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墨書 Inktalez
James carefully cradled the book in his hands, the dark red cover emanating a chilling aura, as if what he touched was not merely a book, but a profound secret. His eyes fixated on the cover, the weight of the book pressing down on his palms like a heavy mountain, causing his fingers to tremble slightly.
The dark red seemed to seep with blood, sending shivers down his spine. Most striking were the two words emblazoned on the cover—"Blood Moon." These words were etched clearly and steadily into the surface, their strokes powerful, as if carved with a sharp knife. They exuded an indescribable sense of oppression, as if the words themselves harbored a dark power that made it impossible to look directly at them.
James instinctively shifted his gaze away from "Blood Moon" and began to scan the rest of the book. He noticed that aside from those two words, the surface was covered in strange symbols and patterns. The symbols were haphazardly carved into the cover, some strokes intertwining in ways that were difficult to comprehend. Each symbol seemed to originate from an ancient language, yet none were familiar to James. They carried an innate sense of evil, as if they had been born from a dark abyss, emerging from a mysterious and perilous world.
These intricate symbols wove together into what appeared to be a chaotic pattern, yet each one radiated an ominous aura. They seemed deliberately designed to instill fear, as if every stroke whispered of dangers and curses hidden within darkness. James could not grasp the specific meanings of these symbols, but deep within him, he understood that they did not stem from human civilization's wisdom; rather, they came from some deeper, more terrifying force.
He felt a chill in his palms as thoughts of potential disasters brought on by these symbols flooded his mind. Suddenly, he felt that this book should not be opened or touched by humans; it was like a forbidden object harboring countless secrets, and touching it could trigger unpredictable consequences.
"Calm down... calm down..." James whispered to himself, forcing himself to break free from the influence of those symbols. His breath quickened as fear surged within him, but he knew that regardless of how bizarre this book was, he had to remain composed. He had once been a scholar who possessed vast knowledge and wisdom; he could not let this unknown fear overwhelm him.
Taking a deep breath, James tried to suppress his unease and regain his composure. He reminded himself that this was merely an ancient artifact, a remnant of lost history; although these symbols were filled with evil connotations, they remained part of human knowledge. He had to confront this book rationally and not be swayed by his inner fears.
Forcing himself to calm down, his heartbeat gradually steadied. He told himself it was just a book—no matter how strange or eerie it might be, it was ultimately just words and symbols. He took another deep breath and gently stroked the cold cover before slowly opening it.
As he lifted the cover page, what met James's eyes was not the expected text or ancient manuscript but rather a face—a twisted and dried visage. The skin of that face was cracked like dry leaves, its eyes hollow with eyelids long gone, revealing lifeless sockets. The facial muscles seemed completely devoid of elasticity, tightly adhering to the bones in an eerie expression of death frozen in a moment of agony.
James gasped in shock, his body jerking backward as he nearly dropped the book. His heart raced uncontrollably, filled with fear and astonishment as chaos erupted in his mind. He could hardly believe what he saw—this was a real dried human face, not some illusion or mirage.
The face was not merely placed on the page; it was meticulously embedded within it like a specimen, as if it were part of the book itself. Every detail was vividly clear—even the slight creases and dried bloodstains on its surface appeared hauntingly real. James's stomach churned violently as a foul odor seemed to seep into his nostrils, overwhelming him with nausea.
What chilled him further was that within the mouth of this dried face lay a rusted blade. The blade was covered in mottled rust, seemingly worn down by countless years of erosion and long since lost its sharp gleam. However, James noticed that along its edge remained traces of dried blood—deep brown stains that had long since hardened but still hinted at their former flow.
The blade lay in an extremely bizarre position, horizontally nestled between the dried lips, as if the deceased had shoved it into their own mouth, or perhaps someone had done so deliberately. James scrutinized it closely and suddenly realized that the person's tongue seemed to be missing—an empty cavity devoid of anything, as if the blade itself had been the tool to sever the tongue. A chilling sensation shot up his spine, leaving him rigid, his entire body frozen in place.
"Oh my God..." James's voice trembled, his throat feeling as if something were lodged in it, preventing him from forming coherent words. His eyes were fixed on that face, filled with an indescribable fear and disgust. His rational mind told him that this was all too absurd, that such a scene could not exist within the pages of a book, yet the sight before him felt so real, impossible to ignore.
The lifeless face, the tightly closed mouth, the rusty blade and the dried blood within seemed to silently narrate a story of extreme suffering. James dared not look any longer, yet his gaze remained glued, as if he were deeply entranced by this eerie image, unable to break free.
He could not comprehend any of it, but he knew he could no longer escape.
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