Chapter Text
The world is really strange. The world that brought him to life, made him feel lost, despised, unwanted, unworthy- incongruous for this esteemed and holy cultivation world, is also the same world that made him feel loved, cared and cherished. His laudable deeds that were once buried under ashes of ostensible sins, were again rekindled - only to extinguish like the faint and subtle marsh fireband.
History repeats itself, right? So, is his fate repeating like history too - like the incessant wheel of birth and rebirth? Why is he feeling repudiated, unworthy, broken, spurned, shattered and enervated? Why are his legs or rather his entire body is burning and blitzing, but he is feeling numb, as if his soul no longer resides in the mortal world of materialistic sensations? Which labyrinth game of darkness is this rotten life playing with him?
What has he done to receive such a noxious feedback? Is he really that despicable? But why? Is it because he chose a different path and tried to save innocent ones, or is it because he got a second life - which he had decided to revel with his beloved one and chastise it from the past mistakes?
Not that his jaded soul desired to return to this world anymore. Seems like it was Mo Xuanyu's ghost of a grave mistake to sacrifice his body and summon a devilish and impotent soul like him.
Oh right! The intention is now as clear as the purest water of Gusu's holy spring. He wanted to use Wei Wuxian to seek revenge from his enemies, who have torn him apart with the knife of berates. Everyone used him to fulfil their motives. He was just used, spent and wrung like an instrument.
What would have those cultivators done if his corpses did not assist in killing the Wens during the sunshot campaign?
They would have been crushed like ants without the massive power of the Stygian tiger amulet and his mastery over resentful energy. Those morons cherished him during the war and then turned him down as soon as he refused to let those power-hungry cultivators abuse his powers.
So pathetic. Not him, but them.
Everyone rejected him, even his own brother. Well, not that he expected too much from anyone. He is used to rejections; rejected from being provided with food, shelter, clothes to protect from harsh winter, family, parents...when he used to lurk around the streets, after the Almighty decided to make him orphan without his consent when he was six years old.
But like the first ray of the sun , Uncle Jiang brought hopes in his life. On a frosty cold day, the warm rays of sun for the first time bathed the streets that were frozen from the harsh January winter, finally meeting a long awaited scintilla of warmth to the shivering little boy. It is on the same day that a purple-robed man appeared before him - bringing a trove of impending pinch of happiness and contentment into his short termed lifetime.
He got a family - a motherly sister and a grumpy, yet loving brother. He got a fatherly figure but never a motherly one.
Madam Yu had always despised him, but deep down his heart, he could feel a very little warmth of a mother subtly envincing from her, whenever he was ill or injured. Perhaps it was an illusion of a purple woman sitting beside him, treating him, nursing his health; or maybe not? He could never comprehend Madam Yu's attitude towards him, even after spending so many years with the Jiangs.
Sometimes she cared as coyly and as stealthily as the glider, and sometimes she transpired her furore like the roaring thunderstorm over him. Though the woman never had any desire to be, but Wei Wuxian had always locked her in his heart in a separate case where he had stored respect and love for a mother.
He was cheerful, exuberant, energetic, talented, thoughtful, flirty, intelligent youth, an unique thinker with intellect that transcended the old senile thoughts of enslaved bran cells. He was happy during those cherubic times, despite the pressure and harshness from Madam Yu, and the constant thrashing burden of being compared with Jiang Cheng, and the agonising berates from the woman.
He could feel an arrow of jealousy emitted from Jiang Cheng sometimes, as Madam Yu would most often recite negative speeches against him, and cramp them inside Jiang Cheng's novice ears. Young children are like mud - the shape you give is the shape they assume.
But still, Jiang Cheng loved him like his own brother, and Shije...Well, Shije was her world, her mother, sister, and almost an entire family within herself to him. He loved her, or better to say worshipped her. He thanks the heavens and the Almighty for the jewel it has offered to cherish in his life. She was that elixir for him, that could heal any wound with a touch mere.
But who knew, that previous gem would have to depart from its verve just to protect its foster brother?
Wei Wuxian smiled bitterly from the acrid memory of witnessing his Shijie's soul departing from her feeble body, as the sword stabbed through her chest that was meant for him to take.
' What did you want to tell me Shijie? I am still curious. Why did you push me away? Why did you not let me taste the piercing steal? I should have been the one to die before, not you.'
Tears started flowing from his eyes like a linn, as he replayed the feeble ' A- Xian' in his mind, that was softly uttered from his Shijie's soft and weary voice, when she was looking lovingly at his two brothers - struggling with the Grim Reaper, as blood was profusely gushing from her chest.
The day he entered Cloud Recess, a new chapter commenced in his life. He felt love in a new form, and it was different from Shije's or Jiang Cheng's or uncle Jiang's love. He felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time on seeing the epitome of handsomeness and a cold stoic beauty with power, cladded in white, on the wall of Cloud Recess entrance wall - looking like a painted angel.
Then a flower bloomed after a short period of time, and he was introduced to a brand new trove of joy; a happiness of an alien land. He felt cherished. Lan Wangji made him feel cherished.
But all these are distant past - a dark abyss that contains some faint memories like the diminishing petrichor on a sunny day, sweeping away the traces of the blissful rain, that had soaked the parched Earth.
Is he still wanted now? NO, he thinks. Nothing matters anymore, he is being rejected again.
The one soul, whom he had loved with all his heart, the brother to whom he had given his golden core, the cultivation world for which he had fought, giving away all the cheers of youth, has REJECTED and DISTRUSTED him. He has been THROWN away again.
His heart is heavy, his body cannot take it anymore, his back is bleeding, and he could feel the rusty taste of blood clogged in his throat. But he couldn't throw it out, just like the pain of throbbing betrayal and dismal disdain perforated through his heart, bleeding it profusely.
Unbeknown to him, he had reached the end of a cliff, standing at the edge.
How long has he been walking?
Just one step more, and this mortal body shall part with this world - renouncing the disdain of distasteful spurns, empty lamentations, and dolorous forsakes.
He almost did it but then...
Realisation hit him hard.
For whom should he take one more step? For this moronic world that never acknowledged his sacrifices but rather addressed him as a demon! The world where his most treasured person has betrayed and mistrusted him, or better to say have devastated him. He has no right to end the chance he was given via Mo Xuanyu.
Hundreds of questions were volleying across his heart like wafts of cruel winds abrading and incising his heart with every gush.
Certainly, the world shook before him, as if the soil plates are tearing apart from vehemence of the Almighty's wrath.
He felt a sheer force constricting his heart; it was not despair but the throttle of bitterness and vengeance. A resentful aura shrouded him; his eyes became blood shot, and he was quivering, the blue and green veins were protruding out of the pale skin of his forehead, as the manifestation out of the colossal wrath and ire stratifying within his feeble heart.
The urge to seek revenge was driving him to the edge of tearing this world apart; the former remnants of love that he has been reminiscing, vanished like subtle and shy mist. He wants to destroy everyone who have wronged him.
The blood from his beaten injured back is mixing with his sweat and the resentful energy that was oozing out from his body.
He feels betrayed.
Everyone has betrayed him.
He put chenqing on his lips and started playing the most dreaded tune, the tune of summoning the hell - the epitome of resentful energy.
A sharp pain pierced through his body.
Yes! He wants to become the real demon king : the one who could destroy everything. Not as merciful and selfless as the Yiling Patriarch, but the one who has the heart to slaughter mercilessly in quest of defending himself.
The sharp diabolical tune pierced through the air, demanding command from the heaven and the Earth.
He is engulfed in a menacing dark aura and was slathered with deluge of resentful energy. The open, wounded, doleful world has started shivering from a sheer menace. He felt nauseating and his misty eyes could see only a later of blurry world, groveling before him. Something creepy was crawling through his nerves; resentful energy is birling around him, like an ivy throttles a plant in quest of sucking its vitality.
Like the sudden raid of a obliterating thunderstorm, he heard a soul piercing heavy sound - as if the mountains and the valleys are shattering down. A huge black hole appeared before him, and a sinister amount of evil resentful energy is oozing out from the abyss of darkness, that was whirling like cyclone.
A figure emerged from the pitch-black abyss, as if it had been carved out of the thick black baleful smoke.
He could really not figure out what is happening. He could not see clearly through his blurry vision.With the figure approaching towards him, he suddenly started feeling lightheaded. But, a sudden warmth and a pleasing sensation was waving through his entire frame.
The black silhouette looked like a sculptured body of black energy.
He could tell in a blink how it feels when a body is engulfed by ample amount of negative energy.
Shouldn't he feel sour, heavy and obnoxious? Though he was feeling dizzy, his body was receiving a strange comfort. As if someone is consoling him as compensation for the suffrage he had gone through.
A white attractive hand started approaching towards him.
He couldn't figure out the person's face or how 'he'(he is sure it is a male) looks. Has the demon king responded to his summon? If it is so then he should feel a diabolic aura.. Why is he certainly feeling safe, secured and revivified around this mysterious person !
Being the 'grandmaster of demonic cultivation' he is acquainted to the feeling of resentful energy's intrusion in the body - the unbearable pain, hundreds of shrill sinister voices, nauseatic feeling, smell of blood...the deep Vengeance, the irk, sullen feeling; he felt none of them.
His back had stopped bleeding and his body pain is almost gone but he is still swaying, and his legs are woobly. He distanced himself from the figure and with confounded voice asked -
" Who are you? "
He started feeling nauseatic again, and the harrowing pain returned, like the menacing high tide. He could feel an aura of displeasure envinced from the figure.That momentary relief, that was comforting him from the hideous pain, is gone, leaving a throbbing body stranded amid cloud of obscuration.
"Come with me."
A deep, searing, baritone voice percolated with inclemency through his eardrums, and he gained back his senses, as if being washed by a spring of sal volatile - awakening his from a coffin of caliginous half-death.
With the black figure approaching him, he remembered his purpose of summoning the hell, and the vengeance retured to his heart again, like the destructive wave of flood - that return to the shore to wreck the land.
"I want revenge. " He bellowed, but in a voice as quelled as the molten volcano whose vehemence is assuaged under perilously suppression, and hides the pernicious inclemency dwelling within it. With his eyes turning crimson like the bloody red lily, his piercing gaze almost perforated through the dark, obscure void.
His soul is burning with the desire to become the one, whom people would think thrice before messing with. He will destroy everyone who wronged him. Destroy. Destroy. He is hurt. His shattered heart hurts. He feels devastated. His loved ones have betrayed him.
"Then come with me. "
"Then take me with you. "
He does not know where he would be taken, but it would surely be somewhere better than this dirty marred world. He wants to part with this filthy blemished world forever. Even if it is hell, he will gladly accept it.
He felt a sharp pain in his head and with the agonizing ache, he passed out.
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𝗜𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝘆𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗻𝘆,
𝗦𝗼𝘂𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀,
𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝗸,
𝗗𝗿𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗲.
𝗕𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱,
𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗹 𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗲𝘅𝗶𝗹𝗲.
𝗜𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗱 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄;
𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗹𝗼𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗲.
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