Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 417

**Chapter Four Hundred and Seventeen – Illusion and Reality**
**North Shore of the Conqueror Sea, Nawah.**

Within Nawah’s darkened streets, the overwhelming invisible force that had swept the city left nearly everyone in profound slumber. Amidst this deep quiet, monstrous, illusory distortions drifted in the night sky, manifesting as nightmares for any conscious witness.

Through the Black Dream Hunters’ ritual, the deceitful moth conceived in dreams had breached reality. The massive creature, spanning dozens of meters, floated above the city as its chaotic triangular wings pulsed. White cocoons coating its form twisted slowly, its multitude of slender tendrils swayed gently, and its head – bristling with countless eyes surveying every direction – cast an eerie phosphorescent glow over the buildings. The air around it shimmered faintly, offering glimpses of trees and grasslands within the warped space.

The newly emerged Pseudo-Moth stretched, emitting a silent summons. The Decline-Slumber patients, whose minds were already hollow shells, had been prostrating in worship inside mental hospitals. At this silent call, they rose as one. Moaning like zombies, they clambered through windows and doors to emerge into the dark streets. Simultaneously, across the city, existing Moth cultists saw their Decline-Slumber condition instantly accelerate to its final stage upon the Pseudo-Moth’s appearance, turning them into puppets. Sobbing, they too crawled from their dwellings, beginning to wander.

Instantly, Nawah’s streets, save for the unconscious, teemed with these wandering Decline-Slumber walkers. They filled alleys and thoroughfares, emitting peculiar sounds, seemingly united in celebrating the Pseudo-Moth’s birth.

Deep underground, in the Black Dream Hunters’ ritual chamber within a vast, dark cavern, the enormous suspended chrysalis was gone. The prostrating Decline-Slumber patients had scattered, rushing towards the surface to venerate the newborn entity. Only the black-robed Dream Hunters now encircled the empty space.

“The Scale-Moth… has truly emerged. Over ten years… our Scale-Moth… is finally here…” Gomez lifted his head, gazing into the darkness above, murmuring in disbelief. Beside him, Garcia spoke.
“Yes… Yet it is regrettable. Its emergence is premature. Its development was incomplete; its state is flawed. I sense its emotions now—it is frantic, terrified… starving…” Staring equally upwards, Garcia murmured. Though their decade-long endeavor had yielded fruit, the harvest was imperfect. Complex feelings—elation mixed with unease—swarmed within her.
“The Moth’s psyche is dangerously unstable. It must consume massively to mend the harm from its forced birth. We must also help stabilize its mind to guide it.”
“Comrades! Our ritual remains unfinished! The Scale-Moth requires our guidance! We must unite with the Scale-Moth! Guide it to feast upon dreams! Then lead it from this place!” Garcia spread her arms wide, shouting to her encircling comrades. The Pseudo-Moth’s hastened emergence had left its mind deeply flawed. To direct it, they needed to provide stability and command.

Responding to Garcia’s call, the seated Black Dream Hunters members crossed their legs, bowed their heads, and sank into deep sleep. Garcia and Gomez followed. Instantly, all the Dream Hunters forming the circle were asleep.

Within their shared dream, centered on Garcia, the Dream Hunters began forging a link with the Pseudo-Moth hovering above. Their Dream Cocoons had long fused with it; typically, they drew extraordinary abilities *from* it. At critical junctures like this, when the Pseudo-Moth itself was compromised, they used this bond to aid it, steadying the incompletely formed entity.

As the Dream Hunters entered their collective dream state, the colossal moth above the city stirred again. Its faceless head seemed to release another silent shriek. Instantly, the waving frequency of the countless tendrils beneath its abdomen quickened.

The translucent strands lengthened and lashed downwards towards the buildings. These immaterial tendrils pierced windows and walls, reaching directly into bedrooms. Citizens in deep sleep were ensnared around the head by the invading tendrils. Immediately, agonized groans escaped their lips as they slept, displaying symptoms identical to the Decline-Slumber patients.

Within the Dreamlands’ forest, the Pseudo-Moth’s massive form resided, rendered more solid there. Those touched by its tendrils in reality had their Dream Cocoons forcibly ripped away and transported into the Dreamlands, appearing beside the entity. It captured these cocoons, absorbing them into the dense cluster of cocoon-like structures on its abdomen to draw sustenance. Back in reality, those stripped of their Dream Cocoons gradually deteriorated into wandering Decline-Slumber walkers.

The emerged Pseudo-Moth no longer needed Moth Cult devotion to harvest Dream Cocoons. Its phantom tendrils in reality merely required touching a human to violently seize their Dream Cocoon. At this moment, this was precisely how the ravenous moth fed.

The dream-spawned abomination hung suspended above the real city, endlessly extending countless translucent tendrils to capture sleeping innocents. This coastal town of over a hundred thousand had become an entirely open feast. Starving, it needed to sate the hunger caused by its premature birth. Until this gnawing hunger was temporarily quelled, the Black Dream Hunters could not gain full enough control to fly the Pseudo-Moth away from this perilous location.

“That monstrosity… in the Mother Saint’s name, what *is* it?” On the deck of a cruiser in Nawah’s harbor, Joud, commander of the Brilliance Fleet, stared at the distant spectacle in stunned shock. Despite countless sea storms, he had never witnessed anything like this.
“What it precisely *is*… I cannot say. But I suspect it is an extraordinary entity born of the Dreamlands yet capable of affecting reality. I’ve heard Shadow-worshipping cultists command such beings. Some concealed secret must lie beneath this city, one we missed…” Standing behind Joud, the elder monk Weiler clutched the Brilliance Holy Book, speaking gravely. Beside Weiler stood two others: Joud’s deputy, Santus, and another man in a captain’s uniform, likely commander of another cruiser.
They had just been awakened by the elder monk’s disciplines. Now they stared with equal dismay at the bizarre apparition.
“Mother Saint be praised! Such a vile thing hid within this city! What is it doing with those tendrils reaching down?”
“That creature… radiates profound dread. Gentlemen, should we investigate?” Santus and the other captain gazed gravely at the distant Pseudo-Moth. Just then, the feeding entity sensed far richer Dream Cocoons. Immediately it pivoted, beat its wings, and flew straight towards the harbor. Seeing this, the four awake men on the fleet tensed instantly.
“It’s heading right for us, perhaps drawn by something. Gentlemen, to your stations! Prepare for battle! Protect the fleet! Protect the citizens! Protect all the faithful!” Seeing the approaching Pseudo-Moth, Joud commanded. The three behind him focused intently, readying themselves. Joud and the other captain drew their swords. Santus clutched the Mother Saint’s Holy Halo emblem at his chest. Weiler held the Holy Book before him.
“This abomination’s hypnotic power is immense, pulsing ceaselessly. As it nears, its hypnotic force intensifies further. This exceeds the influence possible for a normal White Ash level entity.
“Under this assault, my discipline’s limit is sustaining wakefulness for just us four. I have no energy left to aid combat. Therefore, I urge extreme caution. Moreover, we must conclude this swiftly. Should my spiritual energy deplete before victory, without my discipline’s shield, we will succumb to sleep and be slaughtered at will.” Elder Weiler warned the three men with utmost gravity. The creature’s most potent power was this endless hypnotic wave smothering the city. Within the entire fleet, only Weiler’s disciplines could counter it. He had strained to rouse the three strongest White Ash level combatants besides himself. He had nothing left to awaken more.
“Understood…” the three responded. Facing the grotesque giant moth looming closer, they leapt from the deck onto the shore. They launched their assault on the now-imminent threat.
“Mother Saint, bestow your blessing…” Santus clasped the Mother Saint’s Holy Halo, praying devoutly. Immediately, faint golden light enveloped Joud and the other captain. Both felt unparalleled strength flood their bodies – strength capable of shattering stone, power nearing that of White Ash level Cup extraordinary beings.

Blessed with immense physical might, the captain and Joud gripped their swords. Applying weight-reducing “Shadow” talismans to their gear, they simultaneously leapt with tremendous force, soaring over ten meters high onto the harbor’s tall structures. From the rooftops, they sprang continuously towards the approaching Pseudo-Moth. Soon, they closed the distance.

The captain struck first. From a warehouse roof, he gathered his enhanced strength and vaulted directly *above* the Pseudo-Moth, then plunged downwards in a slash aimed at its head. Yet his blade passed cleanly *through* the creature, leaving no mark.

The captain’s sword sliced harmlessly through the moth’s translucent, semi-substantial form. Landing heavily on another rooftop (cratering it), he spun and shouted to Joud, now airborne.
“It’s incorporeal! Blades and bullets are useless alone!” Hearing the captain, Joud tightened his grip mid-air. Simultaneously, blazing flames ignited along his blade’s length. Plummeting like a fiery meteor, the moth instinctively dodged. Joud’s flaming sword, in its descent, caught one whipping tendril, shearing it apart. Spiritual fire instantly engulfed the severed part.

A tendril severed and aflame, the Pseudo-Moth shuddered violently. Instantly, the burning section blurred indistinctly; the flames snuffed out within the distortion. The detached portion floated back and reattached seamlessly, as if unharmed. Then, the moth’s myriad tendrils began lashing uncontrollably from every angle towards the two men on the rooftops. Seeing the onslaught, both applied “Shadow” talismans for agility, desperately dodging the translucent strands.

Despite enhanced strength and talismans, both the captain and Joud found evading the torrent intensely difficult. The sheer number was one factor, but crucially, these semi-transparent tendrils existed partly in another plane—they phased through physical barriers unnaturally, making cover futile.

Were it not for their ability to hack away grasping tendrils with flaming swords mid-dodge and cloak themselves in protective flames that burned tendrils they couldn’t avoid, capture would have been instant. Every tendril they damaged blurred and healed moments later, and given the vast size difference, the captain and Joud inflicted negligible real harm.
“Spirit weapon enchantment works! But insufficient! An enemy this immense and incorporeal is fiendish—no pain, no vitals! This becomes a contest of draining our spiritual energy! We must pull it into a more material plane to wound it deeply! Otherwise it just regenerates!” Joud shouted during desperate evasion. Hearing him, the captain jumped to a brief safe spot, then yelled down to the Mother Saint devotee Santus below.
“Santus! Transform it!”
“Understood…” Hearing the captain, Santus clutched the Mother Saint’s Holy Halo tighter, praying fervently. Her gaze locked onto the illusory giant moth, targeting one tendril lashing towards Joud. She unleashed her power.
“Mother Saint, clothe this void with flesh and blood…”

As Santus chanted, the tendril aimed at Joud underwent a grotesque change. Vessels swarmed within its previously translucent form, followed by strands of dense muscle fiber. The immaterial solidified into living flesh and blood.

Seizing the instant, Joud swung his blazing sword and severed the now-corporeal tendril section. Blood sprayed violently, the stench of seared meat filled the air. Unlike metaphysical wounds, genuine nerves transmitted searing agony throughout the Moth. The Pseudo-Moth convulsed, unleashing a silent scream as it thrashed wildly—a reaction absent before any injury.

Seeing the devastating effect, elation surged through Joud. Yet before they could exploit this advantage, the moth beat its wings furiously, ascending beyond their reach into the black sky. Before their eyes, its transparency intensified, its form dissolving into wavering dreamstuff with each wingbeat until it vanished entirely.

“Did that thing… flee?” Stunned by the sudden disappearance, Joud muttered numbly. Before an answer came, the miniature corpse puppet concealed nearby whispered the truth to its distant master.
“No… that creature… it likely withdrew entirely back into the Dreamlands. Dissolving its whole being from the material plane to evade your pursuit. And now… it prepares its counterattack…”

Before the hotel entrance, Dorothy stood in the frigid night breeze, her gaze fixed upon the stretch of empty sky where the monster vanished.
“It seems… the time for cautious concealment has ended…”