As tumultuous waves of emotions churned within his mind, he heard the chaotic whispers once again, and his hair began to flare up like wild snakes.
As the monster was occupied with stirring Märchen's emotions, the pressure between the doors intensified, forcing its head to straighten up with a crack.
Desperate, it raised its squamous arms in an effort to prevent the door from shutting any further, shifting its focus from Märchen to its own situation.
However, it didn't have much effect on it. The monster groans in pain as it rashly tries to save itself from getting crushed.
Its illusory, gelatin-like armory scales began to lose their value as a branch of cracks rooted out, forming deep creases on its clothing.
At that moment, Märchen regained his composure and raised his hand to rub his right temple. He noticed that he was in the process of transforming again.
Moreover, the searing pain in his head and the burning soreness in his skin persisted, sending down signals of continuous pain throughout his mind and body.
Despite all of the factors, Märchen remained composed despite the discomforts rushing chaotically around his body. He went to the incapacitated creature at the pair of closing doors. On the way, he left a trail of blood from his right leg.
Staying in the foyer doesn't necessarily guarantee his survival, and going inside the closing entrance may also pose potential risks and hidden dangers. Nevertheless, he chose the latter option as it had previously opened up for him.
As perilous and untrustworthy as it might seem, it might very well be the safest choice, as it provided Märchen with a headstart to explore the castle.
Exploring a place that is prone to danger without a definite path is likely the cause of many deaths among adventurers.
Using the fabric of its clothes for grip, he climbed on the tall humanoid monster carefully, avoiding landing his foot on its elongated mouth.
The monster, preoccupied with the imminent threat of crushing between the doors, ignored Märchen's endeavors to go inside, creating unsettling groans as it reluctantly became a makeshift ladder for him.
Without interruption, Märchen reached the head of the monster, stepping on its bald head with his sabatons as he ascended on top of it. He extends his arm toward the opening between the doors but finds it hard to shove his arm through them.
With the burning pain coursing throughout his body, just squeezing his arm through the gap was enough to bring him immense pain—a pain so daunting and excruciating that it could make anyone faint if they didn't stop by now.
Regardless, he kept pushing through, squeezing his arm through the door as he endured consecutive erupting pain, feeling as though his skin might explode each time he slipped a part of his body into the narrow opening.
While he was slowly squeezing his way inside, the monster's torso was pressed deeply by the doors, producing cracking noises inside.
The monster wailed an unearthly, screeching scream while blood poured out through the pulverized torso and distorted orifices. Its plain linen shirt and beige vest quickly soaked in a deep, ugly reddish hue.
During that moment, Märchen's injured right leg—the only part of his body that hadn't slipped inside yet—was caught between. Flesh splits further, causing streaks of blood down in rivulets from the torn stripes present on his leg.
A scream tore out from Märchen as his balance gave away on his other leg and fell, hanging upside down with his right calf jammed mercilessly between the doors.
He flung his arms outward and his left leg braced against the frame, pressing them. Gathering his courage, he pushed himself against the door, forcing his mangled right leg through the narrow opening. His face distorted in pain, raggedly groaning as more blood smeared the threshold.
Gradually, the doors grew more insistent, slowly crushing his leg and the monster.
Märchen's throat ripped out a scream again as the pressure worsened, the vice-like grip had torn more of his leg. The leg stiffened between, every movement an instant searing of agony.
Despite the unbearable pain, he refused to cease moving, driving himself through the door, inch by inch, further mutilating his injured leg.
As he poured out an ample amount of his strength, the speed at which the leg was sliding in between gradually increased before it slipped inside, falling to the cold marble floor with pieces of flesh following along.
On the floor, he hears the terrifying whisper again, with his skin swelling and smoldering cracks erupting as his hair begins to resemble flames.
Promptly, he shifted his focus to anchoring his thoughts into his breathing to suppress the chaos within. From what he observed about himself, Märchen notices that the whispers and the transformation occur only when his mind is in an unstable state.
He concluded that only by having a calm mind and distinct control of it can mitigate the unknown effects of it.
Although his injuries kept interrupting him, little by little, he slowly calmed himself down, furrowing his brows as he opened his eyes.
His state didn't change yet but he realized a short puddle of blood pooled beneath him, leaking steadily from his right leg. Chunks of flesh were missing roughly and jaggedly, torn apart enough to subtly expose the white bone.
Maintaining his rhythmic breathing, he tore a sleeve from his left side and frmly wound above the knee. Then, he gently surrounded his exposed flesh to prevent the blood from flowing out.
Meanwhile, layers of cracking noises erupted within the monster's torso, destroying the sternum, rib, left clavicle, and spine inside. The humanoid monster groaned in an agonizing yet faint manner before gravity tilted its mutilated body, and its blood spilled on the polished, stone floor.
Ignoring the demise of the monster, he carefully crawled towards the far opposite side of the double doors, faintly groaning while maintaining his breathing to regain control of his thoughts.
Only when he was near the cold wall did he lean back on it. After how many seconds or potentially minutes had passed, his form gradually reverts to that of a human again, finding a sense of stability and clarity.
He opened his eyes, focusing on the scene before him as he took in the two towering, 5-meter golem-like knights guarding the sides of the double doors, seemingly in a dormant state.
He lowered his gaze toward the brutal fate of the humanoid monster and noticed that its countenance had significantly changed.
Once bald, distorted, and exaggerated, it seemed to have short disheveled pale-blonde hair, average facial features with two pairs of eyes, and a regular, sharp jawline.
A tall human with four eyes? No, a giant? Märchen raised his eyebrows as he stared at the monster—no, the human-like entity, shocked by its actual form.
It wasn't the fact that the creature whom he thought was a monster had an actual decent appearance, nor was it the sole purpose of concealing its appearance psychologically that had left him shocked. Instead, it was the human-like entity's form bearing an uncanny resemblance to the transformation that he experienced first-hand.
Was it in an unstable state like I was, causing it to lose control of some of its abilities and unconsciously form hallucinations on itself? Or was it just a form of entertainment or habit to deceive me?
Or—is this what will happen to me in the future?
Märchen's thoughts spiraled, each peeled layers of fear that he wasn't ready. He was uncertain about his conjectures, thus forcing them aside at the back of his head as it was unnecessary to ponder the issue right now.
It would only contribute to spurring the storm inside him further.
He lifted his head to take in the ornate details above, which shimmered under the elaborated glow of the silver chandeliers. The grand hall was illuminated by solely the tall candelabras and the silver chandeliers that adorned the space.
"Resting in an open space. Luckily, the time when the 'Bell' will chime again was still too far." Alarmed by the sudden soft voice, Märchen lowered his head at eye level and clutched the hilt of his sword.
Before him was a doll-like entity with the size of a leg. Donning a short blue veil hat with long blonde hair, emerald-like eyes, and a pale blue dress, she looks strikingly realistic yet bizarre features.
She has smooth grayish hands that shimmer under the illumination of the hall, lacking any sort of skin texture on it.
Without waiting for his response, the doll rolled its prosthetic eyes to each side before settling back at him. She said in a soft, yet demanding tone, "You should make a move right now while you still can. Follow me, and I'll give you some basic orders."
She turned to her left side and shifted her body in the direction, proceeding to walk. She seemed to be expecting him to follow her.
Märchen, feeling flustered and hesitant in following her due to the sudden appearance of the doll, called out. "Do you really expect me to follow you, some unknown doll-like stranger, after that blunt of a statement? Hey, are you even listening to me?"
Without turning her head or pausing her movement, she replied curtly, "Whether you follow me or not depends on your decision. Every second is worth a gold for you. Thus, any meaningless talks might cost you more than you think."
Staring at the doll, he stood up by using the wall and pondered if he should follow her or not. After a moment, he slowly followed the doll with the aid of the sheath of the sword, his expression wary and inquisitive.
It would be wise to follow the doll instead of wandering aimlessly in this treacherous hall, lest he wanted to meet monsters that were even more perilous than the human-like entity.
As he followed the doll, Märchen inquired about the terms she had deliberately emphasized earlier. "What do you mean the bell hasn't rung yet?" Without looking back, she replied plainly. "It is something you don't want to meet when the 'Bell' chimed the second time."
Furrowing his brows, he asked, "Why do you stress the word 'Bell'? Is it something important?" Immediately, the doll replied with a blunt tone. "It is not for you to know."
Märchen twitched an eyelid at her evasiveness, as he already thought of another question.
But before he could speak, the doll's interrupted him from doing so. "I am simply helping you because I found it pitiful that you suddenly find yourself in a location where your status was at the lowest of all," She said, continuing, "so low that I couldn't even compare to you as an ant."
Ignoring Märchen's twitching glare, the doll continued. "The possibility of you surviving here is almost non-existent after the second chiming of the 'Bell'. Unless you have received an invitation from one of the mansion's genuine occupants, you will die in the most horrific and unimaginable way than anything that you could ever fathom."
Mansion? At that moment, Märchen was utterly bewildered. Something as towering and magnificent as the palace, with the unique blend of architectural style and creativity to create a harmonious edifice—an architectural genius, was reduced to that of a mansion!