Cultivator of the End: I Refine My Own Death-Chapter 115 – Devourer of Wounds

Rin awoke to a quiet, unsettling stillness, the kind that only follows a violent storm. His eyes opened to a dim world, the air thick with the smell of decay and the sting of the poison swamp still clinging to his skin. His body ached, his muscles and bones bruised from the violent surges of death essence he had absorbed. Yet, despite the agony, something was wrong—something... unnatural.

His wounds—deep gashes across his torso, cuts that had torn through his flesh like a hot knife through paper—were healing far too quickly. It was not the normal, expected restoration of his flesh; no, this was something else. The pain of his injuries was still there, lingering like an open wound in his soul, but it was receding, fading into something deeper.

He sat up slowly, his mind still fogged from the aftermath of his previous ordeal. The altar, the hundredfold deaths, the power he had absorbed—all of it seemed to be coiling within him, a dark, gnawing presence at the edges of his consciousness. But now, something else stirred beneath the surface. It was subtle at first, like the faintest whisper at the back of his mind, an itch in the deepest recesses of his being.

And then he realized—his wounds weren't just healing. They were being... devoured.

Rin's fingers moved instinctively to his abdomen, where the deepest wound had been, a gaping slash across his stomach from when he had first confronted the altar's energy. The wound was gone, the skin knitted together as if it had never been torn open. But the pain was still there, gnawing at him, as if something else was feeding on it.

The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning.

A parasitic spirit.

His breath caught in his throat. He had heard of such things—parasites that latched onto souls, creatures that fed on pain and suffering, growing stronger with each wound they consumed. These entities were born of the most wretched, tortured deaths, fed on the despair and agony of their hosts. And now, one had attached itself to him.

He could feel it now, creeping under his skin, slithering beneath his flesh. It was not content to merely heal him—it was feeding, siphoning off the very essence of his pain and trauma. The parasite was bound to his very soul, nestled deep within him, thriving on his suffering.

Rin clenched his fists, feeling the pulse of the parasite inside him. It was powerful, perhaps even more than he had anticipated. Its presence twisted his mind, clouded his judgment. It sought to take control, to consume his pain and use it to manifest its own power.

He could feel its whispers in his thoughts, like a persistent voice pushing against the boundaries of his will. It was feeding on the trauma of the past, the endless agony of his journey. But he would not let it consume him. He would not allow this thing to take root within him.

With a growl, Rin's Death Core flared to life, the violent energy surging through his veins as he plunged his mind deep into the darkness of his soul. The parasite, sensing his resistance, lashed out, a force of pure, malicious hunger that sought to devour his very essence. It was a battle of wills, a struggle that transcended the physical plane. The parasite's presence pressed against his mind, trying to tear it apart, trying to push him into submission.

But Rin was no stranger to pain. He had endured the endless torment of the Mortal Realm, he had cultivated death itself. This parasite was nothing but another challenge to his strength.

He drew in a deep breath, centering himself as he reached into the core of his soul. The Death Core surged, filling him with a violent calm. Rin focused on the parasite, sensing its nature, its hunger. It was a creature of pure suffering, born of the darkest of emotions, thriving on the broken pieces of a soul. He could feel its presence, coiled around his soul like a serpent, tightening with each heartbeat.

He summoned the power of the Death Core, pouring the energy of death into the parasite. The force was brutal, merciless, like a blade cutting through flesh, but the parasite recoiled. It was not invincible. It was a parasite, bound by the same laws that governed death itself.

Rin pressed harder, channeling the dark energy of the Death Core into the heart of the parasite. He could feel the creature writhe, its form dissolving under the weight of death. It was struggling, but it was weakening, its essence beginning to fray at the edges.

The parasite fought back, thrashing, a storm of pain and despair flooding his mind, but Rin was relentless. He was death. He was suffering incarnate. With a final surge of power, Rin forced the parasite to its knees, subjugating it with the raw power of his cultivation. It screamed—a low, mournful wail—as its form began to dissolve into mist, its essence breaking apart.

But Rin was not done. This creature, this parasite, was powerful. It had the potential to grant him an even greater weapon, one that could be controlled, bent to his will.

He reached deep within himself, calling upon the dark energies that flowed through his veins. He gathered the parasite's essence, twisting it into a new shape, forcing it to take a new form. With a final command, he sealed its soul into his dagger—the very weapon he had forged in his own image.

The transformation was immediate.

The air around him crackled with energy as the dagger vibrated in his hand. The blade darkened, its surface twisting, the edges growing sharper, more lethal. The soul of the parasite, now bound to the weapon, fused with the blade, and in that moment, the dagger became something far more than it had been. It became a living entity—a weapon with its own spirit.

The dagger pulsed with life, feeding off the pain that resonated within it, absorbing the trauma that it had witnessed, that it had consumed. Rin could feel it—feel the weight of the spirit within the blade. It was alive, hungry, yet bound to him.

It was no longer just a weapon.

It had become a Spirit Weapon.

He named it as he felt its power surge: Mourning Fang. It was a weapon that fed on pain, that consumed the suffering of its victims, and in turn, granted that pain back to its wielder as strength. It would grow with each wound, with each death it inflicted. It was a weapon born from agony, a blade forged in the deepest pits of despair.

The blade hummed in his grip, alive with the energy of the parasite's spirit. Rin could feel its hunger, a gnawing need for more pain, more suffering, to feed its ever-growing essence. But he did not fear it. No, he welcomed it. This was just another tool in his arsenal, another step toward mastering death.

With a single thought, the dagger seemed to respond. It pulsed, a silent promise of power and destruction. It was his now, as much a part of him as the Death Core that burned within his chest. He could feel it—its presence, its spirit, like a shadow that lurked just beyond his vision.

Rin stood, staring at the blade in his hand. The weapon's power was undeniable, and its bond to him was complete. Yet, as he felt the dagger's presence, he realized the truth. It would feed on pain—on the pain of those who fell before it, and on the pain of its wielder. It would grow stronger with each wound it inflicted, each soul it consumed.

And Rin knew, deep within his bones, that this was only the beginning.

The path ahead would be fraught with death, with suffering, with the ever-present hunger of Mourning Fang. But that was what he was now, what he had become—a devourer of death, a master of pain.

And with the power of Mourning Fang in his hand, Rin's journey into the depths of the world, into the very heart of suffering, was only just beginning.

To be continued...