You carefully descend into the tunnel and feel that familiar sting. All around you the world wavers and words begin carving themselves into reality, accompanying their manifestation a sound uncomfortably similar to nails on a chalkboard.

You regain control and look around at your surroundings: ghosts, shimmering, beautiful, yet terrifying with ghastly expressions of shock and horror now roam the tunnel. Normally, you would run the other way, but this time, you are compelled forward, once more into that breach.

Among the tangle of words, some standout.

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter’d saints, whose bones / Lie scatter’d on the Alpine mountains cold,

Ghosts have blocked further progress. They are hostile to your presence. But they will not persuade you to leave. You need to push forward for deep in this place there lies something you need.

Words now blaze into reality, embedding themselves within the very matrix of life.

[One ghost, dragging chains behind it, is in front of you, no more than a couple of meters. Translucently carved into this ghost’s forehead– or what is left of it, at any rate– is the words “Avenge, O”. Behind that ghost is a group of several more ghosts, huddled around an unreal, ethereal fire but glaring uneasily at you; the words “Lord, thy slaughter’d saints, whose bones” leap off of the first ghost’s incorporeal body, down its chain, and wrap around this secondary group like a boa constrictor. “Lie scattered” mewls over the open fire, apparently oblivious to fire’s ontological resistance to being carved, yet subject to imprinting nonetheless. “on the Alpine mountains cold,” meanwhile, coils off the fire and ends at a pile of rusty– or bloody?– pick-axes.

What do you do?

[Use Perception]

[Use Deconstruction]

[Activate DeFam]

Have you overcome?

[Proceed further down the tunnel]


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