The demoness leaned closer, her long black nails dangling like icicles before his face, and said in a low, rippling voice,
"But looking at your bones… your height… your skin… you look like a nine-year-old child."
He untied the torn cloth around his waist, shook off some dried sea-salt, and answered casually, almost too casually for someone sitting beside a creature whose neck could stretch like a serpent.
"I felt that too at first. But one granny said I lived two years… then she even said seven. So I don't understand it myself. Something is wrong with me. My growth stopped after coming out… then today I felt it start again."
He paused to pull down his hair, which now hung all the way to his wrists and even on his side eyes, also thick and heavy like wet seaweed. "…Also, this happened. My hair suddenly grew too fast."
The demoness tilted her actual head, not the one on the monstrous elongated neck. Her body twitched in small spasms, as if trying to hold back the urge to stretch again. "So that is why you aren't wearing proper robes… but…" Her voice deepened, shadows vibrating around her throat.
"…why do I feel something strange from you? Why don't you fear death? It's unnatural. As if someone gave you… immunity."
He fixed his clothes and shrugged, almost embarrassed.
"Well… long story short—I went to a dark place. Very dark. I stayed there and endured everything. They told me I could ask for something in return."
She leaned in, lips curling.
"A bargain…? With them?"
"Might be. I asked for immortality in return. They refused. So I asked for something simple."
He looked at her, eyes strangely calm.
"Give me the power to not fear death. They said yes. That's all."
A faint hiss slipped out of her mouth. Her thoughts spiralled, twisting like her shifting shadow:
The power to reject fear… The first barrier mortals fail to cross… and he stepped over it like a puddle.
He put on his hat, adjusted t he thick braid, he made by his hair, at the top and she followed his movements. The rising moon fell on him, silver and cold, and blue leaves, unnaturally blue, drifted down from the cliffside trees like falling feathers of some celestial bird.
He gazed at the moon. "I've never seen a moon like this… Is today some special day?"
"No."
Her answer was immediate, too immediate. As if the moon's strangeness was not something, she wanted to speak. A cold wind scraped across their skin. He pulled his black tattered robe tighter.
"It's getting cold suddenly." The sea below them churned softly now, as if sleeping. The earlier red glow had faded, replaced by pale milk-white ripples reflecting the moon.
He took a step forward and pointed past the endless water. "I was planning to cross that sea. Do you know what's after it? I can't see anything from here."
She didn't answer. Her eyes lingered on him with an expression he couldn't understand, something between curiosity… and hunger. Then, in a small voice that did not match her monstrous nature, she asked, "Don't you really fear me?" "No." He looked at her as if stating the weather. "Why should I? You're a good demon."
She blinked.
A good demon?
Her claws retracted slightly.
He turned back to the horizon. "Anyway, what's on the other side of this big sea? I can't see anything." She hesitated, then finally answered. "First… an island. Then beyond that, a vast human land." His eyes lit up. "I want to go there."
She frowned. "Do you even know how?" He shook his head. "…No."
She asked him softly, almost too softly, "Then wait for some more time… you have to do some work of this place."
He smiled without concern. "Work? What kind of work? If it's bad, I won't do it."
She gave him a long look with anger, "Come. This place is not good for speaking… follow me."
She rose from the cliff, silent as drifting fog, and he followed. But the moment her back turned, she sighed to herself, "…Hah… what a simple child." Then, all at once, her ribs cracked outward, her neck elongated with a wet bone-grind, her jaw split wider than a human's should and she spun back toward him.
"YOU LITTLE BASTARD—HOW DARE YOU NOT FEAR ME?!"
Her demonic form burst out like a living nightmare. Black steam poured from her mouth. Her hair floated upward as if underwater. The cliffside trees twisted in fright. The ground cracked beneath her feet. But he didn't step back.
Instead, annoyance gathered on his face. Cold air stabbed his skin, needles of frost scratching his cheeks. But he pushed his body forward, inch by inch, against her crushing energy.
He forced himself closer to her extended head, grabbed it with both hands, and shouted, "STOP IT!" He gave her two small punches on the top of her skull. She blinked. Then, slowly, smiled, the monstrous grin melting into something more… playful. "…Come."
But he didn't follow. She knelt beside him, shrank her monstrous neck back, and placed a clawed hand lightly on his shoulder. Her voice changed again, now sounding almost like a teasing older sister: "Let's go. Are you angry? Ahhh… come, little boy… come." He puffed his cheeks, glaring at her. "Bad woman. Let go! Didn't you cut me earlier? Look!" On his arms and face, thin red lines, scratches from resisting her aura, still bled.
She sighed and suddenly placed her palm on his cheek, before he could move. A warm glow seeped from her skin into his. The wounds closed instantly. His eyes widened. "Woooow! You can use energy like that too?!" She raised a brow. "Why? Do you want to learn?" He nodded so fast she almost laughed.
She grabbed his hand and traced her fingers along his wrist, following invisible lines only she could see. Her expression darkened. "Time is not right yet. Four years left." He whispered, counting under his breath, "…1500 days left."
She turned her gaze to the sea, her voice drifting like an old poem broken by sorrow:
"Days wilt like lonely petals…
Months dim like candles under rain…
Years slip away like tears no one notices…"
He looked at her, sensing something, he asked quietly, "How many years… have you been trapped here?"
Her lips trembled slightly. Then she looked away. "Let's go inside. I will tell you my story if you have time."
They entered the cave. Both bowed instinctively beneath a idol, which was present from before and she lit candles by snapping her fingers. Small red flames rose one by one, floating in the air before settling into place like fireflies choosing a resting branch. She pointed into a far, narrow path.
"That way."
He stepped forward, and immediately felt the chill of something hostile. The passage was so dark that even the candlelight seemed swallowed. Only her faintly glowing bones glimmered like pale white lanterns in the void.
He could barely see her silhouette walking ahead, almost merging into darkness except for the occasional flash of rib bones and the dim outline of her skull-tipped spine.
He heard a roar outside, echoing through the stone, a monstrous animal tearing something apart at the beach. Then, another sound.
Crunch. Crunch. …Crunch.
The sound of something chewing. They stopped at the same time. He bent down, squinting in the dim light, and saw bones scattered along the entrance of a deeper cavern, long femurs with teeth marks, skulls cracked open like eggshells, ribs arranged like broken cages.
Suddenly, a single red candle lit itself in the distance.
Then another, another and another. Soon, dozens of candles blazed, revealing a horrific sight:
A demon sat atop a small mountain of bones.
His entire body was made of layered skeletal remains,
ribs stacked like scales, arms made of mismatched femurs, and his spine twisted upward into the shape of a grotesque throne. with some part was covered by animal skins, blood is dripping from there.
Behind him stood a tree made of bones—
its trunk built from fused vertebrae,
its branches from long forearm bones,
and instead of leaves…
Human heads dangled, each whispering incomprehensibly.
Some eyes were open.
Some were stitched shut.
Some smiled.
The demon turned slowly.
She walked a little ahead of him, her footsteps echoing like distant drops in a cavern too large for sound to settle. The candles behind them flickered, stretching their shadows into long, thin silhouettes that looked like two spirits wandering a purgatory of bone and silence. She paused, watching those shadows warp, and muttered with a sigh, "Oh, what a journey of life. First Bodhi… and now Bandha." Her voice sounded almost tired, as if remembering older wounds.
Then she straightened. "Let's move forward."
He bowed to the towering skeletal idol as they passed. The gesture was instinctive, almost reverent. She noticed it and turned to him with a slanted gaze. "Do you know about it?" she asked.
He squinted at the structure, a ribcage twisted like a lotus, skulls arranged like prayer beads, a spine spiralling upward in impossible knots, and said softly, "That idol looks like Buddha. Isn't it Mara then?"
She gave a dry laugh. "Who knows? But they are neither Buddha nor Mara. You may call them god… or demon. Both have offered you their path. The question is: which one will you choose?"
He asked "when?" she said "if you understood it, then should you not have already changed your path? so, they both choose you but which path you will choose, your way."
He thought for some time and then stared at god idol, seeing it she smiled and about to move forward. Suddenly she stopped as he asked, "What is God, and what is Demon?"
She, sighed and turned back, drew her clawed fingers across the air, tracing invisible symbols. "God is the voice that says: 'Do no harm.'" He smiled slightly, contradicting, "Then why does that voice sometimes sound like fear?" She answered without pause, "Because the same voice learns to defend what it loves and sometimes we mistake that defence for a demon."
He stepped closer, curiosity glowing like a candle behind his eyes. "So the demon is just God wearing armour?" "No." Her eyes glinted. "The demon is when the armour forgets it was meant to protect… and starts to believe it exists to conquer." "And God?" he pressed.
"God," she said, "is when the armor remembers." He frowned. "But if both voices live inside a person, how do we tell them apart?" "By the direction they push you," she replied. "God pushes inward — toward understanding. Demon pushes outward — toward domination. One expands you, the other inflates you." He gave a short laugh. "Yet expansion and inflation feel the same in the beginning." She smiled, pleased. "Exactly. Growth and corruption begin with the same warmth. You only know the difference when you reach for something and discover whether you're holding a truth… or gripping someone's throat."
Her words made the cave feel colder. He looked down at the bone-covered floor, thinking."So which one rules the world?" he finally asked. "Neither," she said. "The world is ruled by the one we feed in moments too small to notice, impatience, kindness, pride, restraint. God and demon don't appear in grand battles. They hide inside choices."
He sighed. "Then there is no pure God, no pure Demon. Only interpretations." She nodded. "Exactly. Heaven and hell aren't places. They're consequences." He stared at her, then whispered, "But if I choose both… then what?" She didn't flinch. "Then you choose to be human." He blinked, almost offended. "That sounds like an excuse." "No," she said softly. "It is a responsibility." He shook his head, confused. "How can choosing both be a responsibility?"
"Because when you accept both, you stop pretending you're made only of light. You acknowledge the shadows you cast. Only then can you control them." "So I let both God and demon live inside me?" he murmured. "They already do," she said. "Choosing both only makes you honest."
He frowned. "And honesty solves this?" "No. Honesty makes the fight visible. Only visible enemies can be defeated." He tapped his fingers on the bone walkway, the sound clicking like teeth. "If I use the demon to protect someone… does that make it God?" She shook her head. "Intent decides the name, not the action. A sword can be mercy when used to stop cruelty. And a prayer can be cruelty when used to silence someone." He exhaled slowly. "So everything is both?"
"Not everything," she corrected. "Everyone. Because we are the battlefield where the saint and the monster negotiate." He looked at her for a long time before whispering, "And what happens if the monster wins?" She stared back without blinking. "Then you'll call it justice… and never know the difference." He swallowed. "And if the saint wins?" She gave a faint smile. "Then you'll still feel the monster's hunger — but you'll choose not to feed it."
He looked away. "That sounds tiring." "It is," she said. "That's why only humans can do it. Gods have no demons to fight… and monsters have no gods to disappoint." Silence stretched. A distant roar echoed from outside, the sea smashing against rock like an angry beast trying to claw its way into the cave.
He inhaled deeply. "So… I understand it, now I can create a new path for myself. Isn't that good? I choose to be human, but both live in me… also—" She finished for him, "…also you fear choosing both will make you unbalanced." He nodded.
She stepped back like a martial master giving a disciple room to breathe. "In martial arts," she said, "the greatest danger isn't the enemy in front of you… it's the one inside you. Every style begins there." He tilted his head. "And what does this inner battle have to do with creating my own path?"
She lifted two fingers. "God is your discipline. Demon is your instinct." Then she pressed them together. "When you fuse them… you stop being a follower of someone else's style. You become the founder of your own." He blinked. "So my chaos becomes a technique?"
"That is what every legendary master did," she said. "They didn't erase their flaws, they refined them." He hesitated. "But isn't it dangerous to let both God and demon live in me?" "In martial arts," she said, "danger is the birthplace of mastery. A sword is only dangerous until you learn where to hold it."
He whispered, "So creating my own path is allowed?" She laughed. "Allowed? It is required. Every path began as one person's rebellion against their limits." He stared at his hands. "But what if I lose control?" "Then your path becomes a warning instead of a legacy. But it is still a path."
"And if I master both sides?" he asked. Her eyes softened like a hidden pride blooming."Then you reach the highest level, not Heaven, not Hell, not human… but the warrior who commands his own destiny."
He swallowed. "What is that level called?"
She stepped into the faint glow of the bone-candles.
"The Pathless Path," she said. "The realm where technique, morality, instinct, and spirit become one… the realm called Nirbindra."