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Breathing, as if asleep.

And with that breath, the muscles relax.

“Hsss—”

Jinseong lay comfortably on a piece of oak wood, adorned with patterns that looked like something out of a child’s dream.

He let his arms and legs hang down, resting his head on a chunk of wood infused with the scent of burnt herbs.

In a normal situation, it would be impossible to fall asleep on such a hard pillow, but the gentle aroma of the sleep-inducing herbs wafted into his nose, spreading through his body, making his mind drowsy.

Moreover, the breathing similar to that of a sleeping person and the muscles slowly relaxing only aided him in slipping into slumber.

Jinseong did not fight against the encroaching sleep; instead, he surrendered his body to it, slowly allowing his eyelids to close. As the thin layer of eyelids covered his eyes, only the gentle light seeping in made its way into his vision, which too began to fade into darkness.

Darkness.

Slowly darkening.

“Hsss—”

Within the world turning black, Jinseong’s mind grew heavy.

The darkness clung to his consciousness like mud, pulling him down like a sacrifice adorned with weights into the depths of a mental abyss.

He was sinking.

Descending.

Unceasingly.

Relentlessly.

The speed of his fall gradually accelerated with time, and the invocation he chanted, reminiscent of a sleeping person’s breath, transformed into that of a truly slumbering soul. His muscles relaxed completely, defenseless, and his mind sank deeper until it reached its destination.

The descent of his consciousness halted at an ambiguous midpoint—not deep nor shallow.

In that center, what awaited him was a small, glowing ember.

This tiny flicker of light, reminiscent of a dot drawn with a shiny pen on a black canvas, seemed to beckon Jinseong to look closer, radiating brightness, and so he slowly swam towards it. And that hazy yet close-looking dot finally came into his field of vision and revealed its shape.

It was a tiny flame.

A speck so small it could barely be called an ember.

Yet it was undoubtedly burning, imbued with the fiery essence, connected to Jinseong.

Even while it contained the essence of fire, it remained alive and well.

This was the parasite known as the吸虫 (Sukhong), living and thriving within Jinseong, only to creep into another’s body at his command.

Once feared by people as the distoma, it was a parasite that could infect when it burrowed under the skin in its larval form, posing a dangerous risk.

In its larval state, this parasite was called cercaria. It swims through the water, burrowing into the skin of unsuspecting individuals who enter, discarding its tail to move to its new residence, maturing into an adult to reproduce.

During their handshake, the cercaria had slipped from Jinseong’s hand into William’s palm and swiftly settled within the brain’s nerves, maturing splendidly into an adult while retaining its fiery essence.

And thus came forth the adult, having originated from Jinseong.

“Look, my child, who has left its mother’s embrace and established a life of its own. Though you’ve ventured forth to forge your path, your roots remain unchanged! Just as a seed from the same fruit cannot forget its home, and the dust that has risen to the sky cannot forget the ground, you too must never forget your mother’s embrace!”

As Jinseong gazed upon the flame-lit adult, he cried out within his mind.

Without a bell, he produced a bell-like sound, melding his will into the enveloping darkness, creating a chime within his consciousness.

Though he had no mouth, he voiced the sound, and without eyes, he perceived the adult.

Even though their bodies lingered in distant realms, he crossed over the distances to meet with the adult, and for that singular reason of having come from him, he intertwined his spirit, forming a delicate bond.

And that thread he forged transcended everything.

Time.

Space.

Flesh.

Jinseong’s spirit disregarded it all.

His mind, resting within, was lighter than anything in the world, and though wrapped in darkness, it was free enough to not be bound by anything, gliding like a creature leisurely paddling in a mercury-like pond despite the heavy, clinging darkness all around.

In the depths of consciousness, he projected his will, connecting it to other life forms, and the minuscule parasite, originally dependent upon Jinseong, showed no resistance as it surrendered completely, drawing upon its innermost instincts to yield everything into Jinseong’s grasp.

Having clutched the adult which, though separate in flesh, had returned to the mother’s embrace in spirit, Jinseong wielded control over this flesh as well.

He delved into the adult’s consciousness, reaching its body, discovering its location, and even acquiring the power to intervene within the brain’s nerves where it resided.

Fiery essence.

Fire contains many. And those that contain fire are many as well.

“As the fire that rises from the ground yearns for the heavens, so does the fire born of the sky want to plunge down to the earth. Oh, serpent of fire, light-bearing serpent of flame! Rise high to the heavens, containing the might of volcanoes, and fall back to the earth like a colossal flame!”

With powerful intent, Jinseong transformed the energy harboring within the parasite.

The burning flame turned into a shining light and became electricity.

Thus, the parasite, now with thunderous energy, settled within the brain’s nerves, becoming a chip.

However, just because it could assume the role of a chip didn’t mean Jinseong could utilize it to its full potential.

Could a simple, tiny bug imbued with energy even be compared to a chip specially synthesized by future scientists to be embedded in the brain?

What Jinseong desired was the bare minimum.

To create a minuscule hole to simply observe the parasite fulfilling the role of a chip was all he aimed for.

And then…

Sizzle.

Crackle.

Jinseong’s attempt met success.

The tiny fissure wrought by the parasite connected with Jinseong, saturating the darkness of his mind with noise, slowly revealing William’s dream right before his eyes.

Sizzle.

Crack—le.

The writhing noise danced between black and white, shifting back and forth until it finally formed a shape.

It was the alphabet.

“Cr—-is—mas.”

The letters floated as if adrift in noise.

But as they drifted, when they reached their rightful place, they fixed into position as if they belonged there, regardless of flipping or tilting.

It resembled a letter crafted from cut newspaper letters.

“Christmas is such a shit-like thing.”

And from there, the text scattered and transformed into images.

An image imbued with sound and letters.

***

Christmas is such a shit-like thing.

Just like the damn British weather.

Was it said that back in Old London, the smog descended thick as fog?

Each breath brought a cough, and continued inhalation shattered lungs, leading to a killer fog.

That damn smog transformed into a terrible beast named the dark cloud, ruining people’s moods, while it soaked expensive clothes with its shit-like droplets, destroying the dazzling appearances of others.

And Christmas is as filthy and disgusting as that horrifying monster—

A thing too unpleasant to even think about.

Christmas.

Ch-r-i-s-m-a-s.

Oh, shit-like Christmas.

Every Christmas, the stuffy old folks in the house were always itching to drag me to church.

Then, some balding guy in a black robe would pop out and say to me,

“May the Lord’s blessing be upon you this Christmas.”

Being sullen, I paid no heed, while my parents blathered on.

“Merry Christmas! May the Lord’s blessing be upon you!”

And then they’d ramble on about gibberish.

Something about donations, Great Ritual of Magic this, good magical materials that—thanks for contributing, they say. Hearing such nonsense naturally boiled my blood, and I just wanted to shake off the hand gripping mine and run away.

Listening to such tales only made boredom and irritation rise, provoking me to throw a ruckus.

And then, just then, the priest, who had been sharing ‘serious talks,’ would lean in and say to me,

“Feeling bored, are we? Let’s take you to a place where the other kids your age are playing.”

With a facade of kindness, pretending to be benevolent and nurturing.

Those priests decked out in their robes were enough to make headlines for molesting little boys like me every other day.

Disgusting hypocrites.

Hypocrites!

Following behind that dreadful hypocrite led me to a small room nestled in a corner. From within, the sounds of children joyfully playing wafted out, further souring my mood.

Why are you all so happy when I’m feeling like this?

Ha, annoying little brats.

“Have fun in here. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas.”

Disgusting Christmas!

Eat shit!

And as I opened the door to that room, there it was.

Ch-r-i-s-m-a-s.

The horrid formation that the kids called “The Christmas!”

 

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