The fire at the pit lit the dusty forge.

Yet for Fatma, the flames were not warm at all but chilly instead.

‘...’

Just as she was getting beaten to death by the locals for killing her husband, she lost consciousness. Yet again.

Nothing had happened in the third life yet, yet she was already bewildered. Fatma sat huddled in the corner, her body bruised and battered from the heavy work of a blacksmith.

‘Not only am I not a human… but also a male!?’

Currently, she clearly inhabited the body of a carlick. Carlicks, just like quillin, were renowned for their craftsmanship.

The body had defined features typical of the carlicks - a well-groomed, messy beard and thick, wavy hair. His facial expression reflected the resilience that was a hallmark of his people.

He was dressed in a practical leather apron over a sturdy green vest favoring functionality suitable for working near flames and molten metal. The tool wielded in his right hand further emphasized his expertise in blacksmithing, a revered profession among his kin.

Sparks lingered in the air as the glow of hot metal illuminated the workspace, hinting at the carlicks’ affinity for fire.

The workspace was customized to his height. Anvils and heavy wooden workbenches were notably lower, allowing for the maneuverability of heavy steel.

At Heart Isle, carlicks were predominantly inhabited at the peripheries of the Nazar clan. Whenever a delegation from the clan came to the castle, Fatma could witness a few of their figures.

Although they usually lived much longer than humans, Fatma couldn’t help but find these muscular shorties cute. However, the story changed as she possessed the body of one.

Or did she?

‘Just what the fuck is happening.’

Fatma couldn’t help but ponder.

Did the owners of the bodies she possessed die whenever she did so? Who were these people? Were they real in the first place?

To deny the reality of it was too hard for her… or him?

“I’m tired.”

The burly shorty muttered girlishly and manly at the same time. Her mind was too chaotic to be weirded out by the hose in between her legs.

“But the rumors were true.”

Fatma nodded his head.

“In this regard, they do compensate for their height.”

He chuckled lightly, trying to sway away the distress in her mind. It didn’t work; it only disgusted her. The fear clung to her. His body, already overworked from smithing, tensed further.

“Did I just kill four people?”

At his words, silence permeated the room, heat prevailing over it. Well, even if the owners of the bodies she took returned, didn’t she kill the mother’s husband? Didn’t she break the children’s hearts? Was it not due to her foolishness that she was abducted as an elm?

And now she was an old carl. Did this carl not have a family? Friends? Maybe. But, of course, not anymore. After all, there was a probability she had taken his life.

“...”

Helpless. She felt helpless. As time went on, her expression darkened. He observed his surroundings. There were insurmountable amounts of swords lying on the ground. The room was messy.

He stood yet immediately fell to the ground. The body was too exhausted. She stood up again, approaching the closest sword that lay on the ground, not any different from its counterparts.

She grabbed it. And there she stood, motionless, expressionless. Soon, tears fell to the ground, evaporating almost instantaneously due to the room's temperature.

“I’m scared…”

She hushed under his breath. She knew the cycle would likely perpetuate. No, she was sure of it. Fatma would have to take many other people’s lives if she stayed alive. Definitely, she would go on stealing other people’s bodies, depriving them of their lives and the livelihood of their beloveds.

But she was scared of death. People at Heart Isle believed in reincarnation. But just like her uncle, Fatma didn’t rely on the afterlife.

The Nameless God called her a saintess. But although Fatma was reassured of the god’s identity, now she felt doubt. Was it truly Damian? For a god, tricking her would be as easy as taking a breath.

What comes after death? Darkness? Or perhaps hell…

And even if she reincarnated, wouldn’t she lose all her memories? Then, who would she truly be? Whoever, but not Fatma.

Her identity would be lost wherever her soul went, whichever planet it went, whoever she became. This was no better than being enveloped in unending darkness, roaming endlessly at the gate of the afterlife, and this was no better than the complete annihilation of her soul.

If she ever died, she wanted to die as Fatma.

Fatma lowered the pressure he was gripping the sword with. His expression eased.

“I was too arrogant, too ignorant, too innocent…”

Then, she laughed silently under his breath.

“Haha…”

Saintess?

What a farce, a sham, a joke.

‘If I die, I die. The end, after all, is unavoidable. But I will never end it by my own two hands, by my own will.’

‘A man? A woman? Or even an animal… I don’t care. I will always be myself.’

‘I will push ahead. If I can save someone, good. If I need to kill, so be it.’

Fatma’s tears hardened. Her body felt weakened, yet she wouldn’t fall.

‘More important than all, I have promised… to save him. And for that, I will first have to save myself.’

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“Even at the cost of others’ lives…”

“Even at the cost of others’ lives!”

----------------------------------------

Hakan jolted awake, her mind momentarily shrouded in confusion before she intensely observed her surroundings and found her disciple’s lying body.

“What just happened!?”

The connection they shared through their spiritual bond… how could it have shattered so suddenly, so completely?

Yet, before she could immerse herself in her thoughts, she was taken away by a ghastly sight.

Her disciple was lolled across the cold floor, her body drenched in blood. The skin was darkening with each passing moment, and her veins bulged against her flesh as though struggling to escape.

“Oh no!”

A trembling voice escaped her mouth. This was undoubtedly soul degradation.

“But how!?”

Her expression paled, mirroring that of her disciple’s.

There were no such cases in history! One would usually get it while failing to ascend the ranks. For example, Yana Maryam was one such case.

Other instances of this were when a seeker lost so much spiritual energy that the subdued souls of other beings inhabiting the seeker had a chance to rebel.

But Fatma was just an awakener! She had no souls other than her own in her body, and she wasn’t ascending ranks but only awakening!

She was not yet a seeker!

As such, the situation made no sense to Hakan.

Kneeling beside her, Hakan reached out to check for any sign of life, her own pulse thundering in her ears. The air was silent, silent, except for the soft whistles of the wind. Time seemed to slow as she processed the happenings. Her mind raced, and her brows creased.

“It’s late…”

There are four stages to soul degradation.

First is soul subduction. It is when the souls are in dispute, and they each struggle to subdue one another.

Then comes the soul contamination. This only happens when the soul of a seeker is on the losing side. They start to lose their reason.

If a seeker fails to confront the enemy soul or grasp the situation, the third stage begins - soul corruption. The survival rate from here on out is minimal.

Fatma was currently experiencing soul corruption.

What comes after that is obvious. The final stage is when the soul of a seeker gets devoured - soul destruction. The seeker dies.

‘Oh! She has just arrived… I need to find Rosa!’

With no time to waste, she lunged forward, her arms reaching out to grasp Fatma's limp form. Her movements were swift, gripping Fatma under her arms. Hakan hoisted her up.

Her muscles tensed, and her breathing quickened as she carried Fatma. The weight of Fatma's body did not slow her down.

----------------------------------------

Fatma opened her eyes… eight of them.

It was a drastically different visual experience compared to her previous human vision. She saw a mosaic of images combined to form a complete picture. Each of her eight eyes functioned together to provide a 360-degree view of her surroundings, allowing her to see completely around herself without turning her head.

Her ability to perceive depth and color had also altered. Her depth perception was reduced, making it harder to judge distances with precision; instead, this was compensated by an increased sensitivity to the slightest variances in depth. Colors were no longer perceived in the rich hues humans see; instead, her vision was tuned more toward light and dark contrasts, helping her detect outlines in low-light conditions.

‘The hell!? Did I really become an animal!? Wow! Great! Fantastic!’

Each eye blinked independently before focusing in unison on the cavernous space that enveloped her. She tried to rise, but the movement felt alien; her limbs, too many to count, scrabbled against the air.

‘Hmm? I can’t move at all…’

As Fatma adjusted to the bewildering new sensations of her spider-like body, she suddenly realized that she was ensnared in a vast web. The web stretched across the alcove, its sticky strands glistening faintly. Each intersection shimmered with dew or perhaps remnants of past catches.

Fatma quickly noticed how her own movements caused the web to vibrate, sending ripples across it. Though strong and agile, her many legs were not yet under her complete control. Each attempt to free herself seemed to entangle her further. The incredibly adhesive silk clung to her new chitinous limbs, holding them whenever she moved too abruptly.

Her new limbs were thin and spindly, covered in bristly hair that tickled her skin. Her torso had elongated and flattened, the usual curves of her human form replaced by a hard, chitinous exoskeleton that encased her like armor.

Her breathing, too, had changed - a series of rapid pulses. She could feel the air passing through tiny spiracles located along the sides of her abdomen. This tickling sensation was both unnerving and fascinating.

‘I am a spider… entangled in my own web. How does it get worse each possession..?’

Fatma made a guess, but at the moment, she didn’t know how wrong her guess was. She indeed was a spider, something she hated and feared with full passion as a human. But the web… was not hers.

‘It’s an interesting experience though…’

Fear mingled with awe at her body’s capabilities. The way she could feel vibrations through her legs, the sharpness of her vision in darkness, and the strength in her jointed limbs all fascinated her.

Gradually, Fatma began to attune to her body's capabilities. She tested each limb's strength, experimenting with gentle tugs and twists to understand how much force each thread could withstand before it either gave way or bound her tighter.

Her new eyes were highly sensitive to movement. Even the slightest motion within her environment was picked up instantly, making her world appear as a series of jerky yet vivid movements.

Suddenly, smaller spiders emerged from the crevices and dark nooks of the alcove.

‘Eh? What are they? Brothers? Sisters? No. They’re way smaller than me…’

These spiders moved with a coordination that belied their size. Their approach was stealthy. Still consumed with adjusting to her new senses, Fatma overlooked the gradual encirclement around her. Her heightened sensitivity to vibrations now worked against her as the multitude of subtle movements blended into a confusing medley of sensory input.

‘My head hurts… Just what is happening?’

The smaller spiders advanced silently. They navigated the web with their bodies, avoiding the sticky strands that had so recently ensnared Fatma.

The first few spiders leaped onto her, their tiny fangs piercing her exoskeleton.

“AAAAAAIEEEEE!”

Fatma screeched. In her shock, she tried to swat them away, but with each movement, more spiders converged upon her. They targeted her joints and softer sections between the segments of her exoskeleton, exploiting every vulnerability.

They attacked as they slowly ate away at her skin. As they slowly devoured her, Fatma let out one more harrowing screech.

“AAAIE!”

‘Painful! Arghhhhh…’

Despite being already accustomed to pain due to her master, it could not be compared to the suffering she was currently going through.

The sheer number of attackers overwhelmed her. As they clambered over her, their fangs injected a paralyzing venom. It coursed through her veins rapidly, sapping her strength and dulling her capacity to fight back, yet paradoxically, it sharpened her pain receptors to an excruciating sensitivity.

Each tug at her flesh felt amplified, each screech dripped with torment, reduced to a ragged whisper amidst the frenzy.

Fatma lost her reason.

Yet, she was acutely aware of every bite, every tear of her flesh.

Yet, she tried her best to endure the overwhelming onslaught. She resisted.

Fatma’s mind teetered on the brink of madness as the spiders continued their feast.

Fatma's despair twisted into a fierce, primal madness.

Her first response came as a frenzied burst of energy. Ignoring the paralyzing venom that coursed through her veins and heightened her pain receptors, her many eyes, previously a source of sensory overload, now sharpened, tuning into each movement around her.

Fatma first jerked her body upward, using the momentum to rip through some of the weaker threads. The web vibrated with the force of her movements, sending tremors along its length. This alerted more spiders, who hastened towards the disturbance, their movements quick and eager.

With more sudden jerky movements, she rolled onto her side, crushing several of her smaller attackers under her weight. The crunch of their bodies filled her with satisfaction.

Her limbs thrashed wildly, each movement more determined than the last. Once awkward and uncoordinated, Fatma's newly acquired spider legs struck, skewering and sweeping the smaller spiders away frantically.

Her screeches were now guttural. Using the pain as a catalyst, Fatma became a whirlwind of destruction. She was driven by sheer madness.

‘CANNIBALISTIC FUCKERS! LET’S SEE HOW YOU ALL TASTE!!! HAHAHAHAHA!’

“AIIIAAA!”