In a sea of blood, a man stood, his labored breath a stark contrast to the horrifying scene around him. With trembling hands, he glanced to his right and left, desperately searching for any survivors amidst the massacre he had wrought.
"Kaah... s-spear god, this name is eerily fitting," he whispered, his voice laced with a chilling blend of remorse and self-loathing.
His attention was abruptly seized by an unfamiliar voice that pierced the oppressive silence. Atop a grotesque mound of lifeless bodies, a man knelt with a spear buried in his chest.
"Heavenly Demon," the standing man murmured, his tone a fragile acknowledgment of the looming darkness that had enveloped him.
Approaching the wounded figure, he locked eyes with the so-called Heavenly Demon, their gaze locking in a battle of wills. In that moment, a single crimson eye, as red as freshly spilled blood, met his gaze—a haunting emblem of demonic martial arts.
"To single-handedly annihilate all 10,000 demon practitioners—a command only fitting for one named 'Spear God'," the wounded man admitted, his voice strained by both agony and admiration.
For the first time, the man spoke, his voice trembling as he asked, "Why?"
"Why?" the Heavenly Demon sneered, a grotesque grin etching across his pale, bloodied face. "What do you mean by 'why'?"
"Why did you unleash this unspeakable devastation upon the Central Plains?" the Spear God questioned, his voice growing stronger despite his weakened state.
The Heavenly Demon's eyes glimmered with sadistic amusement as he replied, "Because a life devoid of bloodshed, tears, and chaos is a life devoid of meaning for us demonic practitioners. We thrive in chaos—it's the only thing that truly makes us happy."
"I see," the Spear God responded, his voice heavy with resignation.
With those words, he turned away from the dying man, his gaze drifting over the countless lifeless bodies that now painted the once-thriving city in shades of crimson.
"Are you satisfied now?" he implored, his voice echoing with a sense of despair.
The Heavenly Demon's raspy breaths were his only response as he approached death's embrace, his body collapsing onto the grotesque mound of fallen souls.
A heavy sigh escaped from the last survivor, standing alone amidst the sea of blood.
"Is this how I wanted to spend the final year of my life?" he questioned, the weight of his choices settling upon him like a shroud.
The answer was painfully clear.
"No."
This was not the conclusion he had envisioned. Blame did not fall solely upon the demonic practitioners who had besieged the Central Plains. The corrupt leaders of the Murim had neglected their duty, forsaking the innocent in pursuit of their own gain.
In the end, he had been forced to become their shield, a guardian of the powerless, and in his final days, he had been baptized in blood.
Now, the war had ended, his reign as the supreme of Murim had concluded, and his once-fiery eyes began to dim as he joined the lifeless sea of blood.
...
"Dark."
"It's dark," he muttered, his voice barely audible as he floated through a void. Suddenly, a faint light drew near, illuminating the shadowy abyss.
Then, an excruciating pain seared his consciousness as a needle-thin beam of light pierced his forehead.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHKKAAAAGHHHHH!" he screamed, the agony overwhelming his senses.
"Is this my punishment for my sins? Is this hell?" he questioned, his voice trembling with fear.
Before he could ponder further, a deluge of unfamiliar memories inundated his mind, intermingling with the unrelenting pain.
"AHHHHHKAAAAAA," he wailed, and soon, consciousness slipped away.
...
"Pakehaa."
"Huff, huff."
Gasping for breath, a 16-year-old boy sat upright on a disheveled bed, his eyes reflecting the horrors of his dreams. Any observer would believe he had just awoken from a nightmare.
"Where am I?" he whispered, confusion clouding his thoughts. The dimly lit room was rife with decay, its cracked tiles and cobweb-laden corners foreboding.
Approaching a dusty mirror in the corner, he glimpsed a face that was both unfamiliar and hauntingly familiar.
"How is this possible?" he marveled, his disbelief etched upon his face. This was not his original countenance; he had been an aged man, the supreme of Murim. Now, he was a mere teenager.
"How can this be?" he murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. Had he experienced soul possession, a myth where one's soul overtakes another's body? And what had become of the original inhabitant of this body?
"Could it be...?" he began to ask but was cut off by a sudden 'ding' sound, and a blue screen materialized before his eyes.
[Congratulations! You have successfully awakened.]
[The awakening of Chung Bong's soul is complete.]
[The merging of Chung Bong and Asher Gray's souls has been accomplished.]
[Congratulations to Asher Gray for successfully using the skill "REMEMBRANCE OF PAST."]
...
"Aha," Asher exclaimed, his memories flooding back with newfound clarity. He recalled the process of awakening, an extraordinary phenomenon that graced only a select few in the world.
"So, my past life's soul has merged with my current one."
"But why do I feel more like Chung Bong than Asher Gray?"
"Because Chung Bong's soul exudes greater power than Asher Gray's," the answer came from the blue screen, deepening the dramatic tension.
"I see."
He sighed, realizing that he had transmigrated into his own reincarnated self, a revelation fraught with uncertainty and an unshakable sense of destiny.