Shrrrk… shhhk… krsshh…
Leaves rasped against obsidian as branches peeled back one by one, tendrils loosening with wet, fibrous snaps. Leaves retracted into their stems. Roots slid free from the cracks they had bitten into, dragging debris with them as they recoiled toward a single point.
Then—
Silence.
Qiren's consciousness drifted back in fragments.
His vision swam, a gray haze smearing the world as if rain still clung to his eyes. His head throbbed dully, each heartbeat echoing behind his temples. He sucked in a breath—and winced.
"…Hah…"
He blinked hard and forced himself upright. The storm above had thinned, the rain reduced to a distant hiss. The ritual site was ruined—scratched stone, torn grooves, faint scorch marks—but there was no massive corpse pinning him down.
His eyes widened.
The bird was gone.
Qiren pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers digging into his hair. "Did I… fail?" he muttered hoarsely. "Did it get away…?"
For a moment, doubt crept in, heavy and cold.
Then he shifted—and felt resistance.
Something tugged at his cheek.
He frowned, reached up, and grasped it.
A vine.
Thin, green, still faintly warm.
He ripped it free.
"Ghn—" A sharp sting flared across his skin. He groaned, more annoyed than alarmed, and flicked the torn vine aside without another glance. The pain was real, but distant—barely worth noting compared to everything else.
He pushed himself to his feet.
As he steadied, his gaze dropped to the ground.
His shadow stretched across the obsidian bridge—longer than it should have been.
Wider.
Qiren froze.
Slowly, he turned his head and looked properly.
From his shadow's back rose a silhouette that hadn't been there before.
Four… no—five vast, curved shapes unfurled behind him, jagged at the edges, feathered in outline.
Wings.
His breath caught.
"…Ah," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
The shadow twitched.
And the wings twitched with it.
Qiren turned his head over his shoulders, and there they were—
Violet and gold wings stared back at him—two on either side, and one running along his spine like a shark's fin. His eyes widened further as he noticed small vines strung along them, trailing down toward his lower back.
Then he saw something else—something that stole his breath just as completely.
A ring of six Cursed Berries, each latched onto vine stems wrapped around his loincloth.
He stared, stunned—not just at the berries, but at the vines themselves, which seemed to be growing from inside him.
He took a step back and heard a faint jingle from his wrists.
The sound was muffled, a clear sign his ears weren't fully healed—and also why he hadn't noticed the two sets of silver bangles loosely circling both wrists.
The moment he drew his arms closer, recognition struck.
These were the wedding rings that should have been on the Fruits of Misfortune.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"And here I thought I understood the limits of my Demonic Vessel Imparting…"
"I thought it would only let me transfigure a stray demon or monster using the curses at my disposal. Never did I imagine I could be part of the transfiguration process—at least not without experiencing it firsthand."
Qiren felt it then—his body had changed far more deeply than appearance alone.
He blinked.
The world shifted into heat signatures.
Pain exploded through his skull.
"—Gh!"
He clutched his head, staggering as a sensation like hundreds of glass shards scraped across his irises and occipital lobe. His vision snapped back to normal as he groaned, wings flaring instinctively in alarm.
They moved on sub-muscle memory alone.
If he wanted to fly, he could—right here, right now.
He forced himself to breathe and calmed the sensation, his vision stabilizing.
"…Was that thermal tracking?" he muttered.
Curiosity tugged at him—but the moment he tried to activate it again, the pain surged back, sharper this time. It was unbearable, forcing him to stop despite the urge to explore it further.
"Goddammit… or should I say, devil be damned?"
He rubbed at his irritated eyes—and froze.
Something was wrong.
"…Did I get more eyes too?"
"I did… didn't I…"
He felt his face carefully.
One pair sat where they should, symmetrically aligned along the bridge of his nose. Above his brows, he felt another pair. Lower, along his cheeks, two half-open slits trembled as they struggled to adjust.
Then his fingers moved to the center of his forehead.
A thinner slit lay there—barely responsive, unwilling to open more than a fraction.
Seven.
He had seven eyes on his face.
The realization unsettled him—not because of how monstrous it looked, but because of how wrong the sensation was.
At the moment, he was only using the four demonic eyes he'd been born with, which let him see normally—if not better in the dark. But when he'd activated infrared vision, the new pairs had engaged as well.
And his body wasn't ready.
It treated them like foreign organs.
If he kept pushing, he might experience his first true organ failure.
"Hah… crazy bastard," he muttered to himself. "Your face is a mess, and the first thing you worry about is whether your occipital lobe can handle the upgrades."
Despite himself, he activated them again.
Instant regret.
He hissed through clenched teeth, clutching his face—then forced the sensation down, willing the eyes to relocate.
The ones along his cheeks and brows slid away, migrating beneath his wings and hiding among the feathers. He left the slit on his forehead in place.
There.
His face felt… manageable again.
Once he was sure everything had settled, he took in his surroundings—and noticed something else.
He was taller.
Not by a little.
Judging by height alone, he'd crossed into his early teens.
"If this keeps up," he murmured, "I'll be an adult again in no time."
A crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"…Maybe being crushed wasn't so bad after all."
***
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