A Waste of Time-Chapter 2: Through the Veil

Once again, Daemon had no chance to orient his mental state before his soul vessel was tugged by the mysterious force pulling it to this fantastical place. This time, the direction he was forced toward was that same broken bridge. Thankfully, his trajectory wasn’t through the bronze gate but somewhere in the middle — between it and the pair of titans.
What kind of insane world is this?
Daemon thought as his eyes took in the unbelievable scenes. A chaotic, vibrant tapestry unfolded before him, each thread a testament to impossible power.
A golden bird of ridiculous proportions dove toward an ocean. Yet, before its beak disturbed the calm surface, its body shifted into a fish that slapped the water with its tail, creating disastrous, mountain-sized tsunamis!
Toward the shore, above the highest mountain peak, a blood-red ape, seated like a monk in the snow, suddenly opened its spirited, intelligent eyes. It raised a hand, forming a seal that created a barrier. The barrier rose toward the sky, blocking the wall of water and forcing it back.
“Roar…” Beyond that point, a majestic white tiger, disturbed from its sleep by the commotion, lazily growled before closing its eyes again. Yet, from its perch on a flat rock in the heart of the lush forest, the sound waves from that roar uprooted countless trees in a wide fan shape.
“Screech…” A bright spark ignited atop the tallest tree at the far end of Daemon’s view. A heartbeat later, it magnified a millionfold as the creature spread its wings — making it feel like the whole world caught fire! The sheer intensity of the light threatened to scorch his very ethereal form.
Crack. Rumble.
Half the mountain chain beside the ape suddenly rose a few dozen kilometers as the ancient head of a turtle appeared, yawning before trudging forward. Each massive step carried it far. From its back, a lively tail ending in a snake’s head snatched prey at will for snacks along its path.
Something caused the ocean’s water to shrink rapidly. Daemon quickly saw why: the fish opened its mouth, absorbing it all — creatures included.
Then an azure tail appeared on the far shore, making the fish snap its mouth shut and break the surface before transforming back into a golden bird. One flap of its wings carried its massive body skyward, away from the colossal head rising at the ocean’s center.
Rows of sharp fangs, dragon whiskers, antlers crowning its brow — the head exhaled, and the air condensed into clouds, sending rain to refill the ocean.
As if some pact existed between the force guiding his soul vessel and these divine creatures, once the visions played out, Daemon was pulled straight through the middle of these six titans!
This time he wasn’t given a pause to watch. Still, he glimpsed dragons spreading wings to call rain; birds bathing in lightning; a many-headed hydra locked in mortal combat with an earth dragon; and a cunning, bear-shaped creature lurking in the shadows, eyeing a strange fruit growing in a damp valley crack near the battle. Each beast moved with terrifying grace, reshaping the landscape with casual power.
Yet, right beside this apocalyptic clash that flattened mountains and scarred the earth… stood a small wooden hut with a tiny garden out back.
Daemon glimpsed a vague silhouette shrouded in haze, as if looking at them naturally cast a cloud over the beholder’s eyes.
“Another failure… Not even fake spirit roots this time.” After a brief pause, the figure continued in a voice that belonged to no gender: “Mortal physique through and through, utterly lacking any bloodline.”
Honestly, I feel offended… Imagine getting dragged, against your will, on a ridiculous ride through space and time beyond death itself — only to hear this deadpan voice telling you how useless you are!
His cynical humor flared, a defiant spark against cosmic indifference. Daemon thought this while trying to make sense of it all. Of course, he wouldn’t dare say it aloud after what he’d seen so far.
“Correct,” the figure said, pacing back and forth in front of the hut’s door, as if weighing Daemon’s fate.
“A debt of karma must be paid; Heaven above is our witness, and Hell below is our guarantor.”
“In exchange for disturbing your eternal death, you’re granted a chance at life.”
“By the rules of my lord, we are now even. However, elevating a mortal to my lord’s status would disgrace his spotless name.”
“So… I grant you a drop of blood as a gift and send you on your way.”
“Our meeting is fate’s whim; may we meet again, if your destiny allows.”
Snap! Daemon was banished from that place with a snap of the figure’s fingers. The expulsion felt like a physical shove, jolting his very essence. As he was sent away, the haze cleared — revealing a young man in a white robe. He frowned, sat on a stone stool, and fell into a long daze.
Finally, he raised his head and looked up, muttering, “Waiting for another sixty-year cycle to summon the next candidate… I’d better make preparations.” Then he stood and vanished with a single step.
Grunt! Daemon felt like a mule had kicked him in the chest. He opened his mouth to scream — but froze when he felt air filling his lungs!
Gasp. I survived?
A wave of dizzying relief swept over him. He looked down at his chest. Last time, it had been split open — spine crushed by the jagged debris that impaled him.
“This!” The sight of his unscarred chest was a miracle. But the size of his arms and body didn’t match a grown man in his mid-thirties at all.
Looking around, he found himself under a sorry excuse for a tent, surrounded by stacks of twigs and branches tied in bundles with primitive ropes made from strips of tree bark.
Beside the crude bed he’d just woken up on, Daemon spotted a tiny Axe — clearly kept sharp despite its poor quality. The kid whose body he’d hijacked must have taken good care of it.
I’m in the woods… Who the hell lives in the woods? Am I in danger? Aw, come on!
The idea of surviving only to be stranded, helpless in the wilderness, was a fresh hell. Panic gripped him. Civilization had always been Daemon’s greatest blessing — without it, someone like him would’ve been the first to die in any other age!
No job, no skills, no ambition — nothing.
The only time he’d tried to do anything useful — taking a plane abroad, maybe to find work — the damn thing crashed.
A piercing pain between his eyes halted his thoughts. Suddenly, Daemon was forced to replay little Da Niu’s short life of nine springs.
At five, Da Niu’s father left home after joining rebels who visited the village, boasting of an uprising army a hundred thousand strong, ready to overthrow the tyrant king who’d oppressed the people for so long.
Six months later, news came of the rebel army’s complete destruction. Da Niu’s mother didn’t shed a tear for the man who’d abandoned her without a backward glance.
Two months after that, she married another man. By the next winter, Da Niu no longer received any care from the people under the same roof.
He kept to himself, helping however he could — but that uncle, busy banging his mother, hated the sight of him. For reasons known only to him, the man lashed out or dumped every chore on Da Niu’s tiny shoulders.
Finally, last year, he decided Da Niu was old enough to earn his keep elsewhere. His mother didn’t object — she only hesitated before handing him that same Axe.
Since then, Da Niu had lived alone in the forest, trading firewood to village households for scraps of food.
“Fuck!” The sheer injustice — combined with the cruel joke of his new existence — was almost comical. Daemon clutched his head and shouted, feeling as though someone behind the clouds had invited a squad of rough, muscular rugby players to take turns at his ass!
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