The night sky bled red.
A pale moon, dyed in crimson, hung like an ominous wound above the broken rooftops of Black Hollow Village. The villagers cowered behind bolted doors, muttering prayers to gods who had long abandoned them. Only one figure sat unmoving in the cold dirt of the graveyard at the edge of the village—a boy no older than fifteen.
He wore ragged clothes and no shoes, his thin frame shivering in the chill wind. His eyes, however, gleamed unnaturally bright—too sharp, too calculating for a child. Those who dared look into them whispered that he was cursed, that even ghosts recoiled from his gaze.
His name was Shen Zong.
An orphan abandoned at birth, Shen Zong grew up scavenging scraps and stealing to survive. Other children bullied him, and adults treated him as a plague to be avoided. Yet, he never lashed out. Never cried. Never begged. Instead, he observed. He listened. And silently, he endured.
Tonight, however, something was different.
The crimson moon pulsed like a beating heart, and the graves trembled. From the earth seeped a faint, black mist, curling around Shen Zong like a lover's embrace. Instead of fear, a faint smile tugged at his lips.
> So it finally begins…
Whispers echoed in his mind, low and hungry.
"Child of the Cursed Moon… heir of endless night… walk the path of ruin and claim eternity…"
His body convulsed as the black mist surged into him, burning his veins, shattering his bones, and searing his soul. It was agony, yet Shen Zong did not scream. His calm eyes never wavered. He knew this pain was a gift.
When the mist subsided, the boy was no longer ordinary. A faint sigil had etched itself into his chest—a black lotus, its petals dripping with illusory blood. The cursed mark of the Demonic Path.
Footsteps approached.
From the shadows emerged the village elder, his face pale with terror. "You… you dare embrace the demonic arts? That path only leads to madness and damnation!"
Shen Zong slowly rose, his frail body now emanating a sinister aura that made the air itself heavy. His lips curved into a faint, cold smile.
"Elder," he said softly, voice steady as still water, "the world already damned me the day I was born. Why should I not damn it in return?"
The elder staggered back, horrified by the boy's calm ruthlessness. But Shen Zong did not move to kill him—not yet. Patience was his greatest weapon. Tonight was not the night for vengeance. Tonight was the night of rebirth.
As the crimson moon sank behind the mountains, Shen Zong turned toward the horizon. His cursed fate had awakened, and so too had his path.
The path of a Demonic Immortal.