Nocturn Infernum Tales of Cosmic Horror Vol. 2: Nocturn Infernum Universe, #2

By Lautaro Juarez

Back again to the nocturnal inferno in this second volume.

In this installment, we descend into the worst fates imaginable—where suffering is the least of our worries, where realities teeter on the brink of extinction, and where entire dimensions are already condemned. One is never safe when it comes to the natural order, especially when our very existence depends on it.

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nocturn Infernum
• Release date: Sep 27, 2025
• ISBN: 9798232594121

Book preview

Welcome

Back again to the nocturnal inferno in this second volume.

In this installment, we descend into the worst fates imaginable—where suffering is the least of our worries, where realities teeter on the brink of extinction, and where entire dimensions are already condemned. One is never safe when it comes to the natural order, especially when our very existence depends on it.

I hope you take this journey with compassion for the poor souls whose stories are written here. I am nothing more than a messenger of what unfolds in realms beyond our own, on a voyage that has only a way forward and no return.

Let us pray that the child of the moon will be there—for you, and for all of us.

And so I take my leave, though the journey has only just begun. I hope to see you at the end of the road, unbroken by the horrors that lay waste to the fragile human mind.

Let the second volume of Nocturn Infernum begin.

Cover of the microstory: The Natural Order

The Natural Order

Order, in the present, is a concept, a definition, a model. Yet eons ago, when the gods were the ancient tenants of every meteorite in existence, long before the great blackout of the Altums and their war, Order was more than a deity, more even than a primordial. When the universe was nothing more than dirt beneath their shoes, and each black hole was no more than a grain of sand, in a whim to create the existence of perfect order, all of reality became a reflection of its deepest longing. Unable to coexist as two equal Orders, they were condemned to become one another’s opposites.

But the universe is ordered, though neither merciful nor logical. That is why everything must remain in perfect balance, and humanity, within the infinite cosmos, means nothing to the Orders—so little that comparing us to a garbage bin would seem to them perfectly logical.

The terrors incomprehensible to the mundane mind, those we could never behold in full for how colossally grotesque they are, have endured their longed-for slumber. And though they remain trapped within their primordial dimensions, the Orders are willing to leave them a narrow window, allowing them to tip the scales against the ages of tranquility that existence has endured. The absence of peace, yet also of chaos, is nothing but proof that the universes have already begun to fall prey to the unthinkable.

Time is a perception so complicated for us, yet minute to those who wield their full potential. What for us would be centuries upon centuries of chaos, for them—and for the Orders—is but a tiny fraction in the balance. What horrors might lie buried among the nebulae, or even beneath our feet? I can only beg, as I weep on my knees before him, the son of the moon, emissary of destiny, that our disordered and cynical masters allow us to see their face before we perish—before we are dragged back into the darkness, along with the rest of the condemned.

Mini cover for the short story: The Others

The Others

I see that massive swarm drifting down the street without any apparent purpose; the pounding on the fragile glass grows so intense it looks like it could shatter at any moment. That thing stops and stares straight into my eyes.

It all began that Saturday morning. I didn’t notice it then, and I feel like an idiot now for not distinguishing that suffocating atmosphere from any other boring day. I had lunch plans with Lucía, my ex-wife; every eighth of the month we met up, clinging to a little tradition we’d kept since our time together, and April would be no exception. My thoughts wandered lightly on that thin line between waking and sleep, until the sound of my phone snapped me awake.

The usual place? Lucía asked on the other end of the call.

As always, I replied, bracing for the complaint that inevitably followed—but all I got was a brief pause.

Fine, she said, and hung up.

That was the moment I should have realized something was wrong. She always complained, even back when this tradition began and more people were involved; her complaints had always been part of the whole act. But now… she was cold. It reminded me of what my father told me the day I confessed our separation: A woman’s love isn’t lost when a paper is signed, but when you accept that the paper alone is enough to lose her. The message was clear—at least to everyone but me. I don’t like making excuses, but the accident, the pain we were enduring, pushed us both into the background, blind to the torment the other was suffering.

I drove out, and though it was still early, Lucía didn’t know that I’d been arriving four hours ahead of schedule all year. I needed time to digest the place; facing it again was unbearable. Somehow, I blamed it for my pain, even though the therapist insisted I was only looking for an easy scapegoat. I couldn’t help but hold it responsible, in some way.

Francisco, the usual? Miguel asked as he approached with a menu in hand.

Please—and make it two eggs this time, I said, noticing a young woman sitting a few tables away. Is she new?

She was asleep by the door when I came to open up. I let her in; she didn’t say much, but it seems she’s running from something.

Running? From who?

Does it matter?

You’re right, but still…

A loud thud interrupted me; a huge bird had smashed against one of the café’s tall windows.

What the hell? Miguel exclaimed, rushing outside to peel the dark bird off the glass.

Harsh caws echoed outside, and shadows zipped past the street. A massive flock of what I assumed were crows swept over the area. The wounded bird left the glass smeared with spit and blood, killing my appetite.

Can I cancel my order? I asked when Miguel came back in.

First a broken window, now a lost customer? That crow ruined my morning, he muttered.

Excuse me, could you change the channel? the young woman finally spoke up. The station seems off the air.

Looking at the TV, I confirmed her words: nothing but soundless static. Miguel nodded and clicked through channels, but the static persisted across every station.

Signal’s bad sometimes. It’ll come back, he said, leaving the remote on the girl’s table.

Not long after, Lucía arrived—perfectly on time, as always. Punctuality had always been one of her traits.

Did you see the news? she asked, flustered, not even letting me greet her.

No, the TV’s not working. Why? What happened?

They declared martial law across the whole country.

What?! Why would they do that?!

They didn’t give reasons. All channels are now broadcasting the government network, she explained, and I noticed Miguel standing nearby. He pretended to wait for our order, but it was obvious he was eavesdropping.

Miguel, I’ll have the steak and fries today. Thanks.

Something new—I like it, Miguel said.

I stared at my ex-wife. Something was going on.

The same for me.

Order’s in. Won’t be long, Miguel said as he walked away.

What’s wrong? I asked, resting my hands on the table.

Wrong with what?

Luci, I know you. Tell me what’s going on.

Why do you think something’s going on?

You didn’t complain about coming here, you’ve ordered pizzas all year, and now you switch it up.

Am I not allowed to—?

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