Heather Potter clenched her tiny fists at her sides, her knuckles turning white as she stood in the corner of the living room. Her ears rang with the echo of Vernon's bellowing.
"Freak! How dare you cheat and get a higher score than Dudley!" he shouted, his voice vibrating through the floorboards. Heather's eyes darted to Dudley, who stood smugly at his father's side. He wore a look of triumphant glee, as if he had just been handed a golden trophy. Heather felt her stomach twist. He had failed his history test—everyone in the class knew it—and now he was blaming her. She hadn't done anything wrong, but Vernon never needed proof.
"She switched out my test with hers!" Dudley whined, his chubby cheeks flushed as he pointed at her with a stubby finger. The lie came so easily to him that it almost sounded convincing.
Vernon's face turned a violent shade of red. The vein on his temple throbbed like it was ready to burst as he narrowed his eyes at Heather. She backed away instinctively, her sneakers scuffing against the worn carpet. The look on Vernon's face told her everything she needed to know. Her heartbeat quickened. She felt trapped, like a mouse cornered by a starving cat.
"Please, I didn't—" she stammered, her voice cracking. But Vernon cut her off with a sneer, his eyes full of contempt.
"It's time for you to learn this behavior is not acceptable!" His words were laced with a malicious satisfaction, like he had been waiting for an excuse.
Petunia, who had been watching the exchange from the doorway with her thin lips curled into a pleased smirk, took a step closer. "That's right, Vernon. Teach her a lesson."
Heather's heart sank. She wasn't just facing Vernon's wrath; Petunia and Dudley were there to witness and cheer it on. The walls seemed to close in around her as Vernon's thick hands reached for his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle made her shudder. She spun on her heels and bolted for the front door, but she wasn't fast enough. Vernon's meaty hand grabbed her by the collar of her faded shirt, yanking her back so hard she crashed to the floor, her elbows and knees scraping painfully against the rough carpet.
Before she could scramble away, the first strike landed. A sharp, stinging burn seared across her back, and she screamed, tears streaming down her face. She tried to curl up to shield herself, but Vernon was relentless. His eyes were wide and unhinged, his face gleaming with sweat as he lashed her again and again.
Dudley stood in the background, laughing gleefully as Heather's cries filled the room. Petunia crossed her arms, her eyes cold and empty. "We should have never taken an ungrateful freak like you in!" she spat.
Heather's pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. She gasped for air, sobs making her chest heave. Then, she felt something strange—a heat beneath her skin, unlike anything she had ever experienced. It spread through her veins, coiling in her core. Before she could make sense of it, a black mist began to seep from her pores, dark and inky, swirling around her.
"What are you doing, freak?" Vernon's voice trembled with a mix of rage and fear as he stepped back, his belt still clenched in his fist.
Heather looked at her hands in shock. The black mist twisted around her fingers, spreading outward. Her whole body ached, as if something was trying to break free. Petunia's eyes widened in terror. "Stop this now!" she shrieked, stepping back, but her voice was drowned out by Dudley's frightened scream as he turned and bolted up the stairs.
"I—I can't!" Heather managed to choke out. The mist seemed to have a life of its own, moving as if commanded by some dark force inside her. It surged forward, wrapping around Vernon, who dropped his belt and screamed as the mist coiled around him, squeezing and searing his flesh.
Heather's terror shifted to a grim sort of fascination as Vernon's eyes bulged in panic. He clawed at the mist, but his hands passed through it uselessly. His screams reached a fever pitch, echoing in the small living room as the mist swallowed him whole. Petunia's shrill cries faded into the background as Heather watched, unable to move, unable to comprehend what was happening.
The black mist roared like a storm, and then there was silence. Vernon's screams stopped abruptly, leaving only the sound of Petunia's choked sobs and Heather's ragged breathing. She stared at the spot where her uncle had been, her chest still burning, her body still trembling. The mist faded away as quickly as it had come, leaving behind nothing but a dark, eerie stillness.
Heather blinked, tears still dripping from her lashes. The house was silent, save for the faint creak of Dudley's panicked footsteps on the floor above. Petunia, pale and shaking, pressed herself against the wall, eyes wide with horror.
Heather's whole body went cold. She didn't know what she had just done, but she knew one thing for certain: life as she knew it had just changed forever.
"Get out, you freak! Get out of my house! You murdered my husband, you monster!" Petunia's voice was raw, shrill, and full of rage. Spit flew from her lips as she screamed, her eyes wide and bloodshot.
Heather felt like she had been punched in the gut. The sound of her aunt's words echoed in her ears, and she didn't need to be told twice. She turned and ran, her worn sneakers slapping against the floor as she bolted out the front door and into the yard. Her chest burned, and her legs felt shaky, but she didn't stop. She sprinted down the street, ignoring the confused glances of a neighbor trimming his hedge and a woman pushing a stroller.
Heather's mind raced as fast as her feet. Vernon was dead. Dead. The memory was still fresh, seared into her brain like a nightmare she couldn't wake from. She had known for as long as she could remember that strange things happened when she was around. That was why Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley called her a freak. But never in her life had she thought her strangeness would lead to death—violent, bloody death.
She tried to push the image out of her mind, but it was impossible. The way Vernon had screamed, the way the black mist had engulfed him and shredded him like paper—it was something out of a horror movie. The worst part was the way it had felt when the mist seeped back into her skin. The burning, searing pain that made her feel like her entire body was on fire.
Heather's breath came in short gasps as she turned onto the path leading to the local park. The streets were quiet, but that only made the pounding of her heart and the echo of her sneakers sound louder. She was just nine years old. Where was she supposed to go? What could she do? She imagined the police arriving at the house, Petunia's screaming face pointing them in her direction, and their rough hands grabbing her, dragging her away to some kind of jail for freaks.
"No one else knew," Heather muttered to herself. "No one knew Vernon was a bad man." She knew how it would look. Petunia would sob and tell them how sweet and kind Vernon had been, a loving husband and father. Nobody would believe that the man who had just died screaming was the same man who had beaten her so badly she could barely sleep on her back some nights.
Heather slowed as she reached the park. The swings were motionless, chains creaking in the breeze. The slide gleamed under the weak sunlight, but she didn't feel like playing. Her chest felt tight, and she pressed her hand against it, trying to steady her breathing. She walked deeper into the park, into the small wooded area at the edge where the trees were thick and the air smelled like damp leaves.
She rubbed her arms, feeling cold even though it wasn't chilly out. Her skin still tingled where the mist had re-entered her body, and the memory made her shudder. The silence around her was deafening, and for a moment, she wished she could just disappear.
Then she heard it—a faint cough. Heather stiffened, looking around. The sound came again, this time closer. Her heart jumped into her throat. She crept forward, pushing past the low branches of a tree, and saw a woman sitting on the ground with her back against a tree trunk.
The woman's face was breathtakingly beautiful, with dark, silky hair that fell around her shoulders like a curtain. Her skin looked almost unreal, flawless and pale, and there was an otherworldly elegance in the way she sat against the tree, even wounded. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a storybook or in one of those kung fu movies Heather watched secretly when her relatives weren't home and forgot to lock her cupboard.
The robes she wore were unlike anything Heather had ever seen in real life. They were embroidered with gold and red patterns that shimmered even in the shadow of the trees. The fabric looked soft and rich, draped around her in a way that made her seem both powerful and vulnerable.
The woman coughed, and a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of her lips. Heather's stomach twisted at the sight. Was this woman sick or hurt? She looked so pale, and her breathing was ragged and shallow.
"Damn those traitorous bastards," the woman muttered between breaths. Her voice was deep and carried a strange accent that Heather couldn't place. "Is this the end of I, the Supreme Devil Goddess?"
Heather's eyes widened. Supreme Devil Goddess? That sounded like something out of a fantasy book. She took a hesitant step forward, her shoes crunching against the fallen leaves. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The woman's eyes softened for a moment, a small, wistful smile curving her lips. "At least I shan't die alone," she whispered. "Come here, mortal child. What is your name?"
"Heather. Heather Potter."
The woman raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "'Tis a strange name. I am Shen Yue, but I suppose you don't recognize that name, being a mortal."
Heather shook her head. Shen Yue meant nothing to her, though it sounded important, regal even. "Are you an actress or something? Do you need to go to a hospital?" She shifted nervously on her feet, wondering if she should try to find a phone to call for help.
Shen Yue let out a low, humorless laugh that turned into a cough, more blood spotting her lips. She stayed propped against the tree, unmoving. "No, child. I was betrayed by my disciple and suffered a vicious soul attack. No mortal treatment will work. I'm afraid the heavens have forsaken me." Her dark eyes met Heather's, holding them with an intensity that made her shiver. "Would you mind sitting with me?"
Heather blinked. This woman was going to die? Just like that? The idea made her chest tighten. There were so many nights when Vernon's beatings left her curled up in pain, convinced she would die alone, wishing someone, anyone, would be there to comfort her. The least she could do was be that person for someone else. Heather nodded slowly and sat down beside Shen Yue, folding her legs beneath her.
The woman's eyes roved over the park, taking in the grass, the trees, and the patches of sunlight breaking through the branches. "What is this place called?" she asked, her voice softer now. "'Tis very nice."
"It's just called Surrey Park," Heather answered. She glanced at the playground equipment in the distance, at the swings that creaked in the breeze.
"And where is that?" Shen Yue asked, a shadow passing over her expression as she coughed again.
Heather tilted her head, confused. "It's in London."
Shen Yue's brows drew together. "Is that the name of this world?"
Heather frowned. "Um, no? We're on Earth."
A strange look passed over Shen Yue's face, one that made Heather think she might have hit her head or was delirious from whatever injury she had. "Earth? I have never heard of such a world." The woman's eyes narrowed thoughtfully before looking at Heather. "Would you mind if I examine your memories, child?"
Heather didn't know what that meant, but Shen Yue didn't seem threatening. If anything, she seemed tired, like she was on the brink of collapse. Heather nodded hesitantly. "Okay…?"
Shen Yue reached out and placed a hand on Heather's forehead. Her touch was cold, almost like ice, and Heather felt a strange tingle that traveled down her spine. It wasn't painful, but it was unlike anything she'd felt before. The world around her blurred for a moment, and she saw flashes of her life: Dudley's taunts, Petunia's cold glares, Vernon's fists, and the lonely, dark cupboard where she spent most of her days. Shen Yue's expression shifted from curiosity to something deeper—sympathy, and maybe even anger.
Shen Yue pulled her hand away from Heather's forehead and looked into her eyes, a flicker of something almost like admiration crossing her pale face. "You are incredibly strong to have survived such a cruel life, Heather Potter," she said. Her voice, though weak, was laced with an understanding that cut deeper than any words of pity Heather had heard before.
Heather blinked in shock, trying to process what had just happened. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then finally asked, "Are you a freak like me too?"
Shen Yue frowned and shook her head. "You are not a freak, Heather Potter. In truth, I know not what you are or how your powers came to manifest." Her dark eyes narrowed as she seemed to study Heather even more closely. "That mist especially... It's very strange. I sense it already trying to subsume you from the inside."
Heather's throat went dry, and she swallowed hard. "What do I do?"
A faint smile curved Shen Yue's lips, even as blood still stained them. "It seems that Heaven's will extends much farther than I thought possible. Somehow, when I tried to escape my traitorous disciple, I somehow ended up in another universe. One without cultivators at all." Shen Yue sighed, and Heather could only stare, feeling more confused by the second.
Shen Yue continued, "And here, on the verge of death, I meet the one child who has exactly what I need to survive." She let out a short, almost delirious laugh, like she was relieved that the universe hadn't completely abandoned her after all.
"I can save you?" Heather's voice came out small, hesitant.
Shen Yue nodded, eyes glistening with an unreadable emotion. "I sensed it when I touched you, child. There is a fragment of an evil soul lodged in your forehead."
Heather's eyes widened, and she felt a rush of panic. "What?" she shrieked, reaching up to touch her scar without thinking. It had always been ugly and painful, but now the thought of an evil soul being inside it made her stomach churn. "Is that why my scar never healed?"
"Relax," Shen Yue said, her tone steady, as if commanding her to calm down. "I have dealt with many vile cultivators in the past who sought to live forever by hopping into new bodies. It appears someone attempted this with you, but the ritual must have failed. Only a minor fragment remains, not powerful or sentient enough to take over your body."
Heather's mind spun with questions, but one rose above the rest. "Is the evil soul the cause of the black mist?" she asked.
Shen Yue shook her head, her eyes taking on a shadowed look. "No. The mist is foul, yes, but it is something else entirely." What Shen Yue didn't say, what she kept buried behind her calm expression, was that she sensed the mist was most likely born from the darkness in Heather's own heart.
"Hold still," Shen Yue instructed, moving her fingers to Heather's scar. Heather felt a tingle at the touch, then a sharp, stinging sensation. Shen Yue's eyes glowed with an otherworldly light as she reached into the depths of Heather's scar, metaphysically pulling on the soul fragment embedded there. It resisted, clawing and digging into Heather's very being, but it was no match for the Supreme Devil Goddess.
With a final, powerful tug, Shen Yue ripped the black tendril of the soul fragment free. It shrieked and wailed, the sound piercing and full of rage. "You will die for going against Lord Voldemort, you disgusting foreign—" The voice was cut off as Shen Yue opened her mouth and swallowed the fragment whole. Her cultivation art allowed her to consume the souls of evil beings, using their power to heal and strengthen herself.
Heather's vision swam, and the world tilted as she slumped back onto the grass, the pain and fear finally too much for her young body to bear. She passed out, her last conscious thought a mix of confusion and strange relief.
Shen Yue wiped the blood from her lips and shakily stood up. The surge of dark energy from consuming the soul had given her just enough strength to move. She looked down at the unconscious girl and felt an unfamiliar pang of gratitude. Heather had saved her life, even if it was by accident.
"I do not leave debts unpaid," Shen Yue said softly. This world may not have cultivation as she knew it, but that didn't mean the girl was powerless. Shen Yue could feel the latent energy inside Heather, close enough to Qi to be molded. She reached out, touching Heather's forehead again, and imparted knowledge that she had never shared with anyone before—not even her own disciple.
The Absolute Yin Cultivation Method, the art that had made her feared across her own universe, flowed from Shen Yue's mind to Heather's, embedding itself in the girl's consciousness. It was a gift that would change her life, that would propel her name into legend one day.
"Good luck, child," Shen Yue whispered. "Perhaps we will meet again, though I doubt it." Already, she could feel the laws of this strange universe trying to force her out now that she had recovered enough to stand on her own.
With a final wave of her arm, a portal of pure darkness manifested beside her. She stepped through it without looking back, leaving Heather sleeping on the grass, unknowingly carrying the power that would one day make her unstoppable.