The Deformed Man 1
The disfigured man approached.
His final step nearly touched Jonathan's shadow…
His hand—burned and cracked—reached toward him.
But—
"Fzzzt!!"
Lina suddenly lunged without warning, like a dim green spark, piercing completely through his body!
"Haaah!?"
The disfigured man gasped as his entire body froze in place like an ash statue.
...
The world changed.
There was no ground.
No kitchen.
Not even air.
An endless black void…
Only illuminated by the disfigured man's aura—a murky green, flickering as if bleeding internally.
Then—
Behind him, Lina appeared.
Walking calmly through the emptiness, her own aura radiating a blackish-green, carrying the scent of memories.
"W-What did you do?!"
The disfigured man turned slowly toward her, voice trembling.
Lina smirked slightly, eyes gleaming with confidence:
"A new technique… I hadn't recorded it yet, so you couldn't anticipate it."
She gestured around them.
"This is your inner world… the deepest layer of your consciousness. Now I'm inside your soul."
...
She took a step forward, cracking the darkness beneath her.
"It's a rare ability, but useful."
She raised a hand to her chest where a shard of light pulsed:
"I can enter the bodies of those I touch directly…
Freeze them in reality… step into their souls…"
Another step closer, eyes narrowing:
"…And see their past."
For the first time, the man froze—not from magic, but from fear.
Lina whispered:
"I always wanted to know… why?
Why turn us into ghosts?
Why trap us between life and death?"
...
Suddenly—a soft white light exploded in the darkness.
Engulfing the void, swallowing both as if devouring their souls.
When the light faded, Lina stood beside the disfigured man in a small garden at the heart of a humble northern city.
The air was peaceful. Cherry blossoms swayed, birdsong filling the space with warmth. Thin clouds drifted past a golden sun casting honeyed light on stone paths.
"Here…"
The disfigured man whispered without turning.
"This is where it began."
Lina looked around in awe:
"A beautiful garden… I didn't expect this in your memories."
Her tone was almost mocking, but the smile faded seeing his gaze fixed on a small family.
A young-looking man with dark hair and unmarred face sat on a wooden bench. Beside him, a woman with golden-copper hair.
The man held a giggling toddler while the woman fed pigeons. The child had short red hair and wide honey-colored eyes.
...
Lina inhaled sharply.
"That's… you?"
The disfigured man didn't answer.
His eyes remained locked on that forgotten version of himself…
An ordinary man.
A father.
"My wife… and daughter."
His voice was hoarse, as if the words scraped his throat.
Lina stayed silent.
In that moment, the monster's masks fell away.
He hadn't always been evil.
...
But the peace didn't last.
A black cloud appeared in the sky… a distant scream tearing through the breeze.
The memory wasn't over.
The black cloud first appeared as a speck in the sky.
Then spread like spilled ink across the blue.
Day turned to night instantly.
Golden sunlight replaced by suffocating gray shadow, the gentle breeze turning cold and charged.
...
Minaret bells rang.
Twice… then three times…
A familiar rhythm to the city.
Not a call to prayer—a warning.
Danger was coming.
...
From within the memory, Lina glanced around nervously, but the disfigured man in his past didn't move.
He stared at his wife and child, his unburned face now etched with worry.
"Go home… stay there with our daughter."
Steady voice laced with fear.
His wife grabbed his arm, eyes trembling:
"And you? Where are you going?!"
He pressed her hand gently:
"That cloud… isn't natural.
It's… saturated with cursed magic. The soldiers may need me."
He ran—without looking back.
...
Lina watched him go, heart pounding strangely, no longer just an observer.
...
In the city square, soldiers gathered rapidly.
About a thousand men in light armor—some with spears, others swords and bows.
At their head stood a tall man with gray beard and black gold-trimmed armor.
A soldier called out seeing Vadim:
"Captain Vadim! You're here!"
Yes… the disfigured man's name was Vadim. Not just an ordinary man.
Captain of the city's royal guard.
He approached the gray-bearded man.
"Commander Richard, what's happening?"
"The sky… I've never seen anything like this," Richard said, staring at the cloud before adding:
"The priests say it's cursed energy… ancient magic."
...
The cloud descended… creeping closer… like a living thing crawling toward the city.
And deep within it…
Something moved.
...
Lina clenched her fists, gaze tense.
"What… will come out of that cloud?"
But Vadim didn't answer…
Seeing this scene for the first time in years—
The moment that changed his life forever.
Vadim stood beside Commander Richard in the square, armor clanking with every soldier's step.
He looked up at the blackened sky, voice firm:
"Ivan and Sergey… haven't arrived yet."
Richard shot him a worried glance, but Vadim continued with soldier's discipline:
"We must prepare for attack. Until they arrive… we'll handle this with the priests."
Lina stood beside the disfigured man now.
She whispered, as if afraid to interrupt:
"Who are Ivan and Sergey?"
Vadim answered without looking from the sky:
"Ivan… the man who always wears green.
Sergey… the one hiding behind a pig mask."
Lina's breath hitched, but Vadim continued bitterly:
"Only we three… survived this city."
He raised his hand, pointing upward.
"Look… they're descending."
Lina slowly lifted her gaze…
And felt an unknown chill.
In the sky, twelve massive iron ships pierced the black clouds—dark as charcoal, like the devil's coffins.
One lowered slowly until hovering above the square. From its iron belly dropped a massive rope.
And they began descending.
...
They looked human… but there was no mistaking them.
Charcoal-dark skin,
Blood-red hair,
Burning crimson eyes.
"Sky demons…"
A soldier muttered, sword slipping from his grip.
Lina stepped back, emotions warring inside.
"These… burned your city?"
Vadim didn't answer.
But in his eyes—that old spark flickered.
A hatred that never died.
...
The air grew heavier… as if the city itself held its breath.
The memory wasn't over.
It had only just begun.