The Bloodbath Odyssey; I reincarnated to become the cursed

Simma's eyes dilated slowly until his gaze was now fixed wholly on Zolomon, who was beaming at him, with his usual unnervingly omniscient smile. For a heartbeat, Simma was adrift in consternation, the sheer surreality of what had just transpired left him mentally unmoored.

"Hello, Simma,"

Came Zolomon's voice. He was sitting on a chair beside his bed, and the room looked very familiar, it was Nurse Stacy's wing. But confusion gnawed at him; he had thought he was already awake. Somehow, he had been dreaming within a dream, and yet, none of it had felt like a dream at all.

A groan escaped him as he tried to sit up, his body completely drained of strength. His left hand instinctively pressed to his temple.

His eyes clamped shut as a sharp, high-pitched ringing flooded his head, followed by a sensation so painful it felt like needles crawling through his skull.

"Are you okay?" Zolomon asked, but those words were muffled and sounded very far away from Simma, like echoes from another room. He glanced at Zolomon's concerned eyes, but then the pain didn't leave him any chance to reply.

Things were flooding into his mind, memories that he was so sure weren't his, accompanied by knowledge that seemed to come from nowhere.

Just like the pain had come, it had gone automatically, and Simma's head was now very clear, and everything now made more sense to him.

He looked up to Zolomon, who was now smiling at him. Something in him itched to snap, what's so funny, old man?... but he bit back the words. He wouldn't let his irritation undo all he'd endured, just because he had cursed the strangest man according to Sarah.

"Why didn't you call the nurse?" He found himself saying "I was in pain, for God's sake, it could have been a brain tumour," 

Zolomon's grin deepened, his voice carrying that casual ease that somehow still demanded respect.

"It is a normal process," he said smoothly. "Ah… it reminds me of when I was still fighting in the arena battles. That was long ago, before you were even born, I'd wager."

Simma looked at him, his thoughts a tapestry and reluctant wonder, for some strange reason, he found this story interesting, and he paid attention to it curiously.

Zolomon's voice took on a measured cadence as he continued.

"I had to contest twice, you see. My first attempt? A catastrophe. I did something so terrible on that stage I was disqualified on the spot. The second time was no better, another disaster. Eventually, the citadel took me in, trained me properly."

He paused, his eyes drifting into the haze of old memory.

"I remember the pain in my head when I received the full knowledge of the Luzrax and Umbrax entities, the primal forces we tap for power, the very essence that fuels our Within Beasts. And if I'm not mistaken, that is what just happened to you. There was no need to call Miss Stacy."

Simma stared at him, studying the man who seemed, at least outwardly so plain, so why was Sarah so mean, saying he was so complicated? Just as he was still wondering about that, what came out of his mouth got him dazzled.

"The Umbrax…", he said, "it came out from once, a whole entity, which means that the entity was once whole, Both its anti-self and main self was one being. But then…"

Zolomon's eyes lit with approval, finishing the thread for him.

"…Then came the Great Fracture, and it split in two."

As if they were reciting an ancient script. Simma picked up the line again. It felt almost like a ritual. 

"…And it led to the Purge, to the Bloodbath, and those that were touched by the essence of the Umbrax were cursed, turned to something else…"

"Yes," Zolomon leaned forward, taking the words back, his tone grave.

"Oh yes…" he said, pausing for a while, as if trying to recall how it goes, "...depending on the soul it grazed. The pure became the Singriths, damned for eternity, severed from sunlight, condemned to immortality sustained only by blood."

Simma's voice joined in, almost instinctively.

"…Those broken became the Soulnexers, broken even more into pieces, if not shredded, and now they became something bad, something darker, something evil. For what satisfies them is only bad and tormented memories, sorrows, and people's agonies."

They both paused. Only for Simma to realize that he was smiling, everything made more sense to him now. Well, though it seemed like the longest time he had ever talked to Zolomon, he felt connected to him already.

A fragile bond sparked there, unspoken but tangible.

Maybe, just maybe, he might turn out to be the father he never had. He made him forget the pain he was in at that moment and had let him digest the strange knowledge that had just flooded his memories.

Zolomon, after clearing his throat, said,

"You know the rest, and I believe that you will do us the need and make it through the Wood Hints Tournaments, because this, your aspect, is unique and rare, and needs to be kept under check."

Simma looked at Zolomon, and then many questions that were soaring in his head now felt like it was time to be answered. Well, most had been answered, for now he knew how the Singrith that had been dealing with him his whole life came to be.

Also, he had learnt about all the Waithraite: that was what they called them: the Singriths, the Soulnexers, the Inferraiths, and the demons were all called Waithraite. It was like a general name for them.

The Singrith had ranks, determined by the kernels orbiting their soul cores. They ranged from... The defiled, The tainted, The ruined, The hollowed, And then the Dispirited (able to compel).

So also the Soulnexers, they feed on people's agony, sorrows, bad memories, and they have ranks, and as their rank is higher, the stronger and more dangerous they become, and the stronger their impact will be, and also their kernel essence.

This kernel essence is like energy that surrounds a soul core, a memory, their will and talent, their power, and they make up the soul cores, which in turn make up the Waithraite, and also what an Azren needs to level up.

The kernels of the Singriths are the weakest among the whole Waithraites, in the sense that each and every Singrith possesses one soul core. But then, as the rank advances higher, so does the number of kernels orbiting their soul cores go higher.

Like for a Singrith in the defiled rank(defiled Singrith), it possesses one soul core and then one kernel essence, but a tainted Singrith possesses one soul core and then two kernel essences orbiting around it, then subsequently.

Picture it as the nine planets, the sun being the soul core, and the planets orbiting around it being the kernels.

The Soulnexers have a stronger soul core than the Singriths, for every one of them possesses two soul cores. But then what differentiates them in their ranks are the kernel essence orbiting around their soul core, they ranged from...

Grievers, Sorrowlings, Mireborn, Woehounds, Remnants, and Mindwailers; which are the highest in rank with the normal two soul cores and then six kernel essences orbiting each of the soul cores, which makes it a total of twelve kernels.

Then the demons and the Inferraiths, the Inferraiths are the only Waithraites with no rank, though they are demons. But they are the demons of the dreams and nightmares.

The demons have three soul cores, all of them. But then, as their kernel increases, just like the other Waithraites, so does their rank increase, making the demons the hardest and the most dangerous to face. there rank are thus...

The imp, Tempter, Corrupters, Warriors, Arch demons, Demon lords, Primordial devils.

Those who slew demons gained enormous and immense kernel ascension, a reward paid in blood and peril, and yet they were just a bunch of them that had slain a demon.

Simma absorbed it all like a parched man drinking from a poisoned chalice. So much now made sense, and yet so much remained obscured.

There were still other things that were still blank to him, and now he decided to throw them out to the very person that seemed to know a lot about things.

He thought about what had happened while they were at Cinzel's house, that was the first time he had seen his Within Beast. Actually, he thought it was a cute little dragon, but then it had evolved and gotten bigger, and not just that, it had killed him with flames.

But after deliberations, he decided to leave it, since it would bring up something else, which would be that he hadn't gone through proper training to tame and summon his Azrax.

Instead, he chose the simplest, the one his body demanded, one that gnawed at him since waking.

"I was wondering, sir," he began, as Zolomon paid attention to him,

"I feel so weak, sir, and this is somewhat unnatural to me."

Zolomon chuckled, looking at him. His face had this pity expression on it. He adjusted into his seat and relaxed his back, crossing one leg over the other, and then, with the composure of a man about to unravel a riddle, replied...