Page 73

The Prisoner

It is a dark, pulsing mass, with tendrils hooked into the winding grooves of my mind, as ancient as the stars itself. An accumulation of abused power, crooked fate, and wrongful destiny.

I see it now as I sprint desperately up the staircase, my widened eyes transfixed upon the grayish-pink, glistening brain hanging overhead, suspended in a sea of stars. I see the Prophecy for what it is—that unnatural, deadly puppeteer of my body. That affliction. That parasite , latched onto my brain as surely as a leech on skin, sucking and sucking the life and will out of me, drinking down my agony like the finest wine.

You , I seethe, and I hear its smug voice in response. The mass shifts, like a giant black spider stiffening atop its prey, and I can almost swear that it looks at me.

You.

My feet leave the ground, and in an overpowering flash of light, I am gone, plunging down into an ocean of life . The staircase has led me to a place where the physical does not exist, and neither do I—I am blood and I am bones. I am millions of small, small cells and tiny compositions. I am the beating of my heart and the inhaling of my lungs. I am a golden light, stretching further and further through the body…coiling around the fibula, nestling underneath the sternum, battling away the dark splotches that leak from that mass atop my brain, shredding them into nothingness one by one.

You’re too late, the Prophecy sneers as I shoot upward, back toward the brain, where the parasite digs in its hold, refusing to let go. It shivers and shakes, crouched on the intricate, pink folds of tissue, stretched out to cover all four lobes. I have been Fulfilled.

Not all of you. Not yet. For there is one more line that has not yet come to fruition. One more destiny that I’ve yet to meet.

And it will be me who meets it. Me . Shin Lina.

Even in here, it is as if I can somehow feel Gameunjang watching, smiling as all she has hoped for begins to play out. She has played me as finely as a musician plays her strings, yet there is nothing I can do about it without damning the world to Jeoseung. I must allow fate, no matter how deceitful, to take its course.

“The Prophecy was never about the Imugi or the Three Kingdoms. It was about you .”

Desperately, I launch myself forward and the Prophecy hisses, scrabbling atop my brain. I land, an insubstantial ball of light that barrels forth across the lobes, across the bumps and grooves.

The Prophecy laughs, hideously.

So naive, it jeers, but I am not listening. I am done listening to this parasite, this monster, this disease. Burning brightly with anger, I force the Prophecy back, back. It scuttles off like a frightened insect, shrinking away from my light and warmth. As I cross this land, with its many sections, many ridges and folds, an outside sensation starts to return to me.

The world is screaming.

Blood and ash, in my mouth.

A brief glimpse of a storm-cloud sky, of cold rain pelting down. There, and then gone.

The Prophecy growls and, in a lurching movement, launches for me. Its impact is sharp and jagged, like falling onto the rough rocks at the beach. Yet I hold fast, and we become a blur of light and dark, tumbling across the brain, tearing and shredding into each other like feral wolves.

My body. Mine. No one else’s.

The pain is astounding—it is like nothing I have ever felt, a pain that is exquisite in its agony, a pain that banks as I push determinedly forth, forcing the Prophecy to scuttle toward the end of the brain where nothing but a steep drop into nothingness awaits. Its inky form is dissolving, dark globules tearing off into the air, eaten away by me—by my light, my anger, my godsdamn determination .

You’ve. . .lost… the Prophecy gasps as it teeters over the edge, clinging onto a deep groove with spidery, shadow fingers, refusing to fall into the abyss of nothingness that waits for it. I loom over it and look into this creature that has masqueraded as me, that has convinced the world that Shin Lina is a monster, a madwoman.

I look at it, and I see only a figment of a dark dream, a hopeful wish that will be destroyed, a parasite of the lowest order, a pathetic puddle of shit and shadow. I glow brighter and brighter, because I have broken free.

Despite all, I have godsdamned triumphed.

No. I’ve won , I tell it.

No longer will I be the Prophecy’s host. No longer will my mind be shared by some inhuman creature.

For the first time, I am free.

Free.

With a triumphant burst of energy, golden and blinding and bright, I rip the Prophecy into nothingness, its scream of pain rattling in my ears like a battle song, like my own war cry. I make it painful, dragging it apart, shadowy ligament by ligament, burning it, scorching it with my own power. The Prophecy thrashes and howls as it is torn into shreds, as it dissolves into nothingness, as it withers and rots. I do not stop until the darkness is entirely gone, do not stop until the Prophecy is truly dead, until it is nothing, nothing at all.

And in the world above, in the world that I have been kept from, in the body that is my own…

My eyes fly open.