Chapter 40: The Ghost of the Past

CONTENT WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised.

This Chapter contains intense psychological trauma, graphic violence, visceral descriptions of bodily injury, and dark fantasy themes.

Inside the small courtyard, Xander sat on a low wooden stool, his towering frame hunkered down as he carefully carved a piece of soft pine block with a small hunting knife.

"Not so fast, Papa! You’re making his ears too sharp!"

A tiny five-year-old girl with wild, silvery-white curls sat cross-legged on the dirt in front of him. Her bright blue eyes—identical to her mother’s—stared intently at the piece of wood taking shape in Xander’s large, scarred hands.

Her name was Lily, and her small linen dress was already stained with grass at the knees from chasing butterflies around the well.

Xander stopped his blade instantly. He looked down at the tiny piece of pine, his brows knitting together in dead seriousness. "It’s a mountain rabbit, Lily. Mountain rabbits have sharp ears so they can hear the hawks."

"No!" Lily puffed out her cheeks, shaking her head vigorously. "Town rabbits have round ears! Round ears are cute! Make them round!"

Xander stared at the toy rabbit, then at his daughter. A soft, rare smile touched his lips—

Then the smile vanished.

The dirt courtyard melted into ash. Lily was no longer running; she was looking up into empty space, her small, cold body limp in Xander’s arms—and beside her lay her mother, still and lifeless.

Suddenly, the little girl appeared right beside Xander’s ear, her face pale as death. The scene shifted violently into a chaotic, roaring crowd. Thousands of furious villagers were hurling heavy jagged stones, rotten food, and filth at Xander’s family.

Xander leaped up, throwing his massive body over his loved ones to shield them from the barrage. Stones bruised his back; sharp rocks cut his arms.

"Please! I am begging you, stop!" Xander screamed, running in desperate circles, trying to block the cruel mob, but no one listened.

"See this, Father?"* Lily’s ghostly voice whispered directly into his ear, hollow and poisonous. *"These are the people you fight for.

The people you go to war for and risk everything for. A Void Spirit Immortal... instead of trying to comprehend the Heavenly Law, you chose to marry. And you couldn’t even protect them. What can you do, Xander?"

"No! Please!" Xander wept, utterly helpless as the screaming crowd and his daughter’s dead voice merged into a suffocating nightmare.

"You should just die. Useless. The so-called War God is nothing but a pathetic child who can’t even protect his own family."

"You failed us."

"Useless."

Xander snapped.

---

Orson gasped, his eyes flying open.

The nightmare shattered. The night sky above District 2 was clear and freezing. A brilliant moon shone down on the snow-covered lawn, casting long, stark shadows across the bloodied grass.

Orson lay flat on his back, staring up at the cold stars. The memories of Xander—the ancient life, the fallen family, the lost daughter—receded into the dark recesses of his soul, leaving him grounded in his current reality: 2099, reborn in a world of technology and monsters.

He turned his head to the side.

The condo was completely engulfed in flames. Every single floor was ablaze, the raging inferno roaring with a terrifying, silent intensity as it consumed the structure from the inside out.

Beside the perimeter of the backyard, the shadow stood watching the fire, his gloved hands lowered.

"Wow... so her pride really is stronger," the shadow scoffed softly, a cruel smile visible beneath his mask. "Well then. Just burn."

The shadow’s eyes were as cold and unfeeling as glass. But then, hearing a faint rustle in the snow, he turned around, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Wow, Orson. You’re not out yet?"

The shadow glanced down at his own right glove, remembering the devastating lightning-infused strike to the jaw that had knocked Orson unconscious moments prior.

Orson stared at the burning house, his mind consumed by a single thought: Lenora.

He forced his body to move. He planted a palm into the slush to push himself up, but his left forearm buckled at a sickening angle—the bone was completely fractured, the joint displaced in the wrong direction. Yet, Orson didn’t even flinch.

The third-degree burns covering his skin, the shattered ribs, and the deep, swollen contusions across his face had surpassed the threshold of human agony; his nervous system was so overloaded that he couldn’t even feel it anymore.

He dragged himself up. His steps were unsteady, his body swaying like a dead tree in a storm.

As he took a heavy step forward, *her* voice echoed inside his head again. It was Lily’s voice, sharp and merciless.

"Pathetic. Just like that, you’re going to let another one die? Did you ever even love us to begin with?"

Orson violently shook his head, trying to clear the auditory hallucination, but the movement only made his dizzy vision worse. He kept dragging his boots through the red-stained snow.

"Just let her go... like you did your family."

"Enough!" Orson rasped aloud, his voice raw and choked with blood.

The shadow blinked, tilting his head. "Who are you talking to? Wait... let me guess. Did I hit you so hard on the head that you’re seeing ghosts?"

Orson didn’t answer. His destination was absolute. He was going to reach that house. He was going to save Lenora.

As he staggered forward, the shadow casually stepped into his path, blocking the ruined back entrance.

Orson stopped. His left eye was swollen shut, his right bloodshot and wild. In a voice as cold and hollow as an open grave, he whispered:

"Out... of my way."

The shadow chuckled darkly. "I came here to kill her. Do you really think I’m going to stand aside and let you play the hero?"

As Orson raised his Storm Saint Blade with his one good arm, the spectral form of his deceased daughter materialized right beside the shadow, her bright blue eyes staring through Orson’s soul.

"What now? You want to protect her, really?" Lily’s voice mocked, pacing around the murderer. "Just like you protected your last wife? It’s like you don’t learn anything, Father. Just as you failed them, you will fail her too.

And what did you think? That slaughtering millions in the Cultivation World would stop the grief? No. You couldn’t save them... and you won’t save her. You really are pathetic."

Orson shook his head, his chest heaving, his fingers white on the sword hilt. "No... I’m not... I did everything I could..."

"Is that the lie you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?"

"OUT OF MY WAY!" Orson roared, his voice tearing his throat.

Blood sprayed from his lips as he lunged forward, throwing his entire broken weight toward the burning doorway. "I didn’t kill her!"

BOOM!

The shadow didn’t even draw a weapon. He shifted his weight and delivered a blindingly fast, straight right punch directly into Orson’s chest.

The kinetic force crushed what was left of Orson’s breastbone, blasting him backward through the air. Orson slammed hard into the freezing dirt, sliding several meters before coming to a dead stop in a trail of scorched grass and crimson snow.

As the smoke from the burning home billowed over his broken body, the phantom of his daughter stepped over his fallen frame, looking down at him with utter disdain.

"Wow... still as pathetic as usual."