The demon's maw opened wide enough that Vendr could see the rows of teeth going all the way to its throat. Vendr felt the creature's disgusting breath on him, but not even a twinge of fear went past the wall of his determination.
Vendr punched through the lower row of the demon's teeth with his fist, covered in a protective metal glove. His burning resolve went right into the demon's flesh, destroying the very essence of it—the negative energy it was made from.
With an agonizing howl, the headless demon fell before Vendr's feet, but not before slicing his leg with one of its claws.
All around, other Soldiers from Vendr's squadron fought against the demonic army. The air was thick with the stench of miasma and blood, screams of dying, battle cries and gunshots. The ground under Vendr's feet has long ago become bloody mud.
It was impossible to tell whether they were winning or losing at this point.
But Vendr forced himself to stand and pulled out an injector from his belt. After a pinprick of pain from the needle, the stimulant banished the tiredness from his muscles and the pain from his wounds, letting Vendr return to the fight.
His lips muttered a prayer to the Lord as he raised his sword and looked around for the next target.
A swing—and a mantis-like demon fell down as pieces. The Soldier whom it had attacked was lying on the ground, clutching the place where his torso was impaled by an enormous claw. His face was contorted in unnatural agony—the claw must've been venomous.
And more demons already came near, attracted by the pain's scent.
"Rest in peace," Vendr muttered, stabbing his sword through the soldier's neck.
Then, his blade turned on the monsters while his Psionics turned them into nothing. The fight continued.
Blood, death and pain. Over and over, until Vendr's blade was chipped by demons' armors and his soul grew too tired to use Psionics anymore.
But in the distance, someone shouted a hymn to His glory, and Vendr echoed it, and found in himself to slay just another demon—
With a lurch, Zemin pulled himself away from the experience.
It was so vivid that Zemin could've easily thought that it was something that happened to him just now. He was barely aware of himself as Zemin back then.
'Yes! That's right, I'm Zemin. I'm not a Soldier, I'm an Esquire.'
Logic told Zemin all that, but the memory was so real compared to what surrounded Zemin that a part of him doubted. The Psionic disciplines used by Vendr felt as natural to use as Zemin's own.
He was back in the Void, far away from his body. In a dark, empty space where his soul felt just as dark and empty compared to the soul of the person from Zemin's injected memory.
That faith, that determination—he never felt anything like that! The fire that spread through his very soul—how could he have lived all his life without ever having anything like it? How could have Zemin ever said that he was determined or faithful?
Maybe that was how people blind from birth felt after their vision was restored.
'No, this isn't right. Leva always said that I was just as emotional as everyone else… Even angels said so. I just couldn't feel it… I can't feel it! I can't! I can't!'
The System's voice made Zemin freeze. It reminded him he was still in a coma, and this was probably not the time for a mental breakdown.
Especially not when he couldn't even properly scream into a pillow or kick something.
'When I tried to reach for my body, I suddenly saw a memory that wasn't my own. Memory Injector must've worked, but that memory interrupted my attempt to connect and I returned here! Do you have any idea why?'
'So they will keep popping in my head until I live through all of them?'
'And what is that part about destabilization? How can that happen?'
Zemin fell silent and simply floated in the Void for some time. He needed to calm down.
A part of him wanted to dive into the foreign memories for another taste of those emotions. Another part wished he never agreed to enter the Memory Injector in the first place.
Eventually, Zemin felt like he could do it again.
He had no choice anymore. He had to get back in his body, he had to survive. As for what he WANTED—that wasn't important, so he didn't need to dwell on it.
Zemin reached for his body again. This time, it was easier.
He got a hold of his senses first. Faint noises reached his ears—was that a familiar voice? Someone he knew well was here, their aura a comforting presence.
Zemin grabbed onto that and held tight as the next memory swallowed him whole.