the shaman way

From the underground cave, Viora watched as the corrupted woman stepped further and further out of the shadows.

"Foolishness is indeed a terrible sin to possess... that's how all naive people like you end up six feet under," she said, tightening her grip on Viora's neck with one of the roots hanging from above.

The woman was strikingly beautiful, with hair as dark as the abyss and eyes devoid of any reflection. If eyes were truly the windows to the soul, then this twisted woman must have been the exception—or perhaps her soul was so consumed by malice that any light of virtue had long since been extinguished.

"You do know that foolishness is one of the great sins that hinders spiritual growth... foolish girl," the woman said, her body twisting at an unnatural angle as she leaned closer to Viora's face.

But Viora did not respond—she couldn't. The inhuman pressure on her neck was enough to twist and snap any ordinary person's spine, yet somehow, she endured, though barely.

The woman took two steps back, her voice dripping with mockery.

"Oh, I'm sorry, foolish girl... truly, I am. That's right, we can't talk under these conditions."

Before Viora could process her words, the roots suddenly hurled her violently to the ground with such force that her head spun.

"Arg!" she groaned, clutching at the dirt beneath her as she tried to steady herself. The impact left her disoriented, her body screaming in pain.

"You… you are the corrupted spirit…" Viora spat, her voice trembling as she clutched her bloodied face. Her vision blurred, but her determination burned through the haze.

"What have you done to the others?" she demanded, her voice shaking with anger and fear.

The wicked woman responded with a smile that no human should have been capable of making. It was impossibly wide, stretching far beyond the limits of what a face should allow. The malice radiating from it was suffocating, a grin filled with unnatural, twisted glee.

"Don't worry," the woman said, her voice like velvet soaked in venom, "they're not dead… yet. I thought it'd be far more enjoyable to kill everyone here at the same time."

Her words sent a chill crawling down Viora's spine, the sheer malice in them heavier than the roots that had bound her.

Viora, struggling to keep herself upright despite the pain radiating through her body, managed to ask just one question:

"Why?"

The corrupted spirit froze for a moment, before letting out a laugh—a sound so twisted, it seemed to echo with multiple voices, each more malevolent than the last. The laughter reverberated through the cavern, making the very air feel heavier, suffocating.

"You really are naïve… How much more naïve can one person be?" the spirit mocked, covering her face with her hand in a gesture that almost looked like disdain.

Still clutching her sides and fighting the throbbing pain, Viora rasped, "What?"

Her confusion and defiance seemed to amuse the spirit even more. The eerie grin returned, stretching unnaturally as the spirit tilted her head, her voice dripping with condescension.

The spirit's laughter came to an abrupt halt, leaving an eerie silence that made Viora's blood run cold. The corrupted woman turned her gaze directly toward her, and the sheer void in her pitch-black eyes made Viora want to look away. It wasn't just the absence of light—it was as if those eyes threatened to swallow her entire being.

"You really think you're special, don't you?" the spirit said, her voice now devoid of mockery, replaced by an icy sharpness. "Just because you can see spirits... oh, I'm sorry, because you can barely see us?"

Her face showed no hint of amusement now, only a cold, simmering contempt.

"It's quite insulting…" the spirit continued, her tone cutting deeper than any blade. "Like a bug pretending to be a tiger."

Viora took a step forward, her body trembling from pain but her eyes burning with unshakable resolve. She clenched her fists tightly, ignoring the ache that pulsed through every fiber of her being.

"It doesn't matter if you think I'm a bug or not," she declared, her voice steady despite the circumstances. "I will stop you!"

Her gaze locked with the spirit's empty, abyssal eyes, refusing to waver despite the suffocating malice radiating from them. Viora's defiance was a spark of light in the overwhelming darkness, a small but unyielding flicker against the crushing weight of the spirit's presence.

The spirit tilted her head slightly, a mocking sneer curling her unnaturally wide lips. "Oh, I see… the boy was right. You really think this is a game."

Before Viora could respond, an excruciating pain shot through her stomach. The world around her seemed to vanish in an instant, swallowed by the agony. She didn't even register what had happened.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself sprawled on the ground, gasping for air. Her body was trembling, and the taste of blood lingered in her mouth. Looking up, she saw the spirit standing over her, one foot pressed firmly against her chest.

Viora's eyes widened as the realization hit her. She hadn't blinked. She hadn't looked away. And yet, the spirit had moved faster than her eyes could track. That single punch had struck her with such force, it left her completely helpless.

"You didn't even see it coming," the spirit said with a twisted smirk, leaning forward just enough to make Viora feel the weight of her presence.

"It doesn't matter what I think? You talk as if I am the one who hates you the most... I just met you!" the spirit sneered, her voice dripping with twisted sarcasm. She then continued, her tone growing darker:

"You hate yourself more than anyone else in this world... More precisely, your own mind hates you. Do you want to know what your mind thinks of you? That no one wants you. That you're a waste of space. That having a family and friends was never meant for you..."

The spirit paused, savoring the words before a dark, chilling giggle escaped her lips.

"And do you want to know what else your mind thinks of you that I also agree with?"

Her grin widened, eyes gleaming with malicious delight as she stepped closer to Viora.

"It's not even an opinion, really. It's just a fact—one you know is true, but you've pushed so far back into your subconscious that you haven't even addressed it yourself."

With a slow, deliberate movement, the spirit lifted her foot off Viora's chest, stepping back.

"...That you are not special."

Viora gritted her teeth, trying to rise despite every fiber of her body screaming in agony. The woman watched her with twisted amusement, savoring the struggle.

"It's not true," Viora murmured, her voice heavy with melancholy as the words slipped out, barely a whisper.

The woman's grin widened as she raised a hand, her voice dripping with dark amusement. "Your naïveté knows no end… Foolish girl. How about this... I will make you suffer for every second before I devour your soul. But it won't be physical pain, don't worry. It's not that I don't know how to do that, but believe it or not, the best way to break a soul is by having their own mind torment them."

With a flick of her wrist, multiple dark roots shot up from the ground, encircling Viora from all sides. Slowly, they closed in, trapping her in their suffocating grasp. The world around her vanished as the roots sealed her in total darkness.

"Wait, what are you doing!? Let me out!" she shouted, pounding against the roots with all her might, but her efforts were futile. The roots remained unyielding, pressing against her, as if mocking her struggle.

Viora strained against the suffocating darkness, her breath quick and shallow. Then, from deep within the underground cave, a voice echoed—sharp, venomous, and filled with cruel certainty.

"I've unearthed the truth you've been suppressing from your own mind, and you call me a liar? Against my ability, there's no room for opinion, lies, or biased judgment... only cold, unrelenting facts. My power lets me see memories with such accuracy that you'll even recall how the air smelled that very day."

The ground beneath her trembled slightly, and a thick, yellowish liquid began to rise from the floor of the trap, oozing slowly, its texture viscous and unsettling. Viora could feel her heart race as the liquid crept upward, inch by inch.

The voice continued, its tone growing colder, darker.

"How will your soul withstand the unrelenting hell of your own forgotten torment?"

chapter fourteen end