Qiren's egg spun violently, tossed like a toy between blasts of shimmering violet wind. The sky was a darkened landscape of purple and turquoise storm-clouds.
Below him lay nothing but a bottomless abyss of cloud and glowing dust.
Above him drifted shattered floating islands etched with massive amethyst pillars, hovering like broken continents.
And around him—
Hundreds of other eggs.
Each one a dark macob of textures, scales, ridges and spikes, glowing from within, each one caught in the same violent storm.
Some cracked midair and split apart, spilling shrieking, half-formed demon larvae before the abyss swallowed them. Others smashed into floating rock fragments and shattered like fragile ornaments.
Qiren's pulse—if he even had a heart—raced.
His legs curled against him in ways no human body could manage, suspended in the warm, thick liquid clinging to his skin.
His mouth wouldn't open.
His chest didn't rise or fall.
There was no breathing—only a dull, rhythmic pulsing somewhere inside him.
Then—
CRRRK—!
A deep fracture shot across the shell, slicing the darkness with a jagged beam of blinding light. Cold wind rushed in through the fissure, stinging his skin like needles.
Another violent jolt—
The egg slammed into something hard: a floating branch of dark wood. The impact sent him bouncing, gelatinous fluid splashing across his face.
Through the widening cracks, shapes flashed:
A sky of shattered light.
Crystalline pillars standing firm amid the carnage.
Hundreds of eggs tossed through the storm like meteor showers.
Some collided midair and burst into yolk-splattered shards. Others split prematurely, spilling squealing demon hatchlings into the howling void before the wind devoured them.
Qiren tried to move.
To scream.
To brace himself.
But his limbs were useless.
His form unbalanced, unfinished.
All he could do was tumble—downward, sideways, upward—gravity shifting like it had forgotten its job.
The egg spun wildly, the storm screaming louder with every rotation. A jagged island of twisted trees and wild beasts rushed beneath him.
His tiny claws scraped at the shell—instinct, not thought. A command etched into newborn nerves:
BREAK OUT.
OR DIE.
Crack. Crack-crack.
CRAAACK.
The shell split open, glowing shards peeling away like petals.
A final blast of wind struck—the egg burst apart—and Lin Qiren was hurled into the storm: newborn, blind, a slick, trembling demon-hatchling plummeting through fractured branches and roaring thunder.
AAAAAAA—!!!
He screamed for the first time, the ground rushing toward him, his small body curling instinctively as if it would help.
A massive shadow swept over him—five-gigantic wingbeats thunderous, from a creature with a wingspan larger than his entire body.
Its many eyes scanned the storm, hunting the spiraling demon eggs.
A predator.
It dove.
Straight at him.
Qiren's instincts erupted. Something deep within surged—
A heat. A pressure. A hunger.
His newborn eyes flashed hellish red. The slick hairs along his back stood on end—Applicable Curses & Blessings: Unnamed Bad Luck Spirit Curse—his strands lengthening, rising, parting as the back of his skull opened slightly to release them.
CRRRK—!
The bird-creature snapped its beak at the strands, then struck with its talons.
It severed the hair cleanly—
And Qiren was milliseconds from becoming a snack when—
The storm roared.
A vortex of shimmering wind smashed into him, flinging him sideways. He bounced off a floating slab of quartz, rolling painfully across its gleaming surface.
He slid off the mineral's slick, glowing edge.
His newborn demon body tumbled into a massive tree as the storm shrieked around him.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
Branches broke beneath him, leaves and splinters blurring past as he crashed down the ancient redwood.
No, no, no—
He squeezed his eyes shut as the gaps grew wider.
NO!! DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES!
His eyes snapped open, burning with newborn fury.
He reached—stretched—
Get it!!!
His claws snagged a cluster of leaves. The branch bent violently, dragging downward with his momentum.
Gritting his teeth, he clung with both arms, hauling himself upward.
"Huff… huff… huff…"
Raw, primal adrenaline pushed him further.
Crak… Crrrak…
The branch groaned dangerously beneath him.
He scrambled toward the trunk, spotting a hollow in the wood. He didn't think—he dove inside.
Thunder rumbled somewhere distant.
Even that made the tiny figure curled inside flinch.
!!?
Qiren's heart hammered. He thought the predator had returned. His eyes darted frantically—
including the pair at the back of his head—scanning every inch of the hollow.
KRA-KOOOM!
His forward eyes locked on the sky outside.
Just thunder.
He exhaled shakily and peeked out.
The storm raged on—but something else drew his gaze.
Purple clouds.
Dark swirls of violet and turquoise rolled overhead, each bolt of lightning crystallizing for a split second before shattering back into sparks.
Where the lightning struck, the sky glowed turquoise—then faded to purple.
Where… is this place? What was that thing that attacked me?
He lowered his head to process everything—then froze.
"Ww… waa…"
His voice came out layered, warped, undeveloped.
He stared at his legs, curled against his chest.
They were not human.
White as snow, smooth and firm, marked with black swirls that flowed down into blackened calves—where the pattern inverted again. Sharp claws pierced the ends of his toes.
His arms matched—pale to the elbow, spirals trailing toward his wrists. Black claws tipped his fingers.
Qiren's lips parted. Warped sounds slipped out again.
"!?"
He reached for his throat.
"Waa—"
The noise escaped. He froze.
He felt his breath brush his palm—
Even though his hand wasn't near his mouth.
His fingers explored the area again… and found a horizontal slit.
Soft. Protruding.
He pushed a claw inside—
Teeth.
He froze.
His claw scraped bone.
He tried opening his mouth, and the slit opened with it.
His fingers pressed deeper into the cavity—dorsum, base, buccal mucosa, even taste buds.
Nothing matched anatomy.
He slid his fingers upward, expecting a throat—
Instead, he instantly hit the roof of his mouth.
His claw dug into flesh.
Sharp pain flared—not in his neck, but his head.
"???"
None of this made sense.
He opened the normal mouth on his face, wider. Probed inside with his free hand.
Empty. No throat. No tongue—nothing.
He pressed upward, touching the roof of this mouth—and winced.
The wound his nail had made was right there.
"…Damn it. What kind of monster have I become?"
He stopped trying to untangle his double-mouth anatomy and checked elsewhere.
Lower back—No tail.
A small relief.
He felt along his face: sharper cheekbones, elongated jaw, slightly pointed ears.
And finally, the pair of eyes on the back of his head.
He tried closing them one by one. Difficult at first, then easier.
He shut his forward eyes completely, focusing only on the ones behind him.
That was when he heard it—
Rrrrip…
The skin around his jaw tore slightly.
His head jerked upward, pulled by some unseen force.
Yet it didn't feel hostile. It felt… welcoming.
His shoulders loosened. His breathing steadied, warming him from within.
Rain hammered the forest outside.
What am I doing…? My head's about to be ripped off…
His closed eyes drifted apart, sliding sideways like they floated on water instead of flesh.
Why… does this feel familiar? Had I done something like this before? No… not exactly. But I did something before ending up here. Right? What did I do…?
Heat pulsed across his scalp.
His hair began to grow—long, black, liquid-smooth. The roots wriggled, shifting beneath the skin.
His eyes twitched—
Then moved.
The pair on his face slid downward, sinking beneath the skin before reemerging at his shoulders.
He gasped as shoulder-eyes blinked open, showing the hollow from impossible angles.
On the back of his head, the other pair crawled forward, nerves trailing behind like veins.
Pain flared—blinding, consuming—
RIIIIP—!!
His head tore free at the base.
A wet, crunching sound followed, and something pushed out from the torn stump—
A straight, smooth shaft of pale wood.
No—
Bamboo.
A bamboo handle.
His severed head hung forward for a moment, attached by strands of hair. Then the hair coiled, lifting it upright like a brush-tip standing to attention.
The memory hit him like lightning.
The salt circle.
The incense.
The severed head with moving hair.
The counterfeit warding ritual.
The entity devoured by his brush.
His collapsing lifespan.
His death.
He remembered the phone slipping.
The screen flashing:
0 Years Remaining.
Then darkness.
His shoulder-eyes widened in horror.
His head dangled from living hair.
His new body trembled as the storm cracked open the sky.
"…I… died," he whispered—voice echoing from both his face-mouth and the slit-mouth on his throat.
"And this… this is what I became."