Chapter 10: Aaaah – that’s a pillar,that’s not a pillar.

A memory resurfaces.

An empty void.

In its center… bizarre as it sounds, a classroom floats.

Half-destroyed, as if bombarded, Yoo Da-hee sits in her school uniform, and—

A white-haired woman in a knee-length skirt strides in, skirt fluttering.

Yoo Da-hee knows full well this isn’t reality.

“…What’s this tacky illusion?”

“Tacky? I tailored it to your tastes.”

The woman, inspecting her fluttering skirt with satisfaction, leans on Yoo Da-hee’s desk, staring at her.

“What do you think? My secret weapon, this look?”

“It’s the worst.”

The woman’s appearance is undeniably close to Yoo Da-hee’s ideal.

Except for one thing.

“…Can’t you ditch the glasses?”

“Glasses?! Call them God Specs! Losing these is akin to death itself…!”

What nonsense is she spouting?

“Arguing over glasses or God Specs in this situation is already absurd.”

The girl adjusts her glasses, leaning closer, and though her face could make hearts race, Yoo Da-hee feels only cold sweat and dread.

A chill crawls up her spine as a hand grazes her cheek.

“Tch, tch. You should learn to respect tastes, but you’re always so stiff.”

“…Anyone would be, staring down an Outer God.”

“Really? Shall we switch it up then? Let’s see, your memories…”

What seemed like delicate hands begin to twist into something incomprehensible.

Tentacles—tentacles—tentacles—alkfndf81^gs!%3%

“Guhhh!”

The tentacles slither up her cheek, into her ear, melting her brain.

Not just mental probing like telepathy, but literally reading every cell’s information.

As tentacles burrow through her cerebrum, diencephalon, midbrain, cerebellum, and medulla, she feels like she’ll die flipping her eyes back, but…

[I do not permit your death.]

The Outer God’s command yanks her soul back, like a seatbelt snapping tight.

Drooling, far from normal, but still better than last time, when her mind regressed to a hamster’s for over a year.

“If that happened again, it’d be trouble, so I’ll keep it light~”

The tentacle fingers pop out of her ear with a pop, and Yoo Da-hee’s focus returns.

Damn, damn, damn, damn.

Brain f*cked.

The sensation of her mind being violated transcends good or bad, obliterating her humanity, but resistance is impossible.

“G-Glasses… G-God… Specs… All hail God Specs…”

The entity could roll a galaxy like a grape candy in its mouth—an incomprehensible, overwhelming despair for a mere human like Yoo Da-hee.

Yet, despite enduring such despair, she had no choice but to cling to this Outer God.

One of the few beings in this unobservable cosmic abyss that showed her genuine kindness.

The only teacher who explained the Necronomicon’s contents, enabling her survival. Yoo Da-hee endured its every action.

“Now, shall we start the lesson? Let’s see… summoning rituals today?”

Illusions overlay reality as the Outer God’s fingers move.

“The key to summoning isn’t the number or form of sacrifices—it’s the exact name.”

“You’re just following a well-crafted guideline to call someone specific. Sacrifices are merely grease for the wheels. In that sense, you’re quite special.”

The Outer God’s giggle burrows into her mind.

“The only mortal, past or future, who knows all the true names of the Outer Gods.”

Even its laughter shakes her mind.

“Just… knowing the name summons them?”

“And the summoned usually try to grant the summoner’s wish~”

Seeing her confusion, the Outer God strokes its chin.

“Let’s use an example.”

Ants appear on the floor.

Wriggling, lifelike illusions.

“Imagine ants drawing a circle with stolen rice grains in your house. A normal human would sweep them away, but… what if they’re chanting, ‘Yoo Da-hee! Yoo Da-hee! Yoo Da-hee!’?”

“I’d… check what’s going on.”

“And they say to you…”

—You are bound by this symbol of abundance, unable to escape! But if you grant our wish, we’ll free you!

“You could ignore and sweep them away, but curiosity might make you ask their wish. It’s probably something trivial like killing other ants, more sugar, or honey water.”

Such a simple wish.

“Not hard to grant, right? In exchange for a cool story—‘Talking ants in my house!’—it’s nothing.”

From a human’s perspective, an ant’s wish is trivial. To an Outer God, a human’s wish is no different.

“But sometimes, ants have incomprehensible wishes.”

—I love her, but she doesn’t care about me… Make me her most precious ant!

“Then the solution is simple.”

Without hesitation, the Outer God’s foot crushes the ants.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

After a few stomps, only two ants remain.

“Kill all but two, and you’re the most precious, right? Then the ant, terrified, mutters…”

—What have I done?

Damn.

The Outer God waves away the ant illusion, seeing Yoo Da-hee’s sour expression.

“That’s what summoning an Outer God means.”

“…I’d never do it.”

“We’ll see if it’s up to you~”

Yoo Da-hee shudders at the Outer God’s sly smile.

“That was basic summoning. Now, an advanced application.”

“Application?”

“Knowing a true name draws their attention.”

The classroom ripples, transforming.

“Imagine an ant shouting…”

—This human’s got gonorrhea, crabs, syphilis, herpes, and is a filthy wretch!

*Oh, f*ck.*

“And not just in your house, but loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. You’d hunt that ant down to rip it apart, right?”

“I wouldn’t. I’d never summon.”

No way she’d do something that insane.

But the Outer God, anticipating her reaction, grins and clasps its hands.

“So I’ll do it for you.”

“What?”

Her body’s freedom is stripped away.

The classroom, chalkboard, desk, and chair morph into incomprehensible tentacles, wrapping around her.

“Mmph—mmph!”

The Outer God, seizing control, manipulates her arms and hands for the summoning ritual.

Forming the ritual seals.

Forcing her throat open with tentacles, it speaks through her to all Outer Gods in the void.

[Gonorrhea, crabs, syphilis, herpes-ridden filthy Outer Gods, come at me if you’re mad.]

Not her will. No, no, no! Damn it, no! Not me!

“Now, the next lesson… surviving the Outer Gods you’ve called.”

“You f*cking b*tch!”

By the time she breaks free and screams, it’s too late.

Countless eyes open beyond the classroom window.

“Oh.”

Yoo Da-hee squeezes her eyes shut.

—

It’s no different now.

Countless contractors’ gazes pierce her.

Eyes of predators eyeing juicy prey.

Wary of each other, the eerie scene of three corpses creates a tense standoff.

A 30-meter radius circle.

Small yet large.

The strange distance keeps them hesitant, fearing a backstab if they move first.

That brief hesitation becomes their fatal mistake.

Blood from the three corpses pools at Yoo Da-hee’s feet, forming a simple circle.

No patterns, no symbols—just a circle.

Other contractors, versed in magic, watch but don’t act aggressively.

The summoning circle, formed by human sacrifice, isn’t an active catalyst but a restriction, allowing only fleeting contact.

A magic circle that limits itself—laughable.

But soon, their mockery vanishes.

“…Damn it, I swore I’d never use this… It’s all your fault.”

Yoo Da-hee, forming seals, closes her eyes.

Summoning rituals call cosmic Outer Gods, but with tweaks… other entities are possible.

[…Great Old One.]

The Great Old Ones.

On Earth, Outer Gods or Great Old Ones—little difference.

But she limits it to one she believes might be… somewhat favorable.

Opening her eyes, she faces a barrage of attacks from those sensing danger.

None reach her.

[…Atlach-Nacha.]

A massive pillar descends from the sky.

Crash!

The arena’s barrier shatters helplessly, and the pillar embeds itself.

“Aaaargh!”

All magic and attacks evaporate in the spatial distortion. Those in front of Yoo Da-hee vanish without a trace.

Only a black pillar remains.

A colossal structure, filling the 10km x 10km arena and stretching beyond the horizon.

The arena’s participant count shifts rapidly.

[19/100]

How many died at once?

The survivors, behind Yoo Da-hee, stare at the impossibly smooth pillar, reflecting their faces.

Their gazes climb upward, met by the shrinking participant count.

But they can’t rejoice at making the top 20.

Their eyes are still climbing the pillar.

An endless pillar…

No, not a pillar.

A leg. A leg.

One of eight legs belonging to a being that treats planets like grains of sand.

A spider.

Only one of its legs pierces the arena.

“Oh… Ohhh—Aaaah!”

The realization triggers overwhelming mental corruption.

High mental fortitude or protective items—none matter. The sheer volume of corruption ravages the arena, unaffected by temporary immortality.

Souls melt under the alien presence.

As survivors crawl, pupils dilated, only one stands.

The count updates.

[1/100]

Yoo Da-hee, with a strange expression, looks skyward.

Damn it, I set a time limit with the sacrifice… but it’s like it never happened.

The Great Old One, Atlach-Nacha, doesn’t vanish.

She did it as taught—why?

Sighing deeply, she speaks.

“Uh… could you leave now?”

[No.]

“Oh.”