Morning came not with warmth, but with a tension that made the air feel brittle. The sky above the Blackwood Clan estate was unusually still, the clouds stained faintly with a reddish hue that mirrored none of the usual sunrise brilliance. Even the birds, often chirping in the stables or nesting among the tiled roofs, were silent.
Li Shen knelt beside a pigsty, elbow-deep in foul slop. The stench clung to his nose, but he'd long stopped gagging. He worked mechanically, his body moving while his mind wandered—back to the strange pulse he'd felt two nights ago… that echo in his bones. It hadn't come again, but it haunted him like a forgotten song just out of reach.
Then it came—a scream.
Sharp. Human. Full of panic.
Li Shen froze.
Another followed it. Closer. Shriller.
Then a sound unlike anything he had ever heard before—a guttural, howling roar, like an animal born of nightmares. It sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.
He turned toward the manor just as the sky erupted in green-black light. A surge of corrupted Qi burst from within the inner walls, coloring the horizon with sickly tendrils. The scent that followed was vile: burnt herbs, rotting blood, and something worse—something unnatural.
Explosions echoed through the estate. The earth trembled beneath his knees.
"Demons! The demons are here!" someone shrieked from behind the granaries.
Panic surged.
Slaves dropped their tools and scattered. The overseers barked orders, but even they began to retreat as more screams shattered the illusion of order.
Li Shen stood, heart pounding. He didn't run. Not yet. His eyes were locked on the chaos ahead.
From the crest of the outer wall, they came.
Cultivators. But not as they should be.
Their bodies were twisted, malformed—skin like cracked stone, glowing veins pulsing with corrupted Qi. Their eyes gleamed with unnatural hunger. One bore a third arm protruding from its back; another had no mouth, only a permanent, ragged wound that leaked green mist.
Demon-corrupted.
He had heard the whispers. Of cultivators who pursued forbidden techniques, who offered their cores to chaos, sacrificing their humanity for power. Until now, they had only been ghost stories.
Not anymore.
One of them—massive, its body hunched and bulked with unnatural muscle—landed on the main path with a thundering crash. The impact sent tremors through the ground. It reached out a clawed hand and grabbed a fleeing slave.
With terrifying ease, it hoisted the man into the air and crushed his torso like dry wood. Blood rained down in a red arc. The creature snarled and flung the corpse aside.
Li Shen didn't move.
Fear rooted him. But it wasn't just fear. It was… recognition. Something deep within him stirred at the sight of the corruption. Not horror, but kinship.
He shook his head. No. That was madness.
The monster turned its head toward him.
Those glowing, inhuman eyes locked onto Li Shen with a snarl.
And it charged.
Li Shen snatched the nearest object—a rusted pitchfork leaning against the fence. Its prongs were bent, the handle cracked, but it was all he had.
The beast lunged.
Li Shen screamed—not in fear, but in sheer desperation—and swung.
The pitchfork connected.
A clang of bone and steel. The creature staggered, more from surprise than damage. It turned its head with a growl, swiping at Li Shen with a massive claw.
Li Shen barely dodged. The claw grazed his side, tearing cloth and skin. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot.
The beast lunged again.
Li Shen didn't think. He reacted.
With both hands, he drove the pitchfork forward—awkward, wild, but with everything he had.
The prongs punched through the creature's chest, far deeper than they should have.
The monster gasped.
Its glow dimmed.
Then it fell to its knees, a gurgle rising from its throat. The corrupted Qi bled from its wounds in tendrils, dissolving into smoke.
Then came the wave.
Cold.
Ancient.
A hunger not his own, awakened within his body.
It rushed through him—through his veins, his bones, his soul.
He staggered back, eyes wide.
The moment the corrupted essence touched him, it was consumed. Not just absorbed. Devoured.
The sensation was like falling into a storm of silence. And in the center of that silence, something clicked into place.
A warmth spread from his chest, chasing away the pain in his side. His fatigue vanished like morning mist under sunlight. The world around him seemed sharper—sounds clearer, smells more vivid. Even his heartbeat, which had raced moments ago, now thumped with steady, unnatural calm.
The corpse dissolved into mist.
Li Shen stood, staring at his bloodstained hands. The pitchfork trembled in his grasp.
What… was that?
Something within him had awakened. Something that wanted more.
Screams snapped him back.
The manor was aflame.
More demon-corrupted poured over the walls, laying waste to cultivators and servants alike. Qi techniques lit the air—flames, blades of light, spiritual chains—but they were swallowed by the chaotic energy of the invaders.
The Blackwood disciples, once so arrogant, now fell like insects. Their refined techniques meant nothing against the brute strength and madness of the corrupted.
A young cultivator flew overhead, hurling lightning from her palms. One of the demon-corrupted caught the bolt mid-air, laughing as it ate the energy and hurled it back tenfold. She died screaming.
Li Shen ran.
Not away.
Not yet.
Through the smoke-choked air, he moved, ducking behind fallen walls, broken carts, and shattered statues. He saw familiar faces—the old stable master, crushed beneath rubble. A slave girl who had once shared bread with him, her body torn open. Blood pooled everywhere.
He wanted to cry.
But something in him wouldn't let him.
Instead, it simmered. Not grief. Not panic.
Resolve.
And rage.
Another corrupted cultivator burst through a wall nearby. It screamed, charging toward a group of cowering slaves.
Li Shen didn't think.
He ran.
He leapt.
The pitchfork drove through the creature's back, just as it raised its claw.
It howled, twisting, but Li Shen held on, pushing deeper.
There was resistance—then a pop, and black blood gushed out.
It collapsed.
Again, the surge.
The hunger.
This time, it was stronger.
His body drank it in.
His vision swam, then steadied. His wounds stitched themselves shut.
The Heaven Asura Destruction Body… fed.
Two.
He didn't understand how he knew—but he knew. He had slain two. He needed more.
But the feeling terrified him.
Was he becoming like them?
No… this wasn't corruption. It wasn't foreign energy overtaking him.
It was his.
A birthright.
Something sealed, now stirring.
The sky cracked as a massive wave of demonic Qi erupted above the main hall. Elder Feng's voice bellowed, full of panic: "Fall back! To the inner sanctum! Protect the Core Formation altar!"
Too late.
The central tower exploded in black flame.
Pieces of the ancient foundation rained down.
A massive corrupted being, three times the size of the others, descended. Horned. Armored. Laughing.
All hope died in that moment.
Li Shen turned and ran.
Through the ruins, through the fire.
Bodies littered the paths. Some still twitched. Others were too far gone.
He didn't stop to mourn.
Only survive.
As he reached the rear gardens—once a place of peace, now burned and defiled—he paused.
The clan that had enslaved him was dying.
The overseers, the arrogant elders, the golden-robed heirs—all reduced to ash.
He should've felt joy.
But all he felt was emptiness.
Until he saw a child. A boy, no older than six, huddled beside a shattered wall, weeping.
A corrupted cultivator advanced on him, giggling.
Li Shen didn't think.
He threw the pitchfork.
It struck true.
The creature shrieked, dissolving.
Li Shen staggered forward, lifting the child.
The boy clung to him, sobbing.
"Hold on," Li Shen whispered. "Just a little further."
The child's face was wet with soot and tears. "Who… who are you?"
Li Shen looked toward the burning estate.
He didn't know how to answer.
Not yet.
But something deep within whispered:
I am vengeance reborn.
And the destruction had only just begun.