There can't be a Harvest Moon in the RimWorld.

Old Yorkson was right; that was something no human could rival. But only death could force him to accept defeat. This horrific death was merely twenty years too late.

That's enough...

The moment Little Hook opened the door.

He finally breathed his last.

Chapter 165 Forgetting and Remembering

"Visual deprivation".

The ultimate darkness arrived when Harris drank the second dose of Perrin's potion.

The retina is like a television that has lost power; after flickering static one last time, it reluctantly falls silent, ceasing all image transmission.

Harris took a careful step forward, his feet landing on the uneven ground, his hands touching the wall covered with bones, barely managing to move forward with his last bit of tactile sensation.

But in this state of being like the blind men and the elephant, he wasn't even sure if he was moving forward or backward. In fact, all he could do now was try his best to remain upright, to walk, and to survive.

That flesh-and-blood ape was indeed just an illusion.

Harris snorted and walked forward about ten meters without bumping into the wall of flesh. The resentment of those ancient creatures could only remain resentment; it couldn't overcome the barriers of reality to directly harm the living. The eerie gas deep in the mine might come from the putrid stench of giant beasts billions of years ago, or it might be the remains of arthropods lying in flames, causing hallucinations that felt almost tangible.

Harris walked slowly forward, like Charon adrift on the dark sea, ferrying people across a surreal realm where life and death were uncertain.

Old Yorkson's theories have made outstanding contributions, at least in guiding reality.

It was this old man who discovered that this unimaginable being, unmatched by humankind, was banished to the ends of time and space, to a prison that even it could not surpass.

That place might be built in the core of a primordial nebula, amidst the ashes of a supernova explosion, or perhaps in a quark universe, at the end of a black hole. It was originally far removed from this universe, a prison that even the end of heat death couldn't destroy.

Until some ignorant being cast a fearful glance at them.

From then on, this terrifying presence became deeply rooted in the town's miners. An invisible meme spread, growing from few to many, from weak to strong, and the corrupting, mysterious force began its unstoppable new journey, conquering this thriving town.

The more people know about it, the stronger its shadow becomes. The shadow that transcends time and space descends upon the sky above the town, taking root in every word spoken by these poor souls, every nightmare, every scream, and even every breath they take.

The spread was slow but relentless. By the time it was discovered, old Yorkson found it impossible to completely eradicate the evil. So he used a special potion to help these people wash away the evil marks branded on their souls.

It's this bottle of Perrin potion in his hand.

"Forgetting is a fragile armor, but not a cure."

As Old Man Hook handed the medicine to Harris, he said this to him.

Old Man Hooker remains one of the most steadfast opponents of Old Man Yorkson.

He admitted that old Yorkson's methods had worked a few times by chance, but were by no means a solution to this terrifying presence.

The success of amnesia therapy led to a bold conjecture by old Yorkson:

If all the infected people on the island die and are scattered, then the Shadow Beyond Time and Space will lose its foothold and fall back into the eternal prison until its demise.

But reality taught us the cruelest lesson.

Admittedly, as the town's dream of prosperity shattered after the residents fled, the power of the terrifying entity diminished significantly, becoming a nightmare that haunted only a few. However, the unclean smoke and sacrilegious odors, mixed with the ashes of the victims, began to take on a more tangible form.

Little Hook witnessed firsthand how those desperate tentacles crawled out of the nightmare for the first time, truly setting foot on this land and spreading a plague that did not belong to this dimension. It boldly altered reality, attempting to transform this place into a more suitable playground for it, forever remaining a fleeting glimpse in its countless moments of existence.

That evil entity surged down from Mount Mades, violently assimilating both organic and inorganic matter before it. Before such an enemy, one should not even entertain the thought of wielding a weapon.

"If people use knives, guns, javelins, or spears to stab it, it is all useless. It regards iron as dry grass and copper as rotten wood. Arrows cannot frighten it or make it flee, and bullets are like broken chaff to it. Sticks are like chaff. It sneers at the sound of short spears. Its belly is like a sharp tile. It is like a rake passing through mud."

Old Man Hook always recited vague, nameless scriptures.

It was confirmed from that day forward that forgetting is a way to deal with memes, but not a solution to everything. This troll has already anchored itself to this world, and to choose to forget and escape is a foolish act of being blinded by a leaf, which will drag the world into the abyss of destruction.

Memes are the source of terror, dreams are the physical embodiment of terror, and these cursed beings are destined to be the guardians of terror.

They had no choice but to serve as both guardians and jailers at the graves of these terrifying beings, never retiring from their posts.

If even the last person forgets the existence of this monster, then no one will risk their life to drive it away, and what awaits will be ultimate destruction!

Harris silently recited the plan in his mind and walked forward with firm steps.

"First of all, this monster spreads through memes. The more people see it and come into contact with it, the more its power manifests. Therefore, only one person can enter this cave at a time."

"Secondly, this monster still cannot exist in this world for long. It slumbers in an evil lair at the end of time and space, accumulating energy. It can only appear on specific days when the stars are out of alignment."

"Finally, as long as we use the holy seal left by old Yorkson, we can banish this terrifying being from this world. I only have one chance, and I absolutely cannot fail."

Harris nervously touched the medal on his chest, hoping that his early glory would give him some strength so that he would not be afraid as he crossed this abyss where death lurked.

A subtle vibration came from the cave floor, and the faint, fishy stench relentlessly entered his nostrils.

The feeling of defying gravity gradually intensified. Although he could not see, he still felt the world spinning around him, and the pebbles around him would turn into shooting stars that flew off the ground and escaped if he accidentally kicked them.

The closer they got to the core of the monster, the more obvious the anomaly became. The gravity anomaly was unbearable even at such a distance.

Harris felt like he was on a madcap roller coaster, the sensation of gravity shifting randomly from all directions. His cerebellum, under this frenzied influence, quickly reached its limit, and a feeling of dizziness and nausea arose. He felt as if he had accidentally crashed into an eternally spinning comet, roaring through a vacuum, his flesh and blood stripped away, breathing, dancing blindly and madly!

"Tactile deprivation!"

Harris quickly gulped down a mouthful of medicine, gripping the bottle tightly to prevent it from falling during the activity.

Because his last feeling was that he was falling into an endless abyss, falling faster and faster, at a speed at which even sound could not be transmitted, and he hurriedly stepped onto the edge of a black hole.

His remaining sense of smell frantically sent out warning signals, reminding him that a strong, fishy stench was intensifying, like someone had stolen the manhole cover from hell and stuffed in the stench of politicians' shady schemes that had been fermenting for a hundred years.

Harris drank the last of Perrin's potion, for he was now far from the lair of that terrifying being—

It's just one step away!

Chapter 166 Coward

In the endless void, Harris drifted aimlessly, not knowing where to stop.

In his sensory world, which had almost become a cripple, the concepts of reality and unreality had long ceased to exist. He could neither see, hear, touch, nor smell.

But a sensation beyond matter, acting directly on the soul and cells, gave him guidance.

It was an indescribable sensation, the signal intermittent and obscure. Faced with this feeling, the laws, interests, and emotions of ordinary human beings were ineffective and meaningless.

Only one maddening, excruciating revulsion emanated from within. It was both a hangnail beside a neatly trimmed fingernail and a boil on a smooth face. It was both a crookedly pasted brick on a tidy exterior wall and the endless associations with the door lock before leaving the house.

Every inch of skin, every hair, every cell is screaming and crying out to leave this place, even if it means selling their soul to the devil, entrusting their body to the butcher, and throwing their life into the River Styx, they must free themselves from this terrifying world as quickly as possible.

"Ugh... Ha..."

Harris let out a desperate cry. His breathing, a routine he'd repeated countless times and which had become second nature, was abruptly interrupted by his body's rejection reaction. A breath remained stuck in his trachea, like a fishbone lodged in his throat.

But Harris knew that this was the best preparation he could do.

By shutting down his five senses, he transformed himself into an empty shell, like a walking corpse. Terrifying fluctuations, disgusting sounds, and maddening images from the outside world could no longer harm him.

Originally, only the blind who were born deaf, the deaf who had never opened their eyes, and the most foolish madmen were fortunate enough to enjoy a quarter of an hour of freedom here.

Besides, any human being who stays here for even a short while will be overwhelmed by the chaotic and ugly scene, then let out a frantic howl, fall into the abyss of chaos, and their soul will never be able to return to their body.

Even so, the desperate screams of the body's cells are instincts that transcend both instinct and reason, rising above all conditioned and unconditioned reflexes. If this terrifying existence had ever existed for even a second in the primordial universe, then this world would have contained nothing but madness and chaos.

That is the natural enemy of all things in order, the ultimate calamity that will befall the material world!

"The ultimate catastrophe..."

Harris lay prostrate in the chaotic space, afraid to make a sound. He controlled his limbs, breathing, heartbeat, and even forcibly cut off any thoughts that arose in his mind, entering a state of nothingness, devoid of self and awareness, amidst the intense pain and howling sensation in his cells.

"The medicine is almost effective..."

"I need to hurry... imagine one..."

"Holy Seal..."

Harris's mind was like a vast ocean in a giant bowl, utterly still; or like a deep black sky on a canvas, clear and spotless. Then, he began to sketch a strange symbol in his mind.

The symbol's existence dates back longer than historians imagined. Perhaps it was drawn on the ground when apes first saw the moon and roared; or perhaps it was drawn in the mud on the day the Great Flood receded from the continent.

From then on, it appeared everywhere—on tribal totems, sailors' masts, barbarian tattoos, religious texts—until it was adopted by the Holy Spirit Church as a symbol of salvation and became widely known.

Perrin's potions never have a slow-acting or slow-recovering effect. The potions' power recedes abruptly like the tide, revealing a shore riddled with holes.

But this retreat was as swift as the receding tide before a tsunami.

The moment the holy seal formed in Harris's mind, he felt countless noisy sounds, fragmented images, pungent smells, and immense pressure come crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

The moment he opened his eyes in a daze, in the infinite darkness before him, another indescribable thing, taller than a mountain, wider than the sea, more vast than a planet, and more distant than the Milky Way, lay dormant, following his gaze, and opened its eyes...

…………

"Browning, you're a coward."

He was just an ordinary person. He grew up in an ordinary way, studied in an ordinary way, and lived an ordinary life in the world, but this label of cowardice had been firmly attached to him without him even realizing it.

Even he was confused as to when he had become such a timid and submissive person. He hadn't done anything, had he?

Or perhaps I did nothing wrong that led me to become such a timid and submissive person?

In short, just as Browning appeared timidly in front of others, he also timidly accepted the arrangements of fate and walked the path of life.

But life often plays tricks on those who follow the crowd.

The more such people drift with the tide, the more they will be left behind at the bottom of the current, losing their ability to control themselves and drifting aimlessly with the current. They become the best nourishment for the ever-flowing tides of the world.

Those who can control everything are inevitably trendsetters. Such people always appear in politics, business, science, and medicine, and so they appeared before Browning.

That makes sense.

At some point, Browning was manipulated by fate to stand on the opposite side of a trendsetter, entering a state of war between the two sides.

The enemy was determined to expand and advance steadily, relying on their extraordinary war intuition to quickly seize the initiative on the battlefield.

Browning's side, on the other hand, was corrupt and decadent, making one blunder after another, and should have been eliminated long ago, both strategically and tactically.

As a result, Browning became a prisoner of war.

Being a prisoner of war isn't so bad. Browning thought to himself, spending his days squatting in the POW camp, digging in the ground, trying to find extra food like worms and rats.

However, as a coward who surrendered without resistance, Browning had the lowest status in the prisoner-of-war camp and was soon sold to a trust, beginning his life as a miner.

Then came running away, running away, and running away again, failing, failing, and failing again.

By the time he came to his senses, he was already an old, dying man. He had neither children nor friends. He called himself a historian of the nation, but he was more like a termite in a pile of old books, only daring to feed his curiosity with those ancient, forgotten stories.

Knowing he wouldn't be a good parent, he sent his children to continuing education early on to shirk his parenting responsibilities. His children could never have imagined that their stern and cold-hearted father was nothing more than a complete coward who had surrendered to everything in the world at a young age.