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“The moment we observe, we recognize, and that recognition influences the world. Hence, the ancient sages spoke thus: it is not that the world exists because we exist, but rather, we exist because the world exists. Therefore, if we cannot perceive the world, then in that moment, the world ceases to exist and bears no value whatsoever.”

The Sorcerer, Pierre Martin.

A man draped in tattered shadows speaks.

“But all paths in this world lead to one. Just as life culminates in death, those who reach a particular realm touch upon other realms as well. Just as a deep inquiry into the spirit connects to enlightenment about the material. Everything in the world converges into one, like the micro and macro not being different from each other. The difference between the world existing because of me and me existing because of the world is not so great.”

The human skin mask he wears distorts as if it were truly his face.

“My experiments were progressing smoothly. I felt myself inching closer to my long-held aspirations, experiencing the thrill akin to that of a young boy. A rush like the first blush of puppy love, even hotter and more exhilarating, awaited me in the future.”

Pierre Martin’s face twisted in dismay.

“Vanish, vanish, vanish, O phantoms! Satan, who hinders ascension and pulls man into sulfurous flames, the lawyer who draws out sins in the judgment before entering the millennial kingdom to accuse and cast down, the devils who tempt me with countless seductions—like a demon—!!!!”

Like a demon—!!!!!!!!!!

A terrible insect!!!!!!!!!!!!

A screech that feels like it’s tearing apart.

Anger spilling forth with blood.

Pierre Martin’s hands tear fiercely at the human skin on his face, and shadows begin to pour forth in all directions. Thick, black smoke engulfs everywhere, and the shadows clinging to the objects seem to merge naturally, darkening the surroundings as if they were areas they had always claimed as their own.

Thus, shadows cover all around.

Like the world plunging into darkness when the sun is obscured.

And in the heart of this shadow, Park Jinseong bursts into a hearty laugh.

“Heh heh, humans can be so amusing.”

He pauses for a moment, as if to convey some disappointment.

“If we’re not harming one another’s goals, then sharing is but a trivial affair, right? How cold-hearted of you.”

With that, he explodes with a whoosh.

A swarm of insects scatters.

A garment collapses helplessly to the ground.

Nothing remains.

The phantoms disappear like phantoms do, transforming into insects and vanishing.

Pierre Martin begins to wail as he gazes at the empty space where Park Jinseong once stood.

“Ahhhhhh—!!!! Aahhhhhh! Aahhhhhh! Aahhhhhh!!!!!!”

A cry unleashed in an inability to contain his fury.

His nails digging into his flesh, blood oozing profusely, yet he feels no pain; his knees crash heavily onto the floor, clearly fracturing bones, but he registers none of it. Pierre Martin was swept away by his emotions, completely at a loss.

Like a child who has cried so much that he faints.

Like a baby unable to control his emotions, suffering as a result.

Kneeling down, Pierre Martin shapes his shadows into claw-like forms and grips the ground tightly.

Thump.

The cement floor submits to his touch as if it were tofu, and the sand held in shadowy hands crumbles and trickles through his fingers like sand by the sea.

Pierre Martin looks at the sand and speaks.

“-Before departing, I offer my prayers to Mother Sea, just as you cradled me tenderly when you birthed me. Do not send me into the depths of that black abyss; grant me safe passage in my voyage. Exclude the insects that gnaw at the rotten boards, and protect me from barnacles that would drag my ship into the deep. Cleanse those who are to embrace you in your arms and do not allow them to suffer—”

Thud!

Thud!

Pierre Martin pulverizes the cement and scatters it on the ground, repeatedly pounding it down, as if trying to compact the earth itself.

Then he gathers another handful of sand, shoving it into his mouth.

Ptooey.

He mixes his spit and blood with the sand until it becomes a lump, then hurls it at a building of suitable size.

The shockwave from the impact shatters all the windows, but the building still retains its shape for now.

However, the moment Pierre Martin’s clump of earth comes into contact with it, the once upright structure begins to twist.

Snap.

The lump crashes against the wall, shattering into countless pieces.

But the outcome is anything but ordinary.

At least, it would be incorrect to label it as ‘ordinary.’

Creeeak.

Creeeak.

A sound of twisting resonates.

Steel reinforcements twist, cement expands, wood is gnawed at.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

A chilling sound reaches the ears.

And with that sound, numerous tiny holes begin to emerge.

It evokes the image of a sponge, the kind we commonly use for dishwashing.

The building, once intact, now bore numerous large and small holes.

Even if one didn’t possess the phobia known as ‘trypophobia,’ it sparked an innate and primal disgust.

Just seeing those perforated forms could send chills down one’s spine.

Swoosh.

From those holes, something emerges.

Something translucent.

With a slimy body and a slightly darkened front.

Tentacles, or perhaps flesh reminiscent of clam meat.

They pop out from the building’s holes, asserting their presence.

And they writhe, wriggle, wriggle, as if trying to recreate the sight of hair swirling in the water, or perhaps the hair of a drowned corpse, swaying like seaweed.

Disgusting.

Repulsive.

The grotesque sight seemed even more revolting as it manifested through the medium of ‘a building.’

“-As I head towards the shallow sea, may your hair not ensnare the ship, holding it hostage in that spot, though I cannot sprinkle oil upon your smooth locks, I honor the shine of your hair’s luster, which beams down as the light of the star constellations. May the seaweed not bring harm to the ship that has entered your being. From your tresses to your depths, from your head to your secret places, encompass the vessel with all that is within you, so that we find solace in your embrace and once we leave your arms, we may set foot upon land once more—”

Yet Pierre Martin’s Ritual of Magic did not end there.

Transforming one building in such a way was merely the beginning, for the shadows rising from his body began to wreak havoc physically.

What was once an intact structure was slashed and mangled grotesquely, rubble torn asunder displaying its innards. Moreover, he also disturbed the water and sewage, causing torrents to burst forth and turn the surroundings into a sea.

Then, once more, Pierre Martin hurled a clump of earth towards the created sea.

With that, the earthy mass plopped down with a sploosh, disintegrating upon contact.

And—it became the seed of an anomaly, sprouting forth.

Flora emerging from the water.

The kind commonly found by the sea.

Seaweed.

The lump of earth thrown by Pierre Martin became that very seaweed.

Exploding outward like mold, it rapidly spread from the water’s edge.

Green, red, brown.

Slick and foul-smelling, it burst outwards with abandon, overwhelming everything, while in areas where water pooled, hard forms emerged trying to mimic coral, showcasing vibrant colors. They hardened into gray, yet soon fused with the previously shattered cement and brick, morphing into an even more massive coral reef that transformed the surroundings into an underwater spectacle.

Is this what a sunken city would be like?

Here, rather than air, there was just water, and the scenery transformed to resemble that of a city swept by the sea.

This was what Pierre Martin was creating.

“-The land shrouded in shadows. A place replete with the unknown and darkness. Untrod and a shadow of human intellect. As I cast myself into the depths of the sea, O Sea, O Goddess, yank me into your embrace, granting me rest. Through the shadows draping around me, provide the unknown so that even the most dazzling thoughts fall asleep behind shadowed eyes, and shape images from imagination that lies within the realm of intellect. Let the shadows swing like arms, creating waves powerful and massive enough for me to comprehend…”

What Pierre Martin desired was a connection with the sea.

A realm uncharted by humanity, a space akin to the shadow of humanity’s quest for exploration.

A world of shadows, ready to assist in the magical rituals he intended to perform.

 

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