The basement smelled of dust, dampness, and forgotten books. Each step the investigator took echoed like a warning, a reminder that the world is full of secrets that prefer to remain in darkness. The flashlight barely touched the walls, and the heavy air seemed to whisper stories no one should hear.
Then he saw it: an old chest, covered in cobwebs and grime, with a rusted lock that defied time. With trembling hands, he opened it and found notebooks, papers, and scrolls neatly arranged. On the cover, almost erased by age, read: "Vaathan's Notes." His heart raced; the handwriting spoke of a man who had seen too much, who had touched the unthinkable.
The pages revealed impossible geometries, nightmare landscapes that could not exist in reality, and annotations about the Tower, the daughter, the blood, and the harmony that connected everything. Each word sent chills through him, as if the knowledge itself tried to infiltrate his mind, shattering logic.
Suddenly, a melody filled the room. No wind, no instruments, only a sound emanating from every corner, as if the walls themselves breathed. It was the Man with the Harmonica, resonating with unwavering authority. Then, a voice emerged from the air, deep and relentless:
"He was not worthy."
The investigator froze, flashlight shaking, as the phrase repeated, a mantra ripping tranquility from his soul. He felt a weight at the nape of his neck, a cold impossible to explain, as if someone—or something—was watching him from the shadows.
Then came another voice, sharp, playful, mocking. A child's laughter, freezing his blood. A girl moving in the shadows, unseen, multiplying into infinite versions of herself, ridiculing Vaathan's failure.
"Daddy was always so pathetic… everything he did was ridiculous!"
The notebooks trembled in his hands, pages flipping open to scenes of death and horror that moved before his eyes: Vaathan falling, twisting bodies, spaces bending—a cycle of madness with no end. The girl's eyes flashed with unholy fire, a smile that defied all notions of goodness.
"Daddy… never knew who he really was," she whispered, fading into echoes.
The harmonica's melody intensified, each note penetrating his mind, mixing false memories with visions of an impossible world. He tried to close the notebooks, but it was futile. Each page revealed a new horror, a new consequence of what Vaathan had done and what his daughter had become.
The child's laughter returned, sharper:
"Did you think you could understand it all, investigating? How naive!"
The basement stretched and collapsed at once, reality's edges dissolving. He realized that this discovery was not an end, but a portal. Continuing would only bring him closer to a world unfit for the living, where Vaathan's daughter, a morphologic demonic deity, awaited, and the Man with the Harmonica judged with eternal harmony.
The basement fell silent.But the melody lingered.And the child's laughter… never ceased.