When Gossmore saw the Mirror Moon Golem rise unnaturally into the air and begin reverting to its original form, an ominous feeling welled up within her. Gritting her teeth and enduring the pain, she accelerated again, charging toward the Mirror Moon Temple which had now resumed its cathedral form.
As she burst through the gates and entered the grand sanctuary of the temple, what met her eyes was a soft, floating silver radiance suspended beneath the domed ceiling. Although Gossmore didn’t immediately grasp the nature of this light, her instincts screamed that the one who had been obstructing her from the shadows all this time must be within that glow.
They had tampered with her ritual by hijacking the Mirror Moon Temple, transformed it into a giant golem, interfered with her actions through illusions... Since she had arrived in Glamorne to carry out her mission, the presence—likely linked to the Pritt Vigilance Faction—had sabotaged her time and time again, causing her plans to collapse over and over. Gossmore, boiling with rage, wished nothing more than to drag this manipulator out and pierce them a thousand times over.
She was convinced the one hidden behind all this had a close connection to the temple, and in this moment, no existence within it seemed to match her expectations more than the silver glow above. So, upon storming into the sanctuary, she immediately lunged toward the radiance. Within the glow, she could vaguely make out a figure—undoubtedly her target.
Rushing into the light, Gossmore swung all six of her arms, each gripping a long spike, and stabbed toward her final target of this battle—without mercy.
But what greeted her was not a satisfying impact, but a sudden surge of darkness.
At the moment she was about to strike, pure blackness burst outward from the figure within the silver glow, engulfing her and the space around her. In an instant, the figure vanished. Her vision was completely consumed.
Even so, Gossmore did not halt her assault. She lunged forward where she had last seen the target—but found nothing. Her all-out strike hit only empty air. Off balance, she began to fall—not back toward the floor of the temple, but into a realm of shadow.
“What…”
Darkness. Boundless, empty darkness. So deep that not even her own hand was visible. Utter, oppressive black.
Assuming her vision had been affected by some mystical force, Gossmore did not hesitate—she gouged out her own eyes, crushed them, let the blood vaporize, and regenerated them anew. Yet even with fresh eyes, she saw nothing. This darkness was so absolute that even a Crimson-rank Shadow like her could not see within it.
“Hmph… A pure black domain, is it?”
With a cold snort, Gossmore calmly descended, touching down on what seemed to be the darkened floor of the sanctuary. She made no further movement.
Now, Gossmore relied on her acute hearing, carefully listening for any sound from the darkness around her, anticipating a sudden strike.
Sure enough, after a few moments of silence, she heard rapid footsteps behind her. She swiftly hurled a blood spike in the direction of the sound—but it didn’t stop the footsteps. Something was still rapidly approaching her.
“Dodged it?”
Muttering to herself, she raised her blood spikes once more in defense, focusing on the direction of the sound. She heard the swing of a blade—she blocked it with her spike, the impact ringing out in the void. She immediately counterattacked with her other arms—but struck only air.
“Dodged again…”
She realized this with annoyance. Preparing a more aggressive retaliation, she launched another offensive—but all of it again missed. After a brief exchange, the unseen enemy withdrew once more into the darkness.
On alert, Gossmore resumed listening intently. Soon, she heard footsteps from a new direction. Just like before, she attacked, clashing once more with her invisible opponent. She managed to parry a few strikes, but none of her own hit the target. Eventually, her foe slipped away into the darkness once again.
“Tch…”
Gossmore was livid. Unable to see or land a blow, all her cruel thoughts and instincts were stifled and suppressed, boiling into frustration.
Soon after, she repelled another attack using only her hearing. Then, maintaining full vigilance, she waited for the next sound to come—but none arrived.
Perplexed, Gossmore frowned. Was the enemy preparing something greater?
Suddenly, a wave of excruciating pain exploded across her back. She could feel it clearly—a slash, dealt by a blade. Her back had been struck with a heavy blow.
“What!?”
Teeth clenched, she whirled and counterattacked—but hit nothing once again.
“What’s going on!? Why didn’t I hear anything?!”
Panic crept into her mind. She had heard nothing before the strike. Had the enemy flown? But even so, there should have been a sound of disturbed air!
While she reeled in shock, another wave of pain slammed into her side—her abdomen had been slashed. This time, she cried out in pain.
“—!!”
And in that moment, she realized the problem—she couldn’t hear her own voice. Her hearing was gone.
Frozen in place, Gossmore was stunned. Not only had she lost her vision—now her hearing too had been stolen. No wonder she had taken those hits without noticing anything.
Sightless and now deaf, Gossmore began to panic slightly. To cope, she began using a new method—sensing the blood traces left on the enemy’s weapon. She hoped to locate her foe by detecting her own blood.
At first, this worked. Her spiritual perception allowed her to dodge two more slashes. But on the third—
A sharp edge tore open her throat.
To her horror, Gossmore realized that even her spiritual sense was fading, growing dim in this place… and then disappearing completely.
Having lost three sensory connections to the external world, Gossmore panicked even more. She desperately tried to sniff for the scent of blood in the air, attempting to track the enemy by the smell of her own blood left on their blade. At the same time, she began smashing the floor beneath her, trying to break through the cathedral’s ground and escape this bizarre, pitch-black space.
Using her less-than-sharp sense of smell, Gossmore managed to block a single attack, but two of her arms were severed in the process. As her sense of smell began to fade as well, she frantically redoubled her efforts. Finally, just as she completely lost her ability to smell, Gossmore punched a hole through the cathedral floor with a desperate blow and tumbled through it—falling out of the Mirror Moon Temple.
Just as she rejoiced at finally escaping that cursed black chapel, the scene before her filled her with despair.
Darkness.
Still the same unending, absolute darkness—no light, not a single sound. The eternal void surrounded her once more. She had escaped one prison only to realize she was inside a larger one.
Not just the temple—all of Lake Starbind, and even all of Glamorne, had been swallowed by this overwhelming blackness. Gossmore had broken free of one cage, only to find herself trapped in a much larger one.
Chilled to the core, she didn’t stop to think. She charged blindly into the dark, flying toward some unknowable direction. She didn’t care where she was going anymore—only that she had to escape this darkness. It couldn’t be endless. She had to break through.
But before she had gone far, another stab of searing pain pierced her. Without warning, her abdomen was impaled from behind. The mysterious enemy had somehow caught up again.
Hit once more, Gossmore gritted her teeth. Using the location of her wound as a reference, she spun and struck back toward the presumed direction of her attacker. This time, her blade clashed against something—a successful block. She had lost her sight, hearing, and smell, but she still managed to correctly deduce her foe’s position. Even so, her counterattack was blocked again.
Realizing she could not escape, Gossmore instead floated in place, readying herself once more.
Now, she could not see, could not hear, could not smell, could not perceive through spirituality… The only thing she had left was her incredible vitality. She resolved to rely solely on her pain—when struck, she would judge the enemy’s location by the wound, then strike back.
And so, with every agonizing slash, as she was carved up inch by inch, Gossmore fought back again and again. Though every retaliatory blow missed or was blocked, she kept going—betting on the hope that eventually her opponent would slip, or that a miracle would occur.
But no miracle came.
Only deeper despair.
With each counterattack, Gossmore noticed something strange—the enemy’s slashes were growing weaker. She began to feel less and less pain.
At first, she thought her foe was exhausting their strength. Perhaps her regeneration was finally outpacing the damage. But when her entire arm was severed, and the pain was less than it should’ve been—that was when she realized the truth.
In the dark, she couldn’t see her wounds, but she knew exactly how painful losing a limb should be. And this wasn’t it.
The enemy’s strength wasn’t decreasing—her ability to feel pain was.
She was now losing even her last remaining sense: touch and pain. Like the others, it too was being devoured by the darkness.
“No… no!!”
At that moment, Gossmore truly became afraid. The loss of her previous senses had made her panic—but the loss of pain? That made her terrified. The proud and scornful woman, who had once mocked all beneath her, finally felt fear.
“Don’t! Don’t take this away too! Pain! That is the Queen’s gift to us!!”
In the black void, Gossmore began to wail. She lashed out wildly in all directions, trying to stop her pain from vanishing, but it was useless. She felt herself less and less, and in time, even that final sense disappeared.
“Stop! Stop this!!”
By now, all arrogance had left her. The only thing that remained was fear.
With no vision, no hearing, no smell, no spirituality, and now no pain—Gossmore was completely senseless. Nothing she saw, heard, or touched existed anymore. There was only endless black.
Sensation is the channel by which one receives information. Without it, one faces the unknown—and the unknown… is the origin of fear, the truest form of terror. Among the concepts associated with Shadow spirituality, one of the most important is fear: the fear of the boundless unknown hidden in perpetual darkness. It is one of the essences of Shadow and a domain over which the Lord of Shadow holds authority.
Having lost all senses, Gossmore finally went mad. No longer flailing randomly, she began to create countless blood needles, frantically stabbing them into herself. She unleashed the Spider Queen’s divinity in full, trying to inflict unbearable pain on herself—desperately seeking pain, just to feel something again.
But it was all in vain.
No matter how brutally she mutilated herself, she could feel nothing. And so, in her madness, she kept impaling herself—spiraling deeper into a cycle of self-destruction.
“Pain… the gift… the Queen’s… gift…”
Time passed—how much, she could not tell. In this void where nothing could be sensed, Gossmore finally exhausted all her spirituality. Without that support, her regeneration ceased. And thus, Gossmore died by her own hand.
Crack.
Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass rang out.
In the pitch-black domain, silver cracks of light began to spread in all directions—until they covered the entire space.
Then, the pure-black realm collapsed—fragmenting like glass into pieces that dissolved into nothing. From above, silver moonlight poured down once more, illuminating the surface of Lake Starbind.
The full moon still hung in the sky, and its reflection sparkled across the water. On the lakeshore stood two figures.
One: a grotesquely contorted corpse, soaked in blood and pinned to the ground by dozens of blood spikes. Her wounds still oozed blood, staining the soil and seeping into the lake. Her upturned eyes and gaping mouth were frozen in terror.
The other: a strange girl standing before the corpse. She hovered slightly above the ground, draped in silver hair and white gauze. Her skin was partly like crystal and mirror, especially on her hands. Her chest, waist, and face still retained some soft, snowy tone, like delicately carved jade. Her silver eyes were calm, expressionless, and cold.
Beneath the moonlight, the Mirror Maiden silently watched the now-lifeless Gossmore. She made no move, as if waiting for something.
And before long—Gossmore’s corpse stirred.
Her head, which had been still, slowly lifted under some unknown force. She tilted her face toward the girl before her. The eight pupils in her wide, staring eyes spun wildly, then all locked onto the figure before her.
Facing this sight, the Mirror Maiden finally spoke, her voice cool and distant.
“It has been a long time, Morrigan. I trust you’ve been well…”
Hearing the girl’s words, “Gossmore’s” head twitched mechanically, then opened its mouth and croaked out in a hoarse voice.
“Selene… Even now… you still maintain your self… and have returned to interfere with Britton… how unexpected…”