The ruins were quiet now, broken pillars casting long shadows under the cold moonlight. Shen Zong sat cross-legged atop a jagged stone, chest heaving, veins still searing from the previous battle. The phantom lotus pulsed violently behind him, petals quivering as though aware that this calm was temporary—a brief lull before the storm.
He pressed his hand to the obsidian gauntlet, feeling the fusion of relic and lotus power. The wounds across his body throbbed painfully, but with each pulse of cursed energy, his qi stabilized, his foundation strengthened.
Every pain… every struggle… every death… feeds me. I am not merely surviving; I am growing.
---
Beneath the ruins, Shen Zong discovered an ancient chamber previously hidden by rubble and shadow. Within it lay stone tablets etched with inscriptions older than any current sect, describing the lives and deaths of cultivators who sought immortality and failed.
So many tried… so many fell.
He ran his fingers over the inscriptions. Whispered knowledge from beyond the grave seeped into his mind, revealing techniques to stabilize cursed qi, extend lifespan, and control demonic energy without losing oneself entirely.
The words were fragmented, cryptic, but Shen Zong's mind, calm and cunning, deciphered them with precision. He muttered softly, "Immortality… is not merely strength. It is control. It is patience. It is sacrifice."
---
Hours passed. The boy experimented with the relics, combining their powers with the lotus in meticulous harmony. Shadows extended, coiling and retracting. The gauntlet enhanced his strength, but also acted as a stabilizer for the lotus' hunger. The whip could now siphon qi from multiple sources simultaneously, feeding him even faster—but at the risk of drawing unwanted attention.
Shen Zong's body ached, black veins tracing across his skin, yet his mind was sharper than ever. Pain is knowledge. Knowledge is power. Power… is immortality.
---
But even in the ruins, he was not alone.
Subtle disturbances in the shadows hinted at observers. Demons, attracted by the surge of cursed qi, lurked nearby, as well as sect disciples hiding in distant peaks. Some wished to recruit him, some to destroy him. All underestimated the patience and cunning of the boy.
He smirked faintly. "Patience… patience is a weapon sharper than any blade. Let them watch. Let them wait. Let them make the first mistake."
---
By dawn, Shen Zong had mastered a new level of control over the lotus and relics. Each petal radiated in precise harmony with the obsidian gauntlet and shadow whip, his body now a conduit for demonic and cursed energies. The inscriptions from the Fallen Saints' tablets hinted at even greater powers—techniques capable of life extension, qi manipulation, and possibly immortality itself.
He stood atop the highest pillar in the ruins, gazing at the distant mountains, wind carrying the scent of qi from distant sects. His eyes were calm, ruthless, and sharp.
The world will come for me. He whispered. Let it. Every challenge… every enemy… every betrayal… will bloom the lotus further.
And somewhere, in the farthest shadows, new eyes observed, calculating. Even ancient demonic forces had begun to take note: a boy orphaned by fate, cursed by destiny, wielding relics of the Fallen Saints and a lotus that devoured all in its path.
Shen Zong… they whispered. You will not be ignored.