Chapter 62: Icarus Part 2

‘It’ was an eye.

An eye devoted to its role of observing something.

An organ dedicated to forming images and perceiving objects.

An organ stripped of all other functions, devoted solely to its purpose.

The eye gazed at the presence beyond the mirror.

Men in white coats were chatting, completely unaware of anything.

The eye couldn’t hear their conversation, but it could read their lips.

***

“How is the ‘Eye Beyond the Mirror’?”

“Still no reactions today. No matter how much we test, it seems to lack independent intelligence.”

“Then let’s conclude it as such. One year has passed, and it has shown no signs of intellectual response or human reflexes.”

It sneered at them internally.

‘The Eye Beyond the Mirror.’

That was the name given to it the moment it was hauled out of the sea.

The eye was aware that they needed this mirror to see it.

But their naming was wrong.

The eye was not a passive entity dependent on subjects.

The mirror was merely a window for it to observe the world, not its dwelling place.

Because humans could not perceive it with their organs, they used the mirror.

Yet humans arrogantly assumed the eye resided within the mirror.

Their arrogance did not stop there.

Humans shone light at the eye, expecting a reaction.

When no reflex occurred, they concluded it was unresponsive.

The eye scoffed at their conclusion.

‘Why would I exhibit reflexes when I require neither a spinal cord nor a brain?’

Their assumption that it relied on light to perceive was fundamentally flawed.

It did not need light to see.

To perceive essence, it simply absorbed it as it was.

Similarly, their assumption that it lacked intelligence was incorrect.

It had merely refrained from reacting because it was unamused.

Since they believed it lacked intelligence, they carelessly spoke in front of it, failing to consider that their lips could be read.

Humans arrogantly thought that mere two-way mirrors and thick walls could block its sight.

***

The Eye Beyond the Mirror felt boredom.

Though it did not yawn or blink, the concept of boredom existed for it.

Seeking to dispel its monotony, it gazed across dimensions to this place, only to find itself listening to the trivial chatter of researchers.

While their affairs of infidelity and crime offered fleeting intrigue, it quickly became dull.

By coincidence, one man entered its sight.

‘Was it his yearning for the future?’

‘The obsessive maternal love that persisted even after death?’

‘Or simply destiny?’

As Owen, a man touring the laboratory, observed the eye, the eye observed Owen.

For the first time, the eye subtly responded, though only to Owen.

Owen, fascinated by the eye, had it relocated to the underground facility of his company.

The eye found Owen’s tales intriguing and moved its window from the mirror to his eyes.

Through Owen’s eyes, the world was fascinating.

His life was equally compelling.

Thus, at the moment of Owen’s despair and impending death, it gave him a small gift.

A mother’s love and the power he so desperately sought.

***

“Ah, finally, you are by my side!”

Owen praised the eye.

The eye did not require worship, but it didn’t find the adoration unpleasant.

Previously, its consciousness was confined to being a mere screen for the eye, but now, it was partially connected to Owen.

In human terms, it had advanced from a television viewer to an interactive gamer.

‘Was it controlling Owen? Or simply following the narrative Owen unraveled?’

Now that the connection had deepened, distinguishing between the two was meaningless.

The eye—or perhaps now Owen himself—saw a man named Amon and his companions in this closer world.

Each carried interesting stories.

However, the eye’s preference leaned more toward its host’s tale.

It hurried to remove Amon’s party from view to continue following Owen’s story.

The mere strengthening of its connection to Owen immobilized the humans present.

They appeared insignificant, like snails to the eye.

The sight of their pitiful state sparked a faint sense of superiority.

At that moment, a lone figure among the humans began to move.

It was Amon.

A snail suddenly running at a human’s speed piqued the eye’s interest.

Owen, whose consciousness was linked, also became intrigued by Amon.

Unable to resist, he delved into Amon’s essence.

And beyond Amon, there was…

***

“An impolite trespasser dares set foot in my garden.”

A woman with a cold expression locked eyes with the eye.

A woman—or rather, a being merely named as such for convenience—whose femininity could not be assured met the eye’s gaze.

The eye recognized that this was the entity humans referred to as a ‘goddess.’

The eye stared at the goddess.

And in the moment their gazes met, an indescribable sense of descent overwhelmed it.

“You, who are not of my children, how dare you peer where you should not?”

The goddess spoke to the eye.

“Drifter of a corrupt dimension, do you not know that meeting the gaze of a master in their home without permission is unacceptable in any dimension?”

The eye’s sensation of descent continued.

It felt as though its very essence was being torn away.

To borrow a human expression, it was like a fourth-dimensional being being flattened into a two-dimensional canvas.

Desperately, the eye sent a telepathic plea.

[‘No, it’s not like that! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—’]

But the goddess had no intention of conversing.

“Do not apologize. A mother may abhor fleas as filthy, but no mother deigns to converse with a flea. Foolish keeper of a shallow well. Insolent being. However, I shall not pass judgment upon you.”

The goddess gestured with her hand.

“I have chosen to respect the freedom and will of my children. Therefore, I shall merely lock the door to your exit. Descend. My children shall judge you in my stead.”

“Aaaaaah!!! Forgive me!!! Have mercy!!!!”

No sooner had the plea escaped than the eye sank into Owen’s consciousness.

In reality, Owen screamed the same words as he writhed in agony.

“Aaaaaah!”

Owen thrashed in torment.

His eyes burned.

He felt as though he had seen something, but his head ached unbearably.

His brain rejected any comprehension.

‘I… What did I see?’

Only a single voice echoed in Owen’s mind.

[I loved you and forbade you, but in the end, a child always crosses the fence set by their mother.]

Owen refused to understand.

Amid the searing pain, he turned to Amon.

‘Yes, it all started after I saw him.’

If that was the case, then eliminating him would solve everything.

Through excruciating agony, Owen glimpsed the future.

In it, he faced Amon in a one-on-one battle and…

His neck was severed.

He looked into the future again and was decapitated once more.

It was like an ordinary human knowing a bullet was coming but being unable to dodge—an insurmountable gap.

He couldn’t comprehend it.

So, he searched the future again.

This time, he took Amon’s companions hostage.

And again, he was defeated.

“Grr…!”

He changed his strategy.

He provoked Amon, attempting to unnerve him before the fight.

And then, he suffered a torturous death so horrific he wished for death itself.

“Ugh…!”

The visions were so vivid it felt as though he had truly endured them.

He dry-heaved for a moment, then resumed his observations.

In every future, he was defeated.

The reason was simple.

Owen feared Amon and couldn’t conceive of a way to defeat him.

As Cassie had warned before the battle, the future offers no options to those who surrender.

Though Owen briefly grasped a resolve during the fight, his arrogance and intoxication with power led him to forget, leaving him incapable of reaching that choice.

‘No… That’s impossible…!’

But Owen refused to accept it.

He strained his eyes even harder.

‘I can’t give up…!’

Yet this was not resolve.

‘After all I went through to gain these eyes…!’

Obsession is no substitute for determination.

He sought a future where he could defeat Amon.

The cost of this was that his limbs began to dissolve.

But his focus was on his eyes, so he ignored it.

The dissolution that began with his limbs spread to his torso and reached his head.

Even as this occurred, Owen continued to observe the future.

At some point, he was reduced to a single eye.

As his nerves decayed and his eyeball shrank, what was once Owen became something closer to a snail.

Finally, he saw a future where he didn’t lose to Amon.

It was one where Owen took his own life.

“Aah…!”

But as a snail, all he could do was let out a pitiful sigh.

Even as he sighed, countless futures unfolded before him.

But a snail had no right to choose.

It was permitted only to see.

The being that was once Owen stared at Amon and Cassie approaching it.

“What in the world is this?”

Amon’s expression was filled with bafflement as he looked at the snail.

He had never seen or heard of anything like it.

For a seasoned veteran like Amon to be clueless, Cassie had no chance of understanding.

“I have no idea either.”

Amon pointed at the snail with his finger and asked Cassie, “Is this Owen?”

“Probably?”

It was only after hearing their conversation that the snail remembered it was Owen.

A being incapable of action quickly lost its sense of identity.

The memories it had of Owen were soon swept away by a flood of information, scrambled beyond recognition.

Amon looked at the snail with a troubled expression.

“What are we supposed to do with this thing…?”

Cassie carefully asked, “Should we kill it, maybe?”

“Huh? Why? Feeling pity all of a sudden?”

“No, it’s not that… It’s just…”

Cassie hesitated before speaking.

“It doesn’t seem like a normal snail. It feels more like an entity. Maybe it could be useful? We could store it in the company’s underground facility for research.”

She laughed awkwardly. “Sorry, does that sound revolting?”

“No, actually, that sounds fine.”

“Huh…? Are you sure?”

“About what?”

“Isn’t this heresy or something…?”

At Cassie’s words, Amon briefly reviewed Owen’s past actions.

‘Why had this man turned into a snail?’

He didn’t know.

But one thing was certain.

He had done the same thing as that cult leader they encountered in Punk City 1.

The circumstantial evidence was overwhelming.

Bang. Case closed. Heretic confirmed.

Yet, despite the conclusion, Amon’s internal scale did not tip toward execution.

“This isn’t the Middle Ages. Not all heretics are punished with death. Besides…”

“Besides?”

“There are punishments worse than death in this world.”

Effectively giving his approval, Amon watched as Cassie scooped up the fist-sized snail into a container.

“Alright, let’s name this new entity. How about ‘The Wise Snail’?”

Everyone agreed.

Owen, who had sought to see everything, ultimately lost his name, retaining only his identity as a snail.