Suddenly, I became aware.

A grogginess, like waking from a deep sleep, came over me, and the air around me was cold.
But when I opened my eyes, I couldn’t see anything.

I tried to move my body, but it wouldn’t budge.
No—this wasn’t just a matter of being unable to move. I couldn’t even feel my body at all.

What the hell is this?

All I could sense was an unsettling feeling of floating and a bone-chilling cold.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out—just an oppressive silence that only deepened my frustration.

I needed to think.

Not long ago, I’d come home after working for hours, opened a bottle of liquor, and started drinking.
So, logically, I must have passed out drunk.

I fell asleep, drunk. It feels oddly cold. Could it still be the middle of the night?
Is this sleep paralysis?

No matter how I thought about it, that seemed like the only explanation.
I couldn’t move my hands or feet. My eyes wouldn’t open. What else could it be if not sleep paralysis?

But there was something deeply unsettling about the coldness and the sensation of floating.
It felt like I was suspended midair, with an icy chill burrowing deep into my bones.

Could this be a dream?
If it is, I’ll wake up eventually.

So, I waited.
But I couldn’t wake up.
I cursed, pleaded, begged—did everything I could think of.

But I couldn’t wake up.
The cold seeped in slowly until I could no longer remember what warmth even felt like.

And still, I couldn’t wake up.
No matter how long I waited or how much I screamed into the silence, the cold, empty darkness refused to change.

I waited.
I stayed still.
Not that I had much choice—I couldn’t move to begin with.

Then, suddenly, I saw a light.

A bright light, warm and inviting.

The moment I saw it, I knew—I wanted it.

But I’d forgotten something important.

I couldn’t move.
All I could do was look up at it from below.

One by one, more lights began to appear.

What I wanted was right there, above me.
The thing I couldn’t abandon, the thing I needed so desperately, was right there.

Now, the lights filled the sky above me like stars in a night sky.

From beneath the surface, I kept looking up, replaying memories of my time as a person—memories that felt impossibly distant yet unshakably vivid.

I tried to recall what warmth felt like, even though it was now nothing but a faded trace, like an old, worn photograph.

Of course, imagining it didn’t mean I could feel it.

Then, one of the lights began to fall.

Downward.
Downward.
Downward.

Plop.

It broke through the surface and descended further and further.

Finally.
The light illuminated the depths, and it was only then I realized—this wasn’t an ocean.

Above the surface, beyond the sky.

The stars weren’t stars at all.

There was no ocean.

I was the ocean.

The light was a life—crying out in its final moments.

A life filled with resentment and despair, cursing the world as it died.

When I touched it, I felt a faint trace of warmth—something I hadn’t experienced in ages. It was sweet, like the first bite of ice cream after weeks of eating nothing but plain rice.

If I didn’t know any better, that might have been enough.

But unfortunately, I knew the truth: it was bitter.

Lives came to me because they were unlucky, abandoned by the world, or burdened by their own sins. Lives filled with resentment, hatred, or despair—those were the only ones that fell to me.

Only those who had hit rock bottom found their way to me.

As I tasted their light, I could briefly glimpse how they had lived.

The moment passed quickly—a fleeting flash before it disappeared completely.

And then, I would have to wait again. Wait for another light to fall.

One. Two. Three. Four.

I waited as they fell sporadically. But then, all of a sudden, none came for a long, long time.

So long that I couldn’t tell if it was truly an eternity or if it just felt that way.

Finally, I decided to reach out toward a light near the surface.

And I touched it.

Wait. That’s strange.
Since when did I have a hand?
I didn’t remember ever moving anything before.

But that thought was overshadowed by a desperate hunger to feel warmth again.

Slowly, my hand extended toward the light. Rising above the surface wasn’t easy. Even though I had a hand, it felt like an invisible wall held me back, allowing me only to ripple against it.

But little by little, I compressed myself, condensing the vast ocean of my being into a fine, needle-like point. Upward. Upward. Upward.

Finally, a thin, almost imperceptible hand reached the light above the surface.

This time, it wasn’t a dying life. It was still alive.

Though fragile, like a cracked vessel on the verge of breaking, it radiated a much warmer glow.

The light clung to my hand, begging desperately for salvation.

But I had nothing to give.

What could I do?

Looking at the thin part of me that had pierced through the surface, I wondered:
Could I give more of myself?

And so, I pushed more of myself upward. Though the invisible wall resisted, the part of me that had pierced through allowed me to rise further.

The light was overjoyed.

It laughed, claiming it now possessed incredible power. But then, it abruptly stopped laughing.

And then it screamed.

"Stop! Stop!"

But I couldn’t stop. I was already at my limit.

Boom!

The light exploded into a brilliant burst of brightness before turning black. The surrounding lights, too, darkened, and all of them began to fall.

To me.

Oh.

This must be what it felt like when early humans discovered fire.

What just happened?

When I tasted the murky remnants, I realized something: the being I had empowered had exploded. In its death throes, it dragged down nearby lives, causing them to die as well. All of them fell to me, sinking beneath the surface.

When different kinds of fragments began to fall, I formed several hypotheses.

I must be some sort of mass of power. I still remembered my past life as a person, though those memories were now faded and discolored. At least, I hadn’t always been like this.

Maybe I reincarnated, or something similar happened.

But that didn’t matter nearly as much as the warmth.

This place—if I had to describe it—was like stepping outside in the dead of winter, wearing only a thin jacket, and waiting in line for hours. The cold was relentless.

Holding even a single light felt like clutching a disposable hand warmer that only lasted thirty minutes.

So, I wanted more warmth. Enough to feel hot. Enough to banish this bone-deep chill once and for all.

I thought about how to get more.

The explosion earlier—

The vessel I filled was already fragile and shattered easily. That was expected.

But the fact that the shattered fragments pulled in other nearby lives and sent them falling to me was significant.

Especially since all of them ultimately fell into me.

Some of those lights had been high above, living lives that seemed happy and fulfilling. They had families, children, bright futures, or even small indulgences, like accumulating wealth through minor transgressions.

Good or evil didn’t matter.

It seemed like those who had a strong will to keep moving forward, to pursue happiness or joy, were higher up. Naturally, the lights they radiated were brighter and warmer.

But while their position seemed distant from me, the physical proximity of their lives meant they lived relatively close to one another.

So when the explosion occurred, they were caught in its wake, perished, and ultimately fell into me.

They plunged beneath the surface of the ocean—into me.

This led me to a conclusion:

If I could reach out to a light near the surface, pour more of myself into it, and cause it to explode, I could replicate the effect.

And then? I’d get even more warmth.

I decided to try it again immediately.

The more lights appeared, the closer they seemed to the surface of the ocean.

The place I once lived was drowning in despair too. My homeland had fewer births than deaths—a world where death outpaced life.

Thinking about it, the number of despairing individuals would only increase.
The more lights appeared, the more of them would come to me.

To me.

So, when the lights came close to the surface, I reached out. When my hand touched the light, I poured myself into it, and without fail, it exploded.

Each time, fragments rained down.

But it wasn’t enough. The effect was too short-lived, and the amount that fell was too small.

Then, an idea struck me.

A dark sorcerer forming a contract with a wicked demon—that kind of trope.
I remembered playing games with demons like that, and it wasn’t an uncommon concept.

I could lend my power and let them act as they pleased.
Since the power was still a part of me, any lives they claimed would inevitably fall to me.

Hmm!

Let’s do it!

So, I began to extend myself carefully.

Very carefully.
Slowly.
Bit by bit.

Ah.
They all exploded.

Lives filled with despair were like tattered vessels, barely holding together. The lights that sparkled in the distance were strong, but the ones closer to me were so fragile that it wasn’t surprising they shattered.

Sure, the shattered fragments were sweet.

The more tragic the death, the sweeter the taste. And the higher the light, the more warmth it held.

Warmth is sweetness.

So, I examined the countless stars scattered across this endless ocean. I had all the time in the world.
Lacking warmth wouldn’t kill me, so there was no need to rush.

Of course, there were moments when the cold felt unbearable, and I hunted lights out of desperation. But simple survival wasn’t enough to satisfy me.

I wanted to lend my power, let it act automatically, and gather warmth like passive income.
Effortless gains!

Instead of hunting manually, I wanted to automate the process.

This is how intelligence should be used.

But no matter how carefully I poured myself into the vessels, they all kept exploding. What could I do?

Then one day, something changed.

A thin thread descended from the heavens and touched me.

The other end of the thread connected to a light high above. As soon as I grabbed it, I was abruptly pulled upward—into the heavens.

Wait, what?
This felt familiar.

Don’t tell me...
Did I just get hooked?

For the first time in what felt like forever, my surroundings were unbearably noisy. The inside and outside of this place clamored so loudly it gave me a headache. My blood flowed, my heart beat, and every cell in my body moved—all sensations I hadn’t experienced in eons. It was overwhelmingly irritating.

Finally, I opened my eyes.

I saw a structure, dark and ominous, made of materials I didn’t recognize. Figures draped in dull, black robes knelt before me with their heads bowed low.

"From beyond the dimension of emptiness, where malice and hunger await, the Void Being has descended to this accursed land to claim our despair and corruption!"

I didn’t know the language, but I could understand it.

Which meant I did know it, I guess.

I listened and looked down at myself.

My pale, naked body sat on a cold stone chair, red blood dripping down from my chest to the floor.

I noticed that I had small, feminine breasts, but the center had a gaping hole—as if it had been drilled out. Severed blood vessels jutted out from the cavity.

Lifting one of my terribly heavy arms, I saw a hand that should have been soft and delicate. Now it was pale and cold.

The people around me chanted. Their prayers were simple: "Let us live well." Yet the rhythm of their words sounded like a spell.

At least I didn’t need to translate it.

Anyway.

A gloomy building, black-cloaked figures, a girl with her heart ripped out, and me, summoned into her hollowed body.

This was clearly a cult.

“Oh, great god, grant our wishes! Oh, great god, grant our wishes! Krssaksshibal-nim!”

Wait. My name isn’t some fucking name like that.