Chapter (2): Past Memories, Consequences and Causes

“I don’t want to live like this anymore, to exist in this half-human, half-monster state. Brother, please, I beg you—let me go, won’t you?” Huashang continued to clutch at the slave’s sleeve, the tone almost childishly pleading, yet the words themselves were laced with a cruel, desperate finality.

Seeing that the slave simply stood there, motionless and impassive, Huashang laughed again, the sound heartbreakingly innocent. With a sweep of his sleeve, he concealed the ruined half of his face, as if he were still the shy little boy he once had been. “Brother, are you frightened of me now? Then why did you bother saving me all those years ago?”

In a sudden fit of rage, Huashang’s already shattered features twisted further into something grotesque. He lashed out with a clawed hand, which the slave blocked instinctively. A murderous glint deepened in Huashang’s eyes.

Then, Huashang’s head lolled at an unnatural angle, his lips curling into a chilling smile. “Brother, do you really think you can escape now?”

Behind Huashang, something began to unfurl—slowly, ominously—a pair of gray, skeletal wings, lending him an ever more demonic air.

Only then did the slave finally realize: the shy, endearing child of his memories was gone. He had come back to the wrong place, to a land that was no longer the home he remembered. Everything that once was had long since been swallowed by the whirlpool of time, irretrievably lost.

On Huashang’s decayed, or rather half-decayed, body, small patches of dark green scales began to emerge—disgusting to behold.

At this moment, the slave understood, with a clarity that chilled him, just what sort of monster now stood before him.

Huashang licked his bloodstained claws, his gaze lingering meaningfully on the slave. “Brother, you know, I’ve never tasted one alive before.”

With those words, Huashang struck, moving with a speed that matched the slave’s own.

Blow after blow followed. The slave narrowly dodged Huashang’s claws, but the skeletal wing pierced his right shoulder. Huashang withdrew, savoring the blood on his wing, as if intoxicated. “Your half-demon blood is truly exquisite—so much better than the bones and corpses.”

The slave’s face grew pale as blood flowed from his wound, while Huashang’s excitement only intensified. He launched another attack, darting in and out, taunting the slave—swift one moment, retreating the next, never letting him land a decisive blow.

The slave’s remaining eye began to glow red; horns emerged atop his head, and a massive pair of jet-black wings unfurled behind him. The wound on his right shoulder slowly began to heal.

Huashang showed no surprise at the transformation. In the gladiator’s pit, he had witnessed it before—how he had envied the slave’s strength back then…

A bitter smile flickered across Huashang’s face. He was so tired now—so very tired. Let it all end, once and for all.

Focusing his resolve, the slave attacked, aiming to pierce Huashang’s chest. Strangely, Huashang made no effort to resist. The slave hesitated for an instant, but his hand had already driven through Huashang’s left breast.

In his grasp, he felt Huashang’s heart—warm and still faintly beating.

Huashang ignored the hand embedded in his chest and stepped forward until he was close enough to embrace the slave. Leaning weakly on his shoulder, he murmured, “Brother, I’m tired. I just want to sleep—a little nap. Wake me up in a bit, all right? Otherwise the overseer will scold you again.” He seemed to recall, with a faint smile, the days when he would doze off and the slave would shield him from punishment.

The slave felt a dampness on his face—a tear, perhaps—though he barely noticed the bone wing slowly rising behind Huashang. Abrupt, searing pain shot through him as he saw the gray wing pierce both their bodies.

Huashang, with the unspoiled half of his face, nuzzled against the slave’s cheek in a childlike gesture. “Brother, I still can’t bear to leave you. Let’s go to hell together, shall we?” His voice grew fainter.

A gentle breeze passed. Huashang’s motionless form dissolved into dust, settling silently to the ground. The slave, left without support, collapsed with a dull thud.

Daylight slowly brightened, the dawn glow eerily reminiscent of the slave’s departure. He closed his eyes, exhausted—was this finally the end?

“So this is the thing you brought in? It looks oddly familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Everything here should look familiar to you. What, are you interested in him? Do you have that kind of—”

“No, no, spare me! I’ll keep my mouth shut!”

When the slave awoke, he saw a white canopy above him and was dazed for a long time. So he wasn’t dead after all—what stubborn luck. He managed a bitter smile and tried to sit up.

But his body refused to cooperate, and he fell back onto the bed.

“Well, you woke up quickly,” said Moyan, approaching the bed to see the slave glaring blankly at him.

“Help him up,” said the man standing behind Moyan.

“Your body is weak—you haven’t eaten in a long time, so it’s normal to feel powerless. For the next few days, if you need anything, ask him. The rest can wait until you’re stronger.” With that, the man left, leaving the slave and Moyan staring at each other.

Moyan conceded defeat. After all, what’s a little caretaking? He could endure it. “So be it. I’ll be nearby. Call if you need anything.”

The slave whispered, “Thank you.”

Days passed, and soon the slave was able to get out of bed. Just as he was preparing to thank his caretaker and leave, the man came looking for him first.

“Have you decided where you’ll go now?” the man asked.

The slave nodded. “I want to go back and uncover the truth.”

The man raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile. “Is it about that young companion you were always so close with in the gladiator’s pit?”

The slave’s head jerked up, suspicion and confusion plainly written on his face.

With a flick of his hand, the man conjured a mirror half his own height. “This is called the Mirror of Illusion. The answers you seek are inside.”

He sat quietly to the side, sipping tea, while the slave stared fixedly into the mirror. After a long while, the slave murmured, “So that’s how it was… so that’s the truth!”

In the early days after the boy returned home, life was blissful—until his family drugged him and sent him to live with a powerful official. That was when the nightmare began.

This official was the elder brother of the wealthy patron the slave had defeated in the pit.

Everyone in the gladiator’s pit knew how close the boy was to the slave, and because of this, the official tormented him day and night, relentlessly interrogating him about the slave’s whereabouts. At first, the boy struggled and insisted he knew nothing; later, he fell silent, growing numb.

The official was infamous for his sadistic cruelty. Those who fell into his hands could expect the worst. When he tired of the boy, he passed him among his subordinates, and finally, used him as a test subject.

They tested a potion meant to awaken pure demon blood in those with half-demon lineage—a formula that had failed for centuries. The boy was just one of countless victims.

During one trial, the boy mutated, slaughtered everyone on the official’s side, and took the official’s place.

Shortly after, the slave returned… and everything that followed was set in motion.