Every part of Red’s body felt like it was on fire. His skin boiled, his every breath was like drawing in an inferno, and even in his vision, he saw nothing but dark crimson. It was like fire was seeping into every pore of his body, cooking him alive from inside and outside.
For a second, the youth’s mind went blank. The sensation was so strong, so overwhelming, that he almost entered a catatonic state as soon as the pain assaulted him. No matter how much he braced himself, he couldn’t have prepared for this raging inferno that swallowed his being.
Yet, a piece of his mind, the one accustomed to such torturous pain, held onto his consciousness by a thread. Red almost regretted that, as this made him keenly aware of these sensations in his body, but he knew if he let go, it would be his end.
So he held onto this thread. Bit by bit, this control grew, until he felt every part of his body again, beneath the pain and the fire that consumed it. Red entered his meditation state by pure instinct, inspecting every inch of his being as he sought to get this energy under control.
Strangely enough, though, he didn’t sense any foreign bodies inside of him. There was no fire consuming him, or an angry spirit ravaging his insides. However, his muscles and flesh contracted and spasmed all the same, indicating that the strain he felt wasn’t imaginary.
With no idea on how to stop this, though, the only thing Red could do was to steel himself to endure this torment, for as long as it would last - and endure it he did. This fire seemed impossible to control or extinguish, so instead, he waited until his body acclimated to it or the flames settled down on its own.
His plan seemed to work. Every passing second, he felt the pain fade, until it became nothing more than a persisting ache, bothersome but easy to ignore. The fire was still there - he could feel it - yet its effects on him had almost disappeared.
It seemed as if he had succeeded. However, Red doubted things would be this easy.
‘I can still only see red…’
The crimson filter over his vision hadn’t disappeared, and his senses didn’t seem to capture anything of his surroundings, either. Something was still in his way, though he couldn’t tell what it was.
“… Kill.”
A whisper echoed in his ears. The youth, however, couldn’t tell where it came from.
“Kill.”
The same voice reached him, louder this time. A guttural noise, inhuman in nature and possessed of a hateful will that caused Red to tremble.
“Kill!”
He fell down on one knee, his head flaring in pain.
“KILL!”
The same voice, again and again. Its will, its desire to slaughter everything in its way, was overwhelming. The youth felt like an ant compared to the strength of this devotion, and as if his only choice was to surrender to it - to become an instrument of its will.
To kill everything he came across and satisfy this never-ending hunger.
‘So this is what… Domeron meant.’
At first, Red thought the worst thing that would happen when he tried to control the being was death. He was wrong.
The Spirit of Slaughter was a demon, and a demon would always be a corrupting influence. It swept those that came into contact with it in a frenzy, granting them strength and turning them into killing machines. Every murder would turn into an increase in power, a reward without the hard work and never-ending struggle of cultivation.
An intoxicating feeling that few would be able to resist.
One could only imagine Domeron’s state of mind back then to give birth to such a dangerous and insidious being. It wasn’t just about killing. It was about taking delight in it, immersing every part of your being into taking a life and comprehending the primal depravity that came at extinguishing another’s flame of existence. A being, full of hopes and dreams, now just another mark, their death an increase in your strength.
It felt similar to the will of the devil that hid inside Red’s body, and yet there was something different to it. Two sides of a coin, or perhaps two parts of a single being.
The youth felt like he understood the crimson mist a bit better after this.
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‘If they are so similar, it means I can resist this will, too.’
Of course, the crimson mist never tried to exert its will over Red, but he had come to learn what its corrupting influence felt like.
He closed his eyes and started to meditate again. The Spirit’s will battered against his mind, threatening to consume him and making it almost impossible to form coherent thoughts or do anything else, for that matter.
Red, however, didn’t need to replicate mudras and mantras to enter a meditative state. The Celestial Current was second nature to him now, like an instinct, and mere intent was more than enough for serenity to overtake his being.
This technique was once taught to him to calm his own mind against an overwhelming opponent, and this was what Red sought to achieve once more.
“Kill, Kill, Kill!”
The hate-filled words kept reverberating in his mind, like a relentless storm. Red’s mind, however, once a ship on the verge of capsizing, now stood firm, riding the waves as they hit against him.
This, however, only seemed to frustrate the voice even further.
“KILL, KILL, KILL!”
The assault against his mind intensified, and yet the youth didn’t feel pressed. Nothing this mindless beast threw at him could make him waver.
The Spirit was a demon who only took pleasure from one depraved act. Red, however, was a cultivator. His conviction was always his strongest weapon, so how could he lose?
“You are nothing more than a weapon.” He said. “A tool for killing. Now, you will act like such.”
A rage filled roar echoed in his mind. However, at the same time, the will assaulting his mind got weaker. It was as if this beast lost confidence and chose to cut its loss.
‘Even if it’s a demon, it’s still smart enough to have a sense of self-preservation.’
As Red felt the spirit retreat from his mind, his vision also cleared up, allowing the youth to examine his surroundings.
A wide crater had formed around him, and the ground was full of scorch marks and ash. It seemed like a flame had indeed consumed him, but it seemed to have spared the youth and his belongings.
His gaze moved down to the longsword he now held in his right hand. It was still covered in black-red flame, though the spirit’s avatar attached to it was nowhere to be seen at the moment. Not only that, but Red didn’t see any signs of Domeron anywhere.
He couldn’t even feel the man’s fluctuation nearby.
‘Did he…?’
A thought crossed Red’s mind, but he stopped himself. Whatever end the swordsman had met, it was something the youth could only deal with after the battle was over and won.
He climbed out of the crater with the sword and looked at the battle up above. The situation didn’t seem to have improved for Aurelia, though it seemed as if she was still holding on with all her might.
‘I need to do something.’
Red looked down at the sword with a frown. Even though he seemed to have the spirit under control, it didn’t mean he knew how to use its powers.
He had no choice but to fumble around blindly.
He felt the cold handle of the sword. The flame covering its blade was still flaring, but the youth couldn’t feel any heat from it, as if it was incapable of harming him. There was a deep connection he could feel between himself and whatever was inside of this weapon, but he seemed incapable of drawing it out with simple contact.
‘How did Domeron do it?’
Just as Red was wondering, he felt a resonance from inside his body. More specifically, from the pit of his stomach. This sensation spread upwards, reaching towards the hand he held the sword with.
It seemed to be trying to guide Red’s muscles to move. Yet, the influence wasn’t forceful, but rather felt like a suggestion, an instruction on how to accomplish what he wanted to do.
‘So you decided to help in the end?’
Red could not communicate with the crimson mist without his expanded awareness, but at this moment he felt an instinctual understanding towards what it wanted from him. He needed to swing the sword with intent.
His attention was once more drawn towards the sky. Aurelia and the black-dressed woman were still merged within the mist, and he found himself unable to spot them.
As Red thought about interfering, he felt something surge within him. A wave of strength seemed to flow from the sword into his body, a power unlike any the youth ever felt in the past. Not even absorbing the blood from a Lesser Ring Realm monster could compare.
‘This feeling…’
He felt he could run faster, jump higher, punch harder. This was the strength of someone who had already opened their Spiritual Sea. Red felt enraptured by the sensation.
‘No!’
He shook his head before the feeling spread any further. A roar of anger then echoed within his mind.
The youth trembled. The Spirit had tried to draw him in with this power and take over his mind again.
Although the being had accepted defeat for now, it seemed as if it still hadn’t given up on overtaking his mind with its killing frenzy. The insidiousness of this power became clear to Red.
Every moment he needed to use the Spirit’s strength, he needed to give himself into this feeling, to let the killing intent in his mind surface. Yet, if he let himself go too far, then the Spirit of Slaughter would take over, and he would lose his mind to its influence.
It was a balancing act, one too dangerous to attempt without absolute necessity.
‘I need to end this quickly.’
He considered trying to hit the ghost up above with the flames from the sword, but decided against it. Not only would he risk injuring Aurelia like this, too, but Domeron had been trying the same thing earlier, and that plan didn’t pan out well for them.
Instead, Red decided he need to get closer to the fight, close enough so he could use the exorcising technique. However, from all the Spirit’s abilities, the youth had not seen it grant the swordsman flight earlier.
So how would he approach that battle being fought a hundred meters above him?
“Red.”
Hector’s voice reached his ears.
Red looked back in surprise, only to see the elder down on one knee a few dozen meters away from him, blood flowing down the side of his mouth. The old man’s fluctuation was even weaker than before, but his sword still flew through the sky, interfering with the clashes as often as it could.
“You have the Spirit under control?” Hector asked.
Red nodded. “For now.”
“… Can you defeat her?”
“I have to reach her first.”
The elder smiled. “I can still help you with that much.”
He made a hand signal, and a blue light flashed before him. The Deep Sea sword came to a rest right in front of Red, hovering a meter above the ground.
“Hop on,” Hector said. “And make sure you don’t fall off.”