Reverend Half Insanity

The room falls silent again, the kind of silence that feels heavy, like the air itself is holding its breath. Only the sound of their breathing cuts through the stillness—uneven, shaky, as if the world outside doesn't exist. Fang Yuan holds Gu Xianer so tightly it's as if the entire world is against him. His arms wrap around her like a fortress, seeking refuge, strength, something to anchor him. Gu Xianer, her confusion growing with every second, can't understand what's happening to him. Her heart aches, and tears well up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She whispers softly, her voice trembling, "Brother… please be safe. Please, sleep peacefully… tomorrow is the awakening…"

But before she can finish, Fang Yuan's grip tightens even more. A sharp, searing pain shoots through her body, and she gasps silently. Her chest feels like it's being crushed under the weight of his arms, her ribs threatening to crack and merge with his. She grits her teeth, biting down hard to stop herself from crying out. She wants to push him away, to beg him to stop, but something holds her back—a mixture of fear, loyalty, and love that keeps her frozen in place. The pain is unbearable, but she forces herself to stay quiet, to endure. For him.

Inside Fang Yuan's mind, chaos reigns. A fierce battle rages—two forces clashing, tearing at each other for control. And then, suddenly, it stops. Everything goes still as if sensing something very dangerous. The silence that follows is deafening, suffocating. And then, a voice cuts through the silence, cold and emotionless, dripping with a darkness that feels like it's crawling out from the deepest pits of hell. It echoes in his mind, mocking, taunting.

"How does it feel to be rejected by your own younger, naive self?!"

The reborn Fang Yuan immediately shifts into a defensive stance, his senses on high alert. He can't pinpoint where the voice is coming from—it's everywhere and nowhere, shaking him to his core. Every syllable vibrates through him, shaking every fiber of his being, rattling his core. Instinctively, he shifts into a defensive stance, his senses flaring wide open.

He activates his powerful observation ability, a power so refined it can pierce through the layers of a person's soul, trace their history, and even predict their future actions. For what feels like an eternity, he scans everything around him, searching for the origin of this haunting voice. Yet no matter how deeply he probes, all he finds is... nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just emptiness except the unconscious mind of his younger, naive self.

This younger version of Fang Yuan isn't in his awake state. It's his instincts that are fighting back, rejecting the reborn Fang Yuan's attempt to take control of their shared body. The instinct doesn't think, doesn't communicate—it just acts. That younger self's consciousness hasn't aware in the mind but its instincts have awakened, and those instincts are waging war against the reborn Fang Yuan.

Why would his younger self reject him so violently? The answer is simple: they are opposites. Polar extremes. The younger self is everything the future self is not. The naive Fang Yuan is full of love, protectiveness, and a sense of righteousness. He can't even imagine harming someone, let alone killing them. But the reborn Fang Yuan? He's ruthless, demonic. He sees life as expendable, even Gu Xianer's—someone the younger self values more than his own life. The mere thought of harming her is inconceivable to him. To the reborn Fang Yuan, Gu Xianer is nothing but an unexpected variable, a disruption in the timeline. He wouldn't hesitate to eliminate her if it served his goals. Where the future self sees betrayal as a tool, the younger self cannot fathom such treachery. Their philosophies clash violently, irreconcilably. One is righteous, pure, untainted by the horrors of the world. The other is demonic, corrupted, shaped by years of bloodshed and survival.

This fundamental difference—this clash of philosophies—fuels the younger self's instinct to fight back. The naive Fang Yuan can't accept the darkness of his future self. He can't comprehend betrayal, cruelty, or the cold calculations that define the reborn Fang Yuan. And so, his instinct rebels, refusing to let the demonic version take control. Though unconscious, its primal nature recognizes the threat posed by the reborn Fang Yuan. It knows that allowing this darker version to take control would mean destruction—not just for Fang Yuan himself, but for everyone he cares about. Especially Gu Xianer.

The reborn Fang Yuan stands motionless, his face a mask of indifference. His eyes—cold, dark, and empty—stare at the unconscious form of his naive past self. There's no anger, no frustration, not even a flicker of emotion. It's as if he's carved from ice, unfeeling and unshakable. He's faced countless enemies, outsmarted the most cunning of foes, but this? This is different. This isn't a battle against an external force. This is a war against himself—a version of himself that he can't reason with, can't manipulate, can't overpower. The younger self's instinct is pure, unyielding, and it fights not with strategy, but with raw, unrelenting will.

And the situation is even more brutal than he anticipated. This body—his body—has fully recognized the naive self as its true owner. It rejects the reborn Fang Yuan fiercely, as if he's a foreign invader, a parasite trying to take control. Every fiber of this body, every strand of its soul, is fighting against him, absorbing his presence, trying to erase him completely. He isn't even truly reborn—not with his soul, but only with his memories and will. He's a ghost of his former self, trapped in a space where everything is against him. The body, the mind, the soul—they all see him as a threat, an anomaly that must be destroyed. Every breath he takes feels like a struggle, every heartbeat a reminder that he doesn't truly belong here.

Yet, despite the direness of his situation, the reborn Fang Yuan shows no emotion. No frustration, no anger, no fear. Not even a hint of concern for his own survival. He's indifferent to it all, as if life and death mean nothing to him. His cold, dark eyes scan the void around him, searching for the source of that chilling voice that had mocked him earlier. But there's nothing. No trace, no presence, no clue. Just endless darkness and the relentless resistance of his younger self's instinct.

After a long, heavy silence, the reborn Fang Yuan finally speaks. His voice is calm, steady, and devoid of any emotion. It cuts through the stillness like a blade, sharp and precise.

"Who are you?" he asks, his tone icy and commanding. "Reveal yourself."

There's no desperation in his words, no urgency. Just a cold demand, as if he's already calculated every possible outcome and is prepared for whatever comes next. The void around him seems to tremble slightly, as if his words have stirred something hidden deep within. But still, there's no response. Only the faint echo of his own voice, bouncing back at him, mocking him in its emptiness.

For all his apparent indifference, however, there's something unsettling about the way he observes the emptiness around him. His eyes narrow slightly, calculating, dissecting, analyzing every shadow, every whisper of movement—or lack thereof. Though he shows no outward signs of emotion, the intensity behind his stare suggests otherwise. Beneath that stoic exterior lies a mind working furiously, piecing together fragments of information, searching for any crack in the armor of this invisible adversary.

But the truth remains:

He's losing.

Not because he lacks strength or cunning, but because this battlefield is rigged against him from the start. The rules of engagement favor the opponent—the naive self whose instincts are rooted in purity, righteousness, and love. Qualities that Fang Yuan abandoned long ago in his quest for power and survival.

Still, he doesn't falter. Doesn't waver.

Because giving up has never been an option for him.

Even when everything—his body, his mind, his very identity—is conspiring to erase him, he continues to stand firm, waiting for the moment when the tide might turn in his favor. Waiting for the chance to strike back.

And so, the stalemate persists.

Two versions of the same man locked in a silent, brutal war.

One fueled by instinct.

The other by sheer, unyielding will.

Neither willing to surrender.

Neither capable of coexistence.

Suddenly, From the void, a chilling voice erupts—cold, emotionless, and dripping with an otherworldly malice. It reverberates through the very essence of both the reborn Fang Yuan and his naive self, shaking their cores as if it were born from the deepest pits of hell itself.

"Ha ha ha! Who am I?" the voice mocks, its tone laced with cruel amusement. "That is indeed... an interesting question."

As the words echo, a figure emerges from the darkness—a shadowy, indistinct form that seems to flicker between existence and nonexistence. The being appears almost like an illusion, woven from the fabric of the void itself. Reborn Fang Yuan narrows his eyes, focusing all his concentration on probing this mysterious entity. He activates his unparalleled observation ability, peeling back layers of reality in search of answers.

At first glance, the unknown being resembles him—or rather, resembles fragments of both versions of himself. One moment, it mirrors the ruthless, calculating nature of the reborn Fang Yuan; the next, it takes on the pure, instinctual essence of the naive self. But when he delves deeper, trying to unravel its true identity, what he finds is... nothing. Just emptiness. A void. As though the being before him is not truly there, yet undeniably present.

The unknown entity steps forward, exuding an overwhelming aura of authority. Its mere presence commands obedience, freezing both versions of Fang Yuan in place. Then, without warning, it speaks again, its voice carrying the weight of an unyielding command:

"Kneel."

Reborn Fang Yuan resists with every ounce of willpower he possesses. His mind screams defiance, but his body betrays him. Despite his determination, he realizes the grim truth: he has no physical form here. He is nothing more than memories and will—a ghost haunting the remnants of his past life. Without a tangible anchor to this world, he cannot fight the force compelling him to submit. Slowly, inexorably, his knees buckle, and he sinks to the ground.

Meanwhile, the naive self's instincts react differently. There is no resistance, no struggle. Instead, something deep within recognizes the connection between them—the bond linking the naive self to this enigmatic being. An innate sense of trust overrides all else, whispering that this entity poses no threat. Obediently, instinctively, the naive self kneels, bowing low as though submitting to a higher power.

The unknown being watches silently, its expression unreadable beneath the veil of shadows. For a moment, the air grows heavier, charged with anticipation. Then, with another commanding word, it orders:

"Stand."

Without conscious effort or resistance, both versions of Fang Yuan rise to their feet, their movements synchronized and automatic. They have no control over their actions—it is as though strings are pulling them, forcing them to obey. Their bodies move independently of their wills, leaving them trapped in a state of helpless compliance.

The unknown being tilts its head slightly, studying them with an intensity that pierces through their very souls. Though neither version of Fang Yuan can fully comprehend who—or what—they are facing, one thing becomes painfully clear:

This entity holds dominion over them.

It wields power far beyond anything they've ever encountered.

Even as the reborn Fang Yuan is forced to kneel and stand by the unknown being's command, his demeanor remains unchanged. His face is a mask of indifference, his eyes cold and unfeeling, as if the concept of life and death holds no meaning to him. He has transcended beyond such trivial concerns. To him, all living beings are the same—prey to be hunted or hunters to be hunted. He is ready for either role, unbothered by the outcome. Even now, faced with an existence far beyond his comprehension, he shows no fear, no regret, no emotion at all. It's as if his very soul has been stripped of such weaknesses.

But beneath this icy exterior, his mind is a whirlwind of calculation and probing. He observes the being before him, analyzing its power, its connection to his naive self, and the way his younger self's instinct obeys without question. It's as if they are one and the same, yet entirely different. The reborn Fang Yuan's will and memories are so potent that they defy logic, allowing him to command his own instincts—something that should be impossible. Instincts are supposed to act without thought, without command, yet here he is, directing his instincts to focus, to observe, to calculate. It's a testament to his sheer willpower and the depth of his existence, even as a mere fragment of memories and will.

His instincts sharpen, focusing intensely on the being before him. Slowly, a realization dawns. There's a connection—a deep, intrinsic link—between this being and himself. It's as if he's standing before his original self, the true source of his existence. But at the same time, it's not. The being is both his original self and something entirely separate, a paradox that defies understanding. The reborn Fang Yuan's mind races, piecing together the fragments of this enigma.

After a long moment of silent calculation, the reborn Fang Yuan speaks. His voice is calm, emotionless, and utterly indifferent, as if he's discussing the weather rather than unraveling the mysteries of existence itself.

"You are our original self," he says, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. "And in the void, I somehow awakened you. You sent me back in time, and you came back with me. From my experience, I can guess that you've been waiting—for me, or perhaps someone else—to fulfill some condition and awaken you. There's a larger scheme at play here, something far beyond the Gu World. Even in the void, I encountered no living beings, yet I found treasures and wealth beyond measure, as if they were infinite. It's as if the void itself is a stage, and we are merely players in a game far greater than we can comprehend. There's something… fishy. Something I'm still unaware of, even after merging myself with this world."

His words hang in the air, heavy with implication. The reborn Fang Yuan's cold logic has led him to a startling conclusion: this being, this original self, is tied to a grand design, one that spans not just the Gu World, but the void itself. The infinite treasures, the absence of life, the strange connection between them—it all points to a scheme of unimaginable scale. And yet, the reborn Fang Yuan shows no fear, no awe, no curiosity. He simply states the facts, his indifference unshaken.

The being before him remains silent, its form flickering like a shadow in the void. But the reborn Fang Yuan doesn't wait for a response. He's already moving on, his mind racing ahead, calculating the next move, the next piece of the puzzle. To him, this is just another step in an endless journey, another layer of a game he's determined to master—no matter the cost.

Suddenly, the being before him begins to laugh—a laugh that isn't gentle or amused, but one that seems to claw at the very fabric of existence. It's a sound so dark, so menacing, that even the deepest pits of hell would tremble in fear. The laughter reverberates through the void, sharp and cutting, as if each note is a blade slicing through the essence of every fiber of both Fang Yuans. The reborn Fang Yuan feels it—a searing pain that isn't physical but something far deeper, as if his very existence is being unraveled. Yet, his face remains impassive, his cold eyes fixed on the being, unflinching.

The naive Fang Yuan's instinct, however, reacts differently. It shudders under the weight of the laughter, a primal fear rising to the surface, but it doesn't resist. It's as if the instinct knows that this being, this terrifying presence, is something it cannot—and should not—fight against.

The being's laughter fades, but the echoes linger, sharp and cutting. Then it speaks, its voice dripping with a dangerous amusement.

"Excellent," it says, each word carrying a weight that feels like it could crush the soul. "If you hadn't calculated that much, I would have been truly disappointed in you."

Each word lands like a hammer blow, heavy and deliberate. The tone is neither congratulatory nor kind—it's laced with menace, as if the being views Fang Yuan less as an equal and more as a tool whose worth depends solely on its ability to meet expectations. There's no warmth in this acknowledgment, only the cold, calculating assessment of a predator sizing up its prey.

Every sound the being produces feels dangerous, almost tangible. It slices through the void, carving into the very fibers of both Fang Yuans' beings. Reborn Fang Yuan doesn't flinch outwardly, but even he can't deny the oppressive weight of the moment. His instincts scream warnings, urging caution, yet his expression remains as indifferent as ever. He stands there, unmoving, unblinking, as though the words are merely another puzzle to solve rather than a threat to fear.

The atmosphere grows heavier, charged with an electric tension that makes breathing feel impossible. The being tilts its head slightly, studying Reborn Fang Yuan with an intensity that pierces through his carefully constructed facade. Its gaze feels invasive, violating, as though it's peeling back layers of his soul to examine what lies beneath.

"You've done well to piece together so much," the being continues, its voice low and menacing, "but let us see how far your calculations can take you. You think you understand the game, boy?" A faint smirk twists its shadowy features, though it lacks any semblance of warmth or humanity. "You've barely scratched the surface."