Ryojin lay on the bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling, though his thoughts were far from what he was seeing.
"I hope Sheng is still alive."
He closed his eyes—trying to sleep.
But then he felt it—a pull. Not from the sky, but from the very mattress beneath him.
"What the hell?" he hissed, trying to move. But he couldn't.
It was as if his body was magnetized to the mattress. The pull grew stronger, forcing his body to sink into it.
"Shit... shit, shit," he hissed again, but this time, his voice wasn't audible.
The whispers in his head became restless.
"Devour..."
"Devour..."
He gritted his teeth in frustration. He couldn't move a single muscle, and the whispers in his head made the moment even more unbearable.
Then, the mattress beneath him turned to liquid—like water.
He sank.
It felt like he had fallen into the middle of a vast sea. The force still pulled him downward. Ryojin struggled—he extended his hand, and black tendrils erupted upward, but even they were pulled down by the force.
"Damn," he thought, seeing that even his tendrils couldn't withstand the pull.
He looked up. All he could see was the faint, blurred image of the ceiling, growing smaller and dimmer by the second. Then, even that vanished as he was dragged deeper into the water. He couldn't breathe.
His body hit the ocean floor with a harsh thud, and pain surged through him. But the force didn't stop. It kept dragging him deeper, until the seabed cracked and shattered beneath him.
Suddenly, he was no longer underwater but falling through empty air. The red sky stretched above and around him. His arms and legs flailed, but now he could breathe.
Then he hit the ground again, head first. Hard.
"That hurts," he muttered, breathing heavily. "I think I dislocated my shoulder."
This time, the force was gone—it stopped pulling. Even the whispers had ceased.
He lay still for a moment, his breathing ragged as he looked up at the sky.
"Where am I?"
Slowly, painfully, he sat up
.
"What is happening?" he whispered, his voice hollow.
He took another shaky breath, then stood. His legs wobbled beneath him, and pain still echoed in his joints. As he opened his eyes fully and looked down, his breath caught.
He wasn't standing on solid ground.
He was standing on dead bodies.
His breathing quickened. His body began to shake. A chill ran down his spine—cold and sharp. Slowly, he raised his head and saw even more corpses scattered around the area.
"What is this place?" his breath grew heavier. "Am I dreaming?"
He steadily looked ahead and saw that he was inside what seemed like a destroyed building.
"What the..." he spat.
He closed his eyes slowly and reopened them again—but nothing had changed, he was still in the same place.
As he took one step forward, a voice spoke behind him—calm, low, and steady.
"Of all the living beings in this existence, you are the one who disappoints me most."
Ryojin slowly turned around to see the source of the sound. What he found was a figure in the distance, dressed in a white robe stained with blood, seated on a pile of corpses. It's face wasn't visible, hidden under a hood.
"You had the power to rise, to be part of something greater—something legendary," it continued. "But you threw it all away. You chose yourself. Your greed. Your pride."
Ryojin took a step forward. His hands trembled involuntarily, his breathing heavy.
"All you've ever brought to those around you is pain. Ruin follows your footsteps like a shadow. And when the world burns because of you, what do you do? You point fingers. You blame everyone but yourself. You cry about fate, about how things are unfair. You think everything is always about you."
He took another step toward the figure, his breathing heavy.
"Suffering is not the end. It's meant to forge strength—to turn scars into armor. But you? You refuse to learn. You keep walking the same broken path again and again, expecting something to change."
It looked straight at Ryojin, and suddenly, he could no longer move. He gritted his teeth in frustration, his hands still shivering.
"And now… look around. Look at the wreckage your choices created." It gestured to the ruins.
"This is your legacy—destruction and regret."
"And the worst part?"
"You still don't see it."
"Who are you?" Ryojin asked, his body still frozen. "What do you want?"
"Who am I? I'm just a pawn," it answered. "Just like what you were supposed to be." It paused. "What I seek is correction, and you are here to help me."
It got up from the pile of corpses.
"First, you will give me the name of your master."
"What master is this thing talking about?" Ryojin thought, his breathing quickening. "Is it Veydris?"
The figure took two steps toward Ryojin, who was still frozen.
"Didn't you hear me, Ryojin?"
"I serve no one," he answered, breathing heavily.
"Don't play with me. Your existence has already been a burden to life—this is the least you can do."
It took three more steps.
"Who is the man that convinced you to kill your mother?"
"What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice shaky.
The figure extended its hand, and suddenly Ryojin felt severe pain throughout his body. It was as if an invisible force was squeezing him. He tried to summon his tendrils, but they didn't respond. He screamed in pain.
"Do not lie to me. I don't have time," the figure said, its voice now laced with impatience. "What is the name of the man,god, demon, or spirit who convinced you to kill your mother?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said in pain. "The only person I've served is Veydris."
"Veydris?" the figure said, lowering its hand and releasing Ryojin from the torture.
Ryojin fell, his breath heavy, heart pounding. His body was in unimaginable pain.
The figure knelt a couple of meters away from him. "Are you talking about the man who wears a porcelain mask?"
"Yes," he said, his voice hollow.
"That is not the one I'm looking for," it said, voice low. "At what descent are you?"
"Descent?"
"Yes, at what descent are you?"
"I... don't know what you're talking about."
The figure remained silent for a moment.
"I guess I chose the wrong time," it muttered more to itself with a sigh. Then it turned to Ryojin. "Begone."
Ryojin felt it again—a pull, this time from above.
His body was lifted into the air. This time, he didn't struggle—he had no strength left. His body was still in pain.
Ryojin lost consciousness mid-air. Then, when he reopened his eyes, what he saw was the ceiling of the room.
His breathing quickened at the sight. He got up from the bed and stood on the floor. He tapped his body to check if it was still in pain—but he felt nothing.
He slowly walked to the mattress and gave it a small kick. It was solid—not liquid.
"Was all that a dream?" he said, heart still pounding as he sat down on the floor.