Some places were not meant to exist in silence.
They breathed.
They watched.
They waited.
The mountains here were wrong.
Jagged peaks rose like the exposed ribs of some colossal corpse, clawing at the sky in silent defiance. Their surfaces were stripped bare—no moss, no grass, no trace of life—only scarred stone polished smooth by centuries of wind and blood. Even the sunlight seemed reluctant to linger, breaking apart against the cliffs before it could fully settle.
The wind moved strangely.
It did not whistle or sigh.
It groaned—low and warped—as if the land itself were breathing through fractured lungs.
From deep within the valley came roars.
Not the cries of ordinary beasts.
These sounds carried weight—ancient and feral, layered with raw killing intent. Each roar rolled through the ravines, striking the cliffs and rebounding endlessly, until the echoes tangled together into something oppressive, something suffocating.
The air itself trembled with it.
This was Demonic Beasts Valley.
A forbidden land where even seasoned cultivators hesitated to tread—where the weak vanished without a trace, and the strong returned broken… if they returned at all.
Hidden along one of the sheer cliff faces was a narrow cave, its entrance half-swallowed by shadow. Crude formations had been etched into the surrounding rock, their lines uneven but functional, while talismans—yellowed and fraying—fluttered weakly against the stone.
Inside, the air changed.
A heavy medicinal fragrance clung to the cave walls, sharp and bitter, barely masking the faint stench of blood. Subtle spiritual fluctuations pulsed irregularly through the space, unstable—like a heartbeat on the verge of stopping.
At the heart of the cave stood a stone platform, its surface etched with shallow grooves darkened by dried crimson.
Long Shen lay upon it.
Unmoving.
Bloodstained cloth wrapped his body, soaked through in several places. Beneath the torn fabric, bones lay at unnatural angles, some pressing visibly against his skin. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven motions—each breath so faint it seemed it might be his last.
Spiritual scars crawled across his body like invisible fractures, remnants of power far beyond what his flesh should have endured. They pulsed faintly, then dimmed, then pulsed again—unstable, incomplete.
His dantian was shattered.
Not cracked.
Not weakened.
Destroyed.
The proud foundation of a cultivator had collapsed into ruin.
His meridians fared no better—twisted, torn, burned through by violent energy, unable to circulate even the thinnest thread of spiritual qi.
And deeper still—
His soul trembled.
Fractured.
Fading.
Hovering on the very edge of collapse, as if a single breath—or the lack of one—would be enough to snuff it out entirely.
Two figures stood beside the stone platform.
One wore robes of deep crimson woven with shadowy black, the fabric etched with faint demonic patterns that seemed to writhe when caught by the light.
His long hair fell loosely down his back, streaked with silver despite the oppressive vitality still radiating from his body. He stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, sharp eyes fixed on the unconscious youth as if willing him to breathe.
The other wore robes of pure white layered with soft gold, simple in design yet impossibly refined. His beard was long and snow-white, his face lined with the weight of countless years and countless lives saved.
His eyes were calm—too calm—but beneath that serenity lay something unfathomably deep, like a still lake hiding an endless abyss.
The man in crimson was the first to break the silence.
"Divine Doctor," he said, his voice low, strained tight as a drawn bowstring. "You have walked the medical path for centuries."
He lifted one hand and gestured toward Long Shen.
"Tell me you can save him."
The old man in white did not answer immediately.
He slowly withdrew his hand from Long Shen's wrist, fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary—as if reluctant to let go.
Then he shook his head.
"I can heal shattered bones," he said quietly. "Rebuild broken meridians. Even reverse conditions that others would deem fatal—given enough time."
His gaze shifted, piercing through flesh and blood, deeper than the eye should see.
"But this…"
He paused.
"This boy stands on the very edge of death."
The crimson-robed man's jaw tightened.
"Explain."
"The body," the Divine Doctor continued, "is broken—but bodies are tools. Tools can be repaired."
His eyes darkened.
"The soul cannot."
The words struck the cave like falling stone.
The temperature seemed to drop. Even the medicinal fragrance felt thinner, colder.
"His soul has been damaged," the Divine Doctor said gravely. "Severely. What you see is not mere unconsciousness—it is collapse. His spiritual sea has fractured."
He let out a slow breath.
"Even now, it continues to decay."
The man in crimson clenched his fists, the faint demonic patterns on his sleeves flaring briefly before he forced them back down.
"…Nothing?" he asked hoarsely. "There is truly nothing that can be done?"
The Divine Doctor closed his eyes for a moment.
Then opened them.
"If his soul could be restored," he said, "I could save him."
Silence followed.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Then the man in crimson's posture stiffened, as if struck by a sudden thought.
"…Thief King," the Divine Doctor said, turning his head slightly. "Did you not once steal a forbidden soul technique from the Heavenly Demonic Sect?"
The crimson-robed man's eyes widened.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing.
Then he let out a short, bitter laugh.
"So that old thing…" He rubbed his chin, gaze flickering. "I stole it decades ago. Sealed it away and forgot about it."
He hesitated.
"But I never tested it."
Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his storage ring.
A scroll appeared in his hand.
The instant it emerged, the air twisted.
A cold, oppressive aura seeped out, crawling along the cave walls like living smoke. The talismans at the entrance fluttered violently, their edges blackening as if scorched by invisible flame.
The Divine Doctor's expression hardened.
"This technique is dangerous," he said. "But the Heavenly Demonic Sect was unrivaled in soul cultivation."
His gaze returned to Long Shen.
"If even this cannot repair his soul… then nothing else can."
The Thief King swallowed, his fingers tightening around the scroll.
"…Then we try."
The Thief King slowly unrolled the scroll.
The instant the seal broke, the cave shuddered.
A thick, ominous aura poured out like black mist freed from a prison, flooding the narrow space with suffocating pressure. The torches lining the cave walls flickered violently, their flames bending as if forced to bow.
Both the Thief King and the Divine Doctor instinctively swallowed.
Their throats felt dry.
"This aura…" the Divine Doctor murmured, his expression turning grave. "So oppressive. So cold."
The scroll trembled in the Thief King's hands. Ancient demonic characters ignited one after another, glowing with a deep violet light, twisting and rearranging themselves as if alive.
"This is no ordinary forbidden technique," the Thief King muttered. "This thing… it feels like it's watching us."
Still, he did not stop.
He began to chant.
The final line left his lips—
And the ground beneath Long Shen lit up.
A massive formation burst into existence beneath the stone platform, its lines jagged and cruel, etched with demonic runes that pulsed like a beating heart. The air screamed as spiritual energy was forcibly dragged into the formation.
Long Shen's body rose.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
He floated into the air, suspended above the formation, limbs limp, head tilted back unnaturally.
Suddenly—
Crack! Crack!
Violent violet sparks erupted from the formation, shooting outward like lightning. The entire cave trembled, stones raining from the ceiling as the walls vibrated violently.
The Thief King staggered back.
"What the hell—?!" he exclaimed.
The Divine Doctor's eyes widened. "This reaction… this is far beyond a soul-repair technique!"
The formation began to shake violently, its runes flickering erratically.
Then—
Chains.
Massive violet spirit chains burst out from the formation, clanking loudly as they shot upward and wrapped tightly around Long Shen's body—his arms, his legs, his torso, even his neck.
They bound him completely.
At that exact moment—
Laughter echoed through the cave.
Low.
Hoarse.
Filled with ancient madness.
"Hahaha…"
The sound did not come from the Thief King.
Nor the Divine Doctor.
Their blood ran cold.
Demonic energy surged violently, pouring into Long Shen's body like a tidal wave. The air turned heavy, thick with killing intent.
From the center of the formation, a violet soul slowly emerged.
From the center of the formation, a violet soul slowly emerged.
A dense, violent soul mass—pulsing with terrifying demonic pressure.
The soul hovered for a single breath.
Then—
It shot forward.
Straight into Long Shen's chest.
The chains suddenly tightened.
"AAAGHHH—!"
Long Shen screamed.
A scream tore out of his throat as his eyes snapped open.
They were no longer black.
They were completely crimson.
Violet demonic energy erupted from his body, swirling violently around him. Cracks spread across his skin like shattered porcelain, blood seeping from the fissures as his body struggled to endure the overwhelming power.
Inside him—
Inside his sea of consciousness—
Hell was unleashed.
Demonic energy erupted like a volcanic storm, tearing through the spiritual sea, shattering fragments of consciousness, devouring everything in its path.
At the center of the destruction—
The violet soul began to change.
Arms formed.
A torso.
A face.
A man stepped forward from the demonic light.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his features sharp and handsome in a cruel, domineering way.
Long violet hair cascaded down his back, eyes glowing with a deep, tyrannical crimson. Subtle curved horns rose from his temples. His presence alone felt like a mountain pressing down on the world.
Even as a remnant soul, his presence alone felt like a mountain pressing down on the world.
"Hahaha… hahaha!"
The man threw his head back and laughed, the sound shaking the cave itself.
"So foolish," the man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "To think you could increase your soul power using this technique."
He laughed again, eyes blazing with insanity and pride.
"I was hidden in this formation for centuries, waiting for someone—anyone—stupid enough to activate it."
His gaze sharpened.
"And now…"
He clenched his fist.
The demonic energy surged even more violently.
"I am the Demon Emperor of the Heavenly Demonic Sect," he declared, his voice echoing through the shattered sea of consciousness.
"Cheon Ma."
A cruel smile curved his lips.
"And today… I rise again."
To be continued....