The outskirts of North Ridge City were a world apart.
The wealthy district was wrapped in lantern glow and polished stone.
The central market buzzed with life even deep into the night.
The sect compounds, guarded by arrays, pulsed with steady qi.
But the slums?
They were a graveyard that forgot to stop breathing.
Xue Yao stepped into the broken streets as though crossing a border between realms.
Dilapidated houses leaned against each other like dying beggars.
Rotten planks creaked with every gust of wind.
The air smelled of decay, old water, mold, and hopelessness.
Few lanterns burned here.
Those that did flickered weakly, as though afraid of the dark around them.
A dog barked once — then whimpered and went silent.
Xue Yao paused.
The shadows here were thick… dense… almost eager.
Perfect.
Abyss whispered:
"This place welcomes death. A fitting cradle for your first steps."
He agreed.
Weak souls lived here.
Weak bodies died here.
And where the weak died, remnants lingered.
He walked deeper, stepping over trash piles and collapsed beams. Every movement was silent and measured, every sense open.
He could feel it — the faint tug of remnants drifting in corners like forgotten smoke.
He followed the pull.
It led him to a small alley behind a broken fence.
A man lay face-down on the ground, limbs stiff, skin pale. Rats clustered near the corpse, scattering when Xue Yao approached. The man's last breath had left his body hours ago, but the spiritual remnant clung to the alley's damp wall.
Xue Yao placed a hand on the corpse.
Black flame flickered.
The remnant dissolved into him like cold dew.
Barely anything — a wisp of regret, a sliver of hunger, a tiny scrap of life.
But every fragment mattered.
Abyss hummed:
"You will soon outgrow these crumbs."
"I need a foundation first," Xue Yao murmured.
"Then build one."
He moved on.
The slums became darker as the night deepened.
Voices whispered behind thin walls.
Children coughed in cramped rooms.
Fights broke out and ended quickly, leaving nothing but muffled groans and new corpses.
Xue Yao did not judge.
He collected.
A corpse behind a tavern.
A dying thief under a bridge.
A fevered child whose spirit slipped away quietly.
He devoured each remnant gently,
respectfully — not for mercy, but precision.
Every bit of Abyssal Essence strengthened the circuits weaving through his bones.
Every stolen memory added new shades to his perception.
And every soul fed the hunger thrumming beneath his skin.
Hours passed.
By the time Xue Yao reached the district's far edge, the moon had begun to sink.
He stopped.
A courtyard lay before him — long abandoned, walls cracked, gate half hanging, weeds overtaking the stone path.
A ruined temple.
Its statue had toppled long ago.
Its roof sagged like a bent spine.
But more importantly—
Remnants swirled inside it like faint smoke.
Xue Yao stepped forward slowly, eyes narrowing.
Abyss whispered with delight:
"A death-nest."
Old blood coated the stones.
Dried banners hung in tatters.
Then he saw why.
A faint mark — a sigil carved into the temple's inner wall.
A crime guild had once used this place.
Killings.
Torture.
Rituals.
Offerings to forbidden gods.
A perfect cradle for devouring.
Xue Yao pushed open the door.
It groaned like a dying throat.
Remnants drifted toward him instantly — half-formed spirits clinging to rotted beams, bloodstains, and old rope.
He extended his hand.
Abyssfire flickered.
Remnants streamed into him like hungry moths drawn to a flame.
Their cries were faint, fragmented, forgotten.
Xue Yao felt new whispers slip into his mind — a killer's cold precision, a thief's quick hands, a woman's final terror, a priest's broken faith.
All of it dissolved into him like ink into water.
His breath left him in a slow exhale.
"…Here."
He knelt in the center of the ruined temple.
The dust settled around him.
The silence thickened.
He rested one palm on the cracked floor.
"This place will be mine."
Abyss stirred.
"A nest of your own creation."
"Yes."
"And the first step toward claiming more."
Xue Yao explored the temple thoroughly.
Behind the altar, he found an underground chamber — once a ritual room.
Stone pillars lined the walls.
Rusted chains dangled from hooks.
Dried blood patterned the ground in symbols long forgotten.
He could feel remnants thick in the air — this room had seen countless deaths.
Perfect.
He sat cross-legged at the center.
Closed his eyes.
And listened.
Darkness settled inside him.
Abyss whispered:
"The second Vein is open. But the third requires stronger prey."
"I know."
"So you must lure them."
Xue Yao's eyes opened, cold and sharp.
"Exactly."
He wasn't foolish enough to go hunting cultivators yet.
Not without preparation.
Not without a place to disappear into.
Not without a base he could bleed into the shadows of.
The temple was ideal:
Abandoned.
Isolated.
Rotting.
Forgotten.
A perfect lair.
He spent the next hour cleaning the chamber with deliberate care.
He cleared rubble.
Removed debris.
Burned moldy cloth with small flickers of Abyssfire.
He carved a subtle sigil into the ground — not a ritual, but a focus point.
A place where remnants would gather more naturally.
He was shaping the room into a Remnant Sink — a crude but effective device that would draw weak spirits like insects to a lantern.
The district's high death rate would feed it constantly.
Abyss purred:
"You learn fast."
Xue Yao smirked.
"I've always learned fast."
Finally, he sat again.
The chamber was silent.
Calm.
Dark.
Proper.
He closed his eyes…
…only to feel something ripple through the city.
His eyes snapped open.
Abyss went still.
"A cultivator is searching for you."
Xue Yao's heartbeat slowed, sharpened.
"Strong?"
"Stronger than you. For now."
He rose, expression cold as winter stone.
"Where?"
"North Ridge Guard Division. Tracking spells. They found… a trace."
"What trace?"
"You."
Xue Yao exhaled.
Not fear.
Calculation.
"So soon."
"You are not forgotten," Abyss murmured.
He stepped toward the chamber's stairs.
His flame flickered softly along his palm.
"No matter."
His eyes narrowed with a predatory gleam.
"Let them come."
The temple around him darkened as if reacting to his voice.
Abyss whispered:
"Will you devour them?"
"Only if they die," he answered.
A beat of silence.
Then—
"I'll give them a chance."
Abyss laughed quietly.
"Mercy?"
"No."
He stepped into the night again.
"Information."