Extra Chapter 8 - Gregor is going through some… things

Gregor sat in silence, his broad shoulders slumped slightly as he stared at the flickering fire in the makeshift camp. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the chaos began; everything felt like a blur. His thoughts wandered back to the night before all of this started, an evening he had spent alone in his cramped, unlit apartment. He could still feel the cold glass of the empty brandy bottle in his hand, its weight the only real sensation grounding him as he sat in complete darkness. He remembered trying to will his mind to go blank, desperate to avoid the onslaught of haunting memories that typically came with the stillness of the night.

And then, suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore.

Instead of the suffocating familiarity of his room, he had found himself standing in an eerily sterile white hall surrounded by strangers. The starkness of the place, the overwhelming brightness, and the cacophony of panicked voices were disorienting. People screamed, argued, and demanded explanations as others tried to explain their predicament.

They were in a system, they said. They would face “scenarios,” earn points, and, if they wanted to survive, they had to play along.

“What kind of nonsense is this?”

Gregor had thought at the time, his skepticism as strong as his confusion. But as absurd as it all sounded, it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t a mere prank or hallucination.

He’d seen it with his own eyes. People around him wielding powers that defied the laws of nature—lighting bursting forth from a young woman’s hands, another summoning a shimmering book out of thin air. It was like something pulled from the pages of a fantasy novel. And then, before he could process it, he was somewhere else entirely. A world that felt just as real as his own yet utterly foreign.

In the weeks that followed, Gregor had resigned himself to the strange reality of this new existence. If this was all some elaborate dream, he figured he might as well enjoy the ride, and if it was some kind of afterlife, he’d simply accept it as the reckoning for the life he’d lived. Either way, he wasn’t going to overthink it. Thinking’s gotten him nowhere but drunk and miserable.

He remembered the first few days vividly, despite everything being a whirlwind of activity. Their arrival in that city had been chaotic, the air thick with tension as they were shepherded into what seemed like a bustling restaurant. The food had been unlike anything Gregor had ever tasted—both familiar and alien at once. Spices and flavors danced on his tongue, each bite an experience so intense it distracted him from the strangeness of his situation. It was the first time in years that he had eaten without thinking of the past or the weight of his sins.

The accommodations that followed were unexpectedly luxurious. The soft beds, warm water, and quiet nights were a stark contrast to the grim reality he had known. He had almost felt at peace during those nights, though he knew better than to trust the calm.

And then, the tournament began.

Gregor’s first match had been against a wiry, quick-footed young man who darted around the arena like a blur. At first, Gregor had struggled to keep up, his reflexes dulled by years of disuse and neglect. But as the fight dragged on, he had found his rhythm. The adrenaline, the clarity of battle—it all came rushing back, the instincts he had honed in the military returning with startling precision. By the end, he had emerged victorious, his opponent sprawled on the ground, breathless and defeated.

The appearance of Park Zhen had been a turning point, a moment that brought tension and uncertainty to a boiling point. Gregor could still see the man’s calm, calculating smile as he addressed the group, his words sharp and measured. It was clear to him from the start that Park Zhen wasn’t just another player in this twisted game. He was something more, something dangerous.

The ensuing escape through the city had been chaos incarnate as well. Gregor remembered the adrenaline, the sheer desperation as they dodged their pursuers, weaving through alleys and deserted streets. The brief moments of respite they found at the Alliance’s camp had been a welcome relief, though it was far from a safe haven.

The two weeks of ki training that followed had been grueling yet oddly fulfilling. For the first time in years, Gregor felt like his body and mind were aligned. Each exercise demanded his full focus, leaving no room for the ghosts of his past to creep in. By the time his fight with Don Bai Huolong came, he was stronger—both physically and mentally—than he had been in years.

Looking back on it all now, Gregor couldn’t help but find it strange. He had enjoyed parts of it. The rush of battle, the camaraderie of his allies, the constant push to improve—it had been exhilarating. The horrors of his past felt distant, almost muted, as though the memories themselves had lost their grip on him.

But he knew better than to let his guard down entirely. This world was no sanctuary. It was a prison of a different kind, one where survival demanded constant vigilance. Still, for the first time in a long time, Gregor felt like he was truly living. And for now, that was enough.

The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos, blood, and death. Gregor stumbled forward, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, each one dragging shards of pain through his chest. The taste of copper filled his mouth, his own blood leaking from a split lip and a fresh wound on his forehead. Around him, the bodies of the Vice-Captains lay motionless, their lifeless transformed forms sprawled grotesquely against the cracked ground. Their faces were frozen in grimaces of terror, their final moments etched permanently onto their visages.

The Jiang Shi had been relentless, their pale, undead forms moving with inhuman speed and precision. Gregor had fought them with everything he had, to the point that he was able to slam one into the ground with a surge of ki that left his muscles trembling and spent. But for every that fell, another seemed to take its place, their soulless eyes locked onto him like predators scenting blood. He remembered the screams of his comrades as they were overwhelmed, their ki techniques failing to hold back the tide.

Gregor's heart pounded, not from exertion but from something deeper—a raw, visceral recognition of his own mortality. Yet there was no fear. Instead, there was a perverse sense of joy coursing through him, a dark satisfaction that surprised even him. He clenched his fists, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his left arm where the bone had likely fractured. This is how it should end, he thought, not in the shadows of a forgotten room, drowning in a bottle, but here—fighting, bleeding, alive.

Standing tall amidst the carnage, Bai Huolong radiated an aura of absolute dominance. His ornate tunic billowed with an unseen wind, the intricate embroidery of dragons and flames moving almost as if alive. He moved lazily, his strikes seeming effortless, but each one sent his opponents flying like ragdolls. Gregor had faced monsters before—both literal and metaphorical—but Bai Huolong was unlike anything he had ever encountered.

The Don’s eyes gleamed with disdain as he casually deflected an attack from another fighter, his palm glowing faintly with ki. Gregor had charged in then, teeth gritted against the pain in his legs, using every ounce of his remaining strength to launch a desperate assault alongside his companions, but it was no use.

Gregor’s vision blurred and his knees buckled, but he refused to collapse. He wrenched his arm free with a grunt and lunged again, managing to grab one of the folds of Bai Huolong’s tunic. For a fleeting second, hope flared in his chest—hope that he could at least make a dent, cause some harm. But then came the kick.

The impact was devastating. Bai Huolong’s foot connected with Gregor’s midsection, and the force was unlike anything he had felt before. He was lifted off the ground, his body twisting uncontrollably as he hurtled through the air. The world spun violently before he slammed into the invisible barrier that encased the battlefield. The breath was forced from his lungs, and he crumpled to the ground, motionless except for the slight twitching of his fingers.

“Is this it?”

Gregor wondered. His thoughts came sluggishly, each one fighting to surface through the haze of pain and exhaustion. He thought about the things he had done, the lives he had taken, and the weight of it all threatened to crush him even now. Yet, for the first time in years, he felt something resembling peace. This world—this strange, brutal world—had given him a reprieve from his demons. The ghosts of his past had been silent here, and for that, he was grateful. Even if it had been short-lived, it was enough.

He closed his eyes, his breathing shallow, and waited for the darkness to claim him. But something stirred in the air… The Karma Devil Ball had slipped from Bai Huolong’s grasp, its dark, pulsating form emitted an eerie glow as it drifted toward Gregor’s prone body. The world seemed to hold its breath as the sphere hovered above him, pulsating rhythmically like a heartbeat. Then, without warning, it shot downward, merging with Gregor in a blinding flash of crimson light.

In the depths of his mind, Gregor heard it. A voice, guttural and ancient, as if it came from the bowels of the earth itself.

“You will not fall today, oh great corrupted one.”

It growled, each word sending shivers through his very soul.

Gregor’s eyes snapped open, but they were unfocused, his vision a haze of shapes and colors. He could feel something coursing through him—something foreign and powerful, like liquid fire filling his veins. His consciousness wavered, but he remained aware enough to witness what came next.

Bai Huolong faltered. His confident smirk vanished as he turned toward the source of the disturbance. Before he could react, the tide of the battle shifted. Attacks landed that he hadn’t anticipated, and for the first time, cracks appeared in his impenetrable defense. Gregor couldn’t make sense of it all—his mind was too clouded—but he knew that the Don had lost at the hands of his teammates.

But then they came.

Two figures emerged from the shadows, their presence suffocating and absolute. Gregor couldn’t discern their faces or forms, but their power was palpable, an oppressive force that made the air itself feel heavier. They spoke in voices laced with authority, their words sharp and final.

“So it was all for nothing.”

He said coldly, his tone devoid of any emotion.

Gregor wanted to rise, to shout, to fight, but his body refused to obey. His vision darkened further, and the last thing he saw was the body of Park Zhen and a woman with a staff… And then, there was nothing.

—————————

Gregor’s eyes flickered open, but all he could see was darkness. A total, suffocating blackness that stretched infinitely in every direction. His body felt weightless, as if he were floating in some kind of void. The familiar aches and pains of his body—the bruises, the fractures, the exhaustion—were completely gone. There was no pain, no blood, no broken bones. It was as if the battle had never happened, as if the hellish encounter with Bai Huolong had never existed. He tried to raise his hand to his face, but there was no sensation in his limbs, no feeling at all, so a sense of confusion overtook him.

“Where am I?”

He thought, struggling to comprehend the surreal emptiness around him. His breaths were shallow and slow, as though he were in some kind of dream, but the silence felt oppressive. No wind, no sounds of battle, no hum of life—just endless darkness and his own thoughts.

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Minutes passed in what felt like a stretch of eternity, but nothing happened, he could not even sense the passage of time. He clenched his fists and let out a breath, wondering if this was it—if this was the end.

“Have I died? Is this where I’m supposed to be now?”

The thought settled uneasily in his mind.

“So this is it. This must be what happens when you die. A void. A limbo.”

Gregor’s voice, if it could be called a voice, whispered in his mind.

“I’m destined to wander here for all eternity... as punishment for everything I’ve done?”

Just as he contemplated the meaning of this endless blackness, a sound pierced through the stillness. A deep, guttural laugh echoed in the dark void, the noise vibrating through the emptiness.

"Well, well, well... it looks like someone’s finally decided to grace me with their attention."

The voice chuckled, its tone starting thick and menacing, like a deep rumble from beneath the earth. But as it continued, the tone lightened, becoming more mocking, almost playful, yet still carrying an undeniable weight of authority.

"Gregor Novak… so you're here."

The name echoed in his mind, and Gregor’s heart skipped a beat. He looked around, disoriented, but saw no one. The voice continued, and this time, it had a slightly more amused tone, like a performer enjoying the reaction of their audience.

"You don’t recognize me? Oh, how rude!"

The voice laughed again, then seemed to soften, its humor fading into a more respectful tone, though it still held a distinct sharpness, as though it were a higher power speaking to one of even bigger rank.

"You’ve done a lot of things in your time, Gregor. Haven’t you?"

A figure began to take shape before him. At first, it was nothing but a shifting mass of black, a swirling, liquid darkness that seemed to defy all logic. Then, with a ripple, it formed into the figure of a man—a man of average build, someone you might pass on the street and never think twice about. His features were nondescript, but as Gregor’s eyes locked onto him, his breath caught in his throat.

He knew this man. He knew him all too well.

The man smiled, an amused glint in his eyes as he took a step closer, and for a moment, it seemed as though time slowed. Gregor’s pulse raced.

“How is this possible?!”

The figure before him was the same man he had seen die so horribly, the man who had begged for his family on that ravaged battlefield—the man whose life he had callously ended.

The flashback hit him immediately. He was back in that village, the charred remnants of buildings scattered around him, the air thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning flesh. The man’s body was half-crushed by debris, his eyes dull and lifeless from the damage, his voice a broken whisper.

"Have you seen them? My wife… my daughter… please..."

The desperation in his voice was raw, a plea for something Gregor couldn’t give.

Gregor had stood there, frozen, unable to offer anything. Then, a soldier had appeared behind him, calling him “Colonel” and informing him that the order was clear: “Zero survivors.”

A single, merciless command and Gregor had turned away, the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears as he walked back into the destruction of the bombardment he had requested.

He closed his eyes tightly as the memory overwhelmed him, his chest tightening with a shame he had long wanted to bury. The voice of the man before him chuckled again, but this time it was tinged with a mocking respect.

"Well, that was a rather… ungraceful exit, wasn’t it? But I suppose that’s what you’re known for, isn’t it? Leaving people to rot while you walk away."

Gregor’s anger flared. He wanted to lash out, to scream, but the voice continued, as if it had all the time in the world to poke at him.

"You know, I can take many forms. Many faces. Lots of choices, Gregor. Innocent souls tied to your karma… so much to choose from, so many lives you’ve ruined."

The voice continued while the black mass began to shift again, forming into different shapes—an older woman, a teenage boy, an elderly man—all faces of people he had never known, but who now seemed to be mocking him. The entity grinned, its voice full of amusement.

"But don’t worry. I’m sure there’s someone here you’ll prefer."

Gregor’s patience, already thin, snapped. He clenched his fists and took a step forward, teeth gritted.

"Stop. Stop this! Show me who you are!"

The mass began to reform once more, this time shaping into the figure of a woman. She was beautiful, not too young, but elegant in a way that only years of life could bring. Gregor's heart froze in his chest when he recognized her—this was his wife. The entity had taken her form.

"Ah."

It said, almost too sweetly.

"I thought this might be more to your liking. Does she suit you, Gregor? Would you prefer to see her again, even like this?"

Without a word, Gregor lunged forward and punched her square in the face. The blow was fueled by years of guilt, anger, and frustration, and it sent the woman crashing to the ground. But as she hit the floor, her form dissolved into the black mass once again, and she began to reassemble herself, her voice still carrying that mocking, sassy tone.

“Ah, I see. Not to your liking?”

It said, the voice dripping with amusement, but with a hint of something almost like respect in it, as if the act of anger had earned a modicum of acknowledgment.

"Apologies. I suppose I’ll have to find something else to amuse you with, Gregor Novak. Always such a complicated one.”

Gregor’s eyes burned with fury as he shouted.

“Tell me who you are! What do you want from me? And NEVER use her face again! Never!”

The entity's laugh echoed around the black void, but it was no longer just a laugh—it was the sound of something vast and ancient, a presence that stretched far beyond Gregor’s understanding.

The man stood there, feeling the surreal calm settle over him, even as the darkness around him seemed to press in tighter. The voice took on a different shape, transforming into a young man with an easy, yet unsettling, grin. He performed a mocking bow, one arm sweeping out in a dramatic, exaggerated gesture.

"Ashmedra, at your service."

He said, his voice still laced with a playful, almost mocking tone, but somehow also deferential, as if addressing someone of higher rank.

"A mid-tier demon from the realm of Luminferna in the world of Aetherthalos."

Gregor shook his head, bewildered.

"A demon? From another world? How is this even possible?"

He demanded, his voice echoing in the void. Ashmedra chuckled, the sound low and warm, like honeyed mocking.

"Ha! Hell if I know, I just appeared here one day and linked to that man called Bai Huolong or something, but that’s not what’s important."

He replied, his tone mockingly respectful,

"Especially when you're the lucky soul bearing the weight of over 5,000 innocent lives lost to… what did you call it? War."

Gregor felt a chill run down his spine.

"What are you talking about?"

He snapped, his frustration boiling over.

"Why are you here, and what do you want?"

Ashmedra's expression grew more serious, but his tone remained playful.

"Normally, I wouldn't be able to interact with a human directly, but your... unique circumstances have changed things. You see, you've accumulated quite a 'karma'—a term I was forced to adopt in this world—linked to your soul. It's weakened my seal and allowed me to see into your mind and heart. And what I saw intrigued me."

He paused, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Turns out, you're not just any human. You're from another world as well, and you have the potential to travel between them. So, I'm offering you a deal, Gregor Novak. Normally, I'm bound by strict contracts, but your situation is exceptional as I’ve already said. How about we make a soul pact instead?"

Gregor's heart raced.

"A soul pact? What does that even mean?"

He demanded, his voice a near growl. Ashmedra nodded, the grin never leaving his face.

"It means I can give you all my power, without limits, unlike the man who was using me before. You’ll have the ability to use it as you see fit, and in return, you'll take me along on your journey to Aetherthalos, where my power will be fully unleashed. Think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Gregor hesitated, uncertainty clouding his mind.

"And what do I get out of this?"

He asked, suspicion thick in his voice. Ashmedra's expression softened, becoming more serious.

"Didn’t I just say it? You’ll gain the power of a demon, Gregor. You’ll be able to protect yourself, and even use this power to save others—if that's what you choose to do. But you need to decide quickly, because time waits for no one, not even a demon."

Gregor’s eyes narrowed, weighing the offer.

"And if I refuse?"

Ashmedra shrugged, his form shifting again, this time into a middle-aged woman with a sad, understanding look.

"Then you'll be stuck here, with your 'karma' as heavy as ever. You'll live out your days in this limbo, reflecting on the innocents you've lost. It's a fate, I must say, not very appealing for someone who seeks redemption."

Gregor clenched his fists, the anger and guilt churning inside him.

“I don’t seek redemption.”

The man said with a gloomy gaze, though Ashmendra responded by raising an eyebrow, as if it weren't obvious that he was lying, or in this case, lying to himself.

“Sure you don’t.”

After some minutes of internal deliberation, Gregor muttered, his voice barely audible.

"Alright, let's make this pact."

Ashmedra smiled, the expression genuine for the first time.

"Excellent choice."

The demon said, extending his hand. Gregor took it, feeling the warmth of the demon’s grip, and a red chain appeared between them, binding their destinies together.

"From now on, your fate is intertwined with mine, If you die, I die, and vice versa… But if you betray me, only YOU will die"

Ashmedra said, his tone serious now, with no trace of mockery.

Suddenly, a system window appeared before Gregor, glowing faintly with iridescent light.

[ Personal Subplot: A Demon's Destiny ] [Conditions met. A vessel with over 5,000 innocent souls slain has formed a contract with a demon with a hidden past from the realm of Luminferna. Three paths now await.]

[Path 1: Demonic route ] [Path 2: Divine route] [Path 3: Destiny route] [Continue to feed on souls and amass them, reaching double your current count by the time you reach Luminferna.] [Seek the forgiveness of the over 5,000 innocent souls you've slain, purify them, and proceed to Zephyrahl instead of Luminferna.] [Find a way to fulfill both the [Demonic route] and the [Divine route] simultaneously.] [Difficulty: B] [Difficulty: A+] [Difficulty: SS] [Reward: User’s race will change to 'Demon Lord'] [Reward: Ashmedra will be purified + User’s race will change to 'High Seraphim'] [Reward: User’s race will change to ‘Lucibel Archon’ + title 'Ruler of Aetherthalos']

Gregor felt his breath hitch, the implications of those choices overwhelming him. What should he choose? Did he even had an option? Ashmedra, unable to see the system window, began explaining the powers he could grant to Gregor, focusing on the incredible abilities he could now access. Gregor listened, trying to make sense of it all, his mind spinning with doubts about the future.