The night on Dokdo was dark.
The lights that should have flickered intermittently seemed to have been extinguished by some ghost, leaving only shattered glass rattling miserably in the sorrowful darkness, while the crashing waves distorted my sense of direction with their sound.
If there was any light at all, it would be from the moon and the stars.
The moon hung proudly in the sky, glowing sharply in a blue hue, yet it seemed utterly indifferent to shedding any light below, while the stars scattered chaotically across the sky, as if craving attention in lieu of the moon’s dim glow.
Gazing endlessly at that chaos, I felt a strange thrill mixed with fear.
Even the ignorant would come to realize when looking at that starlight.
That those stars do not exist for my sake.
Thus, Dokdo fell into darkness.
Without the moonlight to shed, without the streetlights glowing, even the lodging that should have been lit was enveloped in silence.
Thus, it was cloaked in shadow.
And in that darkness, there were two figures walking.
One was a man, and the other was something that pretended to be human.
The man was dressed in a suit, while the one posing as human wore a fox mask.
The man, with his identity as a human, stepped silently, while the one pretending to be human emphasized its status by making heavy footsteps.
Every step made a soft sound, echoing like thuds, and the distinct scraping of shoes over the ground filled the air.
Each time grass and fabric brushed against each other, memories of insects surged and made the body shudder, yet it couldn’t move, as the smell of crushed grass stimulated nostalgia, yet the insect could not escape its own body—its cells formed the very bricks of its existence.
Indeed, bricks that form a building cannot simply take leave at their whim.
Bricks are merely components that contribute to a building’s identity; they alone cannot voice themselves, and that is the reason.
Thus, the swarm of insects advanced, all the while maintaining the guise of a human.
They moved forward, while one of them was held in place.
Projecting the consciousness of their creator, they advanced and advanced.
And at the end of that progression, there stood a man.
“Nice to meet you. We meet again here.”
He had a gaunt body with pitch-black skin, exuding an aura so ominous he hardly appeared human.
The shape of his face was one that Jinseong had once encountered.
“Surely, you remember my name?”
He smiled.
The thin rings and bracelets clinked on his slender hands as he cupped them, and with the gestures of a Buddhist, he neatly aligned his hands in the middle. He then nodded slightly, releasing a sound of clinking as he opened his hands again, gazing intently at Jinseong.
” Maurice E Vin. Am I correct?”
“Yes. Jinseong Park. That’s correct.”
Upon hearing Jinseong remember his name, he beamed with joy.
That smile seemed so pure that it could even shine in the darkness, and simply looking at it made one naively feel safe.
But alas, none present here were innocent.
Jinseong could pierce through the ominous energy and deathly aura cascading from Maurice’s body, while Maurice remained on guard towards Jinseong, who was both familiar yet fearsome, surrounded by the spirits clinging to him.
In a fleeting moment, Maurice’s eyes met Jinseong’s, and together they acknowledged the mutual wariness they held for each other. Only after confirming that unease did he slowly turn his head to give attention to another presence.
A man dressed in priestly attire.
The unidentified figure wearing a fox mask.
“Judging from the attire, it seems you’re from Japan…”
Maurice narrowed his eyes and smirked with intrigue.
“You’re not human, are you?”
What stood in the dress of the Shinto priest was clearly the form of a person.
With features identical to that of a human, and a skeletal structure mimicking that of a human. Flesh filled out the skeletal framework, and it bore the likeness of a typical adult male. The muscle fibers moved just like those of a human, each part responding to its movements—how could one suggest this was not a human?
Yet he could feel it.
No matter what had been done, he could not see through the fabric properly, but he knew for a fact.
What was inside that fabric was not human.
There was no solid evidence to support that claim.
The humanoid figure literally mirrored humanity with precise accuracy; he felt the heartbeat, sensed the body temperature. Additionally, the aura was remarkably human-like, so what could possibly be presented as evidence?
Only his experience from the long exploration of death whispered to him, marking the traces of time wrapped around him.
That it was not human.
“I have wandered the world for a long time. In order to explore death, I needed to observe the funeraly of numerous nations, their attitudes toward death, and the varied cultural responses to the afterlife.”
Maurice spoke slowly while gazing at the Shinto priest.
“In that process, I witnessed something fascinating. Though the paths varied, and the destinations differed, I encountered researchers who might just hold the answer I seek. They seemed intent on obtaining permanence through transcending the consciousness, separating, and cultivating independence—seeking methods to overcome death.”
He spoke as if recalling memories, staring vacantly into the air, and slowly raised a hand.
Then he bent one finger down.
“In Germany, I saw a wizard researching Doppelgängers. He believed that the existence of doppelgängers might relate to the phenomenon of a trans-dimensional information repository—the Akashic Records. If one’s information were inscribed within these records and could use it as one wished, then by regularly projecting it into the world, one could achieve immortality.”
He paused momentarily before again bending a finger.
“And I saw something similar in Tibet. A seeker who had been in pursuit for a long time. He declared he was searching for the esoteric teaching, ‘tsi chig lus chig sangyais.’ The man, robed as a monk, did not consider himself a shaman; he merely stated he was capable of using magic through relentless practice. He could instantly dry his soaked garments with the heat radiating from him, levitate in the air, and endure months in a deep pit without food or water—all considered merely secondary accomplishments.”
“….”
“He was versatile. Like everyone else, he held the need for others’ assistance but was definitely capable of surviving with less help. He demonstrated this through phenomena of the spiritual realm.”
“….”
“He showcased to me how he could collect thoughts with powerful concentration and give them shape. The first form he created was a likeness of himself; the second creation bore the shape of a stunningly beautiful woman. That form appeared like a ghost, gracefully orbiting the vicinity, behaving as if they were genuinely alive.”
Maurice paused his speech, then chuckled softly.
“He called this the product of magic law, naming it the ‘Tulpa.'”
Tulpa.
A type of thought form or spirit created through magical technique.
Before the Shinto priest, Maurice uttered the name of this little-known byproduct of magic law.
“I sense a certain familiarity in you, reminiscent of that instance.”
“…Is that so?”
The Shinto priest neither confirmed nor denied Maurice’s words.
Instead, he merely vibrated his vocal cords to project sound outward.
He subtly moved the fox mask towards Maurice, locking his gaze, while the tiny eye holes of the mask met Maurice’s own eyes. Something akin to human eyes moved, observing him.
“Quite an interesting tale.”
Then he asked Maurice, his voice devoid of emotion.
“So, does this intriguing story have any significant connection to our current situation?”
Maurice pondered for a moment over the Shinto priest’s words, then smiled.
“If there’s a connection, then there is, and if not, then there isn’t. This means that your absence as your true self does not influence my thoughts; at the same time, it indicates that your formidable prowess as a shaman powerfully manifests here through your projection.”
He said this, then slightly turned to gaze at Jinseong.
That entity, feeling both familiarity and fear from the spirits.
The young shaman, possessing an unusual presence suggestive of graves and corpses.
Maurice briefly stared at Jinseong before returning his gaze to the Shinto priest.
A shaman who appeared here using a projection.
What his true identity was, and what his true form… was unknown, yet he was presumed to hold immense power.
With both figures in his sight, Maurice slowly opened his mouth.
“I shall pose a question to both of you.”
He inquired with utmost politeness, his manner imbued with respect.
“I intend to conduct an experiment on this island. Could you offer your assistance?”
