My Talent's Name Is Generator-Chapter 178: Silencing the Madness

My mind flooded with flashes of Red's memories. They floated around me like broken windows, each showing a different piece of her life.

Faces. Places. Blood. Screams.

It was overwhelming.

Before I could choose, one of the fragments yanked me in, like a hook had grabbed my chest and dragged me under.

The world shifted around me.

I found myself standing in a dim stone room. Chains rattled in the background. The air smelled of blood, iron, and something worse, burnt flesh.

Across the room, she stood.

Red.

Not quite the Red I knew now—this was her younger, wilder version. She couldn't have been older than twenty-two. But even then, the madness was thick in her eyes.

Her short hair framed her face messily, and she wore... a ridiculously bright, floral dress. Pink and yellow flowers, like she was ready for a picnic. She smiled wide, a child's grin stretched too far, too sharp.

And in front of her, slumped in a chair, was a man, a soldier from the Empire by the looks of his tattered uniform. His head hung low, arms strapped tight to the wooden frame, blood dripping from his fingertips.

Red crouched in front of him, tilting her head like she was examining some fascinating bug.

"Name?" she sang out, tapping her finger against his nose.

The man didn't answer. He could barely lift his head.

Red pouted.

"Aww. Don't be shy."

Without any warning, she placed her palm against his forehead. Her hand glowed faintly. The soldier jerked violently, mouth opening in a silent scream. His entire body convulsed against the chains.

I could feel it, Red wasn't just reading his mind. She was ripping it apart.

Images burst around her like bubbles—memories, secrets, orders. She plucked them casually from the air, tossing the ones she didn't care for, keeping the ones she liked.

She giggled.

It wasn't a human sound.

It was the kind of sound you heard right before something terrible happened.

She leaned closer, whispering, "Let's make this more fun."

Her fingers glowed again, brighter this time.

The soldier's body twitched. I could see something horrifying, his memories were being rewritten, stitched together like a badly made doll. His eyes rolled back. Tears mixed with blood ran down his face.

"Now you'll think you were always my little messenger, won't you?" she cooed.

She pressed another finger into his temple. I watched as she sculpted his mind like clay, humming a happy tune under her breath.

When she finally pulled her hand away, the soldier slumped forward, completely empty. A puppet with new strings.

Red stood up, smoothed out her colorful dress, and clapped her hands like she had just finished a piece of art.

"There! All better!"

She spun around once, grinning wide, and skipped out of the room without even a backward glance.

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving the broken man swaying alone in the dark.

I was pushed out of the memory like a wave throwing me back to the surface.

For a moment, I just floated there, stunned.

What I had just witnessed shook me. Her power wasn't normal. It wasn't just memory reading, it was memory rewriting. Twisting a person's very soul like it was nothing.

It was too much. Too dangerous.

A sharp realization clicked in my mind. I couldn't waste time. I had to dig deeper.

I narrowed my focus, reaching out toward the swirling chaos of memories that spun around me like a hurricane.

I could feel my control slipping the longer I stayed inside her mind. The place didn't welcome me. Every second felt heavier, like the world itself was trying to crush me and spit me out.

But I held on.

I gritted my teeth and locked my senses onto the snapshots zipping past, scanning years of her past like flipping through a thousand books at once.

Then, finally, I saw it.

A memory, clearer than the others, Red standing in front of a mirror.

I forced myself toward it, diving in before it could escape.

The world around me shifted again.

Red was standing alone in a small, bare room. The place was simple. At the center of the room stood a massive mirror, ten feet tall and three feet wide, its surface polished to a shine but reflecting nothing yet.

Red looked younger here too. There was no madness in her face, only a beautiful young girl.

This... this was the memory of her awakening.

The moment her powers first came to life.

I watched as the mirror's surface rippled like water. The process of awakening followed and soon, a translucent blue screen materialized in front of her, floating gently.

My eyes locked immediately onto the most important part, her talent.

And there it was, written in bold letters:

Talent: Memory Weaver

My heart skipped a beat.

So my realization had been correct.

She had a talent.

A talent that was truly frightening.

And instead of using it for anything good, judging from her memories and her behavior toward me, she had gone completely insane.

I was pulled out of the memory. I could feel my control slipping, like a rope fraying in my hands.

A strong push slammed against my mind, she was fighting back.

Hurriedly, I focused and targeted her most recent memory. It was easy to find. The memory of our interaction, what had happened between us.

Without hesitation, I dove into it. I slammed my entire will and focus into that memory, tearing it apart from the inside. Somewhere, I heard her scream — raw, animalistic. She must have been in incredible pain from what I was doing.

I kept going. Only when the memory was completely shredded, ripped into nothingness, did I pull myself out of her mind.

Her body twitched violently in front of me, trapped inside the giant's palm. She stared up at me with bloodshot eyes, trembling.

Suddenly, the sky above us cracked. Jagged lines split the blackness like broken glass.

I looked up.

"Oh," I muttered. "Is the connection finally breaking?"

Something must have happened in the real world after I destroyed that memory.

I turned my back on Red and flew toward where my mother's figure hovered, wrapped safely in a protective shield far away.

With a thought, I appeared in front of her. I dismissed the shield with a wave of my hand, letting it dissolve into sparks.

She stood there, my mother or rather, the memory of her, crafted from my mind.

She looked at me hesitantly, her voice soft.

"Billion, what's going on?"

Hearing her speak tightened something in my chest. I marveled for a second at how real she seemed.

How good Red's talent was, to create an entire world like this and shape my mother's image so perfectly from my memories.

I smiled at her gently and said, "Nothing, Mama. It's just a dream."

She tilted her head, confused.

"A dream?"

I nodded.

"Yes. We're in a dream. If you close your eyes... it will be over."

She stared at me silently for a few long seconds. Then, without a word, she nodded and closed her eyes.

I waved my hand. Her figure shimmered softly, then faded away, resting peacefully in my heart.

I reappeared in front of Red.

Now, I had a choice to make.

About her.

In the outside world, she was a Master Rank, there wasn't much I could do to her there.

But here, inside this collapsing space, she was vulnerable.

I raised my hand. Her body floated upward, limp and twitching.

The giant's palm shifted, beginning to close around her like a fist.

Lightning crackled from every fingertip, lashing her from all sides. The palm closed completely and with a final flash of golden light, her body exploded inside it.

As soon as her body reformed, I struck.

My will slammed into her mind like a tidal wave, dragging me back inside the chaotic swirl of her consciousness.

Memories spun around me, fragments of her life flashing past in a storm of images.

I didn't hesitate. I concentrated everything I had and unleashed it into the maelstrom.

Every memory that flickered past, I smashed apart. Each one cracked and shattered like fragile glass under the weight of my fury.

Scenes of her past — her victories, her laughter, her crimes, her fears — all torn to pieces.

One after another.

No mercy.

No pause.

I tore through the foundation of her mind itself, leaving nothing but an empty, broken shell behind.