Three weeks later
Beneath the lower mantle of the blazing Blue Sea lay a hidden world of ash.
The trees were scarred by raging forest fires, their bark charred and split, the soil beneath them darkened by years of destruction and flame. Smoke clung low to the ground, never quite dispersing, as if the land itself exhaled heat.
Mountain peaks loomed overhead, their jagged spines drenched in dripping Azure Flames. Rivers of glowing blue fire spilled down their slopes, flowing from cracks above and cascading into this realm of frequent infernos and demonic fauna.
Yet even here—despite the unending flames—life endured.
Strange plants and creatures thrived in the heat.
Demonic trees with living roots and flame-resistant leaves stretched skyward. Twisted thorn bushes clustered beneath them.
Wild dire-wolves prowled the ash fields, while cunning serpents slithered through blades of dark grass sharp enough to cut flesh.
Poisonous plants bloomed in clusters, and from certain branches hung peculiar charms—two sheets of ash-burned parchment, tethered together and swaying gently in the heat.
One sheet was completely blank.
The other was thin and rectangular, palm-sized, etched with strange, unfamiliar sigils.
Even in this hellish world, that sight was unusual.
"GgRrrr…"
A pale imp—barely 124 centimeters tall—climbed along the trunk of a darkened tree. Its claws bit into the bark as it hauled itself upward, goat-hooved feet scraping for purchase.
Its nose twitched.
A tantalizing scent drifted from the woven charm hanging from the lower branches of the red-leaf tree. The imp didn't know why, but the object reeked of fear—and carried a faint trace of negative karma.
Scritch… scrrrk…
"Haa… haa…"
Saliva pooled in its mouth.
Since descending into the Abyss, it hadn't managed a proper hunt. Everything it encountered had been larger, stronger—forcing it to settle for scraps by preying on creatures even weaker than itself, again and again.
But now…
It remembered inherited memories—whispers of high-rank treasures and relics born from worldly laws. Fruits. Minerals. Weapons. Dao-enhancing artifacts that were a cut above anything a demon could craft alone.
And in that moment, it was certain it had found one.
If it could refine it… then maybe it would finally gain a foothold in this barbaric underworld.
"Grrr…"
The imp reached out.
The branch snapped.
—!!!
Thud!
Dust fanned outward.
"Cough—! Cough!"
Ash flooded its lungs as it hit the ground. It staggered, covering its mouth with one claw, choking as it struggled to breathe.
When the dust settled, it realized something.
The black thread tying the charm to the tree had snapped.
The imp stared down at its hands.
The woven charm.
The parchment.
Both were now in its grasp.
One eye opened wide as a crooked smile crept across its face.
It had succeeded.
Then—
The parchment ignited with burning embers.
By Touching This Soul Catcher, the Wager Begins
If you are not the Contractor, and your flesh, claw, hair, or essence makes contact with this mark—
You have five minutes to successfully escape the Contractor's hunt and fulfill the following conditions.
Terms of the Wager:
From the moment of contact with this object, you must relocate it to a different tree more than three kilometers from your current position.
Failure Conditions:
If the object is not hung within five minutes,
If it is damaged, altered, or misplaced,
Or if time expires—
Your entire soul structure is forfeit.
Payment Clause:
The soul shall be claimed immediately and transferred in full to the Master of the Contract:
Qiren.
The imp's eyes filled with panic.
Its arms shook violently as it finished reading the Abyssal contract.
A trap.
A demon's cunning snare.
Its heart thundered in its chest as it scrambled to its feet, breath coming in ragged gasps. There was no choice—only motion.
If it valued its life…
It had to run.
…
Several miles from the red-leaf tree, beneath the sprawling roots of a giant tree perched atop a hill, lay a hidden hollow.
A winged demon sat cross-legged within the cavity. He was short-haired, with stitches running beneath his jawline, his posture still and deliberate.
His complexion was pale—except for his ink-black limbs and skin marked with tattoo-like patterns.
His wings were a deep violet, threaded with golden feathers that served as accents against the black-wolf loincloth he wore.
Two pelts—one red, one blue—had been sewn into the cloth, along with the skulls of their former owners, tied to his hips and left to dangle as grim ornaments.
Together, the layers acted as garments that fully covered his lower half.
In one corner of the hollow lay a pile of animal skins arranged into a crude bed. Along the walls, white demon skins were stretched and framed with sticks, hanging like banners.
Twelve pelts lined the wall beside the bedding.
Around the room, three piles of bones circled individual melon-sized orbs, surrounded by tangible white light that constantly radiated a misty cold and a steady glow.
Most of the light, however, came from the ceiling roots above.
They rustled softly, heavy with black talismans etched with ringed circles. Two ember-red lines split each talisman into a band, marked with smaller circles—each bearing a symbol of the five laws:
A burial ground wreathed in flame.
Burning clawed fingers.
An insect's head.
An oceanic wave and a ball of fire.
A pile of bones pierced by a key.
At the center of each talisman was a final circle bearing a single word:
TRACK
It glowed hotter than the rest.
The light shifted—from dull ember to deep, consuming blue.
The center of the talisman began to burn away as the surrounding symbols flared. Thick miasma pooled where the word had been, flowing and churning.
The demon beneath the chandelier of talismans reached up, tore one free, and placed it on the ground.
"Rift… open…"
He formed a mudra.
The embers ignited.
Lines of light peeled away from the talisman and carved themselves into the blood-stained earth. Flames spread outward, forming a vast array—five concentric rings etched with sigils.
At the center, the miasma thickened, vortexing into a dense cloud.
The slit on the demon's forehead opened.
An eye emerged—one capable of peering into the darkness in ways others could not.
The world transformed.
Heat and cold bled into one another, forming a living calligraphy of contrast. The miasma no longer obscured his vision.
He stood.
The walls of the hollow remained cold and damp—but beyond them, he saw a deer.
In the next instant, he was beside it.
The monster's doe startled, the flames around its ankles burning brighter as it took off running.
Darkness trailed from his body as he observed its red and yellow glow through violet and gold eyes. Then he turned sharply to his right—
A forest fire flooded his vision, blinding in its intensity. If what he sought was there, it would be impossible to isolate.
He turned again.
This direction was cooler—washed in deep blue hues, broken only by occasional spikes of heat.
Then—
SWISH. SWISH.
The entity moved.
He surged forward with supernatural speed, tearing through brush and tangled terrain.
The eye on his forehead—and the two embedded within his wings—burned red, bleeding as they locked onto a single moving flare of Azure Flame.
A small figure.
Running through the forest as fast as it could.
Huff! Huff!
It breathed heavily, hooved feet clicking as it sprinted, fingers clenched tightly around the charm in its hand.
"Huff… huff…"
The figure leapt over roots, tore through thorns, stomped across mushrooms and jagged rocks.
It ran and ran—
A sharp grunt tore from its throat as something pierced into its back.
It twisted its head, muscles locking tight. "???"
The moment it turned, it saw a figure shrouded in dark smoke closing in from behind—bursts of miasma left in its wake like echoes of skipped movement, each one meters apart.
"You've lost…" the miasma-covered figure called out, one hand reaching for the whip-like object tied at his waist.
The pale imp froze, its body locking into a tight knot as it watched the figure grasp a bamboo handle and lash thin bristles straight toward its neck.
Whsssh—CRACK!
The strands hardened the instant they met flesh. Its ears rang. Skin tore. The force snapped its neck sideways—
—and sent the imp crashing into a boulder.
As the miasma dissipated, its attacker became fully visible.
"Now let's make this nice and easy," Qiren whispered, eyes bleeding back into crimson trails—except for the violet orb on his forehead and beneath his first two wings.
His wings spread as he stepped forward, grabbing the imp by the hair. At the same time, he raised his whip—imbuing each bristle with Qi from the base upward, slowly rotating the handle as the strands locked together into a spiraling spear.
Swish—
"Ahhhh!!!"
In a desperate gamble, the imp flung its palms forward. Sparks erupted, and a cold silence cut between them before—
BOOOOM!
A small explosion ignited before Qiren could strike.
He didn't even bother stepping back.
His grip tightened around the demon's skull.
As the blast wind died down, he drove the weapon straight through the imp's throat, pinning it into the boulder behind.
"You should've aimed better," he muttered, pulling the twisted hair-spike free and wiping it against the edge of his pelts.
"How about I leave you with a proper demonstration of how demons fight," he continued calmly, "from one weak man to another."
He rested the weapon on his shoulder, holding it loosely with his right hand.
His left arm shifted—muscle bulging, skin hardening, bumps forming along the surface. The flesh sharpened and transformed, taking on a golden sheen like a bird's talons.
Without hesitation, he plunged his arm through his own abdomen.
Flesh tore open in a wide, bleeding gash.
The imp's eyes widened in horror as it choked on its own blood, struggling to comprehend the madness before it.
Qiren didn't seem bothered by the self-inflicted wound. He continued searching inside himself despite the damage.
"Take a good look," he said.
He pulled his arm free, holding a glowing, pale-white solid fragment in his hand.
The imp's eyes widened further.
A soul fragment.
"You see—if you imbue a piece of yourself into your chosen weapon ahead of time…" Qiren slid the spike off his shoulder, pointing it toward the still-burning talisman clenched in the imp's hand. "You can set conditions around it."
"I don't really know why," he continued thoughtfully, "but the moment your soul is infused into something, you gain a stronger link to it. Maybe it's meant to help reclaim your spirit fragments when stolen."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I've seen demons use it differently—making weapons with higher Dao efficiency, feeding fragments to lesser insects, planting them around their territory to find their way back…"
His smile widened.
"But personally, I think they're best used as Dao extensions—letting me deal damage up close or from afar."
The imp's ears twitched weakly.
Qiren's voice echoed softly as the talisman at its side flared—tiny lines of writing igniting in rapid succession.
Detonate. Detonate. Detonate. Detonate.
BOOOOOM!!!