Chapter 20

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Traversing through the burning village of a once-civilized community, a man belonging to The Cult of the Great Dreamer silently walked without a hint of regret or emotion about what he had done to them, merely continuing on his own path while his comrades continued their merry way of slaughtering innocent people as the scream echoed the vast landscape.

Joran Garrett, along with his hybrid-bladed rifle strapped around his torso as it dangled on his back, focused his thoughts primarily on serving their eldritch god, who showed them the grandiose display it has to offer in exchange for giving themselves to such a loyal cause.

There is no doubt in his mind that when their beloved god gave them a purpose so grand that it would surpass their own primitive desires, they needed to answer his call and put an end to the dreams of humanity that strives to live in freedom, to see their wishes fulfilled in whatever twisted fate they will face.

The end of all dreamers, the wonderful purpose their given in service of their deity, is what drives them; they will surely be rewarded beyond measure that is bestowed to the faithful worshipers of the great Cthulhu once the cosmic entity finally has grown powerful enough from the day when this realm's stars align in perfect order.

Each reverberating step he took was followed by a hard thud, advancing further into the center of this invasion as he glanced around to see the sweet-sounding massacre being committed by his own brothers and sisters, who rejoiced in bathing their blades of blood without shame or regret for what they did to these people.

Man, woman, child, and pets were mercilessly cut down from whatever blade, axe, knife, or even fist they wield; the simple joy of making them see the truth in death is their greatest gift to mankind, knowing that they have chosen the correct path in this madness.

He inhaled the smoke in his lungs as he proceeded deeper and deeper into the thick haze that surrounded him as chaos and destruction lay across the village in the form of raging fires and blood. Its incredibly sensational to experience such a taste, savoring the smell of metal and burnt wood all around him.

How unfortunate for them to flee or fight! Their desperate pleas and cries for mercy fell deaf to the ears of the savage cultists as they cackled in blood lust, continuing to kill these pitiful mortals with no sign of stopping in their endeavors to see beauty that lies beyond their wildest dreams.

Moving to the center of this village, he looked up and smelled the stench of smoke and death filling the air around them, enjoying the scent of fire as the heat touched his masked face and feeling it as the warmth spread over his body like the continuous fires around him.

The smell of blood and burning flesh permeated the air, the sound of screams filled the sky, and the sight of bodies strewn across the ground greeted his gaze, but the sensation of it all was what made it truly memorable. Where there is heat from the flames, the taste of ash in his mouth, along with the feeling of helplessness that gripped him, makes everything so wholesome to watch.

Houses around him kept burning like bonfires while the cries of despair and horror lingered in his ears. It was music to him, a symphony of suffering that he couldn't help but revel in the impending destruction their savior would finish once awakened.

Once a hive of activity, buildings were blazing, windows shattered, and corpses lay dead or dying on the cobblestone streets. Smoke curled upward from the smoldering remains of buildings and floated into the night sky. The scent of death hung heavily in the air, and the noise of panicked shouts and crying filled the space. It was a scene of utter devastation.

But every brother and sister of his saw the truth, a truth that gave them release from this horrid world of disease, pain, suffering, and heartache. And now they are happy and rejoice at the notion that death is paradise, where all of their problems disappear without any fear for those who shall soon join the dreamless state.

Smiling tearfully at this horrid display, he glances down to see a corpse of a woman holding her dead child to her chest. Sobbing softly at the beauty that lay before him, he politely pushed away the kid and brought her fresh body up against his chest, staring into those cold, unseeing eyes with tears trickling down her frozen cheeks.

How delicate those dead eyes gazed at him as he smiled, inhaling the beautiful smell of death while feeling its icy embrace chill his bones. A mother and her daughter perished in each other's arms, an image that should be honored and revered for all eternity.

While the chaos still unfolds around him, he begins to admire her beautiful features as he holds her lifeless form in his arms, standing with their touched faces closed together in an almost passionate kiss. It was the moment he took the opportunity to dance in this fine night.

The dead woman had long, wavy, raven-black hair that spilled out onto the stone ground beneath her, obscuring her pale, porcelain-like face. She had a thin, aristocratic nose and plump, pink lips. Her skin was flawless and smooth, as though it had never known a single blemish in its entire existence.

Her clothes were sadly torn and ragged, revealing the bruised and broken body beneath. She had a small, but still noticeable, waist that curled into a perfectly proportioned hourglass. Her hips were wide and full, and her breasts were also round and supple.

It is safe to say she is one of the prettiest women he has ever met in his entire life, and there is something to admire about every precious moment of this waking nightmare. How he wishes he could take her and bury her in some far-off land, keeping her preserved for all eternity so he could treasure every inch of her perfect skin forever, but it would be too much hassle to do so.

As her dress was still in ruin, he took the time to appreciate every little detail and every curve of her body. He couldn't help but take note of her soft, velvety skin, which seemed to radiate heat even though she was dead. But it doesn't change the fact that he won't take this opportunity to dance.

With madness all around, Joran then sang in a theatrical baritone voice, "Come! Let us rejoice at our wondrous triumphant return!" giving a toothy smile from ear to ear under his mask as he gracefully moved his body into the most comfortable position and held her close to him.

And then he sang like an opera singer with incredible skills of artistry, singing slowly and majestically while the two danced in this madness that was beautifully plaguing their senses. It is a tragic melody, invoking images of sadness and loss as though the very idea of being without one another was too much to bear.

"Nel vuoto dell'esistenza, dimoro abbracciando il nulla, dolce campanello della morte."

The imagination of playing violin and cello following a rhythmic pattern, echoing the slow tempo of the music, creates a haunting atmosphere as both dancers continue swaying side to side as though in some sort of trance that he found rather captivating to see them indulge in.

For in the corner of his eyes, crying infant was seen holding his dying father's chest desperately from the ground as blood dribbled out of the poor man's mouth, their depressing wails carrying to Joran's ears, sending shivers of joy throughout his own spine. As they danced amongst the flood of corpses laying on the floors, his own tears were flowing down freely.

"La bellezza svanisce come un respiro passeggero, in questo mondo di illusione e morte inevitabile. Ma io sono un sussurro nel vento."

Men, women, and some of the frightened kids used whatever means they could think of, placing whatever prayer they believed in to get through this insanity that they didn't know existed until now, being on the verge of losing everything to these invading madmen and women.

"Momento fugace che presto si dimetterà. La morsa del nichilismo si stringe intorno alla mia anima, mentre abbraccio l'oscurità che mi circonda."

Moving her lifeless hands lightly as he glided around her lover's body, all the while embracing the darkness that surrounds them both. His movements were graceful and fluid, as though he had done this a million times before without a sense of why.

"La vita è una tela vuota, priva di significato, con ogni battito di cuore che fa eco alla sua ingannevole presentazione. Ma mi aggrappo a una fragile e vana fiamma tremolante in un uragano."

So much death and destruction, giving life an empty canvas with no purpose or meaning in a single beat of man's heart; he smiled bitterly at this, watching the people holding their ground from the atrocities they witnessed before their very eyes.

"La morte mi sussurra dolci parole all'orecchio, promettendo pace da tutte le paure e i problemi che la vita riserva ai nostri cuori."

A sudden burst of heavy rain entered the area, but it didn't deter him from continuing onward with this dance. The splashes of water falling into puddles created were romantic, as they sounded like gentle rainfall during a thunderstorm, cascading upon them where he held the woman of his dreams close against him.

"Accolgo il suo freddo abbraccio a braccia aperte, perché l'oblio è la salvezza eterna."

Death whispers sweet nothings in his ears, promising peace from all the fear and troubles that life holds in their hearts. Where beauty fades like a passing breath in this world of illusion and inevitable death, But his whisper was like a wind that travels on the breeze.

Joyous laughter escaped from his lips while he continued dancing with her. Joran had never imagined this would be the most exciting part of his life, where he felt free to do whatever he wanted and nobody was there to tell him otherwise.

Whenever he holds her to dance, his eyes can't look away from how pretty she is, no matter what. He felt the world around them was meant to be forgotten and thrown into oblivion; no longer did he need it anymore. It was like a dream that had ended and started anew.

Nothing matters; there is nothing to fear.

This is all he needs—the destruction surrounding him in every angle imaginable. This is what his life should be—a life he now regrets not realizing sooner when a generous god offered them a gift. Can't anyone realize how precious it is to experience this enlightenment?

"Lasciate che la bellezza svanisca nell'oscurità, perché io sono un contenitore di purezza nichilista. Nel dolce abbraccio della morte troverò la pace e infine la felicità."

A thundering boom resonated above them, followed by another, and then another again. He kept dancing with her until his shoes became wet from the ground, sharing the never-ending warmth they carried between themselves.

With her terrified face, their hands pressed together like lovers who'd known each other all their lives, even if they'd never met before tonight. A bright flash of lightning flashed across the distance, but it didn't deter him from stopping this moment from being ruined.

For what feels like forever, he danced with her alone; this moment meant everything to him. The sound of distant thunder rumbled like eternity, his treasured brothers and sisters continuing their art of massacring anyone merciless as always.

Bringing his head up, faint stars started appearing through the clouds of the night sky; those few pale flickers gave him deep solace, reminding him of a time when the universe was still a newborn, teeming with life. And the life that was given to them was all but naught.

However, something caught his attention in the cloudy, dark skies from afar: a star so bright and shining amidst its surroundings. A sight he'll never forget, this is how beautiful this world truly is. Praying to have it never end from how perfect it is.

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