NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 863
The two flames—Ashtosh Singh’s and Park Jinseong’s—collide like extremes meeting in a chaotic explosion.
A pillar of fire rises, ready to burst with power, and the flame’s tip, thin and wide like a sword, slices through it. Each split flame writhes like a snake, targeting Park Jinseong, only to scatter and dissolve into powder, drifting aimlessly in the air.
Whoosh!
The birth and death of fiery entities.
In the blink of an eye, or stretching to a few seconds.
Flames change shape endlessly, erupt, separate, become independent, and vanish in an instant—over and over again.
Sparkling, shining particles of flame.
Behold the rain of those glowing embers, descending as if snow from the heavens.
Those little meteors, as if they think they’re genuine shooting stars, twirling their tails as they fall to the ground—a spectacle, but they couldn’t keep enough firewood to sustain their glow, melting away into the air, leaving behind only thin, fleeting traces.
What does it resemble, this emptiness of flames that leave neither soot nor embers behind?
Yet, what does this sparkling rain, eager to shine, resemble?
Regardless of the differences, what does the flame that falls, imbued with heat, truly resemble?
『 Flames and life are indeed similar, how could one not be entranced by their beauty? 』
In the dance of flames, Ashtosh Singh reveals his divinity.
Seeking to fulfill his desire to “become one with God,” as he often professed, his form made of flames begins to morph into one of pure light and fire.
Radiant beams shoot forth, parting the space around them, bleaching the Ruined Factory to a brilliant white as if an eraser had passed over it.
Not simply covering in light, but a force that deletes space itself.
The divinity and flame he harbors, their essence, and the vast information that even this ‘Collective Unconscious space’ struggles to contain, bursts forth—truly a technique that deserves to be called an event.
Gazing at it with the naked eye would blind you; if pierced by that light, the wound would be irreparable; swept away by the light, nothing would remain—a complete erasure.
This is the secret technique of the fire mage Ashtosh Singh.
A power surpassing even the Soul Burn that burns the very soul, honed over his lifetime.
Ah.
How could one who desires to become one with God not seek to resemble Him?
How could one who is becoming like God not imitate Him?
Like calls to like, and similarities attract similarities.
Similarity is a point of contact, and contact leads to connection, and connected imitation exerts power.
To embody continuity is to be no different from one, and as long as there is continuity, similar things will wield strength.
This is the flame of Ashtosh Singh.
This is the flame of God.
『 Countless people have come and witnessed the flame.
No one could gaze in awe at the flames flickering for the first time; none could resist reaching out to its beauty.
We know that a child extends their hand toward flames out of wonder, trying to grasp what fulfills their infantile desire for possession.
Then, did they cry out in surprise, startled by the heat? Did someone snatch their hand away before they could touch the flame, harshly teaching them not to approach it? Through what experiences did they come to learn that ‘it is beautiful and desirable, yet should only be observed’? 』
What color ought we call that?
That flame distorts light, warps space, consumes information, and ignites.
Made of brilliant hues, forever shifting colors while dazzling brightly—what, indeed, shall we call this beautiful flame?
Much like in science class, when various powders are used to create vibrant flames, this too shines brilliantly. And yet, every few seconds, in each instant, it repeats the dazzling act of changing color, entrancing all who behold it, akin to witnessing nature performing its most beautiful dance…
『 In the darkness where even stars do not shine, the light of the flame becomes what one relies upon.
Have you ever lit a campfire in the heart of a dark forest and spent the night? Looking into the flickering flames, did you reflect on yourself, reminisce about your life, and plan for the future? While pondering, did you find yourself staring into the flames, feeling dazzled by their brilliance, closing your eyes, only to find the flame’s afterimage shining through your eyelids, enveloping you in their warm heat, leading you to sigh over what meaning your life’s worries truly hold? 』
『 Watching flames, how could one not be enchanted? The fiery sparks created when flint strikes, the tiny flames springing from the tinder, and the brilliance spreading from there. From the thin stems of withered weeds to fallen leaves, firewood—ah! The flames rising in such a manner resemble those lives that humble themselves, only to blaze with radiant fervor before extinguishing, and one cannot help but marvel. This is why humanity has coexisted with flames and why it is a truth that brushes against divinity—such thoughts are inescapable…』
The divine flame changes colors and rushes toward Park Jinseong.
It shoots forth, seizing Ashtosh Singh’s form, aiming directly at Park Jinseong.
This scene is fittingly described as being ‘shot forth.’
How could one describe that color swallowing the very fabric of space as anything other than ‘shot’?
To describe it as swallowing doesn’t fit the sanctity and gentleness of that flame, nor does ‘erasing’ convey its warmth and lack of ruthlessness, while saying it ‘exploded’ conveys purpose and will, and spreading suggests a stark yet swift capabilities with clear intent.
Thus, the divine flame aimed itself at Park Jinseong.
Park Jinseong, observing it, opened his mouth.
“Flames do not burn flames.”
And then, a tear surged through Park Jinseong’s side, blood oozing out as something wriggled out, mimicking unworn teeth beginning to emerge. Out came a tiny bug, resembling the Cymothoa exigua—a parasite that consumes fish tongues and takes over their function.
The mouth formed from wounds and parasites spoke.
“Purity is no longer pure.”
With a snap, Park Jinseong’s rib shattered, and the fractured pieces dug into flesh, emerging through his chest. They packed tightly alongside the gaping wound, taking on jagged forms that could be deemed teeth, adorning the long, torn injury.
And similarly, a Cymothoa exigua popped out to take the role of a tongue, speaking.
“Like calls to like, and if one can bind similar entities as one,
Then, the God crafted from human form and the human shaped into God’s likeness have no reason not to unify.
Human and idol are the same, and idol and God are alike.
So too with creatures and the laws of the world.”
With that proclamation, the colors of Park Jinseong’s form began to change.
Black, purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, red—
As if trying to imitate the divine flame approaching him, his skin morphed into a rainbow of hues, oscillating between transparency and opacity. Eventually, he began to blur the line between substance and the immaterial state, his very essence fading away—
——
He welcomes that flame, moving soundlessly.
The flame floods the space with its colors, consuming it as sustenance for its growth—flame!
Yet, that radiant cruelty seemed too troubling to direct at ‘a fellow being of the same kind.’
Thus, even as he accepted the wondrous divine flame, Park Jinseong’s body remained intact…
“Do you, fire mage, have you witnessed the flames of a campfire consuming itself and beautifully perishing? Have you seen flames incinerate their source before disappearing in an instant, leaving no trace behind, becoming nothing?
If children emerge from humans, then what lies within that body, do you truly know?”
“The ancient scriptures claim, ‘All life’s roots are one, and everything alive is born from the fingertips of God.’ If that is the case, if the origins are the same, then what difference is there between the flesh and the clothing that drapes over the soul? Even if one argues it is merely the colors to distinguish the soul’s individuality, what is different?”
As if that divine flame shot out from his homeland, or like it was a part of him, the being within freely changes color. It transitions between the immaterial and material states while casting a look at Ashtosh Singh.
From the cracking wound flows a stream of blood, then teeth sprout and a parasite tongue appears, speaking. Then the bugs from the previous burn scars begin to swarm, diving back into their original home…
The burn marks serve as fields, and the harvested are bugs…
The proportion of bugs will surpass the body over time, until the moment comes when it can only take shape as bugs.
What can one name that which stands whole amidst the flames?
As it continues to spawn and consume bugs within, increasing their presence, can we truly refer to it as human?
Furthermore, considering that the nature of the swarm of bugs is still as bugs, what should we call that mass of bugs standing intact in those flames?
『 Like a parasite clinging to flame. 』
If this flame is divine flame, touching upon the very essence of God.
Ah.
Such akin to the parasite daring to latch onto the Divine.
It is an utterly abhorrent sight that cannot help but evoke disgust—!!!