It had been three straight weeks since Qiren had arrived in the Abyss and climbed down Blue Sea that constantly supplied water and light to this region of the Underworld.
They flowed through the Azure Pit—what some called the Great Fissure in the ceiling—casting its cold blue glow over everything below.
In that time, he had begun to thrive in his new environment by pushing his contracting ability to its absolute limit. He understood that finding new ways to use it—along with his Shamanic Dao—would be the key to his salvation.
He started small, attempting to locate a strong Minotaur demon on its own and force it into a bodyguard role.
That proved nearly impossible.
They always moved in packs of seven or more, making the chance of finding one alone almost nonexistent. All he could do was watch from the skies as they tore apart anything that crossed their field of view.
This forced him to confront his shortcomings.
Even though he had survived the island archipelago's brutal selection, he hadn't done so through physical prowess. His survival had been luck—born from rebirth, awakening, and transfiguration. He had cast away his bad luck, for better or worse, and ridden that momentum as far as it would take him.
But luck always runs out.
Yes, he held an advantage now thanks to his adult mentality—but what happened when the other juvenile demons matured? What if they learned to outthink him, overcame his current edge through Dao cultivation and racial traits?
At his core, he was still human.
And humans couldn't predict the growth curve of monsters.
So he formed an idea.
He would take what he already understood and expand it until he could surpass their rate of growth.
That was when he truly began experimenting with his shamanic Dao.
Flight alone wasn't enough. It wouldn't save him from airborne threats. That led his thoughts back to summoning rituals—if he could perfect those, he could fight or escape from both ground-based and aerial enemies.
He began by using the Fruit of Rage as an anchor—it carried the soul of his formerly contracted demon after all. At first, he made progress, opening portals between two bases. He could flee to one, trigger the formation, and emerge from the other.
But it wasn't enough.
What if he couldn't reach a base in time? What if he lacked the negative karma needed to activate it? What if he was trapped underground, boxed in by dead ends while his pursuers closed in?
That problem stalled him.
For the moment, it was the best solution he had.
So he decided it would have to suffice—at least until he began actively hunting demons.
On his fifth day, he discovered something crucial: the acute sense of smell demons possessed for fear.
The realization came during one of his imbuing trials. He had experimented with transferring emotions—hope, pain, fear—into objects like flowers, bark, and stone. He succeeded… but unintentionally attracted a juvenile demon that followed the scent.
That was when he understood fear's true potential.
At first, he drew inspiration from Western dreamcatchers. He wove several using his own hair, animal bones, and other materials, intending them to act as demon traps and alter his hunting strategy.
Then another idea struck.
What if he added a contract?
If any demon other than himself touched the object, it would forfeit its soul.
It was perfect—a way to sit back and collect souls effortlessly. He even bound two contract-faced parchments together so both sides appeared blank.
But one by one, they were stolen.
And no souls came.
That was when he realized the flaw: contracts had to be visible to function. Even if demons couldn't read Mandarin, they needed to see writing—or at least recognize that something was written there.
So he revised the next batch.
This time, he added a clause: upon contact, the writing would reveal itself. If the demon failed to return the object to its original position within three seconds, its soul would be forfeited to the Master of the Contract.
Qiren.
By touching the page, the wager began.
That adjustment led to a cascade of discoveries that followed.
BOOOOM
A violent explosion rang through the forest, shattering stone, tearing flesh, and rupturing the organs of the demon caught beside it. Its entire right arm was eviscerated. Flames clung to its body as it reached out blindly, writhing in pain.
"Ahhhhh!!!" the imp screamed, its cry raw with agony.
"Hahahaha"
Twisted laughter echoed before it.
Qiren smiled. "Forgive me—it seems I didn't store enough negative karma into that talisman before setting it up. Managing distribution on such a large scale is difficult, so I'll end this quickly."
He grabbed the imp through the wound in its throat and soared above the treeline.
"I hope you lived a full life," he murmured, releasing it from a height he knew it wouldn't survive.
His face twisted into a vile grin as he maintained eye contact the entire way down.
Splat!
The imp's body struck the blasted rocks below, smashing apart with skull-shattering force.
Only then did Qiren's smile fade as he dropped the act.
"I'll never get used to fishing out fear," he said softly.
He loosened the spiraled drill spear, unwrapped the hair, coiled it neatly, and tied it back to his side as before.
His wings carried him down to the ground.
Where a soul was leaving its owner's body, he reached out, feeling its terror, and swallowed the outer shell whole.
Spirit mist spiraled into his mouth, while the core soul hovered above his palm. His second mouth opened, funneling in more mist.
He still didn't know where that mouth actually sent the souls it devoured—there was no cavity like the one linked to his throat. It felt more like a conduit… or perhaps mere decoration.
Fear: 145.0↑ 146.8
Pain: 196.3↑ 200.1
"I'll have to make another set of talismans."
He brought the used talisman to his mouth and chewed it apart.
The soul floated freely for a moment while he prepared.
Refinement Qi: 276.01 ↑
He summoned a strip of parchment and embedded the spirit fragment he had carved from himself into it.
The parchment glowed.
An image of an eye formed on its surface.
"Separate…"
His eyes closed as he focused. Crimson light echoed his command, slicing cleanly down the center of the eye.
The two halves split evenly.
"Supreme laws, hear my call. Impart your wisdom and bear witness."
The pages turned. Five rings appeared behind each sheet.
Qiren focused.
Azure Pit…
Wave sigils formed between the circles.
Infernal Bite… Burning Hell… Underworld Seal… Bone Key…
The images tied to his understanding of those laws manifested. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the ember formation clearly.
Slowly, the embers dimmed as the darkness beneath his eyelids was drawn into the two sheets.
The world turned white.
Shadows vanished.
Then an ocean bloomed beneath him.
Waves thrashed violently, igniting with blue flame.
Qiren thrust his hands forward. The two incomplete talismans shuddered with dark miasma.
His left hand pointed skyward.
The left talisman released more and more darkness, rising higher, struggling to reintegrate the obsidian hue he forced into it—like a miniature sun drifting through a white sky.
Below, the ocean roared.
Chains emerged.
A giant figure knelt on the seabed—a colossal man bound in iron, posed like a forgotten colossus. His hair fell over his face and shoulders as he stared upward, his features uncomfortably similar to Qiren's own.
Qiren moved his right arm, guiding the second talisman downward toward the colossus.
Steam erupted.
The wave-and-fire symbol ignited.
Blue embers danced as the dark miasma parted, allowing the steam to be drawn inward—endless, spiraling, devoured by the talisman.
Qiren's arm trembled violently despite the distance.
Heat still found him.
Blisters formed along his right arm as the talisman continued to draw in power.
Not yet… Not yet…
Blood seeped from beneath his fingernails as he clenched his teeth.
Bumps rose along his forehead—not burns.
Something else.
They grew larger. Some split open.
Violet feathers pushed through the flesh.
A thread of miasma descended from the pitch-black sun above.
A strand of searing steam rose from below.
They intertwined—black and white spiraling together—
—and the world snapped back.
"H—ng"
Qiren gasped, eyes flying open.
The two completed talismans floated before him.
He panted for several moments, then turned toward the remaining soul.
"It's time to bring you back."
He secured the talismans at his waistband, then grasped the soul and knelt beside the corpse. He pressed it back where it belonged, then slid his fingers beneath his pelt.
Pulling out a knife and an intensely glowing orange talisman, he revealed a charm etched with the image of a heart—formed from cold spots left across the ember-lit surface. Along its edges were inscribed the words:
Draw on the Qi sealed within thee.
Hinder the soul's right to depart.
Impart vitality into the body of the damned.
Compress and repeat.
All of it circled the anatomical heart sigil in Mendrian.
He placed the charm against the imp's chest, then drew his stone dagger across his palm.
Qiren lifted the demon's head, prying its mouth open as his blood dripped onto its lips.
"Tier One Compressions."
The charm flared, sending a surge of Qi and warmth into the imp's heart. The sudden impact forced it to beat.
Thump.
A second compression followed.
Thump. Thump.
The imp coughed, choking back to life.
Its throat muscles moved on instinct, swallowing the blood in its mouth.
Seeing this, Qiren stopped. Too much blood would make the creature a nuisance to carry.
He let the talisman stabilize its heartbeat before hoisting the body over his shoulder.
Swoosh!
His wings snapped open, propelling him into the air.
He flew toward a massive red-leaf tree, descending into a hidden entrance at its base that led into a simple abode—marked by an array carved into the floor and flesh banners lining the walls.
Qiren landed in his secondary hideout.
The hanging talismans rustled overhead, glowing faintly as he stepped into the center of the formation.
The air smelled of ash; the floor was still warm. His gaze swept over the souls resting on his three bone altars—they had dimmed slightly.
"Rift… open," he murmured, picturing another formation layout: a stone cave with a large formation surrounded by a dozen soul altars.
The formation flared, and miasma surged into a blinding vortex around him. Space bent and twisted before he re-emerged inside the cave he had envisioned.
His gaze lifted to the ceiling.
There it was—his anchor.
The Fruit of Rage, used as a beacon between this place and the hill beneath the red-leaf tree.
He cracked his neck as he stepped forward, the formation deactivating upon his arrival. Adjusting the corpse on his shoulder, he flew toward the one-way tunnel leading out of the chamber.
He glided through the dark corridor, switching to infrared to better read his surroundings. A heavy concentration of heat burned ahead.
Qiren deactivated his infrared vision as the tunnel flooded with blue light.
He continued forward until the sound of rushing water reached his ears—and then he emerged into a vast open drop at the tunnel's end.
A torrent of water thundered beneath him, cascading down stone walls in a continuous landslide, its surface crowned with blazing flames. Qiren flapped across a stadium-wide chasm.
The walls were carved with ledges stretching ten to twenty meters deep, illuminated by the light below. From them, the faint silhouette of agriculture could be seen.
One ledge held handmade clay pots, boxes, and vessels lined near the edge to bake. Some were cracked, burnt, or misshapen—ruined by falling stones while still soft.
Another ledge held large clay containers filled with soil and newly planted mushrooms.
Higher up, skinned furs and butchered meat hung from wooden racks, slowly drying in the heat. The remaining ledges had been designated for other purposes—storage, observation, or preparation.
Qiren lowered the corpse onto a small cleared area and released it. He then flew to his meat station, passing the racks of dried flesh.
He grabbed a jar of blood, lifted the clay lid, and brought it to his mouth. Tilting his head back, he drank the iron-tasting liquid.
This wasn't a craving—it was a habit, picked up to help his vitality.
He swallowed an entire liter before setting the jar down.
"Disgusting," he muttered, wiping the excess from his second mouth.
"Shff… shff…"
The self-inflicted wound began to make wet, shifting sounds as skin crept inward and muscle and nerves reworked.
"Slk"—tissue sliding.
"Fthp"—blood thickening, then stopping.
"Srrlp"—muscle knitting, reluctantly.
Soon, the piercing wound had scarred over—irritated and incomplete, but manageable.
Blood tastes awful… but—
He turned his head downward, thermal vision snapping back into place. Six human-shaped heat signatures rested on the lower ledges.
—with enough of it, even demons become resilient.
...
Author's Note
Sorry for not uploading yesterday.
I've been too sick to write or even leave the house to get my brain flowing for new chapters.
I'm sure you all don't want me to get into the details, so here's a new chapter. I'd promise another one later to make up for missing a day, but I don't know if I can with this headache.
Peace. Love,
your favorite daydreamer ✌️