SHADOW BEFORE CREATION Chapter 42 chapter 41

The Mysterious Dark Entity (1)

Cthulhu finished his declaration, then slowly began looking around him,

as if making sure he had forgotten nothing…

or that there was nothing that could pose a threat to him.

At that mont, Arthur's mind ignited with endless inner screams.

He knows…

He knows that I'm not from this planet.

He will go to my original world now and destroy it completely.

That gigantic bastard… no one will be able to stop him.

What the hell… why was he released?

Why didn't he rot in his prison forever?

Why didn't he die?

Why? Why? Why?

The questions stabbed through his mind like knives,

and Arthur's mind began to collapse little by little.

His world…

the world he ca from,

was now on the verge of being erased and crushed into dust,

while he was helpless, broken, unable to do anything.

Would he remain still?

Would he watch Cthulhu go there…

and erase everything?

Was this…

really the end?

At that mont, Arthur felt sothing he had never felt before.

He felt true helplessness.

Absolute defeat.

He could not fight.

He could not defend his world.

So… would everything end like this?

That was the only thought left in his mind.

Then…

the mories surged forth.

Arthur rembered his previous life,

before he died and was transferred, before this journey began.

He rembered how he had lived…

and how his life had been harsh from the very beginning.

In his childhood, he had lived with his parents.

It had been a simple life, quiet and peaceful.

But…

of course, it did not last.

One day, his father lost his job and was fired.

He tried to search for another job,

but to no avail.

And as ti passed…

Arthur's mother ran away.

She left them.

Because they could not provide money,

nor food,

nor even a safe place to live.

And after so ti had passed since she fled,

his father died.

From sorrow…

or from pain…

Or at least that was what Arthur had always tried to convince himself.

What truly happened had been far worse—

far bloodier than that.

But the mind of a small child had created different mories,

mories with less bloodshed,

hiding the truth that even he himself had eventually forgotten.

All of this happened…

when Arthur had not yet even turned eleven years old.

He endured all of it alone.

And he did not hate his mother.

He never hated her.

Since childhood, Arthur had been slightly smarter than those his age,

and he understood…

He understood what she must have been going through.

What could she have possibly done?

She had been young,

while his father was old, sick, and unemployed.

A traditional marriage arranged by their families—

without love, without choice.

Arthur's thinking at that ti had been simple and harsh at once:

"My father is old, unemployed, and sick.

No one in the family or among our relatives offered help.

My mother went asking for assistance, and no one helped her.

How could she possibly take care of us?

In my opinion…

what my mother did was right.

Live your life the way you want."

He did not hate her.

He carried no hatred in his heart.

But after she left…

the relatives appeared.

Not to help.

But to accuse.

"You couldn't even control your wife."

"Your wife ran away and abandoned you. What a pathetic man you are."

"I'm ashad to call you my relative."

"If I were in your place, I would have broken her legs before she left."

Insults and curses rained down upon his father…

and upon Arthur as well.

After so ti, his father died,

leaving Arthur alone in a desolate world.

His relatives rejected him.

His friends distanced themselves.

No one cared about him.

No one looked after him.

And yet…

he hated no one.

He began working in exhausting, harsh jobs,

trying only to survive.

One day,

he worked as an assistant construction laborer.

The foreman had been a friend of his father,

so he allowed him to work with them.

Arthur did not know whether it was kindness,

or pity,

or rely an old debt being repaid.

And honestly, he did not care.

That day,

Arthur worked at a massive house…

massive beyond belief.

If he were to describe his world in a single sentence, it would be this:

The strong devour the weak—without law… and without rcy.

The house belonged to a famous and highly influential man.

A family of two:

a father…

and a son.

The son was thirteen years old.

Rude.

A bully.

A killer.

Yes…

a mad killer.

One day during work,

Arthur saw that son beating one of the workers to death

simply because he had dropped so cent on his clothes.

He struck him with a stone brick…

again…

and again…

until the man died.

And no one intervened.

A few minutes later,

the father arrived.

He saw his son mutilating the worker's corpse,

and shouted in anger.

Anyone might think his anger was because an innocent life had been taken…

But no.

"My dear son, why did you stain your clothes with the blood of this filthy monkey?

Servants! Clean my son imdiately—I can't even bear to look at him!"

That…

was the reason for his anger.

A truly rotten world.

After a few days,

the mad son began approaching Arthur.

"You… you're the sa age as . Why do you work here?"

"Because I'm an orphan, sir, and I need money."

"What does 'orphan' an?"

"It ans I lost my father, sir."

The boy spoke with Arthur for a long ti,

and Arthur always responded with respect.

"Sir."

Nothing else.

That was what the foreman had instructed him.

Speak politely…

or you die,

or the entire team gets fired because of you.

Arthur understood everyone's hardship,

and he lowered his head.

The next day…

the boy ca again.

This ti, he was holding a wooden stick.

"You, orphan… co here."

"Yes, sir."

Arthur imdiately left his work

and walked toward him.

"Raise your hand."

"What?"

"Didn't I tell you to raise your hand, you bastard?

Raise it. I want to try my new bat.

Raise it now and don't speak!"

Arthur hesitated for a few seconds.

In that mont…

the boy lifted the stick

and struck Arthur's head with full force.

Arthur fell to the ground,

blood flowing from his head.

The pain…

was unbearable.

And for the first ti in his life…

Arthur beca angry.

He did not beco angry when his mother left him.

He did not beco angry when his father began drinking and beating him.

He did not beco angry when all the bla was placed on his mother instead of his father.

He did not beco angry…

did not beco angry…

did not beco angry.

He had always been calm,

like a beautiful, quiet sea.

But now…

for the first ti in his life…

Arthur was angry…

beyond belief.

---

You can contact through my official page on the following Accounts:

telegram:

miraclenarrator

tiktok:

miracle_narrator

instagram:

miracle_narrator