CHAPTER 34: RECOVERY

Just a few seconds—and Allen was out.

Out of the Underworld.

Into another.

Earth.

His very own place of birth.

Luckily, it was around midnight. No one wanted to see a completely naked boy walking the streets in broad daylight.

Here, the shift was singularly noticeable from the air, judged by the cooling wind.

The black mist of the dimensional portal vanished behind Allen as he stood somewhere along the Oakwood District in the United States—where he once lived before Tamara changed his life without asking.

In his arms, he still held Natasha’s soul, gently and firmly, as if terrified of losing her a second time.

The distant sounds of car horns could still be heard even at the our of the day it was still onow to be a busy town.

Out of all the things he he’d leave in this world right now wind was far more embracing than the blistering heat the Underworld had offered.

"This is home," Allen whispered as he walked toward his old apartment, scanning every detail. But something felt... off.

"Maybe it was," he muttered.

Gone was his mother’s black Lexus 350. In its place rested something impossible—a Lamborghini. Sleek, handcrafted, as if tailored to an individual’s taste.

Even if a miracle had occurred and his mother had somehow gotten that car, it still wouldn’t make sense—not at a time when he had disappeared, and Natasha had died.

He knew something was wrong. But there was no harm in trying. At least he might find a clue—where she had gone, or what had become of her. Anything to speed up his search.

Allen stood at the front door, his hand mid-air, ready to knock...

Then he paused.

He could feel it—the vibrations of footsteps. Four different beings resided in the building now.

"It must have been rented out," Allen whispered and turned away. Still, knocking would be a mistake. A child might open the door—or worse, a mother. Her scream alone could shred her throat if she saw a naked boy on her doorstep.

"Whether I accept it or not, there’s only one place she could be," Allen murmured. Bitterness laced his voice as lightning crackled around him.

In a flash of light, he vanished—leaving a clear, scorched burn mark on the ground as if lightning had struck.

---

Seconds later, after blazing across the streets of the United States, Allen stood amidst a vast field of green vegetation, trees and scattered tombstones.

The cemetery.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. His mind raced—not just because what he planned was illegal, but because he was about to face another round of self judgment.

He knew security cameras were likely everywhere, but to him, this world was just a shadow of what he used to know—maybe even of his old planet.

No mistake—Allen was already a public figure. He’d seen a newspaper on a wooden bench beneath a tree. The headline was simple:

"Missing Boy."

Nothing more. No details. But Allen had bigger worries than being popular in a world he had long forgotten.

"I’ll fix this," he whispered as he pulled Natasha’s forehead close and kissed it. Her eyes remained shut. Her soul was weak and unconscious.

He wandered the cemetery until he found the tombstone.

The truth was carved in cold stone, like a scar:

"Natasha Brown

July 21, 2024

Heart Failure"

The name sat on top, then the date, and finally—the cause. A cruel sequence of inevitability.

Allen gently laid Natasha’s soul beside the grave, his fingertips tracing the etchings.

Then, without hesitation, lightning surged once more.

He vanished and reappeared, this time with a shovel. In the blink of an eye, the grave had been unearthed, the coffin fully revealed, the sand already flung aside.

But before he could do anything else, he needed one more ingredient—the present date.

He bolted from the cemetery, speeding through city streets until he found a gang member still fiddling with his phone. Allen didn’t stop. He barely slowed as he peered over the man’s shoulder, catching a glimpse of the date.

Even the wind he stirred left a shocking imprint on the gang member’s mind—so chilling that his knees buckled and a warm wet stain crept down his pants.

Back in the cemetery, Allen knelt beside the coffin.

Today was July 28, 2024.

Seven days.

Just seven days after her burial.

He jumped away to avoid interference and muttered, "Activate System Ability: Black Tongue."

[Command Executed]

[System Ability: Black Tongue has been activated]

[Level 1 – Upper Cursed Words]

1. Break

2. Conceal

[Level 1 – Lower Cursed Words]

1. Dream

2. Hibernate

[Level 2 – Upper Cursed Words]

1. Forget

2. Don’t Move

[Level 2 – Lower Cursed Words]

1. Undo

2. Redo

[Level 3 – Upper Cursed Words]

1. Burn

2. Scatter

[Level 3 – Lower Cursed Words]

1. Create

2. Destroy

[Level 4 – Cursed Words]

1. Obey

2. Die

[Awaiting Command...]

"UNDO," Allen whispered in command

[Command Received – Target: Time on a 60cm radius of Earth just in front of your feet]

[Activating Level 2 Lower Cursed Word]

[Duration: 7 Days Backward]

The space around the coffin shifted.

"Tch," Allen sighed in painful realisation. "What a waste of strength."

The ground he had dug earlier refilled. The tombstone vanished. Time had reversed to the moment of the burial—seven days prior.

Now, the coffin lay untouched, above the earth, the six feet of earth was still yet to be dug.

When he finally opened it—after a few hesitant attempts while his heart beated, pumping blood six times faster—he found her body. Cold. Still. Undecayed.

He took several deep breaths. His heart threatened to combust as his gaze landed on the rigid form of the one he loved most.

Without a word only unbearable tears in his eyes and pain in his bones, he walked forward and cradled Natasha’s soul, wrapped in a white garment identical to the one on her body. He pressed the soul into the corpse—melding them like two halves of the same whole.

Then he knelt, filled with trembling hope. Stiring. Waiting.

Nothing happened—at first.

But as a university student, Allen knew what to check.

He felt it—faint heat. Her chest rose slightly. Air filled her lungs once again but it all took a slow process.

"Please..." Allen whispered.

He stood, scanning nearby tombstones for his mother. If she had died, there’d be a marker.

Too easy.

It was the next stone.

"Taylor Allen – July 21, 2024"

No cause. Just his name and a date.

He chuckled, but it wasn’t amusement. It was irony.

Like burying a man while he’s still alive.

Then he saw the next tombstone. It cut deeper than all the others.

"Taylor Isabell – July 21, 2024 – Heart Attack"

Allen drew in one long, shaky breath. Acceptance and resolve warred within him.

He gave the same command to his system, this time adjusting the time radius slightly to accommodate burial delays, although it all took place same day but not same time.

Her coffin reappeared, resting above the earth with flowers still lying across it.

But now Allen faced a wall.

He didn’t have her soul.

Nither did he see it in hadas territory.

He wasn’t a god—not really. Not someone who could craft a soul from his own breath.

His hand slid across his sweaty face, trying to wipe away more than just sweat.

"I can’t let Mum pay for my selfishness," he whispered.

Tears, he ones did struggled to hold back, finally escaped. He collapsed onto the casket, sobbing like a two-year-old.

His mind calculated every moment, every sorrow that had brought him to this point, then he recalled within those painful memories,

Tamara.

And with her—everything she had given him.

"Stat," Allen muttered with no delay, his eyes already focused on the air where the panel should appear.

And when it did, he read it faster than it could fully form.

---

[Stats]

— Name: Allen

— Race: Deity

— Physique: 2000

— Combat: 2000

— Mental: 2000

— Charm: 2000

— System Abilities: Lust Copy (SSS-Ranked), Black Tongue (SSS-Ranked)

— Gene Abilities: Blind Predator+ (SSS-Ranked), Lightning Bolt (SSS-Ranked), Cruel Immortality (God-Ranked)

— Bonus Item: [Single-Use Elixir]

— Sexual Encounters: 8

— Linked Partners: Natasha, Elara, Kia, Lilitu, Amaterasu

— System Status: Stable

---

His path to Deity Rank had been cleared with a single touch from a beautiful goddess.

But strength meant little now. Emotions were louder.

"What is ’Single-Use Elixir’?" he asked.

[Single-Use Elixir Description:]

Just as the name implies, it can only be used once.

It is no mortal tool, but a divine one.

It grants life to that which is life less irrespective of its nature.

One attempt. One chance. No reversal.

---

"She really did compensate for it all," Allen whispered, tears of joy shimmering in his eyes.

He envisioned the tool—like a small syringe. As he pictured it, the elixir formed. Transparent, divine. So pure it looked empty. A single drop on Earth’s soil could twist the world into a nightmare.

With what little medical experience he had, Allen prepared the injection.

He opened the casket door, his hands trembling. He dared not look at her face. That would destroy him completely without failure.

With a silent apology, he injected the elixir into his mother’s cold skin.

And just like that—cold and dead turned into warm and alive.