LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter 35 Winged and Wicked Part 1.
The longer I sat, watching the corrupted scenes of memories unfold before me, the more my emotions began to stir. Each distorted image, each twisted recollection, chipped away at the numbness I'd clung to for so long. Gradually, the detachment gave way to a torrent of feelings, growing stronger with every passing moment. As my emotions surged, I felt my body slowly morph, shifting from the alien form it had taken into the familiar shape of my current self.
The person responsible for this torment shifted his tone as he spoke to me, his words laced with a twisted sense of satisfaction. He commented on each change in my form, noting every transformation with a perverse glee. His hand traced a slow, deliberate path down my face, his touch cold and invasive. A look of ecstasy flashed across his features as he reveled in the anguish he was inflicting upon me.
Then he said something that chilled me to my very soul. "This may be temporary, but since we aren't stopping anytime soon, you will forget the old memories of your loved ones as they are twisted beyond recognition. Ah yes, more..." He shivered, barely able to contain his moans, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure as he watched me beg him to stop.
Watching helplessly as my memories of family and loved ones twisted before my eyes, I felt a profound sense of dread and impotence. I was shown acts of unimaginable cruelty, things only the vilest devils and demons could conceive. He began with the moment I was first broken. In place of my mother’s murder, I saw her flesh flayed, her intestines removed, and fashioned into a noose. They hung her from it, laughing as blood rained down on me staining me permanently in crimson blood.
The next memory to be twisted was my father's death. He was chained against a wall, just as I was, as they used a blowtorch on the lowest setting to burn away the flesh from his bones slowly. Each time my father passed out from the pain, they injected him with something that healed his wounds and pulled him back from the safety of unconsciousness, forcing him to endure the torment anew.
With each horrific change, I was barely hanging on, my pride the only thing keeping me from breaking completely. Then, the bastard started going through my more recent memories. When he found the one of Pride telling me about my unborn sister, his smile grew so wide and wicked I thought his head might split in half.
He created pleasant memories of my family not dying and of me growing up with my sister and parents. In these memories, I even had a wife and kids. These false memories were forcibly implanted into my mind, and I found myself lost within them, believing I was just sick and crazy. I clung to the hope that this was all one sick nightmare and that I would wake up with my wife lying next to me.
When I awoke she would ask what was wrong and if I was okay. I would reassure her, saying it was just a bad dream. Then the day would go on: I'd have breakfast with my wife and kids, go to work with my father, and then visit my sister and her family as we had planned. All of the new memories felt so real that I desperately hoped and pleaded with God that this was reality and everything else was just one big nightmare. As Pride grew weaker and weaker, I felt myself slipping away, losing grip on who I was.
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Years seemed to pass in the blink of an eye as all of my old memories were defiled and twisted into depths of depravity only the sick could imagine. To avoid causing my family unnecessary worry, I pretended that everything was fine. I kissed my wife and hugged my kids, maintaining the facade of a normal routine as I left for work. In reality, I was heading to the hospital, desperate to uncover what was happening to me. Perhaps a tumor in my brain was warping and distorting my memories, for all the horrors I’d endured seemed to never have happened. My parents were still alive, and our town had never been attacked.
The demon was never real, and there had never been another universe I traveled to as a result of a pact. Even though I felt deep down that my soul had changed, I tried to push those thoughts away. This was right—nothing was wrong. I had a good and wonderful life. Sure, it had its sad moments—like the deaths of friends and people I once knew—but that was just part of life, and I couldn't believe that this was all fake.
As I drove to the hospital, it took an hour or two, during which I called into work to explain my delay. I told them I might have food poisoning or something similar and wanted to make sure I didn’t spread anything to my coworkers. My boss gave me the okay telling me to also go home and rest after as there wasn't anything to do today, and I ended the call.
Pulling into the parking lot, I exited my car and locked it, trying to steady my nerves. I walked inside and checked in, requesting to see both a doctor and a psychologist for a psychological evaluation. The wait seemed endless as I sat alone with my thoughts, and I began to see things out of the corner of my eyes that couldn’t possibly be real. Doubts about the tumor I suspected started to creep in as the visions grew more unsettling. When I was finally called into a room, it felt as if invisible chains were wrapped around my limbs, dragging me down with each step.
I sat alone in silence, lost in my thoughts as I waited once again. I considered turning on the TV to distract myself until the doctor arrived, but I froze when I heard a knock on the door before it opened.