12 Memories (1/2)

Crow started to explain something to father. I could barely understand a word he was saying.

Why did he call me a monster? Why did the demon call me a monster? At first, it didn't feel too good. Then I remembered all the cultivation stories I had read.

Being called a monster by friends and foes alike was par for the course. Whether it was Luo Zheng, Nie Li, Tang San or Xiao Yan, all were called monsters.

A small sense of pride lifted my chest. I had defied expectations. I had done something unexpected. Maybe I wasn't weak after all.

I wanted to know what was special about what I had done. But I couldn't gain anything meaningful from father and Crow's conversation. Maybe I could learn something from the demon's memories.

These memories were different to the Soul Becoming World book. They weren't as clear, but they felt more like my own.

He was a lesser demon, one of the lowest ranks of infantry. He hadn't even been given a name and had no recollection of his life before this world.

He had been summoned and captured by a demonic cultivation sect. The sect had trapped him in a spiritual torture device; the band that I had put on my arm.

Between long periods of darkness were episodes of blood and fury. The sect seemed to have two uses for him. The first was as a weapon.

The sect attached him to captured cultivators and let him corrupt their minds. Using a few strong memories, he created specialised hallucinations to crush the spirit of his victims.

Once he possessed them, the sect would unleash him as a suicidal attacker. If the vessel died, they would simply collect the band from the battle field and repeat.

His other use was as a tool for young sect members. He was unable to control an infant with an undeveloped mind and a pure heart.

When he couldn't take over their soul in time, his qi would run out. He would then escape and lie dormant in a tattoo, innately converting qi to be compatible with his host.

He drained qi from these conversions, lying in wait for another possession attempt. This method let him recover after failure. His ability to convert qi was also useful for demon cultivators.

The demon sect knew a method to foil his attempts. I saw hundreds of failed attempts, years of agonising waiting. His only respite was the occasional rampage as a suicide weapon.

Resentment built up inside him, until he finally succeeded in converting an unprepared disciple. Enraged by how the sect had treated him, he slaughtered dozens of sect disciples in their sleep.

He managed to escape the sect and spent years drifting the land. He terrorised towns and faded away without being caught.

I took a look at his last memory before he tried to possess me. A hooded figure whirled a thick iron chain in each hand. There was a flicker, then the world spun and cut to black.

Watching my own possession was a surreal experience. The demon knew I desired power and was relieved that my will was easily broken.

He was surprised that I turned on him, but this had happened before. He knew he just had to escape and bide his time to make another attempt.

Then my tendril struck him. His memory was raw and vivid, filled with panic and confusion. He didn't know what had happened. He had never seen someone's soul act like this. He was scared.

I was captured in his turmoil. Reliving this memory sent me into a feverish state. I opened my eyes and gasped for air.

These memories were dangerous. I felt his pain and shared his emotions. I felt indignation and anger at the demon sect. I even felt scared of myself.

Looking at mother and father by my cot calmed me down. Crow was still explaining something to them. Mother looked relieved, and father looked fascinated.

I caught on to the last words of their conversation.

”We should ask her,” father said.