The tentacles themselves were not static. Like deep-sea worms, they twisted, entangled, and slapped the cold air slowly and unconsciously, and each movement brought up a thicker, colder white smoke.
The color of the head was an indescribable dark brown, but it was by no means a single color.
It seemed to be a mixture of the darkness of the cosmic abyss itself, dried blood, corrupted deep-sea mud, and some indescribable strange color that did not belong to the visible spectrum.
In the dim light reflected from the smoke and ice walls, its surface took on a fluid, greasy texture, as if covered with a layer of constantly secreted foul oil, with faint, ephemeral, and blasphemous geometric patterns emerging on it - these patterns were exactly the same as those on the outer wall of the igloo, but more distorted and more "alive", as if they were its source.
An invisible, vast, and soul-freezing will emanated from the huge, eyeless head like a substance.
It is not a sound, but it roars directly in the depths of Bai Di's consciousness, carrying billions of years of loneliness, absolute indifference to tiny lives, and a crazy desire for some ultimate "silence" (not silence in the sense of sound, but the annihilation and return to zero of existence itself).
This will was not directed at him; he was just an insignificant speck of dust that happened to stray into this realm, but the aftermath of this will was enough to crush any ordinary mind.
Bai Di felt his knees going weak uncontrollably.
He clung to the unconscious Blore, the only remaining touch of "kindness" his last anchor against madness.
He stared intently at the huge, wriggling mouth on the huge head, at the suction cups that sparkled with starlight, and at the bottomless eye sockets... Smoke swirled around him, and the space of the igloo seemed to pulsate silently, and whispers were like cold snakes, entwining his thoughts.
He didn't know whether he was facing the remains of a god or the embodiment of some cosmic nightmare.
He only knew that, deep within this desecrated ice temple, under the indifferent "gaze" of this eyeless head, all human cognition, logic, and emotions were as fragile as bubbles under the ice, ready to burst at any moment, returning to the ultimate, maddening silence.
What should he do next? What could he do? Thinking itself seemed like a trivial blasphemy against that vast will.
Bai Di only felt that his legs could no longer move. He stood stiffly on the spot, like a frozen prey, waiting for an unknown judgment.
＊
But now Blore sat up with such suddenness that it was as if his spine had been suddenly straightened by an invisible fishing line.
"Hiss—" He took a breath, and was immediately startled by himself—wait, I can still breathe?
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