Lifeless body of Ezra was now a home of a Demonic Soul. It transmigrated to his lifeless body.
The demon's first thought was that he was shackled to something sharp and cold that swallowed him whole. It felt as though it was seeping into the body that he was inside. Now, this body was weak, decaying, and getting closer to its death like a small fire in the middle of a storm.
As he opened his eyes, he noticed what was beside him: a frozen corpse of a dog. The eyes of the dog, which were lifeless, were staring off into nothing, while the tears of the dog, which had frozen up, had left some imprints on the fur. He was obviously staring at the dog during the last stages of its life.
Even though the dog's life was gone, the demon's eyes watched it in awe while a calm voice simultaneously remarked in his head, "This creature has reached its purpose, it's now dead, it is nothing more than waste."
One touch was all it took for him to feel the already rigid fur. "When you are dead, you need not get permission. The dead don't talk or resist." After a brief pause and how the demon wasn't sure if he would be able to wait any longer, without making a sound he began over throwing the matted fur from the dog's neck. He was now using it as a wretched form of a cloak.
He's aware where he's heading next and has no intentions of changing any parts of the origin plan He steadily turned his head towards the frozen corpse of the canine, noticing that his jaw had been carelessly shredded. This clearly indicates that what he was about to do was not respected However, there was another detail that seemed to catch his attention even more so. "A hollow act, but it makes me feel something close to warmth."
The sky outside was bleak, an endless expanse of gray that pressed down like the lid of a coffin. The wind howled, carrying the whispers of lives it had claimed. He adjusted the fur around his shoulders, taking a step forward.
"To survive in hell," he thought, "one must become the devil himself."
Every step he took left red stains on the snow, blood mingling with frost. His body was human, fragile and flawed, but his soul was ancient, relentless. A demon once revered and feared as the God of..... !Thousands of monks had sealed him, their chants meant to erase his existence, and yet, here he was.
He saw something moving. A cockroach, struggling to get across the snow. Unconsciously, he put his foot on it; it gave a faint crunch under his foot. His mind began to stray again, calm but inquisitive.
"Humans kill for survival, for power, or for sport. They drape their cruelty in excuses, weave their violence into laws and rituals. But this. this small thing, I killed it without reason. I felt no satisfaction, no disgust. Its death was nothing but a fact, an interruption in the flow of its meaningless existence."
He walked on, his eyes far away, detached, until the sound of voices brought him back. Soldiers in noble families' crests were razing what remained of a poor settlement: tearing wood from the crumbling homes of the last defenses of the weak.
"First, they give them laws, hope, the illusion of order," the demon mused. "And when their power is threatened, they discard it all, revealing the chaos beneath their masks of civility. They justify their theft, their destruction, with the same laws they claim to uphold. Hypocrisy is their currency, and the weak always pay the price."
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling his name. "Ezra!"
A man hurried toward him, his breath fogging in the freezing air. "Ezra, your sister-in-law. she's passed away. They're holding a funeral today. They're waiting for you."
The demon sifted through the fragmented memories of this body. A brother who had stolen everything, a sister-in-law who had laughed at his suffering. His voice was low and steady as he replied, "Is it burial or cremation? I won't waste my time if it's a burial."
The man blinked, startled. "Cremation," he said.
The smell of burning flesh was really strong in the air at the cremation grounds. Piles of ash looked like forgotten mountains, the leftovers of lives turned to dust. His brother was there with the mourners, his eyes all red and looking furious.
"Why are you so late?!" his brother yelled. "You worthless—"
The demon's gaze silenced him. His voice, calm but cutting, broke through the air. "Why cling to pride and anger when you know you'll mix with this ash soon enough?"
The crowd fell silent, his words cutting deeper than the cold.
As the flames consumed the body, mourners wept and lamented, their cries a dull hum in the demon's ears. His thoughts remained unbroken.
"They cry now, but soon they'll stop. Their lives will resume, their grief will fade, and she will become a shadow in their memories. A year from now, how many will remember the sound of her laughter? The shape of her face? Humans grieve only as long as it serves them."
He inched closer to the fire, the heat licking at his skin. He knelt beside the pyre, hands stretched to the flame,not in reverence, but to feel their warmth.
"Ashes to ashes," he thought, "fire consumes everything equally. Humans, dogs, insects, it all burns the same."
And so he sat, silent and calm, as the fire raged and the mourners wept behind him.
Everyone left but he remained until the flame died.