stonecrandall Chapter 511, Section 520: A Brand New History 4
Chapter 511, Section 520: A Brand New History 4
Chapter 511, Section 520: A Brand New History 4
The ruins of R'lyeh closed completely behind Ian, the lingering echoes of the folded space rippling like water before finally settling into the deathly still, dark green sea.
A piece of history has completely disappeared.
A completely new history extends into the future.
What Ian did went far beyond destroying a dream dimension and defeating a manifestation. When he left carrying the fully seized authority of the Chaos Eclipse/Foundation of Order, stepping on the still-lingering ripples of spacetime, it was a "covering" on the level of existence, a "replacement" on the level of authority.
It was also Ian, in his capacity as a newly appointed "Chaos Overseer," who initiated a silent and thorough "purification" and "recycling" of a deeply polluted "territory."
In a realm where scorching heat and indescribable, icy madness intertwine, a paradoxical spacetime structure unfolds like a beach about to be completely swallowed by a raging tide.
Yes.
History is changing because of this.
The process was silent, yet intense enough to instantly vaporize the soul of any bystander. In the end, it wasn't a deafening explosion, but a kind of "fading," a kind of "dissolving."
Cthulhu, symbolizing the ultimate chaos and madness, was erased bit by bit, yet irreversibly, from the geological and mystical history of the African continent by a higher-order eraser. When the last trace of the active will and corrupting properties of the Great Old One Cthulhu were uprooted and transformed from the earth's veins, the river of time and history finally broke free from this ancient, mad, and dangerous "reef."
Change has occurred.
Change is like ripples created by a pebble thrown into the river of time, spreading gently and steadily from the past point where "Cthulhu was completely resolved" towards the future.
It is not a fierce tsunami that instantly destroys all existing traces, but a gentle surge that is closer to "correction" and "covering".
The resilience of history is at play, attempting to digest this enormous variable and integrate it into its own coherent narrative.
The vast majority of ordinary beings, whether Muggles or wizards, are completely unaware of this; it is in their memories, their experiences, and the "common sense" of their world.
The update was completed seamlessly the instant the ripples passed.
However, the changes left a more obvious mark on those places and people who were deeply involved with the "secrets of the past".
This alteration of history has an impact that extends into the future, surging but not ferocious, because Saruman built the African Ministry of Magic in later generations to cover up the Cthulhu ruins. Therefore, the scope of the impact is controllable, possibly because Saruman had already laid out plans for this from the beginning and made extremely thorough preparations.
In short.
The only one most affected was the African Ministry of Magic. In the old timeline, this ministry was established to monitor...
Research and do your utmost to seal and conceal the source of Cthulhu's legacy deep beneath it, a legacy that even a master like Saruman could only barely suppress and not eradicate.
Now, the ripples have arrived.
The ripples of time silently swept across this land, across this tower.
Deep within the tower lies an underground prison area, not used for daily office work, but for imprisoning and "dealing with" the most dangerous and unspeakable things.
The place was dimly lit, and the walls were not made of brick or stone, but of some kind of dark metal that swallowed light and sound. Etched on them were layers upon layers of dazzling sealing runes, many of which were based on principles from Saruman a thousand years ago, from his research into fighting the madness of the subterranean world.
In a specially made cell on the lowest level, a figure was imprisoned.
"Teacher, did you really do it?"
He sat silently on the cold, rune-covered ground, his body hunched over, clad in a tattered black robe. His face was no longer discernible.
It wasn't that he was obscured by shadows, but rather that his head was shrouded in a dark substance that slowly writhed and shifted in shape, seemingly composed of viscous shadows, subtle tentacled phantoms, and blasphemous runes that constantly vanished and reborn. This was the terrible price he had paid for long-term, direct confrontation with, and even partial physical and power intervention in, suppressing the contamination of the underground Cthulhu relic—irreversible distortion of his body and soul.
These are the students who interacted with Saruman earlier.
An unnamed Auror.
He is not a criminal.
Instead, they are "watchers" and "purified" who voluntarily stay here, waiting for the next round of an ancient ritual that is said to be able to remove pollution, but with a slim chance of success.
At the same time, he was one of Saruman's most loyal and talented disciples, so he inherited some of his teacher's responsibilities, as well as that heavy secret.
His name has been forgotten by himself during the long period of pain and perseverance, and has also been deliberately erased by the records, which is why his name has been mentioned all along.
The unsung hero.
Just remember that.
"The purification process is about to begin."
The black-robed wizard had previously cleared out all the prisoners underground and even personally sent his teacher on his way. Now, he was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and was simply waiting for a miracle to happen.
Fortunately, Saruman did not disappoint him.
The mutated black-robed wizard, whose face has been corrupted by the suppression of Cthulhu's relics, awaits the "purification" process as influences from the past overlay this point in time.
at last.
He got what he was waiting for.
At that moment, he suddenly raised his "head"—if that writhing mass could be called a head. It wasn't that he heard a sound, but rather a more fundamental "feeling."
"Here it comes! Is it an even more tragic ending, or a better one?"
The black-robed wizard was unaware of this; all he knew was that the only thing he could do was end history.
I waited anxiously.
Before them, the complex sealing runes on the cell walls, which had been operating for countless years, were changing their light. Not extinguishing or intensifying, but rather, the "meaning" of their flow was subtly shifting; some of the suppressive circuits originally targeting the "mad leak from the depths of the underground" seemed to have suddenly vanished.
The rune chains thus appeared redundant and idle. Immediately afterward, an extremely subtle tremor emanated from the cold metal ground beneath him. It wasn't an earthquake, but rather a feeling of emptiness, as if some kind of "existence" had been ripped away. The ever-present, almost imperceptible...
The unsettling background whispers of madness are fading away.
It doesn't gradually disappear, but rather it's as if it's being rapidly erased from the "canvas" of reality by a giant eraser.
"Did this mean it was a success?!"
The black-robed wizard was immediately excited upon seeing history being covered.
The cells themselves began to change.
The dark metal walls faded in color, their texture seemingly transforming into more ordinary dark stone. The most complex, core, and deeply connected sealing runes etched into the walls, like ice sculptures exposed to the scorching sun, began to silently vaporize and dissipate, leaving behind a smooth surface.
The iron bars of the prison cells were also softening and being reconstructed, transforming into a more conventional architectural structure, the kind used in ordinary Azkaban to imprison ordinary dark wizards.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes!"
The black-robed wizard suddenly stood up, his deformed body trembling slightly with excitement, and at the center of that worm-like mass, it seemed as if two flames were burning fiercely.
He sensed the rapid yet "peaceful" changes in his surroundings; it wasn't an attack, but rather a "correction." The fundamental reason for the prison's existence was to suppress the terrifying source beneath the earth, a source whose very name could not be mentioned.
at this time.
The other party is being wiped out from the ground.
and so.
There is no need for prisons to exist anymore.
"teacher----"
A hoarse, distorted, almost inhuman sob escaped from his body, "You—you succeeded—as expected—"
You and that person—a thousand years ago—"
He understood. This wasn't a disaster, but the aftershocks of victory! It was salvation from the past extending into the present! His teacher, Saruman, had resolutely followed the enigmatic "Raven" into the forbidden land; their aim was not mere suppression, but a complete solution!
They did it!
In the distant past, the root of this nightmare that continues to this day was severed!
"The world is finally safe!" Tears could not flow from the wizard's mutated face, but the worm-like substance fluctuated violently, showing the overwhelming excitement and relief in his heart.
Centuries of vigilance, centuries of pollution and torment, the alienation and sacrifice of colleagues, the loneliness of guarding this heavy secret—all of it has gained meaning and reward.
The teachers' heroic deeds, transcending the river of time, have cleansed the filth of this moment.
"bring it on!"
They realized that they were waiting for a good ending.
The black-robed wizard immediately felt relieved.
He no longer resisted the change in his environment. Instead, he opened his arms. If those twisted limbs could still be called arms, they were arms outstretched in an embracing gesture to welcome the baptism of time.
He could sense that, with the fundamental transformation of the prison's function, the powerful seals placed upon him to contain the spread of pollution were loosening and being reconstructed.
The root of that deep-seated, insane pollution seemed to have been removed from its source. Although the remaining distortions were still terrifying, the constant pulling sensation towards the abyss was rapidly disappearing.
"This will completely reshape my life."
The black-robed wizard knew what was about to happen, and he knew that he would no longer be himself, but a completely new self gradually formed from new memories.
He simply accepted it calmly.
Let the ripples of time cover and reconstruct him. The terrifying memories of what lies beneath the earth, the hardships of the suppression, and even some vague speculations about the ultimate fate of his teacher Saruman—these heavy secrets, like words on the beach, are gently but resolutely erased by the receding tide.
When he "opened his eyes" again.
He is still himself.
But he is no longer himself.
The black-robed wizard stood in a much brighter room. The room was made of regular dark gray stone, with smooth walls and no superfluous runes.
There are only a few permanent light spheres for illumination and basic protective arrays.
The room contained simple tables and chairs, and even a small bookshelf.
This is a standard "observation room" used for detaining and studying high-risk magical creatures or wizards in special states, located in a regular restricted area under the Department of Mysteries of the Ministry of Magic in Africa.
His black robe was still tattered, but the dark aura that once clung to it, originating from underground pollution, had completely vanished.
His head also transformed into a young and handsome one.
There was no trace of contamination whatsoever.
just.
He also had no recollection of that past.
"Huh? What am I doing standing here?" The black-robed wizard's eyes were clear and calm, filled with confusion and a newfound bewilderment.
Who am I? Why am I here? I seem to have forgotten something very important. He only remembers that he seems to be an employee of the Ministry of Magic. Those memories about the underground, about suppression, about his teacher and some mysterious being are like faded dreams, leaving only a vague trace of melancholy mixed with reverence and relief.
"Yes, I am an Auror from the Department of Mysteries."
New memories gradually emerge.
The black-robed wizard gradually adapted completely.
Just then, the door to the observation room opened.
The woman who entered was a witch dressed in a dark blue robe with silver trim and a star pattern. She had a gentle and wise demeanor, and her eyes were clear, as if she could see through the truth beneath the surface.
Her face—differences were vaguely similar to that of Lina, the prophet priestess who prayed in the jungle clearing a thousand years ago, but she was more mature and had fine lines of wisdom accumulated over the years at the corners of her eyes.
She is currently the highest-ranking clerk in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic in Africa, and one of the directors in charge of this special "Observation Room" project.
"How are you feeling?" the witch asked in a calm, concerned voice.
The black-robed wizard shook his still somewhat heavy head and answered hoarsely.
"I feel much better, Professor Lina. That chaotic feeling that had been plaguing me seems to have suddenly disappeared. But I also seem to have forgotten a lot of things."
As someone involved in the incident, he still retains some remnants of it, and it may take several more days for things to calm down completely, which also means the complete stabilization of time and space.
The witch, known as Lina's mentor, nodded slightly, a hint of understanding and感慨 (gǎnkǎi, a complex emotion encompassing both admiration and reflection) flashing in her eyes. The timeline correction was complete.
The related blocking and reconstruction of memories is a natural selection of history.
at this point.
Only those who left that place and the great raven know the truth.
In truth, no one else needs to know, Lina thought to herself, and said softly, "Some memories are not necessarily ones that must be found. There's no need to force them."
"Just remember your mission."
She paused, her gaze shifting to one side of the room. Where there should have been another wall, now stood a massive, incredibly heavy bronze door.
The door was tightly shut, etched with intricate ancient patterns that did not belong to the popular magic systems of today. At the center was a huge, abstract emblem that seemed to combine a bird with a shadow—the Raven's Mark.
The door exudes a desolate, ancient, and mysterious aura, completely out of place with the modern style of the Ministry of Magic, yet it seems to have existed here since time immemorial.
"This door—"
The black-robed wizard followed Lina's gaze and felt a strange sense of familiarity with the bronze door, as if his heartbeat resonated with it, but he couldn't recall any specific connection.
"Has it always been here? What's inside?" He realized that their mission was to guard this door and wait for it to open.
Mentor Lina walked to the bronze door, reached out and gently stroked its cold surface, which was marked with the raven emblem, her eyes becoming distant and profound.
"This is the Watchers' Gate," she said slowly, her voice carrying a rhythmic, almost chanting quality, "Its existence predates even the Ministry of Magic itself. One of the highest duties of our Department of Mysteries is to guard this gate, and—to silence an ancient legend associated with it."
Lina reminisced about the past.
I also recalled that absurd and unspeakable experience.
Sometimes.
The stories told by those who experienced them firsthand may differ greatly from the stories that are widely circulated.