The Black Hollow forest was shrouded in mist, its twisted trees casting eerie silhouettes under the waning moonlight. Villagers rarely entered its depths, for it was said to be haunted by the restless dead. To Shen Zong, however, fear was nothing but a veil that hid opportunity.
After his fight with the bullies, the black lotus mark had pulsed restlessly. Each beat whispered to him, urging him toward the forest's heart.
He followed.
For hours, he trekked through the underbrush, silent as a shadow. The deeper he went, the colder the air grew. The trees here bore no leaves, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers.
At last, he came upon a clearing.
In its center stood a weathered stone altar, half-buried under moss and roots. Strange carvings—serpents devouring the sun, eyes weeping black blood, and twisted lotus petals—covered its surface.
The moment Shen Zong approached, the black lotus mark on his chest seared with heat. The altar answered.
Dark mist surged out, swirling violently before condensing into a spectral figure—a tall man draped in ancient black robes, his face hidden beneath a hood. His voice, low and chilling, echoed through the clearing.
"Who dares awaken the Inheritance of the Demon Lotus Sovereign?"
Shen Zong's calm gaze met the specter's hollow eyes. "I am Shen Zong. A cursed orphan of this world. If fate has led me here, then I will not retreat."
The shadow studied him in silence, as though peering into his very soul. Then, it laughed—a sound like cracking bones.
"Calm amidst fear, ruthless without hesitation, cunning yet patient… Good. You are suited for the Demonic Path."
The figure raised a spectral hand. From the altar rose a black scroll, bound in chains of shadow. Its aura was suffocating, brimming with madness and power.
"This is the Demon Lotus Scripture, a cultivation method that defies heaven itself. But know this, boy—those who practice it will never find peace. The world will hunt you. The heavens will reject you. You will be cursed to walk alone."
Shen Zong did not flinch. His voice was steady.
"Peace is an illusion. Only eternity matters."
The specter's laughter grew louder. "Good! Then take it—if you can endure!"
The chains shattered, and the scroll flew into Shen Zong's chest. Agony unlike anything before tore through him. His veins burned as though filled with molten iron. His heart felt as if it were being gnawed upon by fangs of darkness.
Images flooded his mind—vast fields of black lotuses blooming under a blood-red sky, seas of corpses nourishing their roots, and a towering figure seated on a throne of bones, gazing down with eyes that could shatter worlds.
It was the legacy of the Demon Lotus Sovereign.
Shen Zong grit his teeth, refusing to scream. His body convulsed, blood seeping from his pores, yet his eyes remained sharp, unyielding.
> Pain is not my enemy. Weakness is.
Hours passed in torment. Finally, the black scroll dissolved completely into his body, merging with his dantian. The mark on his chest blossomed into a full lotus with seven shadowy petals.
The specter's form flickered, growing faint.
"You have taken the first step, child of the cursed moon. Cultivate the Demon Lotus, and your strength will grow by consuming the qi, the blood, and even the souls of others. But beware—the more you ascend, the greater the heavens' wrath."
The shadow's final words lingered as it faded into mist.
Shen Zong staggered, blood-soaked but standing. His qi surged like a raging tide, more powerful than before. He clenched his fists, staring up at the moon breaking through the misty canopy.
"The heavens may curse me," he whispered, voice cold and resolute. "But I will curse them in return."
The forest fell silent, as though bowing to the birth of a new fiend.