The Shaman Desires Transcendence

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Here lies a person burning alive.

Soaked in oil, like someone throwing their body onto a torch, he dances, flailing his limbs as if unable to bear the pain of his flesh turning to ashes.

Is this what the stepsisters of Cinderella dance like, clad in red-hot iron shoes?

The flailing is indeed fierce.

Ashtosh Singh writhes as if trying to shake off the flames clinging to his body, fiercely and with increasing intensity, transforming into a fireball, oblivious to the fact that his body is becoming a pile of ash.

Flames soaked in oil begin to scatter into the air, igniting everywhere, and the factory begins to blaze furiously. There’s no exception to what the flames consume; even the bio-computer and Anael’s body start to burn.

Could one say he has turned himself into a candle?

The one dancing is indeed him, and what consumes him is the flame that lights up the world.

Ashtosh Singh, swaying like the flames in the wind, flicks his tongue as if trying to stay together while his shape shifts, embodying the candle with his own body as he continues to be fuel for the flames.

He regenerates from ashes to skin tone, flows down like melting wax, and then reverses, forming a human shape once more.

Ah.

Is that human, or is it a wick?

Just because it takes on a human form, can we truly call it human?

If it exists to burn the flames, if it exists for phenomenon, how can it be called human?

Right now, in this moment, Ashtosh Singh is a phenomenon, a shamanistic magic, and akin to flames.

As long as these flames are not extinguished, the magic will not end.

But those flames surely do not desire to vanish.

As long as Ashtosh Singh wishes it, the flames will continue to blaze and protect him.

Until the moment he achieves his goal with Park Jinseong—

“Sacrificial magic.”

Park Jinseong gazes at Ashtosh Singh, who scatters flames everywhere.

Then he lightly steps forward, extending his hand sideways.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

It’s a power wielded through a strong and twisted mental force.

The strength of the mind, consuming both brain power and energy, resembles telekinesis, a power that combines both.

But while similar, it is fundamentally different.

If telekinesis is a power arising from the combination of mental strength and energy, what Park Jinseong has done is executed purely with mental strength.

However, the force shot from his strong mind brought energy following behind.

While similar to telekinesis, it is merely a residual trick, lacking the potential for development unlike supernatural abilities, serving only convenient purposes—like bringing distant objects closer, as Park Jinseong is doing now.

Despite being a mere trick, its meaning undeniably exists.

Even though he has fallen into the bizarre space of the collective unconscious, even though he has been forcibly invited here due to Ashtosh Singh’s magic, he can still exhibit mental power capable of producing telekinetic-like phenomena.

And just like other ability users, shamans profoundly depend on mental strength.

Thus, Ashtosh Singh instinctively felt after witnessing just one move from Park Jinseong.

This fight seems like it will be exceedingly challenging.

“O Flame of Light! I know you are stalling, and yet I did not hinder it; rather, I responded to it. You surely understand the reason behind it.”

Park Jinseong, holding a twisted iron pipe, looks at Ashtosh Singh.

Then he brings his other hand to the end of the pipe, concentrating a small amount of energy on his fingertips.

A basic and primitive method of utilizing abilities.

In martial arts, it can be likened to the Three Realms Heart Technique; in magic, it is akin to elemental affinity—fundamentally elementary, or even an outdated, exceedingly inefficient means of gathering and manipulating energy. Yet Park Jinseong gathered a small amount of energy at his fingertips using this inefficient method, amplifying and compressing it in an even more inefficient manner.

Of course, this method remains merely a residual trick.

However, even as a trick, shaping the end of the iron pipe is well within capability.

He squeezed it flat as if pinched with pliers, bent it, and though clumsily, it possessed enough power to fashion it into a plow shape.

Clutching the created plow made from the iron pipe, Park Jinseong gazes at Ashtosh Singh.

Then, instead of summoning insects as Ashtosh Singh had remarked, he begins to recite an invocation wielding the plow.

“On this dark, starry night, after the light descends upon the land, flames spring forth, and the power of thunder blooms fire flowers, using the trees as wicks to ignite! With the roar of thunder, the flames arise as auspicious signs, birthing a white cow in the kingdom, prompting awe from the people. That immaculate whiteness, pure and untainted, is seen as a divine gift from the heavens, ensuring the everlasting development of the nation.”

It was a murmur reminiscent of a song.

Though it was certainly fast, every invocation seemed to strike the ears like a hammer.

There were variations in tone and speed, with pauses and resumes.

It was clear that it was not a mere recitation of an invocation; it resembled the formalities of a sacrificial ritual from ancient times.

Hoo-woo!

Hoo-woo!

Hoo-woo!

Naturally, this was not a good omen for Ashtosh Singh.

As he danced, he began to shake off the flames onto Park Jinseong.

With every shake, tremendous flames spread far and wide.

Flames poured down like rain from the heavens, and blazing meteors cut through the air, rushing horizontally toward Park Jinseong.

The serpentine flames twist and curl, jaws agape as they swoop in, and the fiery whip connected to his fingertips slices through the air, aiming to strike Park Jinseong.

Hooroo—!

How could the power of magic, performed while burning oneself, be light?

How could the significance of flames ignited by sacrificing oneself be considered insignificant?

Since ancient times, fire has been used as a means to communicate with the divine.

Flames were thought to purify what was unclean, and the smoke rising therefrom was believed to connect heaven and earth. Thus, whenever humans deemed something impure or filthy, they burned it clean with flames, offering the most precious things to the fire to send them up to the heavens.

The strength of Ashtosh Singh’s magic derives from these symbols.

Enveloped in flames and continuing to burn, he is indeed a sacrificial offering, a precious being unfit for sacrifice, and a strand of white smoke ascending toward the ceiling, indicating the connection between heaven and earth.

Ashtosh Singh now embodies the priest communicating with the divine, the sacrificial animal nestled in God’s embrace, and what is finest in the eyes of humanity—pure and untainted, worthy of being offered to the gods.

What does the sacred flame stretch out to burn?

It is, in fact, that which is filthy and unclean.

It is too disgusting to be offered to the divine, thus it must be purified by being turned to ashes.

Purity is a virtue, and cleanliness is good.

Then, uncleanliness is vice, and filth is evil.

This flame bursts into radiance according to the purity and innocence of the sacrificial offering.

It shines brightly, strongly connecting with the divine, imbued with divinity.

And thus, it is a cleansing flame, purifying with greater strength and certainty than anything else.

Be purified.

Be purified by the sacred flame, unclean being.

The purifying flame flies and touches Park Jinseong’s body.

Even if he dodged the flame snake and the fiery whip, how could he possibly escape the swirling meteors of fire?

Neither could he evade the multitude of raindrops falling from the sky.

Park Jinseong took the brunt of the torrent of flames.

He absorbed the fire carrying the power of purification and divinity within his very body…

What made matters worse was that Park Jinseong was a shaman dealing with insects, the quintessential symbols of impurity and filth.

In Ashtosh Singh’s perception, this was undoubtedly true.

Thus, in accordance with Ashtosh Singh’s perception, Park Jinseong was seen as nothing less than a dwelling of filth—someone dragging around insects. Being scorched at this point rendered Park Jinseong increasingly a ‘filthy’ symbol, becoming all the more vulnerable to fire.

From the perspective of the victim, how utterly unjust must this feel?

Being branded strongly with the symbol of uncleanliness, suffering greatly from the fire had to be infuriating, yet now, under the shaman’s one-sided perception, that symbol intensifies. Merely brushing against the flames sparks a violent blaze enveloping his whole body.

How could he be pleased in such a situation?

Hooroo!

What touched him was merely the flame of a thumb’s width.

Large enough to be called a spark, yet small enough to be just a pebble in size. Thus, in usual circumstances, a startled gasp or perhaps a slight burn would suffice, yet this inconsequential flame touched Park Jinseong.

Huu-wahh!

And no sooner had it touched him than the flame exploded, ravenously expanding, beginning to consume Park Jinseong whole.

Tearing through the air, the flame spread like a demon of fire from ancient tales, swiftly enveloping him, turning his suit into smoldering ashes, and starting to melt his skin.

This flame would soon reduce naked Park Jinseong to mere ash.

Without even the mercy of properly cooking him, it intended to obliterate him into ashes, erasing any trace of his existence in this world.

But in that moment.

“The deity of the heavens manifested in the form of a white cow and committed adultery with the queen, causing the offspring to take form—a being with the head of a cow and the body of a man. Thus the king, as the child of the divine, could not bring himself to kill that symbolic filth, confining it instead, handing it only a farming tool before sending it into a labyrinth.”

As the flames began to melt his skin, Park Jinseong opened his mouth to recite an invocation, deeply driving the plow he crafted from the iron pipe into the ground.

Then he began to spin in place, drawing circles.

One rotation.

Two rotations.

Three rotations.

With each turn, the sight of the flames thrashing violently was indeed grotesque and bizarre.

It resembled the sprouting of a fire tornado birthed from fiercely rising flames meeting the air currents.

Thus, after three turns, a deep trench was carved around Park Jinseong.

Perhaps he had inclined slightly to the left.

The trench, slanted and encircling him, formed a circle.

This was a protective ring; a primitive form of magic known as a magic circle.

Within this protective circle, Park Jinseong smirked.

And through the strength of the magic circle, he began to attract the flames that could no longer burn his skin using telekinesis, channeling it through the plow he held.

Perhaps due to Park Jinseong’s permission?

Or perhaps because the flames’ power pierced even the protective spells?

The flame-laden plow began to melt into a handful of molten metal in an instant.

Park Jinseong, with the melted metal now levitating through his telekinesis, held its end, letting it dangle down.

Thus, Park Jinseong looked upon Ashtosh Singh, armed with a whip or rattan constructed from molten metal.

His face, now red from burns, skin charred black from the flames, and the skin dripping with heat.

That figure resembled a wicked being risen from the depths of hell.

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