Thousand strands of strong wind wrapped around the sky high pavilion.
On its rooftop, tens of immortals were focused on suppressing a single individual, Moth, one of the strongest individuals in the history, the man who terrorized the world with his hideous acts for thousands of years.
Wrapped up in the turns and turns of dirty white bandages, covering every inch of his body under the immaculate veil, he had a messy nine pairs of strong, dreamy, yet kind of fleshy Moth wings, earning him the name.
Moth was feeling suffocated... he could not fly, nor could he run now. Moreover, there was itch under his skin and it was growing every second. He wanted to die... but he did not want to die.
All his life, he had been striving for eternal life.. but now that he has it... he would kill himself and prove his eternal life wrong?... Huh... what a contradiction was that? Moth... he could feel losing his rationality. There were two thoughts struggling inside him... one told him to persevere... other told him to kill himself.
The outside struggle barely mattered to him now. He was turning into a monster... a living dead. But the old voices still taunted him out.
It's irritating... The voices taunting him seemed irritating and this itch... it was way too much more irritating.
"You damned heretic! Your end is definitely near written by God on my sword."
"You monster! I will never forgive you for killing my entire clan!"
"You killed my child and feasted on her corpse, moth!"
Moth raised his head, with his hand supporting his forehead. Although, he could not see anything due to the bandages he had tied all around him to prevent himself from falling apart... his nails slowly dug through the bandages into his mouth.
He gasped and released a turbid breath. Everyone froze at the scene of the rotting flesh and black teeth. He proceeded to free his eyes similarly. They were rotten white and leaked immediately.
He shivered... He felt as if a thousand pins poked into every inch of his skinless flesh every second.
"This attempt... it is a failure..." He growled out with a rough voice. The immortals shivered. It was the voice of a 'Him'.
'He' thought that becoming the Death itself would be cheating Death itself... However, he failed to fill in some requirements and turned into half the 'God of Death'.
'He' never expected that 'His' cultivation would fall and he would lose at the hands of lousy self-proclaimed immortals.
'He' bit the rotting lower lips and the black teeth dug in. Fortunately, 'He' had a Trump card left.
'He' was losing all his senses slowly, but Moth knew the control of 'His' wings like the back of 'His' hands. 'He' manipulated the flowers hiding underneath them to spring out and destroy the marvellous architecture under his feet.
The air crashed onto his body and he was falling amidst the screams. The flowers pulled in deep to the falling debris and 'His' body dug deep the debris with great speed. Everything was pushed aside and he eventually dug into the core of 'His False Heaven'.
The darkness turned into the blackness. Moth felt his existence wash away like dust into gusts of heaven and get swallowed into the 'Veins of Time'.
The bells jingled and his eyes shot open. With a strong sticky sense of drowsiness, he lifted his weak torso. Looking around for a while, he raised a finger at a length in front his eyes and stared at it while bringing it closer. Eventually, it disappeared behind his blind spot and then split into two. Then, he looked into the intricate designs of the bed and confirmed that wasn't having any illusion.
He burst into a hysterical laugh.
"HeheHahahahhahhah!!!~"
There was no doubt... these soft hands... these silk clothes... these red carpets... these gold luxuries... he was back into the past.
He choked on his laughter as his throat was a bit crass. However, he was smiling ear-to-ear nonetheless. He raised his feet off the bed and went to the mirror.
There was a little boy, with height just a bit under 5' 8", and cherry red lips barely veiling the neat white set of straight teeth. However, his most eye-catching features were his white hairs, that got a fresh silver tone to them, and a mole under his right eye. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and definitely in an exotic way.
Too bad he had to burn and cut his face to escape the grasp of a fat old lady in his last life.
It was may be 3 a.m. in the morning. He could not trust the hourglass since the maid never set it on time, especially when it said that the sky was pitch black at 10 o' clock in the morning.
However, the calendar was accurate... since the maid had nothing to do with it. The very young him had a hobby... he would tear every day off the bamboo calendar and collect it in a box, with a dream to boast the endless sea of bamboo chips he would have at the end of his life. Unfortunately... The older him had no such luxuries.
He overviewed the various events he would see come in the calendar. Then, he sighed. He had a busy, luxurious life now. He never realizes that his family was so much of a wastrel for money.
There were many parties with the ruling families over the remainder of the month. Moreover, he had to receive the guest of a foreign creed with his mother the very next week.
He was the son of the creed leader after all.
Moth, or as at this point of time, Grace, let out the heaviest sigh.