”