The changes brought by the Seed of the Heart went far beyond simply transforming into a goat-headed demon and manipulating shadows.

  According to the Freak Maker, those were merely the standard features. If the compatibility between the Seed and its host was high enough, the host would develop a unique ability of their own.

  He also mentioned that he never chose hosts at random. Every person he personally selected had compatibility high enough to awaken a unique power—so in that regard, I wasn’t particularly special.

  Since he called himself the “Freak Maker,” it followed that those fused with the Seed of the Heart were called “Freaks.” The name was literal: humans who had turned into monsters.

  And my unique ability as a Freak was “Substitute.”

  I could temporarily transfer the Seed of the Heart out of my body and into another human, turning that person into a Freak. During that time, all the power would shift to the substitute, while I would lose my abilities and the craving for souls would transfer to them as well.

  The human I transformed this way would become my puppet substitute. I could issue any command, and I could also remotely share their senses. When necessary, I could instantly reclaim the power—and with it, the soul-craving would return to me. The process took only a moment; there was no risk of being unable to retrieve it in time if my real body was in danger.

  Freaks could evolve their power further by hunting humans and devouring souls. So could substitutes. And when I reclaimed the power, all the growth the substitute had achieved would transfer back to me. The price? The substitute would die.

  Even though I had never used this ability before, I understood its details instinctively. The knowledge rose in my mind like something I had always known—no room for misunderstanding its true nature.

  When the Freak Maker came to check on me, he asked about my ability. Not knowing the full extent of his power, I couldn’t afford to lie or withhold information. I told him everything truthfully.

  After hearing the details, he showed a rare expression of surprise.

  “I didn’t expect that kind of ability,” he remarked. “Among all the Freaks I’ve created so far, yours might be the closest to the Original.”

  I immediately asked what the “Original” was, but he brushed it off as a casual comment and refused to elaborate further.

  “More importantly,” he said, looking at me meaningfully, “you still haven’t devoured any souls yet. If you keep refusing to consume human souls, sooner or later the urge to kill will drive you mad. You’ll lose control, go berserk, and end up hunted by Luo Shan—cut down by some Impermanence’s blade. Are you really okay with that kind of ending?”

  “…I don’t want to kill anyone,” I said, voice strained. “Is it absolutely necessary to kill people and devour their souls? What about animals—wouldn’t that work—”

  “No,” he cut me off. “Since you’ve already thought of that workaround, I assume you’ve tried it. The Seed of the Heart accepts only human souls.”

  “Then… is there any way to remove the Seed from my body?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them—and I regretted them instantly.

  “Are you sure you want to ask that? The Seed has already fused deeply with you. Unless you die, it cannot be separated.”

  I fell silent.

  He thought for a moment before continuing. “Actually, there is one situation in which the Seed will leave you.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “To prevent the Seed from falling into Luo Shan’s hands, if a Freak is ever trapped in an inescapable situation, the Seed will automatically detach. Of course, the Freak will still die from losing it.” He added, “Unfortunately, the Seed itself cannot judge the situation. That judgment ultimately falls to you. So when you genuinely despair, when you accept defeat and believe there is no way out…”

  “…I die,” I finished.

  “Exactly. So hurry up and start killing, Kong Da.” He smiled. “The moment you give up thinking and resign yourself to being hunted down by Luo Shan, the Seed will abandon you. You’ll revert to the powerless nobody you once were—and die having accomplished nothing.”

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  —

  After endless internal struggle, I chose the path of killing.

  Because I didn’t want to lose my power. And I didn’t want to die.

  To avoid being tracked by Luo Shan or official authorities, the killing couldn’t be done by me. It had to be done by my substitute.

  The substitute’s original qualities and loyalty didn’t matter. My ability would elevate them to a usable level, and they would be unable to resist any command I gave. I had no grand ambitions of controlling powerful figures in society. Any human would do—even social outcasts were fine.

  There was one complication, though: when someone became my substitute, they physically transformed into a goat-headed demon. Even after death, the transformation wouldn’t reverse. If I was “a human who could become a goat-headed demon,” then the substitute was a being physiologically remade into the demon itself.

  So I picked a vagrant who looked utterly destitute. Someone like that could disappear from society without anyone caring. It was the safest choice.

  There was one small hiccup, though. These days even vagrants couldn’t be underestimated. I’d seen news online about people rummaging through trash on the street being recognized as long-lost millionaires or other once-prominent figures who had fallen on hard times.

  I thought those stories were rare and distant—until I questioned this particular vagrant and learned he had once been the leader of a feudal cult.

  He used to live like a king in the countryside, reveling in power and luxury. Then, out of nowhere, a high-school student obsessed with folklore exposed all his tricks and helped the authorities dismantle his operation. Without followers to protect him, he was nearly burned alive by the furious crowd he had once brainwashed. If he hadn’t prepared a surgically altered, mind-controlled body double in advance—just in case—he would have died there.

  But fate turns in cycles. He probably never dreamed that the man who escaped death thanks to a substitute would one day become my substitute in turn.

  Under the effect of my ability, his mind collapsed almost immediately.

  My Substitute ability wasn’t some unconditional, broken power. Not everyone could be turned into a substitute. When I activated it on a target, they were first imprisoned in an illusion before the conversion began.

  The Freak Maker had once told me that a Freak’s ability was deeply tied to their past life experiences and their most heartfelt desires.

  The illusion I created was the very same dead-end alley that had once filled me with terror and driven me to despair.

  The longer someone remained trapped inside, the more fear and hopelessness consumed them. For an ordinary person, escape might take days. But turning a target into my puppet substitute required only one minute.

  The “imprisonment” phase could still be resisted with mana. The “conversion” phase, however, was an absolute rule that ignored power gaps. Once that single minute passed, no matter how mighty the mana of the person trapped inside, they would become nothing more than a puppet under my control.

  After acquiring my first substitute, I ordered him to start killing.

  Although the substitute could shoulder the murderous urge in my place, if I let him accumulate too much of it, when I reclaimed the power I would inherit the full weight of that accumulated craving. That was unacceptable.

  Still, I had no intention of letting him slaughter ordinary people at random. Since I was already using a substitute and had resolved to kill, why hold back? Why not abandon all restraint and conscience and go after demon hunters instead?

  Most demon hunters drew their mana from souls. Their souls were generally of far higher quality. Even while the Seed was temporarily not in my body, I remained a Freak and could still sense whose soul was more valuable.

  By devouring those souls, I could gain even greater power. And because higher-quality souls took longer to digest, I wouldn’t need to kill as frequently.

  To be safe, I avoided hunting Luo Shan’s demon hunters. Instead, I targeted independent ones—though calling them “demon hunters” was generous. Many had no real experience or desire to hunt anomalies; they were simply people with supernatural abilities.

  While operating in the shadows, another dark cloud lingered in my mind.

  “Among all the Freaks I’ve created so far, yours might be the closest to the Original.”

  Those were the Freak Maker’s words. I had never dared ignore them or let them fade from memory.

  The “Original” sounded like the prototype—or perhaps the source—of all Freaks.

  When a Freak fell into genuine despair, the Seed would leave them. So… where did the departing Seed go?

  My ability allowed me to transplant the Seed into another human and, upon reclaiming it, inherit all the substitute’s accumulated power. So… from the perspective of an Original with similar power, weren’t all Freaks merely his substitutes?

  Perhaps at some point, the Original would activate his own ability and reclaim every Seed of the Heart.

  Every Freak would revert to their powerless selves and die having accomplished nothing.

  The mere thought filled me with dread.

  I had to investigate… I had to uncover the origin of the Seed of the Heart and every piece of related information. I needed to know how to prevent such an outcome—or at the very least, ensure my own survival if it ever came to pass.

  Whenever the Freak Maker visited, I probed him indirectly.

  Whether he truly lacked caution or simply didn’t care if I knew, he let something slip during casual conversation.

  “The technological prototype for the Seed of the Heart comes from a domain that overlaps completely with the real world in terms of space.”

  “Overlaps completely with the real world… you mean another time?” I asked, stunned.

  In all the occult knowledge I had encountered, there were alternate spaces that existed “almost overlapping” with reality—but never one that overlapped “completely.”

  If I had to give an example, it could only be the same space at a different time.

  In other words… the past. Or the… future.