The night was deep and still.
Horace held his breath and focused, trying to reach out to the Blood Moon drifting within his dreams, and through it call upon the "Mother" who had been silent for some time.
This attempt at communication felt completely different from the previous ones.
Previously, whenever he called out, the Formless Mother's response had always been swift and "enthusiastic," like a doting elder constantly watching over her offspring.
Those fragments of information, mingled with pain and bloodshed, would often flood his consciousness in an instant.
But this time, his call sank like a stone into the sea.
At the other end of the mental connection lay only an indescribable silence, as though the signal were suffering severe interference, or the other party were occupied with something extremely important and had no attention to spare.
Horace could even vaguely "feel" that the connection itself seemed sluggish and weak, like a network cable that had come loose, as though something were partially blocking it.
"Something's wrong..." Horace's misgivings deepened.
A long while passed. Just as Horace was about to give up, intermittent feedback finally came from the other end.
It was not language, but a feeling of pure, uncanny pleasure.
The pleasure was so intense that even Horace could share in it.
What has she been doing? Alarm bells rang in Horace's mind.
What kind of "bloodshed" and "pain" could give an Outer God this much pleasure, enough to temporarily "ignore" my attempts to contact her?
Seemingly stirred by Horace's persistent calls and obvious confusion, the Formless Mother finally diverted a sliver of her attention his way.
This time, the thought was relatively clear, even carrying an eagerness to show off:
[I... succeeded... in making... a "god"... bleed...]
Horace: "...?"
His thoughts froze for a moment.
*What