In the year 2177, at Evil God Ridge in West Virginia, USA.
A vast, obsidian mountain range burst into the world's view. Estimates suggest that its principal peak has soared to an unprecedented elevation, arrogantly surveying all of creation to claim the title of the highest summit on Earth—both in absolute altitude and relative prominence.
Yet as those who dared tread its domain vanished without a trace, aircraft succumbed to fatal crashes, and even wireless signals were swallowed by its depths, unsettling rumors began to spread. It was whispered that beyond a mist-enshrouded pass, on the other side, lay an endless necropolis—a city of the dead hewn from immense, ancient stones and dominated by an impenetrable darkness.
Thus, this range acquired ominous epithets: “The Mountain of the Sleeping Evil God,” “The World’s Third Pole,” “The Gate to Hell,” and “The City of Shadows.” Even so, there remained a cadre of mad souls, irresistibly drawn by its mysterious and austere allure, who schemed by any means to circumvent official barriers and infiltrate this forbidden realm. They chanted slogans like, “Offer your heart, offer your soul, and attain eternal life.”
When authorities intercepted and interrogated these zealots, they discovered that, in their eyes, the barren, foreboding black mountains transformed into a lush, breathtaking paradise teeming with life—and inhabited by enchanting, amiable spirits. All disquieting accounts of the range were, it seemed, unconsciously dismissed by these believers.
An interrogator argued that they were merely delusional, suffering from hallucinations; to which they retorted, “Why should the vision of the majority be deemed the truth? Only those who have truly set foot upon that land have the right to speak, for truth is grasped by but a select few. What, then, lurks in the depths of that mountain range?” Such questions haunted every citizen of the Federation, though the dreadful, forbidden truth was a burden not all could bear.
Inside the Federal Bureau of Investigation, a remarkably beautiful woman quietly perused the declassified files spread before her—files detailing the secret taboos of that pitch-black mountain range. With her long, silky golden hair and pale, shimmering eyes, her exquisitely defined features could easily captivate any onlooker, were it not for the restless shadows dancing within her gaze that betrayed her inner turmoil.
【Evil Ominous Mountain Range, Enigmatic Code: 0-03】
【Entity: Suspected to be of ‘quasi-unknowable’ level】
【Classification: Rule-concept category, ultra-colossal domain type】
【Risk Assessment: Harbors perils of fatal curses, memetic contamination, exponential growth, and the nurturing of subordinate anomalies; its vastness and impenetrable core render it beyond confinement, sealing, or limitation…】
【Taboo One: Exalted beings who command anomalies or wield powers over the undead must not approach the range】
【Taboo Two: Upon entering the mountains, one must not utter the name of any human being—including one’s own—and it is advisable to retain all personal belongings (even a single strand of hair)】
【Taboo Three: Should one encounter a blood-red cluster of flowers—reminiscent of otherworldly blossoms with ocular centers—or a stunning woman clad in crimson deep within the mountains, one must immediately retreat and refrain from any further exploration】
【Taboo Four: …】
Furthermore, the documents reveal that just a decade ago the region, now dominated by these sable peaks, was a fertile landscape of rolling hills. At its heart lay a quaint town named “Eden,” as idyllic as a terrestrial paradise. Yet following an uncanny event, code-named “Ghost Tomb,” this earthly haven was transmuted into a treacherous inferno. Eden was reclassified from a “safe zone” to a “contaminated area,” its populace vanishing en masse, and no investigator who later ventured into its confines ever returned alive.
“There remains a chance to withdraw now; such forbidden knowledge is beyond the purview of an investigator of your rank… and besides, you are young and without children…” a middle-aged man urged softly, glancing at the woman across the table. Ava withdrew her gaze from the dossier and, with steely resolve, replied, “Director, my only kin vanished a decade ago. If I cannot find him, then it matters not if I depart from this world.”
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What were the odds that someone missing for ten years in such a place might still be alive? The man recognized her fixation—even a potential chance for redemption. Suddenly, a dimpled smile played upon Ava’s lips as she continued, “Moreover, isn’t thwarting the rampant expansion of this colossal aberration—this force that devours human realms—a pledge every investigator swears upon joining?”
A century ago, during the era of Cthulhu, a select few humans erected a “Wall of Life” to shield against the onslaught of otherworldly forces, establishing fifty sanctuaries to shelter ordinary folk. Yet as increasingly brazen, “unknowable” monstrosities—especially gargantuan ones—emerged, humanity’s habitable space was relentlessly compressed, leaving merely thirty-six safe zones today. Consequently, neutralizing the threat of these monstrous behemoths has become the foremost mission in preserving humanity’s fragile flame of survival.
After a sigh, the middle-aged man murmured, “Headquarters has appointed the legendary investigator Denver as your team leader, which should ensure your safety to some degree. Now, go and rest these next few days.” This famed investigator had once survived an encounter with a “quasi-unknowable” anomaly, though his mind remained disturbingly unsettled. Yet the “Mountain of the Sleeping Evil God” belonged to the same forbidden echelon—and no investigator had ever survived two such encounters.
Despite the near-certain fatality, Ava had a purpose she could not renounce. A decade earlier, her brother had vanished in the very vicinity of the nascent pitch-black range, in that town known as Eden. Her sole motivation for joining the Bureau was to find her only remaining family.
After a brief conversation with the director, Ava departed the office. The director, meanwhile, repositioned the dossier before him, murmuring as he perused its contents: “A decade ago, Ava’s brother disappeared—coinciding with the emergence of the ‘Ghost Tomb.’ There must be some connection. While many vanished due to the Ghost Tomb, why is it that no trace of him remains? Not even a name… as if every mark of his existence had been mystically obliterated.” He had long promised to help Ava in her search, yet the tidings he received sent shivers down his spine: “I remember his face vividly, but… I seem to have forgotten his name.”
……
Let us turn back the clock to a decade ago, to the year 2167. David awoke from a deep slumber, coming to terms with the surreal fact that he had become one with a tract of land—more precisely, a land marked by a towering, spire-like stone monument. This patch of earth measured roughly 2.5 meters in length and width, and 0.5 meters in depth—a modest physique, indeed, for its early stage. The soil, embodying his corporeal form, was an abyssal black, utterly devoid of insects or even microbes, as though all life had been barred—or dared not intrude—rendering it a veritable forbidden zone.
Yet along the edge of this stygian earth encircled a ring of vividly crimson red spider lilies, as if proclaiming the presence of an entrance to the netherworld, impervious to the morbid forces that reigned elsewhere. Upon closer inspection, one would notice that each flower’s heart harbored an eye, veined with streaks of blood and with an enigmatic pink pupil that occasionally shifted its gaze.
At the very center of this accursed zone stood a triangular obelisk, as tall as two men, its grey-black surface mottled with the passage of countless ages. Only at the summit of one of its three faces were inscribed cryptic symbols—ancient, mysterious characters beyond the ken of ordinary mortals. Only David knew that these symbols bore his very name!
The inscription signified that he—his human self in the biological sense—was, in all likelihood, dead; he had become nothing more than a stone monument and a parcel of land. “But who can tell me why, in this form, my life is doomed to a mere two and a half hours?!” he silently lamented, acutely aware of his dwindling state. Indeed, in just over two hours, his soul would fade, his consciousness would lapse into eternal sleep, and he would die once more—a cruel jest of fate.
The circumstances that had led to his transformation traced back to several days prior, when he had journeyed to an anomalous town, entered the dwelling of a mother and daughter, and witnessed a scene that defied the limits of the flesh and sullied the sanctity of the mind. Had he not ventured into that accursed town, David might have been preparing a simple lunch for his blind sister, fretting over her surgical fees and her impending conscription. Yet now, his thoughts were singular: how to extend his pitiful two and a half hours of life, and—within that fleeting span—commandeer an entire town to join him in his final descent into oblivion!
