Heavenly Demon Yanara.

In many, this name invoked respect and admiration.

In many others, resentment and trepidation.

His allies worshipped his overwhelming demonic prowess.

His enemies feared his brutal strength and callousness.

Some whispered of his kind, gentle demeanor.

How he'd help the old live and the children survive.

How he'd arm his people with knowledge and purpose hand in hand.

They spoke of his smile, bright, humble.

They spoke of his gaze, warm, forgiving.

As if he were a descendant from heaven.

Some yet shouted of his ruthless, relentless nature.

A tyrant who'd mercilessly thwart all who stood in his wake be they innocent or ignorant.

A monster who wouldn't bat an eye at depriving a child of their mother or a father of their child.

They told of his inexorable viciousness.

They told of his insurmountable wrath.

As if he were a demon from hell.

Still, very few, the lucky ones, the cursed ones, the formidable ones, lived to tell the tale of something worse, something darker, something far more terrifying, beyond the bounds of morality and mortality, and beyond the trails of blood and ashes and sundered destruction, hidden deeper within the extraordinary presence…

Inoperable madness.

As such, although in recent months the demon and his devil lair had shown no aggression, the martial masters from across the region stood on needles.

Was the demon preparing for war? Worse even, about to break through to a higher level in cultivation, wasn't he? The sole thing more frightening than unceasing assaults was this bizarre silence.

Silence so bizarre that even the demon had no idea whatsoever.

“It hurts…” a young girl muttered, rolling on her bed, turning left and right, welling up and down, squeezing the bloody blanket in her hand. “It fucking hurts…”

She pressed her other hand hard on her eyes, blinded by burning sensations. Her nose bled. The innards of her head melted. The pain was unbearable.

To suppress it, she bit her lip as hard as possible. Forcing a smile right after, she licked the blood flowing down her nose.

Am alive? she wondered the very moment clarity hit her. Did I not fail in my ascension? The backlash was sure enough to kill me. A happy miscalculation? No fucking way. There are no accidents.

She cracked her eyes open to be greeted by a cold ceiling. And darkness. Blinking repeatedly, she cleared the tears obstructing her vision. The irritation in her veined eyes made her feel deep inside a salty ocean. But no, it was just a room.

Yet no regular room. To her far right stood a white table with no asymmetries. So much so that the lack of irregularities thereof made it irregular in her eyes.

It looks… modern? Just like the ones on Earth…

A mere suspicion. Yet as her sight improved, she spotted a laptop, graphic tablet, weird headset, and posh-looking glasses atop the table…

Also, a peculiar mirror…

She looked at it, at the reflection — a pale, bloody mess. Chestnut hair so long it waved and reached the elbows. Emerald eyes so large they left the nose as little more than a button.

Who is she? she wondered. Is this a portal? Why is she staring at me like a bitch—

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She gasped inaudebly. The reflection gasped. They both gulped.

She lowered her eyes slowly, steadily, a bit more slowly than steadily. Nothing. Instead of the alp of muscles built by years of dedicated training, she saw two heavy slumps of meat.

She immediately attempted to curse energy through her body. Nothing. The power to lift mountains, wield a weapon at sound speed, fly faster than a warplane — all gone.

She threw the velvet away and watched in between her legs. Nothing.

Heavenly Demon Yanara.

A secret about him only a few people knew of—

Yanara wasn't a name given to him in the same world as the title of Heavenly Demon was.

He, in fact, had spent a lifetime in a faraway realm known as Earth. After his death, he transmigrated into the body of an orphaned boy in another world. Only from then on began the saga of the Heavenly Demon Yanara.

He traversed the seven regions, served many families and schools, competed against the masters at their craft, cultivated the most torturous techniques, and walked a path less traveled to divulge the mysteries of his resurgence to life.

But he ultimately failed.

And now?

“Pfft…” Yanara chuckled. Staring back at the tabletop mirror, she broke into laughter. “Pfhahahaha!”

How excited she was!

To solve the mysteries wasn't a want but an obsession. A need. Whether as a man, as a woman or as a dog — she couldn’t care less if it gave her another go at life!

“Man! Fuck, I mean— Girl! You look good!”

“Your voice is so cutesy, bestie~”

“Surely you jest, mademoiselle~”

She took deep breaths, in and out—

“Pfffthahahah…” Her stomach hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt too much.

“Ha…”

Yanara brought up her hand. Gentle. Slender and weak, pale and small. She brushed her thin fingers against her palm. No calluses. Soft, she felt.

The pain softened too. Not in its totality, but she was used to much, much worse.

Below her wrist lined a cut, slowly, as if magically, closing in on itself, in and of itself a bad omen.

She propped herself up, settling her weight on her elbow as she bent forward. As suspected, amidst the damps of blood, vomit, and tears on her mattress, she discovered a razor lying near her lap. An assortment of drugs, also. Reds, blues, round, oval… Painkillers, antibiotics, and whatnot — Yanara wasn't sure of.

“Fucking hell,” she tsked. “Wasn’t there a more painless way to off yourself, girly?”

Was life ever worth giving up on? Few would color the world red for the slimmest chance to prolong it. 

Was life ever a gift worth any? Fewer still would wish they were never cursed to experience it.

Who among them had any right to speak of left and right or right and wrong?

The demon looked into the mirror.

“I don’t know if this helps, but I promise no more tears will fall from these curious eyes,” Yanara smiled lightly, her gaze soft, warm, yet distant all the same. “Though I gotta say, you've got one hell of a forehead, young lady. Was that the reason? Did your dandy boyfriend dump you?”

“Don’t worry, I'll fuck them up—” The slight smile spread into an ugly grin. Ravenous, venomous, bestial, the beauty in her eyes faded into obscurity. Gone was the serenity in her face, imbued in darkness so pure not a single ray of light could reach the bottomless pit of malice within. “Whoever did this to you.”

“But first—” Yanara slapped a hand over her mouth, wary of hidden surveillance, like cameras or microphones, too late to realize it was kind of too late to shut up. Oof, just where the fuck am I? There is technology, at least. Looks like Earth, but who the heck knows? Can be anything. Well, a man—ugh— a woman can dream, no? Surely shit can't get any worse than in my second life.

Compared to the world of war and horror where lives were but a mere currency in the hands of the incompetent, Earth struck her as a delusion of grandeur, a fantasy. At least from her memories of her first life, of which she didn’t have much.

Yanara glanced leftward at the floor-to-ceiling windows, dark in color. Perhaps an answer to her question lay therein. What kind of world would it be? One with crowded streets and merry families, or one brimming with ruins, disaster, and despair?

Before she could muster enough strength and stand, the double doors opposite her opened. Not in a way a typical door would, but more akin to the ones in a supermarket that reacted to a signal.

A brunette in a striped shirt, cuffs rolled and hanging, stepped in. Her skirt whisked against her knees as she froze, apparently bewildered, her mouth agape. Loose strands left out from the grip of the braid resting on her shoulder fell over her freckled face.

Yanara looked at her as the woman, more or less her physical age, stared down at her with wide eyes. Those hazel eyes were strangely calming. The type of person one would look for for homework.

“I can explain…” Yanara lied through her teeth, the gears in her head churning like no tomorrow. Make shit up and go along with the flow— I'm not even sure what language they speak. Who the hell is this girl anyway?!

She didn't want to be sent to a mental asylum first things first, or, well, worse comes to worst, crucified. Not again.

Wasn't the experience she was fond of, per se.

Act like any normal man— girl this age would. I can't just fuck this up straight out now, can I?

Speaking of which, am I straight? Hopefully not. That'd be weird, so to speak, wouldn't it? Or did they fuck with my head too?

“Sister…” The woman bent to her knees, grasping the bloody velvet Yanara threw away a moment before, shaking, bawling her eyes out. “Why are you doing this… Why?! Do you not care about me any bit…?”

Fuck.

Wait! She just spoke English, didn't she?! No way… am really back on Earth?! There is hope!