Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Trembling Brain

Pain!

Such pain!

My head hurts so much!

It’s as if my head has been smashed by a colossal hammer, reducing my brain to a scattered mess of pulp.

The shrill ringing in my ears is like sharp nails scratching glass, leaving behind streaks of rusty iron marks, and then these marks transform into a scorching iron rod that pierces through from my nostrils, stirring things up, pulling out stained blood and pale brain matter together.

Agony beyond words!

Shawn feels as though someone has sliced open his stomach, without anesthesia, a slender yet strong hand reaching inside, grabbing his intestines, pulling them apart, then fumbling through other organs, finally grasping an indescribable thing, gently pulsating like a dark, swollen tumor, the hand cautiously holding onto it, as if clutching a heart that has not yet ceased beating.

“Hmm?”

Shawn hears a cold female voice, slightly magnetic.

His senses begin to gradually emerge.

His brain is still trembling, as if after extreme indolence, his body’s instinct is urging his brain to function, yet inside it feels hollow, brain matter seemingly glued together, consciousness shrouded in chaos, stripped away from this body alongside the scorching iron rod and shrill sounds.

He smells a whiff similar to formaldehyde, as if his whole body has been steeped in formaldehyde, a thick, pungent smell with a hint of decay, the cold metal frame beneath him seems like a mortuary bed, creaking under the strain of his convulsions.

Cold.

Bone-chilling cold.

Shawn feels a thin sheet stained with dried blood and filthy marks covering him like a shroud, as his vision gradually recovers, he sees a cluster of cold glimmer in the darkness, reminiscent of a swinging dusty chandelier from bygone memories, slowly coming into shape amid hazy recollections.

A bizarre figure wearing a crow mask, or something similar, uncertain if it’s human, is gazing at him solemnly.

“Mutation detected.”

“Subject 168 suspected of resurrection.”

Accompanied by a indifferent female voice, Shawn feels a slender, ice-cold finger gently stroke his forehead, and suddenly he loses all ability to struggle, his body paralyzed, unable to move, his consciousness left searching for a sliver of self and reason in endless chaos.

He is unable to discern or judge anything, in the jumbled memories, the last time he felt like this was during a general anesthesia surgery, waking up to a mind muddled, as if wiped of a passage of time.

Yet thankfully, despite being unable to move, his consciousness retains a flicker of clarity, a weak spark flashing.

His consciousness and memories are in complete disarray.

He suspects his brain was indeed stirred by a rod and directly extracted from his nostril, as a spark shines amid chaotic consciousness, he finally catches a glimpse of something.

A woman.

Her face remains unclear, she removes the black crow mask, silver hair cascading down, dazzling, her expression cautious and solemn, white gloves stained with murky blood and gray, placing down the iron rod she’s holding, next to her is a grotesque giant skull, hollow eye sockets still smeared with blood and flesh, hunched servilely beside her, observing Shawn’s consciousness, she cautiously says, “Target has been controlled.”

“No abnormalities in the Undying Cyst.”

“Notify the mentor immediately.”

The numb sensation persists, but his eyes can now move, Shawn wants to open his mouth, but is unable to produce sound, as if his vocal cords were severed, his consciousness still deeply chaotic, two completely different memory sparks flicker in his brain, finally vanishing into oblivion together, leaving only endless pain and chaos.

Memories are merging, chaotic, death’s throes, consciousness blurred, retracing a series of scenes.

“Target has resistance to [Undying Touch].”

“Perhaps the power of the Undying Cyst has already taken effect.”

“But the target has not transformed into a creature of the Undying Sequence,” the woman opens Shawn’s eyelids, calmly observing momentarily, continues recording, “Extracted brain tissue is beginning to regenerate.”

“This is the Extraordinary Traits of the path of Death.”

“Has the mentor’s experiment succeeded?”

Shawn’s pupils begin to focus, yet he still cannot clearly see the woman’s face, he struggles to turn his head, sees a ghastly dissected corpse, brain removed, organs laid out, a hunched skeleton, surface exceptionally smooth, like a bone specimen, sealing these sinister items into jars.

This is a mortuary, surrounded by cold bodies, the scent of preservatives filling his nostrils, making him want to vomit but unable, as if his throat were blocked.

“Mentor!”

Shawn dimly hears a sound, then he sees a floating skull, remarkably smooth, pure white as jade, a dazzling ruby embedded in its forehead, hollow eyes staring at him.

“Otherworld Soul?”

“Interesting.”

“Have you captured another wandering Otherworld Soul from the Sea of Chaos?”

The floating skull assembles itself a body, stripping away flesh, forming a clean, orderly skeleton, cold finger bones landing on Shawn’s forehead, seemingly conversing with some presence, a cold voice states, “A very clean Otherworld soul.”

“Just a bit of chaotic consciousness.”

“Very good.”

Consciousness is submerged in darkness.

Uncertain how long has passed, Shawn’s eyelids flickers, yet he doesn’t open his eyes, remembering what he previously saw, all too physically ’mind-blowing’ for him.

But he doesn’t seem quite so afraid.

“You’re awake.”

“No need to feign, I can detect your superficial thoughts,” that cold female voice sounds by his ear.

She re-donned the crow mask, coldly remarks, “No need to lie.”

“Nor to tell me where you hail from.”

“Otherworld soul.”

“I have no interest in your past, you should recall some events before your death.”

“After all, death is the most unforgettable memory!”

“I’m giving you fifteen minutes to calm down, then I’ll tell you some things you need to know.”

“As for what happens next, destiny will make arrangements for you.”

The footsteps gradually faded away.

Shawn slowly opened his eyes and struggled to prop himself up. The pungent smell of preservatives made him vomit, cloudy black clots, mixed with what seemed like fragments of viscera, causing his heartbeat to momentarily stop, then start again slowly.

On the edge of the rusty, spotted iron bedframe was a pool of still-wet blood, where pieces of what looked like visceral fragments could be seen, as if something had been removed from inside his body.

Broken memories began to merge.

He realized he had transmigrated because ’death is the most unforgettable memory.’

Although his consciousness was currently a bit muddled, he still remembered the moment of death from previous overwork.

The current body was clearly much younger, and this place was a mortuary, surrounded by cold bodies, with a skeleton in the corner that looked like a specimen.

Alive.

Just motionless for now.

There was a stitched wound on his abdomen, crudely done, at most on a trainee’s level from a doctor’s perspective.

On the right was a mummy wrapped entirely in grey-white bandages, whose brain and viscera had been removed.

What happened?

Shawn’s consciousness searched for a breakthrough in the chaotic memories, but he had no clue, only knowing he transmigrated and possibly resurrected since sparks of memory were flashing, with two entirely different memory images merging.

More chaotic memories drifted in the void, cold and lonely, drifting in nothingness for who knows how many years.

“Time’s up.”

A cold set of footsteps sounded again, the floor was smooth, and the woman wearing a raven mask reappeared. She should be very young, it seemed, as she cautiously watched Shawn in front of her and slowly spoke, “You should have remembered some things.”

“For example, death.”

Clang.

A glint of cold light appeared.

A sharp ritual dagger appeared in front of Shawn, causing him to instinctively distance himself a bit. The woman with the raven mask placed the dagger before Shawn, saying coldly, “You’re not the first Otherworld soul to come to this world.”

“Obviously.”

“Some of you are not suited for survival in this mad world.”

“Some people went mad from the start.”

“If you wish to return to the embrace of [death],”

“use this ritual dagger to pierce your heart, and you can regain rest.”

Shawn knitted his brows, looking at the dagger, then at the woman.

He tried to rationally analyze everything he saw, but his brain still throbbed with pain, almost unable to make any judgment, even feeling a crazy urge compelling him to grasp the dagger.

The dagger was calling to him, as if it had a mind of its own.

Perhaps it was alive too.

“Good.”

“You still want to live. That’s a good thing.” The woman retrieved the dagger, turned, and said, “Come with me.”

“I will take you to meet someone.”

“He is also an Otherworld soul resurrected from death.”

Could it be that he wasn’t the only one who transmigrated?

Shawn’s heart was full of doubts. He glanced at the mortuary and unhesitatingly followed the woman’s footsteps.

He had already died once.

The memory of death was so unforgettable, sustaining him in this icy mortuary as he searched for self from the broken sparks of memory, looking for traces of the past.

“Your memories are chaotic.”

“That’s normal because any means of rebirth will lose a part of the memory.”

“As long as you remember who you are.”

The woman suddenly stopped, calmly gazing at the ’resurrected one’ before her, slowly said, “Do you remember who you are?”

“Shawn!” Shawn blurted out instinctively.

Completely unable to resist.

His ability to speak seemed to have fully recovered, and after vomiting that filthy clot, even his breathing became a bit lighter.

But still, there was a slight stabbing pain in the chest.

“Good.”

“Remember who you are, never lose yourself,” the woman said calmly as she turned.

A dazzling halo appeared.

The woman with long silver hair pushed open the door to the mortuary.

……

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