Chapter 33: Red Carpet
The blood trail led to Cecil Road. (A statement that reads like a grotesque political cartoon, yet contained not a hint of humor!)
The university building of St. Henry VIII College was a labyrinthine ant colony. And that comparison was no exaggeration. Like ants constructing their nest stone by stone, this fortress—built by monks over centuries—had the laws of the universe embedded in each block. The geometrically entangled corridors, if viewed from space, would undoubtedly form some arcane pattern.
But I hadn’t been granted the privilege to glimpse such cosmic secrets. An ant cannot comprehend the shape of its own tunnel. I could only strain every nerve in my antennae, pray not to lose my way, and follow the pheromones. And blood—blood is the most potent pheromone a human can detect.
A wave of sudden madness washed over my mind.
What if I was merely going in circles? Like an ant with its neural pathways severed. The moment this paranoia took hold, every corridor looked like one I’d already traversed. The crying sound that had once guided me had completely faded, leaving only the tap of my cane against the floor and the rasp of my own labored breathing.
Then I felt it—a gaze upon me.
An unseen crimson presence bearing down from above. Since “above” remains such a nebulous concept, I could only vaguely interpret it as coming from the cosmos itself. That malevolent gaze seemed to mock my disorientation, or perhaps regarded me with utter indifference.
This must be the essence of wisdom they so often spoke about. As if wisdom truly descends from the universe, and the enlightened cannot possibly lose their way in earthly labyrinths.
Yet I was evidently not as wise as they claimed, for I had absolutely no idea where I was heading.