The first thing Eryndor learned…
Was that fear spreads faster than fire.
The body hit the ground with a dull, lifeless thud.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Every disciple nearby froze, their eyes locked onto the fallen figure—then slowly… they turned toward Eryndor.
Not with anger.
Not with confusion.
But with something far more dangerous.
Fear.
"He… he didn't move…"
"No technique… no chant…"
"How did he—?"
Eryndor stood still, his breath uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he had just surfaced from drowning.
Because in a way…
He had.
Inside him—
Something stirred.
Satisfied.
"Pathetic," the voice whispered.
"That one barely fed us."
Eryndor clenched his fists.
"Shut up."
The words slipped out under his breath.
But someone heard.
"Who are you talking to?"
A sharp voice cut through the tension.
The crowd parted.
A figure stepped forward.
Unlike the others, his robes were pristine—deep blue with silver linings. A symbol rested on his chest: a blade wrapped in flowing energy.
An inner sect disciple.
His presence alone changed the air.
He wasn't weak.
His eyes fell on the corpse.
Then on Eryndor.
"You," he said coldly. "What did you just do?"
Eryndor didn't answer.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he didn't know how.
What did I do?
The voice inside him chuckled.
"You fed."
"I asked you a question."
The disciple stepped closer.
The pressure intensified.
Eryndor felt it immediately.
This man's Qi—
It was denser. Stronger.
Alive.
And for the first time since waking in this world…
The hunger reacted violently.
His vision flickered.
Darkness edged his sight.
"Better…" the god whispered.
"Much better."
"No…" Eryndor muttered.
"What was that?" the disciple snapped.
Eryndor took a step back.
Wrong move.
The disciple's expression hardened.
"You dare ignore me?"
In an instant—
He moved.
A blur of motion.
A hand shot forward, gripping Eryndor by the throat and slamming him into the stone wall.
Pain exploded through his back.
"You think killing an outer disciple makes you something special?" the man sneered. "You're still trash."
Eryndor's hands grabbed at the wrist choking him.
Weak.
Too weak.
His lungs burned.
And then—
It came again.
Not gently this time.
Violently.
The hunger surged.
The moment skin touched skin—
The connection formed.
The disciple's eyes widened.
"What—?"
His Qi… moved.
Not by his will.
But toward Eryndor.
Fast.
Too fast.
Eryndor felt it flood into him—hot, overwhelming, intoxicating.
Stronger than before.
So much stronger.
His body trembled.
"Yes…" the voice sighed.
"Now you understand."
The disciple panicked.
His grip loosened.
"Stop—!"
But Eryndor couldn't.
Or maybe…
A part of him didn't want to.
The energy poured in.
Relentless.
Hungry.
Endless.
Cracks of darkness spread further along Eryndor's arms.
His heartbeat roared.
The disciple's strength faded rapidly.
His body weakened.
Collapsed.
And then—
Nothing.
He fell.
Dead.
This time…
No one spoke.
Because this time—
They understood.
Eryndor was not normal.
He was something else.
Something wrong.
Eryndor stumbled back, breathing heavily, staring at the second body at his feet.
His hands shook.
"I didn't…" he whispered.
"I didn't mean to…"
But even as he said it—
His body felt different.
Stronger.
The weakness from before…
Gone.
Replaced.
Filled.
"You lie to yourself," the god murmured.
"But your body does not."
Eryndor's jaw tightened.
"I am not you."
A pause.
Then—
A quiet, chilling reply.
"Not yet."
Suddenly—
A pressure descended.
Heavier than before.
Crushing.
The air itself bent.
Everyone dropped to their knees.
Except Eryndor.
Footsteps echoed.
Slow.
Measured.
An elder.
White robes.
Silver hair.
Eyes that saw too much.
His gaze swept across the scene—the bodies, the disturbed Qi, the unnatural silence.
Then—
It landed on Eryndor.
And stilled.
For the first time since awakening—
Eryndor felt it.
Not hunger.
Not fear.
But—
Danger.
The elder stepped closer.
Each step weighed like judgment.
"Interesting…" he said softly.
Eryndor didn't move.
Couldn't.
The elder stopped in front of him.
Studied him.
Not his body.
His existence.
"Your Qi…" the elder murmured.
A pause.
Then—
"It is not Qi."
The world seemed to freeze.
The elder's eyes narrowed.
"What… are you?"
Silence.
Inside Eryndor—
The god stirred.
Not hungry.
Not mocking.
But…
Alert.
For the first time—
It felt something too.
Recognition.
"Careful…" it whispered.
"This one… can see."
Eryndor swallowed.
Because deep down—
He knew.
This wasn't just another cultivator.
This was someone who could end him.
Or—
Expose him.
The elder raised his hand.
And for a brief moment—
Eryndor thought:
This is where I die.
But instead—
The elder smiled.
A thin, unreadable smile.
"Come with me," he said.
Not a request.
An order.
Behind him, the disciples remained frozen.
Terrified.
Confused.
But none of that mattered now.
Because as Eryndor took his first step forward—
The voice inside him whispered one final thing:
"Good."
"If he is strong…"
A pause.
"…then he will feed us well."