TMBIPYMEN Chapter 23

"No." Layla murmured it to herself, stepping backward slowly, her right hand—the one bearing the ring—closing into a fist.

How had she connected with Yustar just earlier?

—I could take your body, you know.

The woman drew closer. Before she even touched Layla, that glacial cold swept across her entire frame again. There was no going back. But she wouldn't be able to shake her off either...

—Greedy, so greedy! A child like you has never come to this place before! Give me your body! Hand it over!

The voice ricocheting through her skull grew louder. Layla screamed and swung her clenched right hand without thinking. A needle-sharp pain bloomed across her skin. When she opened her eyes, the woman's jaw was unhinged, her yellowed teeth clamped down on Layla's right hand.

Crunch...

The rotting teeth scraped across the ring Layla wore. If she pulled her hand away, she would be torn to shreds. Layla's eyes bulged red-rimmed as she gasped for breath. What should she—

"Layla!"

Layla's head snapped around.

"Yustar! I'm here!"

To find an angel in the depths of hell would not be as welcome as this. Layla could no longer bear the deepening agony in her right hand and screamed. It felt like her fingers were being torn away...

That was when it happened.

—CRASH!

With a sound like a wall collapsing, Layla's body was yanked backward. Her eyes flew wide as she watched the woman slam against the opposite wall and stick there.

"How...?"

"Did you see the core?"

Yustar asked. When Layla nodded, he leaned forward, his hand settling on her shoulder, gesturing with his chin toward the trapped woman.

"Look again. You need to open the core. But it will hurt. It will be very difficult."

"She showed it to me. Her memories."

"Not anymore."

The woman remained pinned against the wall, thrashing uselessly. Her limbs splayed in an X, and her fingers—skeletal beneath rotting flesh—twitched. Her pupils, bloated and white, rolled side to side.

—Ahhh! You! The thing made from my blood dares to—dares to! Let me go! Release me!

Layla looked as though her soul had fled her body. Yustar's voice cut through.

"Hurry, Layla. There's no time. Begin the overlay. You must open the core."

She wanted to answer that she understood, but her voice wouldn't come. The shrieking of a spirit bound in nothing—trapped in the void itself—was unbearable.

Layla squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the woman. She tried to resurrect the memory she had glimpsed moments before. But it was hazy... like forcing open a box with a rusted lock, her mind straining against the resistance.

The difference was: when opening a locked box, you pushed with your fingertips and forearms. Now, you had to push with everything in your head—with what people called your mind.

"I can't do it, Yustar!"

"You have to. It's all right. Take a deep breath... You're doing well. Slowly."

His voice curled around her ears like smoke. Layla synced her breathing to his—slow inhalation, slower exhalation still.

Like a fish that could descend to the abyssal depths with a single breath held in its lungs, she forced herself to keep air suspended in her chest for as long as possible. Then she wrenched open the clattering lid of that box.

—Ahhh...! No! Don't come in! Don't come in—!

Devastating pain split her skull. It was like someone dragging a knife through her temples, carving slowly. If Yustar hadn't braced her from behind, she would have collapsed.

Layla endured the agony and, gathering every ounce of strength, tore the woman's box open one final time. The scenes she had been shown in sequence—tortured, methodical—came pouring out like an angry swarm.

She felt something warm cascade across her upper lip. Blood. Her nose was bleeding. And then she heard Yustar's voice:

"Cut the rust-worn scissors through the old shadow, and you will never return to this place."

—Ahhhhh...! No, no! That woman—that thing is still here! I will—

Crack. The sound of a wall fracturing. Simultaneously, something thin and chain-like shot from within Yustar's sleeve. It went rigid, then fired toward the thrashing ghost like an arrow.

—Kugh...!

When the chain pierced her chest, the ghost released something like a human cry. Her blackened, putrefying face flickered—just for an instant—returning to its living form. A thin line of dark, viscous blood ran from the corner of her mouth.

The woman spoke.

"I... am cursed. Because of you. It's all your fault. You destroyed this place. Because you were born..."

Layla's breathing turned ragged. The woman's terrible words were clearly meant for Yustar. And she spoke them knowing exactly who he was.

The chain threaded through the woman's chest wrapped around her, tearing her apart.

Most of her dissolved into black dust. But a small cube, no larger than a thumbnail, remained. When Yustar retrieved it, Layla could make out something like facial features—something like the woman's own—etched into its surface.

"...Hah."

Yustar exhaled heavily. His body swayed, then pulled away from Layla.

"Yustar!"

Layla moved toward him, alarmed, but he raised his hand to stop her.

Black smoke rolled across his slumped shoulders like that of an exhausted porter. Layla tried to focus on its shape, to discern its form...

Crack. The sound came after the smoke wrapped around his hand. And a faint cry of pain echoed through the room.

It's feeding again, Layla realized. But what is that? Is it attached to him? Or does it come from him?

What manner of being devours human souls—refined cores, their very essence?

After the meal concluded—if it could be called that—Yustar finally straightened, his expression pallid. His long hair hung disheveled, sweat beading on his brow.

"Are you all right?"

He asked. When Layla nodded, Yustar took another deep breath and swept the damp strands from his forehead. The gesture was sharp with irritation.

"I told you this place was dangerous, Layla."

"I didn't come here! I was in the garden."

Yustar furrowed his brow, tilting his head.

"Is that the truth?"

Layla spoke with frustration in her voice.

"Why would I lie? I don't have a hobby of courting danger. I have no desire to throw myself into situations beyond my reach. I was in the garden... and then I heard a voice. Perhaps she cast some sort of spell on me."

Sometimes there are people insensitive to ghosts themselves, yet acutely attuned to their presence. Such people often find themselves in strange places without knowing how they got there—or committing strange, sometimes cruel acts—all without conscious intent.

They were too sensitive to resist a spirit's pull, yet possessed no knowledge of how to defend themselves. Such people fell victim to such things easily.

That had to be what happened to Layla. Yustar exhaled, regarding her with an expression caught between tears and laughter, and said:

"We need to get you proper defensive equipment as soon as possible, Layla. Offensive capability too. I honestly didn't realize you'd be this sensitive. It's not just keen sight. You're naturally gifted—constitutionally a medium."

Layla's brow furrowed. She turned back toward the wall where the ghostly woman had been embedded. It had been on the verge of collapse moments ago, spiderwebbed with cracks. Now it was pristine.

Yustar continued.

"Still, you have my gratitude. Grandmother was honestly becoming a nuisance. I couldn't confront her because I couldn't see her core. My life was in genuine danger until she was disarmed."

Layla studied him.

"Is she gone now?"

Yustar blinked in assent.

"Yes. I had hoped someday she would recognize her mistakes, but this is how it ended. However, no more people will vanish now."

Layla spoke carefully, after a pause.

"That woman... your grandmother. She did terrible things. Did you know?"

Yustar fell silent in thought for a moment, then nodded with some ambivalence.

"Broadly speaking. But it was all hearsay—stories that reached me through several intermediaries, so I wasn't certain how much was true. When you opened her core just now, very briefly, I was able to see a few things myself. The rumors of her terrible acts seem to have been no exaggeration."

"She killed children."

Layla swayed slightly, her unresolved headache still lingering, but she steadied herself before Yustar could assist her. Her face had gone pale.

Yustar said.

"It happens often in places like this."

"Do you have half-siblings?"

After a moment of silence, Yustar answered.

"No. My only brother is my older sibling—King Ode Haienmorik, whom you must meet with tomorrow."

Only then did Layla's memory return to her, and her brow narrowed with concern.

After all this turmoil, I'm expected to have an audience with the king tomorrow... It was incomprehensible. How had her quiet, unremarkable life become this?

As though reading her thoughts, Yustar draped the cloak from his shoulders around her and said:

"Let's have you return to your room and rest early tonight. Marchioness Hymierd will have had the staff prepare your chambers. If sleep proves difficult, ask one of the servants for a cup of warmed wine."

"What about you?"

Yustar smiled faintly. He looked as exhausted as Layla, yet seemed less shaken overall.

For someone who had just torn his grandmother's soul to shreds with his own hands, his expression was remarkably serene.

"I'll return to my room and retire early as well. Tomorrow will be busy from the morning onward. If you need to contact me, use that ring. Just tap it. Like this."

He tapped his own hand gently in demonstration. Layla nodded to show she understood.

Yustar drew her shoulder close, cradling her.

"Let's go. I'll see you to your chambers."

Layla followed without resistance, yet the unease that had settled over her did not lift. In truth, it deepened. His grandmother's parting words—that hateful ghost's curse—echoed in her mind.

You destroyed this place. Because you were born...

What are you?

Layla kept her awareness fixed on the weight of his hand on her shoulder, her trembling lip carefully concealed.