In the beginning, there was but one realm.
A vast, boundless world where humans, demons, and beasts shared the same land. Though their natures were different, balance prevailed. Humans sought knowledge and cultivation, demons pursued power and pride, while beasts lived by the instincts of heaven and earth. Together, they existed in a fragile harmony that lasted for countless generations.
But peace is delicate, and greed knows no end.
Among the demons rose a sovereign whose name shook the heavens—Mo Yuan, the Demon King. His strength surpassed all others, and his ambition burned without limit. At first, he sought the eternal path of immortality, desiring to transcend the cycle of life and death. Yet in his pursuit, he stepped into the demonic way, where desire twisted into madness and power devoured reason.
Mo Yuan's heart darkened. He saw the other races not as companions, but as obstacles. With the demons under his command, he unleashed a war upon the humans and beasts, a war so great that rivers ran red and mountains crumbled.
For centuries, the realm was drowned in blood. Humans cried out for salvation, beasts roared in defiance, and the world itself trembled beneath the chaos. Just as despair threatened to consume all, the Immortals descended from beyond the veil of heaven. With power that split the skies and shook the seas, they struck down Mo Yuan, ending his reign of terror.
Yet the damage had already been done.
The war had scarred the world beyond repair, its harmony shattered. The single realm that once bound all races together collapsed under the weight of resentment and bloodshed. To preserve what remained, the Immortals severed it into three separate realms:
The Human Realm, where mortals and cultivators strive against the heavens.
The Demon Realm, forever tainted by Mo Yuan's fall into madness.
The Beast Realm, where creatures of fang and claw roam unchecked.
From that day onward, the realms have remained divided. The scars of the war still linger, and the shadow of Mo Yuan's ambition has never truly faded. Some say that deep within the cursed lands where the blood of countless fell, fragments of his legacy remain—waiting for the one fated to uncover them.
And it was into such a land, the Abyssal Battlefield, that Quinn and his sister had wandered.
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Quinn was fast asleep when he suddenly grunted from his sleep and woke up. The pain on his shoulder was becoming unbearable for him. After days of not treating the wound, it had become infected and was eating deep into his flesh. If he didn't get it treated any time soon, he may end up losing his left arm.
He cursed inwardly, under gritted teeth and slowly rose to his feet. Zi was fast asleep so he didn't want to wake her up, not when it was still long into the night.
He glanced at her one more time and then ventured outside the cave. The night breeze swept past him, brushing his face. His long, silky hair danced beautifully in the moonlight, catching the faint silver glow of the stars above.
His features, though still youthful, carried the sharpness of someone forced to grow up far too quickly. A straight nose, pale lips pressed tightly from pain, and dark eyes that reflected both stubbornness and exhaustion. His clothes, once simple traveler's garments, were now torn and dirt-stained from days of wandering through the cursed land. Yet even so, there was a strange resilience in his bearing, as though no amount of hardship could make him bow completely.
The wind carried with it a faint metallic scent, mixed with the dry earth of the Abyssal Battlefield. Everywhere he looked, the land seemed dead. Cracked soil stretched endlessly, littered with ancient bones half-buried in the dirt, remnants of a war that time itself had tried to forget. No grass, no trees, only silence broken by the occasional whisper of the night breeze.
Clutching his shoulder, Quinn staggered further away from the cave, each step crunching softly against the hardened ground. He hoped to find a stream or perhaps some herbs—anything to soothe the infection slowly devouring his flesh. But instead, his wandering feet carried him toward a patch of land where the soil looked… different.
A faint shimmer caught his eye.
At first, he thought it was a trick of the moonlight, but when he crouched down, he saw the edge of something buried beneath the sand. The wind had eroded the soil just enough for a corner to peek through.
Quinn hesitated. His instincts screamed that this land was cursed, that nothing good could come from what lay hidden beneath the battlefield. Yet, a pull he couldn't explain urged him closer, as though the earth itself wanted him to uncover it.
Reaching out with trembling fingers, he brushed away the dirt. What he found was not stone, nor bone, but an ancient scroll bound in worn leather, its surface etched with strange markings that glowed faintly in the moonlight.
The air around him grew heavy, pressing down on his chest. For a moment, it felt as if he couldn't breathe.
Quinn swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. His fingers hovered above the scroll, torn between fear and a strange, irresistible curiosity.
A faint pulse vibrated against his palm as though the thing were alive. He almost dropped it in alarm, but his curiosity outweighed his fear.
Slowly, he unwrapped the brittle leather binding.
The instant the scroll cracked open, a surge of energy burst forth, sweeping through the air like a gust of unseen wind. The sand around him stirred violently, bones rattled, and the ground itself groaned in protest. Quinn staggered back, eyes wide, but the scroll unfurled on its own, glowing symbols rising from the parchment as if written by light and shadow together.
Strange runes twisted across the air before him, ancient words he did not recognize yet somehow felt he could almost understand. They burned themselves into his mind, searing across his vision.
His shoulder flared with unbearable pain. The infection that had been rotting his flesh writhed under the glow, and to his shock, the corrupted wound began to close, the festering blackness burning away like smoke in sunlight. The agony was replaced by a searing warmth that coursed through his entire body, filling his veins with a strength he had never known.
Quinn gasped, clutching his chest as the scroll's light poured into him. For a heartbeat, he saw visions—mountains splitting beneath a single palm, oceans boiling, skies torn apart by demonic fire. And then, above it all, the shadow of a man whose very presence shook heaven and earth… Mo Yuan.
The vision vanished as suddenly as it came, leaving Quinn collapsed on the cracked earth, the scroll lying silently beside him. Its glow faded, but the markings had etched themselves deep into his memory, as though carved into his soul.
Breathing hard, he realized two things: the pain in his shoulder was gone, and something inside him had awakened. A power that did not belong to ordinary humans.
He stared at his trembling hands, his voice barely a whisper.
"What… have I done?"