Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO-Chapter 319: Beyond The Cliff

The expedition began.

With the Landship stationed at a safe distance, we departed across the threshold of the Cliff of Nothingness, entering the unknown depths of the spatial anomaly.

The descent into the exotic space-time distortion was unlike any normal traversal.

For one, there was no ground below us. Or atleast, no perceptible edge within the peripheral for who knows how long it stretched into the abyss. No horizon to orient ourselves. No sense of height or depth either, only an endless expanse of mist-filled void stretching into infinity.

A world rewritten, where gravity was a mere suggestion and distance had no meaning until we reminded ourselves of what a surface truly looks like.

Yet, despite the unnatural nature of this space, we moved forward unhindered.

Kuzunoha and I, as higher existential beings, activated Floating Through Life, allowing us to glide effortlessly through the void.

Lupina, wings spread wide, propelled herself forward with the combined force of her natural flight and jet-boosted tail.

Verina used her Black Wheels—somashifted constructs of her legs bound to her telekinetic force—to hover and maneuver with practiced precision.

Our figures cut through the mist, moving as specters through a dreamscape that barely qualified as reality anymore.

And as we soared further into the depths of this rewritten world, I extended my perception.

Floating Through Life wasn't just a means of traversal—it was a state of being. A state where one could perceive things beyond mortal sight.

In a world like Carcosa, where the concept of reality was in flux, the space around us was never truly empty.

There were always things—the unseen, the ethereal, the lingering traces of hidden existences that were always on every corner of Carcosa's space.

Yet.

There was nothing here.

The space around us was silent—not just in the absence of sound, but in a fundamental emptiness that felt wrong.

There were no wandering spirits, no higher entities, no remnants of eldritch horror drifting through the mist.

Even in places ravaged by calamity, something always remained. A trace. A whisper. A memory.

But here?

Nothing.

And I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Heh."

Kuzunoha was smiling.

She turned her head slightly toward me as we continued our flight.

"How's the view, Lady Narcissus?" she mused, her voice carrying a knowing amusement.

I met her gaze briefly before returning my focus to the barren void around us.

"There's barely anything here," I noted.

"Indeed," Kuzunoha replied, still grinning. "It's rather fascinating, don't you think?"

I exhaled slowly, letting my words carry across the floating emptiness.

"The ethereal beings that should be here aren't. Either they've already fled…" My eyes narrowed slightly. "Or they were consumed by the expansion of this space-time distortion. Is my guess correct?"

"Who knows." Kuzunoha's smirk widened. "Still, a lovely thought, isn't it?"

Further back, Lupina was watching the two of us, her ears twitching in mild confusion.

"What the hell are those two talking about?" she muttered.

Verina, flying beside her, responded without looking.

"Something beyond our comprehension."

Lupina scowled playfully. "Figures."

She wasn't wrong.

Some conversations could only exist between those of higher existential height.

And on that note.

I turned to Kuzunoha.

"Can Lupina use Floating Through Life?" I asked, curious since her vessel was that of a higher existential height.

Kuzunoha's response was immediate. "No."

Lupina frowned. "What? Hey, wait, why not?!"

"Because it's not she that has the heightened existential height," Kuzunoha explained lazily. "It's her Theotech Vessel."

I expected as much.

Lupina blinked. "So?"

"So, your soul remains the same. You're existing inside a higher state environment, but that doesn't mean your essence has evolved to match it."

Verina, who had been listening, glanced toward Kuzunoha. "What about me?" She pointed a finger toward herself.

Kuzunoha actually gave that some thought before answering.

"You're different," she admitted. "The Vitae Arboris you ingested didn't just enhance your body—it nourished your soul as well. If you maintain a strict diet of Vitae Arboris food, you might eventually reach the state of Floating Through Life."

"Nice."

Lupina groaned dramatically. "Oh, come on! That's not fair!"

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Verina smirked. "Life isn't fair."

Then again, even Viviane—despite being centuries-old as a water nymph—had never reached the state of Floating Through Life.

So, even if Verina could achieve it someday, it would take a long time.

"…Still," Kuzunoha added, glancing toward Lupina. "Your Theotech Vessel is its own high-existential environment. Given enough time, your soul might slowly adapt to it."

"Yaay!" Lupina celebrated.

And so, we continued forward.

For over an hour, we soared through the mist-laden void, carving through the stagnant air with effortless speed. The world beneath us was nothing—a chasm of infinite depth, stripped of light, stripped of sound. A place where even absence felt unnatural despite the overstimulation that we usually experienced in the time of the Ordeal.

The distortion thickened around us.

Then, we felt it.

Not as a physical impact, nor as a shift in temperature, but as a slow, suffocating weight pressing against the very concept of movement.

The sky, if it could still be called that, became heavier, as if the air had gained mass, folding in on itself. There was no wind, no force against our skin—only the sensation that the space around us was closing in, warping in ways that defied explanation.

It was as if the very act of existence had become more demanding, each moment requiring effort to continue being.

This should be what Kuzunoha meant as the existential height blockage.

Eventually, we passed the threshold where the influence of the core of this distortion.

It was neither malevolent nor welcoming. Not alive, yet not truly dead. A presence carved into the foundation of reality itself, a shadow that had persisted long after the body that cast it had rotted away.

Our pace quickened—not by choice, but by instinct.

The distortion became erratic. Space shuddered in silent protest, and reality itself grew thin, as though we were passing through layers of something fragile, something never meant to be disturbed.

Then.

We arrived.

The Core of the Distortion.

We stopped immediately.

Because before us, towering above the abyss, was something so vast, so incomprehensible, that for a moment, even those of us with heightened existential awareness could not grasp it.

A skeleton.

Not bones as one would find in mortal remains, but something far older, far greater, far more impossible.

It was the corpse of something that should have never died.

Its existence was so massive in every comprehensive method, it did not rest in the abyss. It was not buried within the Cliff of Nothingness.

It was the abyss.

Its very existence had been woven into the fabric of this place, its presence a rupture in the natural order, a corpse so grand that its very death had rewritten reality itself.

The skull was the first thing we truly recognized.

Even in the immeasurable depth of the chasm, where even the drone we sent could not reach as if it was the Mariana Trench itself, its skull loomed high above, as if its very size denied perspective. This thing was not simply incomprehensibly large—its proportions violated comprehension.

Hollow, endless eye sockets stretched wider than entire cities, cavernous voids of absolute emptiness that devoured the light, devoured meaning, devoured everything that dared to gaze into them.

The remnants of its jaw—massive, fractured, lined with jagged remains of teeth that did not match any known predator—yawned open in a frozen, soundless scream, as if it had perished mid-roar, cursing the heavens in its final breath.

Its spinal column, a series of vertebrae so vast they resembled fractured mountain ridges, extended down into the abyss, spiraling into unseen depths. Each vertebrae was broken, shattered, as if the thing had died violently, its form crushed against something far greater than even itself.

Scattered rib-like structures protruded from the mist, some curling inward, others torn asunder and jutting out at unnatural angles, forming grotesque spires of calcified ruin.

But the worst part was the way its remains seemed to shift when unobserved.

Every glance revealed something different—some new jagged protrusion, some new inexplicable break in the skeletal formation. As if the bones did not belong to a single entity, but to many, overlapping in a grotesque, layered existence.

The very space around the corpse bent and recoiled, warping in waves that pulsed outward like silent screams frozen in time.

There was no decay. No rot. No trace of flesh.

And yet, the bones felt fresh—as if their death had only just occurred, the very concept of time bending to preserve the moment of its demise indefinitely.

And in the silence of its presence, we felt it.

A sensation beneath perception.

An echo, an imprint, a whisper of something that had once been infinite—and was now nothing.

Kuzunoha was the first one to speak with a smile on her face.

"A god's corpse."

Not in name. Not in worship. But in scale. In horror. In the undeniable truth of what it had once been.

Something that had stood beyond mortal reality—something whose death had not simply occurred, but had been enforced, its very being ripped away and left to fossilize in the void.

Now, we stood before it.

And it was still watching us.