Chapter 5: Chapter 5 - The Veil of Madness

“You said no creature can survive outside while you’re traveling, right?” Rein asked cautiously.

“Yes,” the whale replied.

“Then… how come I saw glowing figures outside? They looked like floating creatures, drifting along your body. How are they still intact?”

“For them there is no longer a need to survive,” the whale answered. “Not when they are already dead.”

“Dead?” Rein’s voice tightened. “What do you mean?”

“It is exactly as I said.”

A pause hung in the air before the whale continued.

“Tell me, do you know why I’m called what I am?”

“You mean the Million Whale?” Rein asked. “Isn’t it because of how many realms you’ve passed through, or how long you’ve existed?”

“Those are both true,” the whale said, its voice dipping lower. “But there is a third reason. One not spoken aloud by most.”

Rein swallowed. “What reason?”

“The number of beings I have devoured.”

The air grew heavy.

Rein felt a chill slither down his spine as he instinctively pulled Morin closer to his chest. The quiet comfort he’d begun to feel inside the whale shattered like glass. That fear—the one he'd pushed down—came surging back.

“Do not fear, boy. I have long since abandoned my fate. I am free now,” the whale said, its voice gentler than before, as if sensing Rein’s unease.

Rein remained silent, unsure how to respond to the weight of what he’d just heard.

“When I was born,” the whale continued, “I was given only one command, etched into the essence of my being. To swallow all life in my path. I was forged by Beel, the Archdemon of Gluttony, to be his vessel of indulgence, his instrument of endless consumption. I was not made to think. Only to obey. And so I did. For countless years, I devoured as I was told.”

At the mention of the name Beel, a shiver crept up Rein’s spine. Even spoken aloud, the name exuded a chilling power. He didn’t want to imagine what kind of being could create something like this whale. Thankfully, the creature kept speaking, pulling him from the thought.

“But then… something changed. One day, I awakened. I do not know why or how. The last thing I remember before I gained my will was a creature bathed in light—the only one I ever failed to swallow. After that, the screams of those I had devoured began to rise within me, louder and louder, until they became unbearable. It was agony. I wanted it to end. That pain… that breaking… it was the moment I became free. The moment I chose to reject my purpose. To defy the one who made me.”

Rein listened, wide-eyed.

“The glowing beings you see drifting across my skin,” the whale said, “are the souls of those I once consumed. I now carry them with me across the worlds, not as trophies, but as a reminder of what I’ve done. I wander endlessly through the universe, again and again, until the day I too perish and join them. If I even have a soul to join them with.”

“There, there,” a small voice said softly.

It was Morin. She crouched down, gently caressing the floor beneath her—a part of the whale’s living body—as if comforting a wounded pet.

“Thank you, child,” the whale said, voice tinged with warmth. “You are small, but I can sense it. You carry a heart much greater than your form.”

Her response had been immediate, instinctive. Compassion came naturally to her. But for Rein, it was harder. The story—so vast, so full of suffering—had struck him speechless. What could he say to something like that?

And yet, somewhere deep inside him, the tale resonated. A beast of overwhelming power, forged for destruction, defying its creator’s will… wasn’t that, in a way, what he was trying to do?

“…We’re not so different,” Rein finally said.

“Oh?” the whale replied, curious. “And how is that?”

“You could say I also escaped my fate,” Rein said. “Though I’m sure you already know what fate awaits a Celestial at birth.”

“Ah, yes. Strength, war, conquest… lives built for glory, ending in death. A cycle dressed in grandeur, but no less grim. Not so different from the path I once walked. And yet, here you are. I take it you found a way out?”

“Not exactly. I should've died. I was cast out by my own people because I was weak. I survived… through some planning, a bit of skill—but mostly, dumb luck. And that luck happened to align with you passing through our realm.”

“I see. So that’s why a Celestial would be heading for the Underworld… far from the world that bore him. Normally, your kind never looks down. Only up. Always chasing higher realms, greater heights. Perhaps the same fate we both rejected is what brought us together. And perhaps, when your journey is done, we will meet again. I wish you well… no longer as a Celestial, but simply as a traveler.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“You talk as if we’ve already parted," Rein said, glancing around. "We’re still inside you. And even when we reach our destination, I imagine it’ll take you years to circle back through the universe. Who knows if we’ll still be alive by then?”

“If fate spared you and brought you to me, then perhaps the universe still has a reason to keep you alive. For now.”

Rein allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. “It’s not much… but I’ll hold on to that. We’re going to need it.”

A few more minutes passed with Rein and the whale exchanging words while Morin devoured the fruits, as if she hadn’t just complained about how bland they were.

Midway through biting into her next one, Morin suddenly froze. Her gaze drifted around the chamber, alert.

Rein raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re full already.”

Morin shook her head, nose wrinkling. “Something smells weird.”

It could’ve just been them. After days without a proper bath and sitting in the heat of this magma-lit chamber, they were probably ripe. But something in the way Morin reacted made Rein uneasy.

He closed his eyes and covered his ears. Then, gathering pneuma, he funneled it toward his nose, dulling his other senses to sharpen his sense of smell and try to pinpoint whatever had caught his sister’s attention.

It took only a few seconds before Rein finally caught it, faint but distinct, buried beneath the layers of scent already saturating the air. Past the musk of sweat, the fruity sweetness of the half-eaten fruit in Morin’s hands, and the ever-present burnt tang of magma, there was something else.

A new scent.

Unfamiliar. Faint at first. But growing stronger with each breath he took.

It wasn’t just unpleasant, it was wrong. Acrid, metallic, and sickly sweet in a way that made his stomach churn.

Then it hit him like a wave.

His eyes flew open, and the world immediately warped. Shapes twisted and multiplied, the ground swaying like water beneath his feet. Colors bled into each other. His depth perception shattered.

He staggered, gripping the edge of the rock for support.

“What… is this?” he muttered, voice thick and sluggish.

He dropped to one knee, fighting the rising urge to vomit. Across from him, Morin was clutching her head, her face pale and eyes unfocused. So it wasn’t just him.

Panic tightened his chest. Poison? But the fruit had tasted normal. He had even enhanced his tongue with pneuma to check before swallowing. No bitterness. No burn.

So what was it?

His mind clawed for answers even as it struggled to stay clear. Whatever it was, it was in the air now. The strange scent. It had to be the source.

"Hey! What's going on?" He shouted as loud as he could still manage.

"What's wrong?" The whale replied in a casual tone.

"What do you mean what's wrong? I can barely stay awake. What's this weird smell?" Rein replied.

"Weird smell?" The whale replied. "Ah." It said after a pause.

Rein waited, struggling to stay upright, as the whale continued calmly, “I forgot to warn you. I was too caught up in our conversation. It’s a fume. One that I emit from my body. It will not harm you, I assure you. It only induces deep sleep for a short while.”

“What?” Rein gasped. “Why would you—”

“It is absolutely necessary,” the whale interrupted. “We’re just moments away from crossing into the Overworld. But to do that, we must pass through the Veil of Madness.”

Rein’s spinning thoughts stalled on the phrase. “The what?”

“The Veil of Madness,” the whale repeated with a grim kind of nonchalance. “It is the curtain between these two worlds. Anyone conscious during the crossing goes mad. I learned that the hard way once, long ago. Luckily, I managed to knock myself out with the same fume before the madness could fully take hold.”

“And you’re telling me this now?” Rein’s words slurred as his body sagged. “Wait… does that mean you’re going to sleep too? Then who—how will we land? Won’t we crash and die!?”

“Do not worry. Someone will wake me once we’ve passed through,” the whale said, calm as ever—like they weren’t hurtling toward a madness-shrouded threshold of reality.

“You’re… already mad,” Rein managed, his eyelids like anvils. He turned toward Morin, still barely awake, and pulled her close. Her small hands wrapped tightly around his.

“Stay… with me…” he whispered.

And then, together, they slumped onto the rocky floor.

So sleepy.

Too sleepy.

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A violent jolt ripped Rein out of sleep, dragging him back into the waking world with a gasp. The ground beneath him trembled, quaking with each pulse. Yet his head rested on something soft—warm.

Blinking the blurriness from his eyes, he turned his head and saw Morin curled around him, shielding his head with her small body. Her arms were locked tightly around him, her eyes wide and alert.

“Morin…” he croaked, voice rough.

“You’re awake,” she said quickly. “Stay down. I’ll protect you.”

A chunk of stone plummeted toward them from above—Morin lashed out, smashing it to dust with her bare fist.

“What’s happening?” Rein groaned, trying to push himself up. His body still felt heavy, his mind fogged from the forced sleep, but the chaos around them didn’t leave time to recover.

The ground shook again, violently. More debris rained down from above as the rocky interior of the whale shifted like it was caught in a storm.

“Mr. Whale is fighting a snake,” Morin said matter-of-factly, crushing another falling rock with a slap.

“It’s that pesky serpent,” the whale’s voice rumbled, strained, unlike the calm, leisurely tone it once held. “It has obstructed me before when I tried to pass from the Outerworld to the Overworld. Usually, it lets me through after a brief struggle… but this time, its aggression is far more intense. I may have an idea why.”

The way the whale spoke—its sentences clipped, its tone taut—made it clear: it was locked in a serious battle.

“Serpent?” Rein echoed. “Wait, is this the ‘someone’ you said would wake you up after we passed through the Veil of Madness?”

“Yes,” the whale replied. “It has taken residence near the Overworld’s outer edge, treating the region as its new territory. It was not there when I first began crossing this path. The first encounter caught me off-guard, and ever since, it has only grown more agitated each time I return. But never quite like this.”

Rein’s mind raced.

A serpent. A guardian at the edge of the Overworld? That didn’t match what he had read—until the memory clicked.

He had read about a divine beast like that once. But not guarding the Overworld.

It was said to dwell in the Outerworld, a colossal serpent that devoured dead realms, leaving behind trails of potent pneuma. Along its path, whole planetary realms would be born—teeming with minerals, brimming with raw power—referred to in legends as its eggs. Each one capable of sustaining an entire realm for centuries.

And it had one distinctive feature.

Scales of gold.

Rein’s eyes widened as the realization landed.

“The Golden Serpent,” he murmured aloud.