TEASER (Optional but Recommended):
Centuries of suffering. A Dao forbidden by Heaven. A mortal whose blood-red eyes awaken a demon long dormant. Linfeng's path begins where morality ends, and the heavens themselves take notice.
Rain fell like silver threads across the shattered stones of Yuanfeng's abandoned abode.
The wind whispered through broken windows, carrying the faint scent of extinguished incense and centuries of silence.
Linfeng stepped inside, calm and deliberate, yet his eyes betrayed a storm of memories, grief, and moral compromise.
He had returned after centuries, wandering through the remnants of his master's life. Yuanfeng, the Second Demon God, had survived the Holy War of the Immortal Realm, wounded and scarred. He had retreated to the Mortal Realm, seeking peace and a worthy successor. Linfeng had been that successor. And now, Yuanfeng was gone.
Fingers brushing the cracked altar, Linfeng lifted a yellowed parchment. Words penned centuries ago whispered through him:
"Linfeng… if you read this, the world has moved on, and I am no longer.
The path of demons is lonely, but one must endure.
If you reach the end, remember — the sky above is not the only sky.
Carry on the legacy, and surpass even the limits of mortality."
A shadow of a smile crossed his pale lips. Centuries ago, he had been a mortal without talent, clawing through starvation, sickness, and humiliation. A Foundation Establishment Mid Stage cultivator, barely clinging to life after three hundred years of futile existence.
He remembered the night that had changed everything. Yuanfeng had appeared when he lay dying, body frail and qi unstable. The immortal's aura carried centuries of battle and survival, yet his voice was calm, unyielding.
"You have no talent," Yuanfeng said.
"But your will… your persistence… it can become a weapon. Follow me, and I will show you a path beyond Heaven's design. Fengyuan once walked this road — the method he used will now be yours."
That method was a Dao of blood and despair, a path forbidden by Heaven itself. Linfeng had to consume the essence of another cultivator — a Nascent Soul master — to rise beyond the mortal shackles. The cost was absolute: death for the victim, the awakening of a demon within, and a path no mortal should tread.
The chosen one was Jin Wei, a three-hundred-year-old Nascent Soul cultivator of the Orthodox Path. Every movement radiated Dao, every breath a testament to decades of cultivation. His eyes were brilliant, sharp, alive with pride and defiance.
Chains of spiritual energy rattled as Jin Wei struggled, Nascent Soul power flaring and snapping like a storm. Fear and rage burned in his gaze.
"You… you monster!"
Linfeng's blood-red eyes met his. Calm. Unflinching. No hesitation. No dread.
This act was not forced. It had always been in him, dormant, now awakened.
He reached forward. Hands steady.
Jin Wei screamed, pure and human — full of fear, rage, and disbelief. But Linfeng felt only inevitability.
He plunged his hands into Jin Wei's chest. The heart throbbed, alive, screaming in its own way, and he pulled it free. Blood coated his fingers, hot and sticky. Yet it was not the gore that shook him — it was the pulse of talent, of life, of raw Dao essence, flooding into his body.
Pain tore through him. A twisting, burning agony as Jin Wei's Nascent Soul essence collided with his mortal flesh. Grief clawed at his chest. Rage boiled over at a world that demanded despair from the weak. And beneath it all, something dark stirred — a voice deep in his bones whispering that this was who he truly was.
Jin Wei's eyes, wide and glimmering with disbelief, stared into him.
"How… how can you…?"
Linfeng's lips were pale, almost a smile, but his voice was steady:
"Because… this is who I am. The path… was never forced. It has always been mine."
Every heartbeat, every pulse of stolen power, twisted his body and mind. Pain and ecstasy merged; grief and fury became clarity. His muscles screamed as Core Formation edged forward, Golden Core shimmered, and the first whispers of Nascent Soul danced tantalizingly out of reach.
Jin Wei's struggles weakened. The last flicker of fear in his eyes reflected in Linfeng's blood-red gaze. He did not weep. He did not rejoice. He simply… accepted the act, the consequence, the awakening.
When the last breath left Jin Wei's body, Linfeng collapsed to his knees. His chest heaved. The stolen essence of a Nascent Soul cultivator twisted within him, fire and ice entwined, agony and exhilaration bound together.
"This… is the path of demons," he whispered, voice low and cold.
"The cost… is eternal. And the demon… has awoken."
He placed a hand on the sword at his side. Its steel was cold, yet it thrummed with memories — slaughters committed, forbidden ecstasies endured, lives consumed for power.
Gu beasts writhed beneath his skin, coiling with his muscles, whispering of pain and heights unattainable by ordinary mortals.
Yet beneath it all, his mind was a still lake — calm, philosophical, unbroken.
Even standing on the horizon of the Mortal Realm, mountains piercing the clouds, rivers silver threads across the earth, Linfeng felt the enormity of existence pressing down.
Though centuries had passed since Jin Wei's essence entered him, he remained mortal. Soul Formation was still a distant horizon; Spirit and Immortal Realms towers of unattainable light.
He thought of Fengyuan, the First Demon God who had broken Heaven itself. He thought of Yuanfeng, the Second, who survived the Holy War and entrusted him with the forbidden Dao. And now… he was the Third. The inheritor of cruelty, wisdom, and forbidden knowledge.
"Heaven… you withheld life, withheld talent, withheld truth! You demanded despair… and I endured!"
Thunder answered him. Lightning split the clouds, reflecting the fury in his blood-red eyes.
Then, calm returned, philosophical, like a lake after a storm.
"Despair is a tool. Pain is a teacher. Talent is a seed… and I will cultivate it beyond your design."
The parchment on Yuanfeng's altar trembled. A hidden fold revealed a faint, blood-red sigil — older than time itself. Beneath it, a single line shimmered:
"The true legacy of the First Demon God lies beyond the Spirit Realm."
Above the clouds, unseen by mortal eyes, the heavens rippled. A presence stirred — ancient, cold, vast — and a voice, low and echoing, carried across the storm:
"Linfeng…"
The name vibrated through mountains, rivers, and skies, as if the multiverse itself had taken notice.
Linfeng's blood-red eyes narrowed. Calm returned, philosophical, unbroken. The heavens had observed. Something waited. Something powerful. Something that could shatter the world or bend it to its will.
"If Heaven stands in my way…"
"…then let Heaven perish."
The Third Demon God stepped forward. Rain washed over him, but his resolve remained untouched. The path had only just begun.
And somewhere, far above, a figure — unseen, unfathomable — watched the rise of the one called Linfeng.