Fusion! Reborn

Fusion! Reborn

(A routine plea for votes and bookmarks; extra chapter today.)

"Whoosh."

Suddenly, a flame sprang up between Diya's fingers, tightly wrapping around the fragment. The flame was an alluring blood-red throughout, with a faint glimmer visible within it. It surged upward with a soft roar.

Yet Diya could not feel any heat from the flame. Though it seemed to be burning from between his fingers, it was as if something separated it from them, preventing his fingers from being scorched. Diya knew perfectly well that he had no magic power in his body. This flame had to be Diablo's doing.

"Don't overthink it. This is my Hellfire. Your body is far too weak, and I still have to expend soul power to protect it," Diablo's voice sounded, half explanation, half warning. "Focus your mind. Prepare yourself for the pain of fusion."

As he spoke, the Hell Fragment wrapped in Hellfire began to soften, deforming bit by bit before turning into a pool of viscous liquid. Enveloped by the flames, it slowly rose into the air, floated above Diya's head, then poured down like water. The Hellfire gradually dimmed, seeming to merge into the pool of liquid.

"Drip..."

The gray liquid fell onto Diya's head and rapidly spread outward. It was impossible to imagine how that pool of liquid could cover his entire head, then continue downward, coating his neck, torso, waist, arms, and everything else. In about a minute, Diya's entire body had been covered by the gray liquid, making him look like a statue.

The liquid remained completely still, yet Diya felt no suffocation. In fact, he had no idea what he looked like now. He only felt his vision go dark, unable to see anything.

"It's starting," Diablo's voice rang out again, making Diya's heart tighten. He steadied himself and prepared to endure the pain that was about to come.

"Whoosh."

Diya's body slowly rose into the air, hovering there without moving. Half-meter-high Hellfire suddenly burst from the gray surface and blazed fiercely. Yet strangely, the flames seemed like phantoms; they did not burn anything else in the room. Everything remained unchanged.

The Hellfire slowly contracted and seeped into the gray surface. That gray layer suddenly began to squirm. Diya felt his body temperature begin to rise. In less than a few seconds, it had reached a level he could barely endure, as though he were being roasted beside a raging furnace, yet not a drop of sweat appeared.

In an instant, a piercing pain surged through him. Diya felt as if the skin all over his body were being torn apart, as though something were forcing its way desperately into his pores. The agony of being stretched open swept through his entire body at once.

In the human body, nearly every square centimeter of skin contained around one hundred to one hundred and twenty pores. The face alone had more than twenty thousand pores.

How many pores, then, did the whole body have? The gray liquid forced apart every single pore and drilled inside, entering his body. The pain of millions upon millions of pores combined, repeatedly crashing into Diya's mind. He wanted to shout and vent that suffering, but he could not open his mouth. The nerves throughout his body trembled violently as pain rapidly spread back and forth through every part of him—his pores, hair tips, nerve endings, and more—layering again and again, fading, then returning.

"Hold on!" Diablo shouted, his voice booming through Diya's nearly unconscious mind and jolting him awake. "You must not pass out, or it will fail!"

Diablo's words shook Diya. He forced himself to stay awake. He had endured fifteen years already. Could he not endure a few more minutes? Diya clenched his teeth. This was the moment that would change his fate. No matter what, he could not fall. He had to endure it. As long as he endured, he could change—completely change. Then his better days would finally come.

Diya forced himself to recall everything he had suffered over the past fifteen years. Time and again, he had been humiliated without the strength to fight back, only able to endure in silence while roaring with rage inside. That resentment constantly turned into motivation, supporting Diya as he held on, as though fifteen years of grievance were battling several minutes of agony.

The gray liquid melted from the fragment, together with the Hellfire, entered Diya's body through pore after pore. The gray coating on his body had completely vanished, and his black robe had turned to ash in the flames, revealing Diya's thin, rib-like body.

Inside his body, a new round of transformation began. The gray liquid invaded every part of him—his meridians, muscles, then his organs, bones, and marrow. Vaguely, Diya could even hear sounds from the depths of his soul. The crackling was as continuous as firecrackers.

"Hold on a little longer. It'll be over soon," Diablo said anxiously. He could sense Diya's condition and knew he was in a very unfavorable state. If one's body was strong from the start, the transformation caused by the fragment would be relatively easier to endure, and the pain would naturally be less. But for someone as frail as Diya, the pain brought by the transformation was far more intense. By now, Diya's mind was muddled, supported only by sheer will.

"Did you hear me? Hold on!" Diablo's voice echoed through Diya's soul. Diya only felt that the call seemed to come from a distant horizon, yet also from a dreamlike world. It was so drifting, so unreal. But with each call, Diya gradually regained consciousness. The intense pain surged forth once more, reaching deep into his marrow, as though it were being pulled out.

"Hold on. It'll be over in a few seconds. You'll be completely transformed," Diablo said with extreme urgency, constantly encouraging Diya. A warm current rose in Diya's heart. It had been a long time. Aside from Uncle Fu, it seemed no one had ever cared whether he lived or died. Yet now, someone known for destruction was worrying about him. That feeling was rather good.

"Three, two, one, finished." Diablo counted down, drawing Diya's attention. When Diya heard the word "finished," he smiled faintly and finally lost consciousness. Vaguely, he still heard a voice say, "Congratulations. The transformation is complete."

The room was silent. Only a naked figure lay on the bed. Diya was still unconscious, his body covered in a layer of blackish-red filth. Waves of foul stench spread through the room. Fortunately, Diya had passed out, or he might have been knocked unconscious by the smell as well.

Suddenly, a burst of flame burned out from Diya's body, appearing and vanishing just as quickly. Amid faint sizzling sounds, the fire disappeared, and the layer of filth on Diya's body had vanished as well. His body still looked thin and weak, yet it radiated a vitality unlike anything before, as though it were flourishing like the rising sun. Looking closely, one could see that his once dry skin had become smoother and more supple.

Gradually, the foul stench in the room faded away. Diya's eyelids twitched, then slowly opened. His clear eyes held a dazed look. Bracing his hands against the bed, he pushed himself up, intending to sit slowly, but instead shot upright with a whoosh and nearly pitched forward.

"This..." Diya steadied himself and stretched out his hands, staring at them in disbelief. Though they looked no different on the surface, Diya could clearly feel a sense of power gathering within them. He clenched his fists, and the taut feeling filled him with indescribable satisfaction. It felt wonderful.

He stood up and jumped twice on the spot. Suddenly, he realized that not only had his jumping height increased noticeably, but even his stamina seemed much stronger. In the past, just two jumps like that would have left him gasping for breath.

Could it be that the fragment fusion had succeeded? It really had succeeded? He vaguely remembered hearing the words "transformation complete" earlier. Diya clenched his fists tightly, unable to hide the wild joy on his face. Had he finally escaped? Escaped that predicament and suffering? At that moment, he wanted to shout aloud and sweep away all the frustration of the past fifteen years, but he held it back. His physique had only undergone an initial transformation.

Even so, Diya began jumping and bouncing around the room, darting back and forth across the floor in strange poses. Only after several minutes did he wipe the sweat from his forehead and rest. Several uninterrupted minutes of exercise—something he had never even dared imagine before, yet he had done it now.

Diya also discovered some problems. For example, he could not always control his strength. Sometimes he used too much force, sometimes too little. He understood why. For fifteen years, his body had always been so weak that he had grown used to it. Now that his body had suddenly been transformed and his physique had improved so much, it was like having a new body that he had yet to adapt to. He believed that with effort, he would fully adjust after some time.

Breathing lightly, the wild joy in Diya's heart gradually calmed. He picked up the Flick Sword that had fallen onto the bed, but he could not feel any weight at all, as though there were nothing in his hand. Suddenly, Diya remembered that he seemed to have forgotten something. "Um, Diablo, are you all right...?"

He called several times in succession, but received no response. Just as Diya was about to call again, Uncle Fu's voice sounded from outside the room. "Young Master, it's time for lunch. After eating, you should get some rest."

Hearing that, Diya picked up his underclothes from beside the bed and put them on, then took a black robe, draped it over himself, and walked out of the room.