初次尝了销魂少妇

Agatha found herself adrift in a sea of indistinctness, unable to distinguish anything – even the borders that separated her physicality from the enveloping pandemonium. To her, her form appeared akin to a splotch of ink gradually spreading in water, the outlines exhibiting a blurry, liquid-soaked texture. It felt less as if she was advancing step by step through this oppressive darkness, and more like she was drifting forward, immersed in a dense medium echoing her own corporeal substance.

She sensed everything was pushing towards a certain limit. The elementary particles of life—she couldn’t affirm their role in the creation of all existence, but it was clear they had molded her present form.

Ice melts into water and dissipates into the air; the replica crafted from these foundational elements was fated to return to the metaphoric “ocean” represented by these elements. The so-called “individual will” housed within this form was bound to transform into an inconsequential pinpoint of light in this chaotic “ocean,” serving as “sustenance” for other glimmering specks aimlessly wandering amidst the bramble of thorns.

She was simply a facsimile, a phantom. She held memories spanning a twenty-four-year life, memories of her birthplace, her comrades, and everything she cherished and loathed. Yet, what truly belonged to her in those twenty-four years of life could perhaps be distilled down to a mere three days or even less.

For reasons unknown, Governor Winston’s voice resonated abruptly within her consciousness, laden with tones of resignation and sorrow.

“There’s no meaning…”

A being of authentic existence inscribed such a statement on their existence within this boundless darkness. In contrast, a mere imitation possessing only three days of existence dared to traverse the darkness, aiming to confront the ancient god.

“How absurd…” Agatha murmured softly, her voice dissolving into the darkness, transforming into a subtle ripple. Concurrently, a relentless stream of data flooded her consciousness, a mysterious will constituted by binary “0” and “1” inundating her psyche.

She was acutely aware she stood at the brink of dissolving into this expansive consciousness. Even if this space contained the ancient god’s “transient thoughts” in a fleeting instant, its colossal magnitude was far beyond what her fragile psyche could withstand.

Yet, that was alright. She had made it.

She had journeyed through the enormous thorny wilderness and had reached the innermost depths of the darkness.

A vast “tentacle,” akin to a towering pillar supporting the sky, stood imposingly before her. The surface of the pillar, intricately embellished with enigmatic, dark blue lines, seemed to serve as a monument etching the testament of ancient truths against the gloomy canvas of chaos.

Agatha slowly lifted her gaze and reached out, seeking to make contact with it while particles of black fragments and dust twirled and hovered within her sight.

Her skin, a canvas mapped with a multitude of wounds, bore the evidence of a grueling passage through a merciless thicket. A black substance, unsettlingly similar to sludge, seeped from her, rising like a spectral mist, diffusing, and eventually dissolving into the surrounding emptiness. The floating fragments and dust of ebony were nothing more than remnants emanating from her essence.

In this instant, Agatha felt as though she were a hideous puppet, marred by a network of cracks, a sight so horrifying that even an ocean’s worth of bandages would fall short in offering any semblance of concealment.

Comparatively, the primordial god’s “tentacle” remained unaffected, wholly indifferent to her touch.

It neither emitted any formidable energy nor exhibited any intimidating traits. It failed to even respond to her daring provocation – the only sensation her fingertips registered was a subtly cool, soft, slightly rugged touch.

Was this indifference because the tentacle was merely an echo from the unfathomable abyss of the ocean? Or was her existence too insignificant to draw the attention of the ancient god?

Agatha furrowed her brow, pondering over what she could accomplish in these final fleeting moments. Yet, after a prolonged period of contemplation, she realized she was devoid of any tangible goal.

She had arrived at her destination, unraveled the enigma of this darkness, journeyed through the spiky labyrinth representing the ancient deity’s thoughts, and caught a glimpse of the true essence of the profound god hidden in the core of this darkness – she even had the audacity to touch the god’s tentacle with her own bare hands.

There was no more truth to discover, no remaining objectives to pursue. This final journey seemed less about performing the duty of a gatekeeper and more about satisfying her own stubborn resolve.

Now, it was time to rest.

So, Agatha sighed softly, allowing her body to yield. She pivoted slowly, leaning against the gigantic tentacle as one might find solace against a robust pillar.

“I likely won’t have a soul to accompany me…” Agatha pondered aloud in the darkness as a peculiar thought abruptly materialized in her mind. She swiftly dismissed it with a light-hearted chuckle, shaking her head, “Of course not. If I truly had a soul, crossing that boundary would definitely wreak havoc for the ‘gatekeeper’ on the other side… And what would happen to ‘her’ if I crossed? You can’t cross that threshold twice…

“I wonder what’s happening at the cathedral… Did those who ventured into the well make their return…? They probably don’t need to worry…”

In the shrouding darkness, she found herself immersed in a stream of contemplative dialogue, as if unable to stem the flow of her musings, unintentionally vocalizing her innermost thoughts.

However, her introspection was abruptly cut short by a foreign sensation – a sudden surge of blistering heat that jolted Agatha out of her thoughtful reverie.

It felt as though she was swallowed by a formidable inferno, threatening to annihilate her very soul. Her thoughts, poised on the precipice of merging into this chaos, were abruptly rekindled. She squirmed within the illusion of being consumed by flames, oblivious to the unfolding sequence of events. Yet, in the subsequent moment, a familiar voice echoed within her mind: “The beacon has been lit.”

It was her own voice.

Agatha’s eyes sprang open in the consuming darkness, as a piercing green light streaked across her vision, blurring the boundary between illusion and reality. A vision unfolded before her – she saw herself teetering on the precipice of a boundless abyss, simmering with a menacing black sludge and surrounded by monstrous minions and demonic entities.

Within this flame-engulfed corridor, a revelation struck her – she became cognizant of another consciousness, another ‘self’.

The other ‘her’ acknowledged her presence too.

She now comprehended what was expected of her – there remained a task that beckoned her attention.

Agatha pivoted sharply, her gaze transfixed on the enormous tentacle that stood before her like a monumental pillar. A radiant smile bloomed across her face, the most resplendent one she had mustered since her arrival in this darkness, and a blazing light reignited from the depths of her eyes.

Taking a decisive step forward, she extended both hands towards the tentacle. The flames swiftly enveloped her entire form, but the scorching torment felt more akin to a revered tribute than agony. She flung her arms wide open in a gesture that seemed more like an embrace than a lunging attack.

Boom!

A terrifying roar echoed through the darkness as the two forces clashed, the flames engulfing the distorted space in a split second. Amidst the escalating symphony of the spiritual fire, the colossal tentacle instantaneously transformed into a blazing beacon, trembling violently within the conflagration.

Agatha felt her flesh rapidly decomposing in the fiery blaze. Her body, originally fashioned from corrupt substances, was now part of the purifying process that the fire orchestrated. But she harbored no fear. Instead, she strained to lift her head, casting a backward glance towards the path from which she had arrived.

The “thorny wilderness” was also ablaze. Amidst the swiftly spreading spiritual fire, it took on an uncanny, yet entrancing, likeness to a fiery tree crown.

“Farewell… Governor Winston…”

Agatha murmured to herself, tightening her grip on the tentacle within the fire, serenely awaiting the final chapter of her existence.

Yet, as her consciousness teetered on the edge of extinction, she suddenly registered an anomaly.

The fire had consumed both her and the tentacle. For the first time, within the passage sculpted by the spiritual fire, she felt a reaction from this “ancient god’s extension”.

In surprise, she lifted her gaze, studying the intricate designs on the tentacle’s surface, observing the flames as they danced upon it, and sensing the deluge of information rushing into her mind from the spiritual fire. It was as though countless eyes had opened on the tentacle’s surface, each urgently imparting pieces of knowledge and information.

Ultimately, the entire spectrum of knowledge and information coalesced into a whirlpool in her mind –

11101001… 11100101 10001000… 10010011…

Endless chains of “0” and “1” seized the remnants of Agatha’s consciousness.

But this time, she managed to decipher their cryptic narrative.

“Error… Clone…”

In a state of astonished disbelief, she pieced together the enigmatic message relayed by the ancient god’s extension, fathoming its intentions and subsequently unravelling an astonishing revelation.

With her gaze fixed on the tentacle she had set aflame, she wondered, “Could this… be merely another illusion?!”

In the following moment, the lingering spark of her consciousness was devoured by the relentless, emerald conflagration.