Elegy from Another World

She has no name.

If she absolutely had to be labeled, then she would be "Jasmine No. 13".

A failed product. A defective product. A...monster.

Her world of consciousness was no longer a coherent narrative, but a fragmented, chaotic, blood-soaked nightmare echoing in the air. Like a shattered mirror, each sharp fragment reflected a torment enough to make the soul scream.

Fragment 1: The Cage and Covetousness.

Her earliest fragments of memory were of a cold iron cage and murky air. She didn't know why she was there, only that countless greedy, lewd eyes swept over her newly acquired, youthful, and fragile body as if licking it. The auctioneer's gavel, the beastly roars of the bidders, and the calloused, filthy hands that first dragged her out of the cage… That was the first time she felt what pure, irresistible evil was. She wanted to ask "why," she wanted to ask "who am I," but all she received in return was whipping, hunger, and even more unbearable humiliation. Hope, like a candle flickering in the wind, was extinguished prematurely by the daily torment.

Fragment Two: Imprints and Numbness.

She was passed around many times. Sometimes she was a laborer in a dark, sunless mine, where the slightest slackening would result in a water-soaked whip from the overseer; sometimes she was a "living decoration" or "special plaything" at private banquets of nobles, forced to endure the twisted desires of those hypocrites. Her body, due to her "immortality," constantly healed, but each healing brought even more cruel destruction. The pain gradually became familiar, even... beginning to twist into a bizarre pleasure, a distortion of the "eternal burning" state under her despair. She no longer cried, no longer pleaded, her eyes became empty, like a broken puppet. Her soul seemed to have escaped, leaving only a shell to bear the pain.

Fragment Three: Betrayal and Devouring.

Once, it seemed a glimmer of hope appeared. A group calling themselves the "Rebel Army" attacked the slave camp where she was imprisoned. She thought she was saved; even a faint spark rekindled in her lifeless eyes. A young rebel soldier, pitying her plight, secretly gave her food and smiled gently at her. It was a long-lost kindness she had felt in this world, one that almost brought her to tears. However, this warmth was ridiculously short-lived. When the camp was besieged by the army and resources ran out, the soldier who had smiled at her, driven by hunger and despair, along with his comrades, turned their greedy eyes on her—this "food" who "wouldn't truly die." She watched helplessly as the man who had given her hope became a being more terrifying than a beast, cutting her flesh with a knife… At that moment, the last vestige of "humanity" within her shattered completely. In its place was an overwhelming resentment and a desire to devour everything.

Fragment Four: Awakening and Madness.

In the midst of extreme pain and betrayal, a certain power awakened. It wasn't gentle water, nor blazing fire, but a culmination of the extreme negative emotions generated when her own flesh was torn apart and devoured—a filthy, viscous, corrosive dark energy. When her "comrades" surrounded her again, she no longer numbly endured it. Darkness erupted from within her, coiling around the betrayers like living creatures, not killing them, but more cruelly…dissolving and devouring them. Hearing their screams, feeling their life energy merge into her own, a twisted, unprecedented sense of "satisfaction" overwhelmed her. She laughed, a maniacal and terrifying laugh. It turned out that hurting and being hurt, devouring and being devoured, was the only truth of this world.

From then on, Jasmine No. 13 "died".

The survivor is a monstrous entity driven solely by the instinctive desire for revenge. She roams the edges of the world, in wilderness, ruins, and dark corners. She attacks every living thing she encounters—humans, monsters, beasts, and even the occasional player. Her attacks are devoid of strategy, driven only by the most primal and frenzied destructive urges. Her "magic" is no longer elemental, but a tangible manifestation of resentment and pain, a dark tide capable of eroding life and corrupting the soul.

She no longer pondered reasons, no longer questioned meaning. Her world consisted only of the crimson color and the dying screams of her prey, which made her feel that she still "existed." She was a vengeful shell created by endless pain, a weapon that had lost control and could only destroy, walking on an endless, blood-soaked path of despair.

She knew nothing of Doctor Jiezhou, nothing of the "Fire Seed Project," and nothing of the fact that her tragedy stemmed from an experiment in a higher dimension. She was simply acting instinctively, seeking indiscriminate and ultimately meaningless revenge against the world that had inflicted endless suffering upon her. And her very existence became a living, terrifying legend in some dark corner of this world, constantly creating new tragedies.