Chapter 07: Twisted Roots

In the paradise of the strong that had become a hell for all others, you were the most despicable—exploiting both the

powerful and the weak alike.

To the rhythm of cryptic words, Daren opened his eyes to find himself once more in the same shadowy void as before. Cursing his wretched luck, he stumbled blindly through an endless dark field, searching for the source of the voice.

The repetitive clang of clashing steel grew louder. He froze. The sound was approaching.

"Is this another of my twisted dreams, or another scheme of that Masked One?"

Beneath his feet, vibrant lights erupted, revealing a cramped iron chamber. Two figures stood within:

A woman with featureless white hair, clad in armor engraved with a spiked, lizard-like bipedal creature, aimed a conical-tipped spear at a man drowning in a sea of corpses that littered every inch of the room—floor to ceiling.

He, too, was faceless, draped in a bloodstained black cloak that writhed like a living thing.

Daren rushed toward the scene, but an invisible barrier held him back, forcing him to remain a spectator.

"Will your thirst for power never be quenched, even after slaughtering thousands?"

The woman's voice trembled with fury, but neither the man nor Daren paid her words any heed.

The man replied with disgusted mockery:

"And if I stop, will I suddenly become someone worthy of respect?"

A dense, eerie aura flooded the chamber with a strange vibration.

"At the very least... I'll forgive you. We can live as we once did."

The man burst into hysterical laughter. Daren stifled a scoff.

'Pathetic.'

Tears streamed down the man's face from sheer amusement:

"What do I gain from your absurd forgiveness? I am beloved by the great demons united, while you were born to be my eternal enemy! Blessed by sacred beasts, you embody righteousness... while I am ■■■."

Daren noticed the distortion in the final word and immediately linked it to the "Masked One's" riddles. He slammed his fists against the translucent barrier in fury:

"You damned Masked One! Do you think you can escape by showing me some twisted fantasy?!"

He screamed with all his might—but to no avail.

The man's body morphed into a towering monstrosity of stitched-together corpses, each fragment screaming in agony despite being long dead. A single tear rolled down the woman's cheek at the grotesque sight.

"So this is your answer? How selfish of me... to wish we could coexist. Farewell, ■■■."

Her spear ignited with white light, its tip reshaping into an eagle's head. The creature engraved on her armor materialized, encasing her in a spiked carapace and a lizard-shaped helm.

She lunged at the abomination like a shooting star, while Daren cheered from the sidelines, desperate for its defeat.

But the man's voice boomed from above:

"Even with the Basilisk's power, you'll never defeat 'Skoll' in this lifetime!"

Unshaken, she spun her spear like a hurricane amid the carnage. Skoll struck, unleashing a deafening collision and a light so blinding it seared the eyes.

---

Daren's eyelids fluttered open, his vision swimming under the sterile glare of hospital lights. An oxygen mask clung to his face, and white curtains enclosed his bed. He tried to sit up, but a searing pain split through his chest.

"Why did I dream that...? I was dreaming of a life in the modern era! Who is that Masked One? And what's his connection to that woman?"

He remembered Nailsa's confrontation, the brutal truths she'd forced him to face. He struck his forehead in frustration.

"Even if I wanted to be the exploitative monster she claims, reality won't bend to my whims. Cutting down a tree won't erase its roots."

A presence interrupted his thoughts. He feigned unconsciousness.

His mother entered, settling into a chair beside him. Her trembling fingers brushed his pallid cheek, her voice frayed with guilt:

"I don't deserve to be your mother... Had I listened instead of assuming you'd outgrown needing me, would things be different?"

A twisted satisfaction curled inside him—*she was still broken*, and his reckless stunt had worked.

But then her tone shifted, as if another voice spoke through her:

"Did you enjoy your mother's tears, dear? How I'd love to know what nightmares haunt you—to drive you to such childish recklessness."

His blood turned to ice.

Did she know I was awake?

She left with a serene smile. Once certain she was gone, he tore off the mask, gasping to steady his panic.

"Was it all an act? Impossible... But I can't tell what's real anymore."

A realization struck:

The dream. Her sudden shift.

He tried piecing it together, but the puzzle only grew murkier:

"Was the dream symbolic? Is the identity-swapping tied to their abilities—or something deeper? Are they connected to me?"

But the answers eluded him, drowned in a sea of questions.

---

In the hallway, his mother halted mid-step, sensing an unseen presence. She glanced back, ensuring Daren's door was shut, then continued with measured strides.

A hoarse whisper escaped her:

"It happened again... Did you not swear to stay out of my affairs after the incident?"

A velvety, mocking voice echoed in her mind:

"Isn't your 'devoted mother' act tiresome? Especially now that he's awake. Your little theater is pointless."

Firla exhaled sharply, retorting:

"Silence! You're just a fragment—nothing more."

The voice laughed.

"Truth or another lie? No wonder our son despises you. You truly are a failure."

Firla slipped into a darkened alcove, ensuring no witnesses, then produced a mechanical serpent with hinged jaws. Whispering arcane incantations, she finally hissed:

"Consciousness cleaved, shackles released—Homunculus activation!"

The words morphed into glowing runes mid-air before embedding into a doll. Firla collapsed as if half her soul had been ripped out, while the doll twitched to life, disoriented:

"This separation is temporary. We'll merge again."

Firla—or what remained—wiped blood from her nose:

"I'd rather bleed than share my body with you."

The doll grimaced at its grotesque form:

"Why this hideous shape?"

Firla smirked.

"It suits your deceitful nature."

As the doll stumbled, Firla's laughter faded. Gripping the serpent, she demanded:

"What did you say to him? Was he conscious?"

The serpent's second head hissed. Firla muffled it, her grip tightening on the doll's throat:

"Speak, or I'll bury you in darkness!"

The doll sneered:

"You can't seal what you don't understand."

Blood suddenly gushed from Firla's mouth, her grin manic as crimson pooled around her.

"I'll sacrifice lesser skills for this chance."

The serpent's eyes widened in terror as blood formed a ritual circle adorned with archaic Chinese script, reeking of decayed lilies.

"The Demon Sect's glyphs... for torment and madness."

The doll's scream was soundlessly crushed. Defeated, it whispered:

"I submit. Just... don't send me back to that psychological war."

Firla wiped her lips, uttering in heavy Mandarin:

"The contract is sealed."

Chains materialized, dragging with them the laughter of tormented souls. One coiled around the serpent's neck, dagger poised. Firla screamed as agony wracked her body.

The doll collapsed. Behind it, a shadow swayed from a noose—its neck slit by the blade.

Firla drank a clear elixir, its scent like dead forests. The ritual circle vanished. Though her wounds healed, the psychological scars remained.

"Finally... you're severed from me, you naive wretch."*

The serpent muttered:

"When did you learn the Demon Sect's arts? I watched you always."

Firla's voice turned distant:

"Reciprocal influence... I dreamed of them since childhood. Learned what I needed."

A heavy silence fell.

"If I'm truly a hindrance... what will you do?"

Firla's gaze was icy.

"Burn you like trash."

The doll—now Shuan Lihua —accepted the name with eerie calm.

Exhausted, Firla staggered to Daren's room, where his father and sisters stood vigil. In the corner sat an elegant woman in a black suit, her crimson eyes sharp.

"You're late," the woman remarked.

Before Firla could answer, she collapsed. As darkness took her, she glimpsed a black raven with red eyes—watching Daren.

The woman knelt, brushing Firla's hair tenderly.

"Take her to the medic," she ordered Verkil.

"I'll uncover what she tried to tell us."