Alfir
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059 YOU ARE MINE
🕑 Added 2025-02-21 16:12:04 +0000 UTCI was hyperventilating.
My chest heaved, my hands trembled, and my vision blurred as sweat dripped down my forehead. My thoughts scattered like frightened rats, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer wrongness coursing through my veins.
And then—
"It’s me, David."
I froze.
The voice echoed inside my head, distant yet familiar, like a name I had forgotten but somehow always knew.
"Stay focused," David said. "We are inside your memories. If you lose yourself, the misfortune you have accumulated will devour us both."
I gasped, barely registering his words as my body jerked backward—just in time to avoid a sword wave that split the ground where I had been standing.
I whipped my head around.
The Heavenly Demon and the Heavenly Sword clashed in the distance, their figures flickering between reality and illusion as their battle shook the heavens.
The Virtuous King stood in quiet concentration, golden Buddhist light radiating from his form as he chanted sutras, his voice resonating with divine power.
The Divine Flood Dragon raised his hands, summoning great torrents of water that surged through the battlefield, drowning sect elders and sweeping away entire formations.
The Heavenly Demonic Sect was burning.
Focus.
David’s words echoed in my mind, pulling me from the chaos.
I sucked in a shaky breath, forcing myself to listen—not to my panic, not to my fear, but to the one thing that had always guided me: my Sixth Sense Misfortune.
I let it pull me.
I moved—not with thought, but with instinct—ducking, weaving, slipping past blades and spells that should have cut me apart.
The battle raged on, and I ran, David’s voice still whispering in the back of my mind.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling.
The feeling that I knew him.
That I had always known him.
I clumsily drew my sword, my grip unsteady as I barely deflected the first strike. Sparks flew as my blade met another, but the impact rattled my bones. My stance was weak. My movements, sluggish.
I had never experienced real combat before.
And it showed.
Three cultivators surrounded me, their eyes sharp and full of killing intent. They weren’t stronger than me—not individually—but together, they were overwhelming.
One lunged. I parried, but my form was a mess, my reaction too slow. Another struck from the side, and I barely twisted in time to block. The third aimed for my legs. I jumped back, only for my foot to slip on the blood-slicked ground.
I stumbled.
"Focus."
David’s voice rang clear in my mind.
"Angle your blade—don’t meet their force head-on. Redirect it."
I gasped, throwing my sword up just in time. My opponent’s strike slid off the edge instead of pushing me back. The opening let me step away, widening the distance.
"Breathe. Don’t react—predict. You can already feel where misfortune lies. Use it."
My Sixth Sense pulsed.
One of them was about to attack my left. Another was preparing a feint from the right. The third—I couldn’t tell.
I forced myself to stay calm. I couldn’t think too much—I had to move.
The left cultivator lunged. I pivoted, dodging by an inch. The right one struck next. I raised my sword to block—then realized, it was a feint.
My stomach dropped.
The third cultivator, the one I couldn’t sense, came from behind.
I turned, but I was too slow—
"Drop!"
I didn’t hesitate.
I threw myself to the ground, barely avoiding the slash aimed at my back. My own sword clanged against the stone, slipping from my grip.
I reached for it.
Too late.
A boot slammed into my wrist, pinning me down. I let out a choked breath, pain shooting through my arm. The cultivator standing over me sneered, raising his sword for the finishing blow.
I stared up, heart pounding.
"Roll! Now!"
I twisted, ignoring the pain as I rolled to the side. A second later, a sword embedded itself in the ground where my head had been.
I scrambled back, gasping.
"Get up. You won’t survive if you stay on the ground."
I pushed myself to my feet, gripping my sword with trembling hands.
I wasn’t winning this. I knew that much.
But somehow, I was lasting.
And it was all because of the voice in my head.
The fight continued.
And we were losing.
I couldn’t tell how much time had passed—only that my arms ached, my legs trembled, and my breath came in ragged gasps. Cuts burned along my skin, each one a reminder of my failure to dodge, to parry, to fight properly.
I wasn’t meant for this.
I had never been meant for this.
The cultivators before me advanced, their eyes filled with the righteous fury of those who had come to eradicate demons. I stepped back, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“I—I don’t want to fight,” I choked out. My voice was hoarse, weak. “Please. Let me go.”
They hesitated. Only for a second.
Then the one in front sneered. “Now you beg?”
I flinched.
“You serve the Heavenly Demon,” another spat. “You stood by while your sect devoured the innocent. And now you want mercy?”
I did.
I desperately did.
I wanted to run. I wanted to be anywhere but here. I wanted to forget the taste of fear in my mouth and the weight of blood on my hands.
The brainwashing drilled into me since childhood wavered.
The teachings, the lessons—the devotion I was supposed to feel—it all seemed distant, almost ridiculous, now that I stood on the losing side.
I was supposed to gladly lay my life down for the Heavenly Demon.
But I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to die.
A sword swung at me. I barely raised my own to block, the force rattling my arms. I staggered back, sweat dripping into my eyes. The world blurred.
"Move!" David’s voice snapped in my head.
I stumbled, my footwork clumsy. Another blade sliced toward me. I twisted too slow, and pain bloomed along my side.
I gasped.
The wound wasn’t deep, but it stung.
Another strike. Another cut.
I couldn’t keep up.
More and more, the brainwashing bled away.
More and more, fear took its place.
And then—
I saw it.
Across the battlefield, at the center of the carnage, the Heavenly Demon stood.
Or rather—he wavered.
His golden and dark robes were tattered. His noble face, once untouched by age, now looked weary. His pitch-black eyes burned with rage.
And then—
A sword pierced him.
The Heavenly Sword stood before him, blade buried deep in the old man’s chest. His expression was as cold as steel.
The Heavenly Demon opened his mouth, but no words came.
His body trembled.
Then, slowly, he crumpled to his knees.
I forgot to breathe.
The Heavenly Demon—our master, our god—
He was dying.
And in that moment, I realized.
The sect was finished.
We were finished.
Pain exploded in my shoulder.
I gasped, stumbling backward as the blade lodged itself deep into my flesh. My knees buckled, and before I could react, a boot slammed against my chest.
I hit the ground hard. The air fled my lungs.
Above me stood a young man—roughly my age, his cultivation just as good as mine, if not better. His eyes burned with righteous fervor, and his lips curled into something between disgust and satisfaction.
He pressed his foot down harder.
I wheezed.
"Not much of a demon, are you?" he said, tilting his head.
"Just kill her already," one of his friends muttered, stepping closer.
"No, wait," another interjected. "She’s an important disciple, right? She’s worth merit."
A third one scoffed. "So who gets the credit?"
I could barely register their words through the pain. My head spun. My body screamed in protest. Blood seeped from my shoulder, hot and wet, soaking into my already tattered robes.
They were debating over who should take my head.
Like I wasn’t even a person.
Like I was just another tally to their names, another step toward their glory.
I clenched my teeth, heart pounding as I tried to push the boot off my chest. It didn’t budge.
The young man above me smirked. "Oh? Still got some fight left?"
I didn’t.
Not really.
But I didn’t want to die.
David’s voice echoed in my head. "Stay focused."
I swallowed, trying to think, trying to find a way out. My Sixth Sense Misfortune screamed at me—this was it. The moment my luck would run out.
I struggled.
The young man lifted his sword.
"Fine," he said, almost amused. "I’ll take her head, then."
"DON’T LET THEM KILL YOU!"
David’s voice rang in my head like a thunderclap.
And then—
BOOM.
A pillar of lightning descended from the heavens. Blinding, deafening, all-consuming. The world turned white.
I felt the weight on my chest vanish, the boot that had been crushing me gone in an instant. The sword meant to take my life never fell.
I gasped for air.
As my vision cleared, I saw him.
Standing where my would-be executioners had been was a lone figure clad in plated armor—rustic gold and deep green. His helm, reflecting twin lights of gold, obscured his face. A half-ethereal cape, shifting between existence and nothingness, billowed behind him.
In his hand, he held a sword. He had drawn it from nowhere, as if it had always belonged to him.
The cultivators who had surrounded me?
Gone.
No blood. No corpses.
Just dust.
He exhaled, examining his weapon with mild interest. “I had a feeling it was something like this.”
I trembled. My body ached, my mind reeled. I could still feel the phantom pain of the sword that had pierced my shoulder, the pressure of the boot against my ribs.
I turned my gaze to him.
His presence alone made the air feel heavier, as though the world itself bent to accommodate his existence.
My lips were dry. My throat burned.
Still, I forced the words out.
“…Who are you?”
“The name is David,” the armored man said. He glanced at me, his helm reflecting the twin golden lights of his eyes with increasing furiosity. “But others call me Da Wei.”
I didn’t move. I barely breathed.
Everything was gone.
The Heavenly Sword. The Virtuous King. The Divine Flood Dragon. The elders. The demonic cultivators. The righteous cultivators. Every single person in the battlefield had turned to dust.
The only ones left were me and David.
A cold wind howled through the ruins of the Heavenly Demonic Sect. My wounds stung, my body shivered. I struggled to my feet, hand pressing against my injured shoulder. The pain felt distant, overshadowed by something far worse.
Then—
Drip.
Something wet landed on my cheek.
I wiped it absentmindedly, but when I looked down at my fingers—
Red.
It was raining.
But not water.
I could taste the iron on my lips. The scent of rust filled the air.
It was raining blood.
The ground trembled. A soundless force gripped my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Then, from the place where the Heavenly Demon had just died—
It rose.
A horned man, pale as a corpse, with bat-like wings unfurling from his back. His robes were ripped apart, exposing a skeletal torso etched with demonic runes that glowed a sickly red. The air distorted around him, thick with something wrong.
His black eyes locked onto me.
A grin stretched across his face, lips pulling back too wide, revealing teeth far too sharp.
He raised a bony finger and pointed straight at me.
“YOU ARE MINE.”
I froze. My limbs refused to move. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear anything else.
David stepped forward. He placed a hand on his sword and muttered,
“No matter what, don’t let him kill you.”
Comments
Anthony Flores
that was not an ultimate skill, just a visual manifestation of how MC forced his way inside the scenario
lenkite
WARNING! [Critical Story Error] Detected! > A pillar of lightning descended from the heavens. Blinding, deafening, all-consuming. The world turned white. Contradicts with Chapter 60: "Cannot use Ultimate Abilities!"
NameGame
This is dumb. The past is already over, she already survived it, this is at best a mental retcon of what already worked out well enough for her to survive. Why is this even here. End the stupid backstory already, this doesn't make the story better, it makes it worse by existing.
