Chapter 22 - Personalities

The voice slithers up his spine—his own, but not.

A jagged, vicious grin stretches across his face, baring his teeth. His shoulders tremble, fingers twitching as the sensation overtakes him—not fear, but thrill.

His mind teeters on the edge, flickering between lucidity and madness. His heartbeat pounds, erratic and wild, in sync with the Qi rampaging through his meridians. His body should collapse beneath the sheer force of it.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he laughs.

It starts as a low chuckle, bubbling up from his throat like broken glass, before swelling into a manic, unhinged cackle that carves a sharp chill into the night air.

The rogue cultivator stumbles back, confidence unraveling in real time.

Something has changed.

The boy before him is no longer the careful, calculating fighter he had underestimated. No, this is something else entirely.

The rogue has seen berserkers before—madmen who throw themselves into battle, driven by raw aggression. But this?

This isn't madness.

It is control twisted into something monstrous.

And it is smiling at him.

"You thought you were hunting, didn't you?" De's voice is too smooth, too casual for the situation, but his eyes—his eyes are glowing.

The rogue barely has time to react before De moves.

The ground cracks beneath his feet as he launches forward, speed doubling, tripling. The rogue's instincts scream—Dodge! Defend! Move!

He raises an arm—

Too slow.

De's blade cleaves through flesh and bone like it's paper.

A forearm spins through the air, landing with a wet thud in the dirt.

The rogue howls.

Blood gushes from the severed limb, splattering across the forest floor. He reels back, clutching the mangled stump with his remaining hand, horror paralyzing him.

"W-what the fuck—?!?!"

"What's wrong?" De cocks his head, his grin widening. His blade drips red, hovering just beneath his own chin. "Not fun anymore?"

The rogue roars, his panic turning to blind fury. His free hand dives into his robe, scrambling for something—a talisman, a life-saving treasure, anything.

De's foot crushes his wrist before he can retrieve it.

A sharp snap echoes.

The rogue's breath hitches, a strangled gasp escaping as pain flares through his entire arm. His fingers spasm, useless.

"Tch. A little too slow." De leans in, mock sympathy twisting his features. "Want another try?"

The rogue shrieks and stumbles back, his Qi flaring wildly. But De is already there.

A single step. A flicker of motion.

Another limb flies free.

Another splash of crimson.

Another scream.

The rogue collapses, writhing, his body convulsing in agony as his howls rip through the trees. His arms are nothing but ruined stumps now.

His mind unravels. This can't be happening. He's Qi Refining. Stronger. More experienced. He was supposed to win!

So why… why is he dying like this?!

His eyes roll desperately toward the trees, searching for escape.

There is none.

Only the demon before him.

De crouches, pressing the tip of his sword against the rogue's chest. A sigh escapes his lips—dramatic, almost pitying.

"You know," he muses, shaking his head, "you should've run when you had the chance."

The rogue gurgles, his body twitching. But there is nothing left to do.

No arms. No weapons. No more time.

De's grin widens.

"Oh well."

The blade plunges down.

Darkness consumes the rogue's world.

De-Reece isn't there anymore.

Not the De-Reece who trained, fought, endured. Not the one who strategized, who measured his strikes with careful precision.

No, that De has long since fallen asleep, his mind submerged beneath the raging tides of the berserker within.

And this side?

This side is awake. Fully. Completely. Terrifyingly.

His breath is ragged, muscles coiled too tightly, his body trembling not with exhaustion, but with the lingering echo of slaughter. Blood drips from his blade, pooling in the dirt beside the lifeless husk of what had once been a man. The once-powerful rogue cultivator, reduced to a mutilated ruin, has long stopped screaming.

The fight is over.

But the berserker isn't done.

De's lips curl in cruel satisfaction, his body swaying slightly as the manic energy still hums through his veins. His knuckles whiten around the hilt of his sword, itching for more, for another fight, another victim to carve apart—

Then, he sees her.

Solar.

Her black-furred form, now smaller, fragile in a way he has never seen before. Blood mats her coat, staining the violet Qi lines along her body with an ugly crimson.

Her sides barely rise.

De freezes.

Something sharp, something alien, carves into his chest, cleaving through the bloodlust with a sensation he almost doesn't recognize.

Panic.

For the first time since waking as something monstrous, his mind flickers. The berserker's haze cracks at the edges.

His steps falter, lurching toward her fallen form. His heart hammers—not from rage, but fear.

Not her.

His breath hitches.

Not her too.

His knees hit the ground beside her, dirt clinging to the blood on his hands. He reaches out, fingers hovering over the gash at her side, but they shake too much to touch her.

His jaw clenches, his teeth grinding so hard his skull aches.

A sharp crack splits the night as his other fist slams into the dirt.

You're fine.

You have to be fine.

The haze fractures further.

His vision blurs, the high of battle washing away in a crushing wave of clarity.

This isn't just any fight.

This isn't just another body in the dirt.

This is Solar.

His bond. His companion.

His only companion.

His breath shudders, the weight of reality crashing into his chest. Horror claws its way into his stomach.

You did this.

If he had been stronger—faster—she wouldn't—

A fresh wave of rage sears through him. But it isn't aimed at the enemy.

It's at himself.

His teeth tear into his own lip as he fumbles through his satchel with stiff, trembling fingers. His hand finds the small, smooth vial.

A healing pill.

Not strong. Not enough. But all he has.

He crushes it between his fingers, grinding it into powder before gently prying Solar's mouth open. His movements are delicate—a stark contrast to the raw brutality of moments ago.

"Come on, damn it." His voice is hoarse, nearly broken. Words rasp through his dry throat. "Swallow."

The powder slides past her tongue. For a few agonizing moments, nothing happens.

Then—a flicker of Qi.

Faint. Weak. But there.

De exhales, his body folding in on itself as relief nearly knocks him breathless.

His arms shake, the weight of the fight, the aftermath, the sheer toll on his body and mind finally crashing down.

His vision dims.

His limbs feel heavy.

He sways where he kneels, his body no longer his own. The berserker's last embers flicker out, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

And with one final breath, De collapses beside Solar, darkness swallowing him whole.