Published at 17th of October 2026 9:55 am

Chapter 210. True self

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The memory ended with Peter floating in the dark, as it had back then. He never told anyone about the wish he made. He could guess what Sam would tell him: that it was justified self-defense and that the killings werent his, almost like he had no right to claim the interesting carnage he caused.

But those words were enough for Peter. It took time to accept it, to stop lying to himself. His desire for their deaths in that moment, even if the idea was born of pain, was still his. He did not lie to himself as he floated in that darkness.

He remembered the instructions. Once everything went black, he was to push his soul out, help it dislodge. He felt in control. He felt he could do it. It was just that he didnt have the strength. The idea of the end, final and irreversible, seemed so inviting.

He would go, far away from the fear and the pain.

The look in Sams eyes came back to him. Expectation. A pang of guilt at disappointing the man popped up in his mind. Sam did try to help him, even if for selfish reasons, but in his own twisted way, he seemed to believe in him. Not an ounce of hesitation. And letting him down felt wrong.

Of all the things that could have kept him alive, his unwillingness to disappoint another killer was almost funny. Yet it was there.

But why should he care for the opinions of others if he was going to die? Die a painless death. Die

'Die a murderer,' part of him proposed.

The thought felt like a jolt of electricity. He would really die a killer. Did he not want to change? Did he not want to redeem himself or at least try?

He did not mind disappointing his family, even his loved ones, but Sams expectant gaze somehow stayed with him?

And the realization struck him. He didnt fear Sams disappointment. The look in his eyes reflected something he felt so deeplydisappointment in himself and the expectation that he could be something else, something more.

With that thought, the feeling revealed itself like a burning ball of magma, heavy in his soul. He didnt mind death. But he did mind dying an unredeemed killer. He minded dying without crawling his way forward. With so much pain, why give up now?

He then felt something click, something slip into the position it was supposed to have occupied from the start.

He had felt it back then when pushing his soul out of his body, when he accepted himself as a killer and gained control over part of his soul. And he felt it now, part of him clicking into place. The part that was the survivor. He had buried it, thinking himself a self-realized man because he had accepted his sins, but only now did he realize it was but a shard missing its better halfthe drive to be better despite them. He had taken on the burden, forgetting what bore the weight.

With a flex of his will, now fueled by renewed determination, he pushed himself out of his body. The soul dislodged much more easily, and with his flesh dead, for the first time, he felt in control, even while still blind. He focused on the sensations as the pull grew much stronger. Something wanted to take him away, but at the same moment, the magic activated. The sensation of unthinkably vast energy touched his being, trying to keep him from passing.

He searched for the mana that should have been attuned to him. And there it was, a stream entering his being from the outside, flowing slowly within, filling his form. He focused on it and pulled, letting his instincts guide him.

He could not tell how long the fight lasted as he tried to absorb magic and fight off the growing pull threatening to rip him into the darkness. With no sense of time, it felt like ages spent in constant battle for survival. Until a change. Whereas the world had seemed distant before, every sensation suddenly rushed in. Some old ones, like sight and hearing. But also new onesa sense of a strange energy surrounding him. He felt the magic fill a shapehis shape, known yet foreign.

He looked at Sam standing to the side, nodding with a wide smile, his hand moving fast as he kept taking notes in a book, observing everything about the process.

Peter almost chuckled at the sight. He had just fought for himself, for his life, and the man was studying it like a curiosity. He sighed at that, or tried to, only now realizing there was no air in his lungs. There was a second in which he felt he was choking, but thankfully it went away as soon as it arrived.

His mind was still adjusting, and it took him a while to notice he was floating half a meter off the ground. Moving around felt strange, and for a good few minutes he turned in the air like an animal in zero gravity. He did manage to turn to Sam to give the man a look asking for help, but all he got from him was Do I look like a ghost? Figure it out. Peter was pretty sure Sam could astral project, but he decided to believe Sam was refusing to help for his own good rather than for the man's amusement. Peter finally found that pretending to walk on an invisible floor worked best as his body moved through the air.

Only once he could orient himself in space did he try to look for his old body. Seeing his own dead self was a surreal experience. It made him uncomfortable in a way he didn't think possible, as if it were a dream and his mind screamed for him to wake up. Yet he persevered, gazing at the body until the sensation went away.

The body lying beneath him, still submerged in the tub, had changed from how he remembered it. The runes previously drawn on him were now burned into his skin, becoming something like red scars that covered his flesh in strange patterns.

He also felt something elsea link. Like a chain between him and the flesh. He knew he couldn't stray more than a certain distance from it.

Floating closer, he reached toward the body, but then froze when his arm entered his vision.

The hand was not his. Well, it was his, just not like the old one. The fingers were replaced by long, hook-like claws reminiscent of the hook once fused to him.

He lowered his gaze, following the arm to the torso. Strangely enough, the energy that made up his new body also had the courtesy to create something akin to clothing. It looked like a black sleeveless tunic made of smoke that wrapped around him and stretched to his knees.

But what drew his attention were the scars. Every scar he had gotten during the surgery to bring his human flesh back remained on his ghostly form, even more pronounced, taking on a pinkish-red hue and standing out against the white, ghastly flesh. His right hand remained normal, while the left gained the clawed fingers.

Looking up, he saw Sam point toward a prepared mirror, where Peter could see his entire form. The body was slightly larger and more powerful-looking than his old one. He had one elongated, clawed hand and one normal hand. His face remained untouched, aside from the scars running across it. They felt weird. Precious. Almost like jewelry.

Sam, standing to the side, smiled as he looked at Peters new form with excitement, making the boy feel distinctly like a test subject. The look somehow elicited a shiver despite the lack of skin.

Yeah. Thats a battle form, all right. You can rip into someone with those claws, I bet, the man said, looking him over like a prized horse. Maybe even injure a soul once you absorb more. I wonder if you could wrestle with another ghost.

Peter gave him a flat look, and Sam rolled his eyes. Or you can pet some puppies with your other hand, Im sure the mage grumbled, making a few notes. Try to repossess your old body, he finally commanded once the note-taking was done.

The process turned out to be easy. Peter just followed the pull, as if pulling himself along a rope underwater. And once he entered the flesh, his entire self popped right back in.

He winced, expecting pain, but none came. On the contray, the sensations, previously vivid and alive, became muted. Only then did he understand how much his new senses differed from the oldfrom the color palette to, most of all, the sense of energy. The magic in the air gave the room a feeling, a taste that was now sorely lacking.

The same went for bodily sensations. Hunger and muscle tightness now felt like foreign irritations, annoying at best. Worst of all was the feeling of not fitting in. The flesh was wrong. He wore it wrong. He wanted it to grow, to form claws, to He stopped himself.

'So thats the mutation of the flesh Sam spoke of,' he realized.

He distinctly felt that he could try to warp the body, try to make it match.

'Well, Sams gonna love the insight.' Peter chuckled to himself before popping back out.

Took a tour of the new body, I imagine?

Sams voice came from the side. Peter turned to face him, groaning internally at the uncoordinated movements.

I did, he said, his voice sounding weird even to his own ears.

Good. What did you feel?

Strange, like its no longer mine. Like I want to make it fit.

Oh, fascinating. So its a want, meaning you should be able to control the mutation, he piped up, continuing to himself. But flesh warps on its own even in unconscious zombies and partial possessions, so there should be a natural warping factor as well. He began writing in the book, murmuring.

Yeeeah. Aside from that, when Im in the body, I feel like I want to be in the ghost form. Flesh feels temporary? He tried to describe the sensation.

Sam nodded. Im not sure what the time limit is. We will need to run experiments, but I believe, for now, you should spend days in the flesh and go outside of it at night. Peter nodded as he listened. Aside from that, any mental changes? A sudden craving for human brains? A deep need to stand around menacingly? Maybe an urge to push a chair around in the middle of the night?

Peter floated there, his mouth half open, before asking, Are you joking?

Yep. Come on. You made it out alive. You were reborn. You overcame. Celebrate. No need for a solemn mood, he said, clearly happy.

Riiiight. And no, I dont feel any of those.

Good. Any other mental changes?

A lot. But Im not sure its due to the ritual, Peter said.

Good. Sam nodded his head happily. And how would you feel about delivering a psychic drug to a disease-attuned hive mind in about two days? he asked without missing a beat.

Sur Peter froze on the spot, processing the sentence before just asking, What?

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