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“Ahhh.”

Chandrakiriti spoke like this.

Seeing that all harmful thoughts arise from the idea that ‘I’ essentially exists.

If ‘I’ is merely an object of perception, one would not believe that a fixed entity exists.

Then I ask.

If there is no fixed entity and ‘I’ is just an object of perception, what indeed constitutes and maintains ‘I’?

The human body is in constant change.

With every breath, with every blink of the eyes, even in a moment of standing still.

At every moment, cells constantly transform, die, and are reborn.

How can I claim to be a fixed existence when I am different from one second ago to one second later?

What can remain unchanged even amidst the interminable flow of time and external variables? This is true immortality.

Then what is the anchor that allows me to persist in the tumultuous waves of constant change?

What keeps me as myself in the raging winds, the scorching sunlight, and the torrential rain that threatens to melt my body?

I claim, this is existing yet not existing.

This is what defines me.

What remains after the disassembly and dismantling of what constitutes a person is precisely the mind.

“Ahhh.”

The original spirit takes shape.

Realizing that my consciousness can exist anywhere in the world.

Realizing that my soul is no different from all things in existence.

Thus, to break free from the constraints of the physical body and forge a form of spirit and soul is precisely that.

The original spirit creates miracles that allow it to exist simultaneously in distant places, transcending steps.

But Jinseong has not awakened to the Way.

He did not shed his human form to be reborn as an immortal, nor does he dedicate time to reach enlightenment.

What Jinseong desires is magic.

He yearns for transcendence for the sake of magic.

Thus, what Jinseong performed was not the original spirit but an imitation of the original spirit.

Therefore, Jinseong’s body could only be woven from something other than energy.

The thing he was most familiar with.

The thing that made people call him an aberration, something that made them wary of him.

Weak entities that exist everywhere in the world are indeed the true master.

Crack.

Crack.

What was first created was the head.

This is because the head symbolizes human consciousness.

Insects that flew from somewhere created a shape resembling a human head. The swarm of flying insects clung to each other with all their might, not caring if their bodies were crushed, establishing a solid position, and eventually, that firmly established mass formed the shape of a black skull. And onto that created skull form, countless insects adhered, crafting skin, altering body pigments, and drawing blood to create a color similar to that of a human.

Thus, the head was formed.

Next was the neck.

The insects, just as they had with the skull, elongated, weaving the spine, clustering and bulging repeatedly to create empty space. In the midst of that, they solidified into a bizarre shape that resembled vocal cords, which were merely black but shifted shape according to vibrations, resembling a true human vocal cord.

Then came the torso.

The creation of the torso was complex.

Moths and small flying insects that arrived from afar clung to the body, crafting a form, while wingless insects rose to create arms and legs.

Thus, the created body was nothing but a shell.

It lacked internal organs and was little different from an imitation of a human form.

“Ugh.”

Yet even that ‘imitation’ soon transformed to closely resemble a human.

As Jinseong inhaled, changes began to occur beneath the body filled with insects.

The inhaled breath spread through the body, creating paths, and, branching into two, settled into balloon-like pockets, imitating lungs.

The mass that formed with Jinseong’s breath pulsed wildly and created vibrations; this was the heart.

In sync with the heart’s movements, other elements combined and dispersed endlessly forming a shape that truly resembled internal organs.

“The shape is established, so if I look inside, it won’t be easily discovered.”

This was literally an imitation.

Those internal organs were models that could not perform any function.

Because Jinseong’s original spirit was composed of insects.

But that was not the issue.

Cells consume nutrients and maintain the body.

Insects consume nutrients and maintain their bodies.

The only difference is in size and revulsion—aren’t they similar?

Jinseong smiled and bent down to pick up the bottle on the floor.

He began to madly inject water into his body.

The water that entered his mouth vanished in an instant, as if watering parched fields cracked open after a long drought, flowing through his form instead of blood. As water filled and flowed within his original spirit, he manipulated the insects to expel pigments to dye it red, making it appear like blood.

It was nothing special.

It was merely intended to mimic a typical body.

If a transparent liquid poured from a hole in a human body, wouldn’t it seem suspicious to anyone?

And there was also the intent to provide nutrients to the insects along the water’s path.

“It’s done.”

Jinseong smiled, seemingly satisfied with how well his original spirit was created.

Thud—!

He tossed the empty water bottle into the trash and donned the prepared clothing and mask.

Thud.

Thud.

Then, step by step, he slowly ascended the metal stairs.

* * *

Thud—

Thud—!

The bizarre sound of footsteps clanking on the metal stairs resonated.

The sound was peculiar enough to induce a sense of unease in anyone.

Though the villa was expansive, it did not echo throughout, but it was sufficient to seep through the basement door and linger nearby.

Amidst the sounds, a woman knelt quietly, waiting.

She knelt modestly like a wife welcoming her husband home, her calm and pure appearance enhancing this feeling. But with only a few candles lit near the basement’s entrance, creating a creepy atmosphere, and dressed in splendid shamaness robes, she also emanated a strangely fearful vibe.

Is this what it feels like to be the shaman serving a calamity spirit in a movie?

Thud.

Click.

Finally, when the sounds of footsteps on the metal stairs ceased and the door creaked open, she welcomed the one she had been waiting for.

“Welcome, Deity.”

“Yes, my shamaness, Rise. I have arrived.”

The woman in the shamaness robe, Rise, greeted none other than Park Jinseong’s original spirit.

He was draped in attire that a Shinto Priest at a shrine would likely wear, a luxurious red silk fabric instead of plain white, giving an air of splendor. And wearing a fox mask over his face, he slightly lifted it, as if to show his face to Rise.

Beneath the fox mask was a face that closely resembled Park Jinseong’s.

Yet that face differed slightly from its original physical form.

Perhaps due to poor nutrient intake, it was rather gaunt, with shadows beneath the eyes.

Not to mention, the size and slant of the eyes appeared even slightly different, giving a distinctly different impression from the original Park Jinseong.

A cold, fierce demeanor.

If Park Jinseong’s face resembled a rabbit and fostered carelessness, the one he had created evoked the image of a wolf.

“Your face looks a bit different…”

“Indeed.”

Rise looked at Jinseong’s face with a strange expression, as if it was unfamiliar.

“Soft and hard, warm and cold, should be used differently depending on the situation. In this context, this kind of impression is more effective.”

“I see….”

Rise nodded, seemingly understanding Jinseong’s words.

“Sometimes, rather than persuading those with grievances, it’s more effective to suppress them through intimidation and fear, so they cannot voice their discontent.”

This is akin to how a cold, cutting wind prompts one to wear a coat rather than a hundred words of advice.

Jinseong explained it this way.

Rise gazed at such Jinseong blankly, then suddenly perked up her ears.

Swish.

Tap tap.

As she perked her ears, strange sounds began to filter in from beyond.

The sound of dragging feet.

Or perhaps the sound of palms and feet furiously striking the floor.

For some reason, it was a sound that seemed to suppress the human spirit and evoke fear.

The sound gradually approached them and came to a halt right at the door they were standing by.

Squeak—

And as the sound of footsteps stopped, the sound of the door creaking filled the space.

The wooden door moved slowly with a chilling friction and, from the opening it created, small hands and feet, appearing to belong to a child, emerged.

The hands and feet stuck to the ceiling, elongated.

And as they gradually forced their way through the crack of the door, pushing out their head and body, they came crawling on all fours from the ceiling towards them, accompanied by the tap-tap sound.

Rise stared at the bizarre scene and uttered a name.

“Seitani.”

 

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