Chapter 7: The Temporal Meat Roll
1019 Words
As Ethan Moore’s tentacles pierced the Antarctic ice, the aurora overhead twisted into the shape of the King in Yellow.
At the bottom of a thirty-meter-deep ice shaft, the metal hatch of the Miskatonic Research Station was encrusted with frostlike crystals. The access system blinked red; in the fingerprint scanner jammed a severed, frozen finger—manicured, unmistakably belonging to the mechanical Ruan Ruan he had killed three days ago.
“Welcome back, Subject 49,” Rowan Shaw’s voice echoed through the station’s intercom. “By the way… three of Gehroth’s hounds are tailing you.”
Ethan looked back and saw a blizzard rising over the ice plain, three hulking black forms emerging like hills amid the storm—upgraded “Guides” he had seen in the ocean depths. Each skull embedded with a bronze compass, its needle spinning backward, oozing pus with every tick.
The King in Yellow screamed in his mind: “Destroy all compasses! They are weaving a prison of time!”
Ethan’s bone-wings lashed at the hatch. The moment the membrane of ice and flesh shattered, he glimpsed the interior: hundreds of cylindrical incubators floated within, each cradling a Ruan Ruan. Some were outfitted with mechanical limbs; others sprouted tentacles from their backs. The closest to the door wore a wedding ring—the very one he had found aboard the fishing vessel.
Two Hours Earlier — International Flight Cargo Hold
Ethan curled up inside a foam container meant for salmon, his tentacles crushing a customs robotic dog that had dared inspect him. The cargo hold’s LCD screens broadcast the news:
“Subway collapse in Linhai City leaves 19 dead; tentacle-shaped anomalies in surveillance footage confirmed as AI-generated…”
He tore open a box of frozen tuna sashimi, discovering each slice arranged into a reversed pentagram.
“Still in the mood for sushi?” The spectral Ruan Ruan from the incubators shimmered on the icy wall. “Antarctica is minus sixty-five degrees. You’ll freeze into a stalactite.”
“You can speak even as a hologram?” Ethan squeezed wasabi into her spectral eyes.
“Strictly speaking, this is the 48th clone speaking,” the ghostly Ruan Ruan said, pulling open her collar to reveal her electronic ID. “By the way… how did it feel when you killed me?”
The cargo hold suddenly depressurized. Ethan was thrown against the wall, glimpsing massive whales passing the portholes. The captain’s intercom gurgled with viscous moans:
“Ladies and gentlemen… this flight is about to descend into… ■■■’s womb…”
【Corruption Level: 163/100】
Ribs piercing his skin, Ethan’s spine erupted into bone wings, tearing through the fuselage. In freefall, the clouds above split into a gaping maw. A WWII Japanese Zero shot through, Silas Quinn seated in the cockpit wearing a navy uniform.
“Catch the levitation talisman!” the Taoist cried, casting yellow paper that ignited midair into ash. “Damn it! The timeline’s scrambled!”
Present — Antarctic Research Station
Ethan twisted the lock on the 47th incubator and inserted the interface into the main console. A flood of dense experiment logs filled the holo-screen:
【Project 49: Host implantation of the King in Yellow】
【Project 50: Temporal anchor calibration (using Ruan Ruan clones as coordinates)】
【Warning: 22nd temporal reboot anomaly detected. Subject 49 has gained autonomous consciousness】
“Surprised?” The real Ruan Ruan stepped from the shadows, her mechanical eye weeping crimson tears. “You’re just a battery grown from my DNA by the Deep Blue Eye, designed to power the time machine.”
Behind her, a circular apparatus rose, encasing the body of the young Rowan Shaw, a bronze compass embedded in his chest.
Ethan’s bone-wings slashed through the incubator fluid as the cloned Ruan Ruans screamed. Suddenly, the King in Yellow seized control of the vocal cords:
“You stole my power to restart time… all to resurrect this ant?!”
“No.” Ruan Ruan pressed a red button. “It’s to turn the Outer Gods into sashimi.”
The circular device whirred to life, and Ethan saw every version of himself across all timelines:
Some were beheaded in tunnels, some devoured cities as meat mountains, some cooked hotpot with Silas Quinn in Taoist temples. The only constant—each Ethan Moore’s left hand wore that wedding ring.
“Time… is a slab of injected meat…” the King in Yellow’s voice splintered. “You must… chew it…”
Ethan tore off his left arm and inserted it into the circular device. Amid an explosion of light, he grasped the critical temporal fragment:
Ruan Ruan, in the earliest timeline, trembling as she implanted a tentacle embryo into the boy on the experiment table.
“I’m sorry… only you can endure him…”
Now — Bottom Level of the Station
Three Guides smashed through the ice wall as Ethan arranged Rowan Shaw’s corpse in a seated hotpot posture.
“Did you know?” He plucked out Rowan Shaw’s eyeball and tossed it into boiling water. “In some timeline, we might have been friends.”
Silas Quinn’s peachwood sword stabbed through the ice into the ground.
“Ethan Moore! The temporal anchor is collapsing!”
“Then let’s enjoy it.” Ethan wrapped his bone-wings around the circular apparatus. Every clone incubator shattered simultaneously. “Tell all my selves across time—”
“Hotpot base needs beef tallow. No clear broth.”
The Antarctic ice sheet vaporized in the blinding light. The last image Ethan’s retina captured: countless timelines converging into a convenience store checkout, himself in uniform scanning items, the screen flashing:
【Payment Successful. Have a pleasant apocalypse.】
New Timeline — Linhai City Subway Station
Ethan Moore opened his eyes, holding warm oden in his palm.
“Your sweet-spicy sauce,” mechanical Ruan Ruan said with a standard smile, her skull earring glinting faintly.
Outside, no fog, no Deep Ones. Television news reported:
“Ancient civilization discovered beneath Antarctic ice…”
He bit into a fish ball, tasting the flesh of the King in Yellow.
- Writer
