Inside a dimly lit room a man sat in the cold ground with his head down. TIt was so small that he couldn't even straighten his legs if he tried to lie down. There was nothing inside the room, only him, the biting cold and the echo of his ragged breath.
Yet, he didn't dare complain. He knew it was far worse outside those heavy iron doors.
The place was deep dark and the man had no idea how long he had been inside. It seemed that his perception of time changed while inside the solitary confinement. Was it only yesterday that he stabbed a man? Or had that been weeks ago?
Or was it the day before? He wasn't sure.
He scratched his shaved head, his fingers tracing the thick scar left by a knife years ago. An ordinary man could go crazy in such a confined space, but not him, he found it comforting to step into his chaotic thoughts.
Suddenly, a flicker of light pierced the gloom.
He blinked, his eyes stinging. There were no windows, no gaps in the door. So where was the light coming from? He squinted and saw the source: a small, ancient-looking parchment was hovering in the air before landing softly on the floor.
[Did the guards drop this?] Doubtful, the man extended his tattooed hands and grabbed the old thing carefully.
With tattooed hands, the man reached out and grabbed the parchment. It felt rough, like ancient papyrus, and it was warm to the touch. As he pulled it closer to his face, vibrant red symbols began to pulse with a rhythmic, sickening glow. The entire cell was suddenly bathed in a crimson hue.
"What is - AAAHHH!"
The man could help but to scream out loud as he felt his mind burn. Before he could even call for help, the symbols shone brighter and brighter, invading his mind.
The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt. His scar burned as if a red-hot iron were being pressed against it. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, the red light was there, seared into his retinas. It wasn't just physical; it felt as though his very soul was being rewritten.
No one came to check on him. No one cared about a scream in the hole. Eventually, the agony became too much, and he plummeted into a forced unconsciousness.
He woke up some time later. Minutes, hours or days? It was hard to tell inside that place, and it didn't matter anyway.
When he woke up, the dizzying haze remained. He tried to stand, but his stomach lurched, and he slumped back against the wall. Trying to hold his urge to throw up, some weird memories filled his mind and a voice, cold and resonant, whispered in his ears:
*RIVER OF BLOOD DEMONIC CULTIVATION*
*RIVER OF BLOOD DEMONIC CULTIVATION*
*RIVER OF BLOOD DEMONIC CULTIVATION*
"What...?" He furrowed his brows, searching the floor for the parchment, but it was gone. It had vanished as if it had never existed.
He began to sift through the new knowledge lodged in his brain. He had heard rumors from the guards about "books" and "monsters" appearing across the globe, but he had dismissed them as prison myths. Now, he knew better. He felt a dark surge of luck. As he finished "reading" the mental manual, a jagged smirk spread across his face.
"Looks like I'm going to have some real fun when I get out of here."
This scene took place in all prisons around the world. Unfortunately, not only behind bars.
**********
Somewhere else on Earth, a young man with blond hair licked his lips in joy. He had never felt his body so full of energy and power before!
That feeling was so addicting, way more than any drug he had ever used!
"Hehehe. This technique is marvelous!"
He smiled as he admired his reflection in the blade of a bloodied kitchen knife. He had long hair that reached his shoulders, sharp blue eyes, and a strong chin. A few droplets of fresh blood were splattered across his cheek, which in his mind, only added to his beauty.
After a few seconds admiring his own reflection, the young man then proceeded to the bathroom to wash off the blood on his face and hair. Seeing a few red strains on his clothes, he decided to take a long, hot shower, brushed his teeth, and changed into a clean set of clothes.
He felt refreshed. Reborn.
"Ah, I'm feeling good!"
He walked back to his bedroom and picked up an old, black-covered book from his bed with trembling, eager hands.
*THOUSAND ARMS DEMONIC CULTIVATION TECHNIQUE*
He read it out loud, a creepy smile forming on his face.
"The name is a bit flashy," he whispered, his smile turning creepy. "But the feeling of being at the first stage of a demonic body... it's better than sex."
He sat on the edge of the bed, reviewing the text. "So, by consuming the life energy of others, I can temper my flesh. Once the first cycle is complete, can I even manifest demonic limbs?"
A few hours ago, he would have laughed at the absurdity. Now, with his muscles bulging and his senses sharpened to a lethal degree, he couldn't wait for more.
"Power is addicting," he mused. "But... am I the only one?"
He tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear, his mind racing. If this book existed, there were likely others. If there were others, there would be a fight for "resources." He stuffed the book into his backpack, already mentally classifying every human life in the city as a mere battery for his growth.
"Hehehe!" He walked into the kitchen and looked at the mess on the floor. The corpses were cooling, their blood staining the linoleum. He shrugged. "It means I will have to work faster and not get caught… I'm pretty sure murder is still technically illegal"
He glanced at the bodies of his parents one last time. "Thank you, Mom, Dad. At least you were finally useful for something."
He stepped out into the night. The moon was bright, and the stars seemed to watch him with cold indifference. A new thought struck him, making his heart race.
[What if I kill someone who already is a Body Cultivator, will I be able to extract more life essence to turn into Demonic Qi from them?]
It was worth a try!
***********
High above the clouds, Niyanyu drifted through the night sky, surveying his handiwork.
Even though he was only a Nascent Soul cultivator now, having to constantly use Qi to fly, with what was left of his shadow domain and his precise control over Qi, he was able to maintain a pretty good speed in the air.
With a wave of his hand, more scrolls and parchments flew into the distance, guided by his Divine Sense. He chose his targets carefully—seeking out those who already had darkness in their hearts.
These arts were called Demonic not only because the cultivator would have to kill people to increase their strength and eventually be able to transform into a Demon. But it had a price.
As the practitioner's body grew stronger, their mind would rot. Their sanity - if they had any to begin with - would melt away, replaced by a never-ending thirst for blood.
In a sense, Niyanyu knew that only crazy or desperate people would cultivate this type of art. But that was how a cultivation world worked: there were always an infinite amount of crazy and desperate people in it.
But he didn't stop at books. As a "reward" for the people, and perhaps a bit of flattery for the mysterious Master, Niyanyu began to create "treasures."
Nothing too extraordinary for him, but which would be useful for such a weak world.
With a flick of his fingers, he forged simple Qi-Foundation weapons—swords, halberds, and spears of dark metal. He brewed rudimentary elixirs and potions using the ambient Qi of the atmosphere
He didn't just hand them out. He dropped them into the most dangerous places he could find—nests of mutated beasts, deep caves, and ruined buildings to follow the motto "danger and reward come together".
Niyanyu was also doing this as a way to show off. He wanted the mysterious master behind the red haired man to see that he was being useful. If he could prove his worth, maybe—just maybe—he would be allowed to join the Celestial Star Sect. Niyanyu couldn't help but to smile, daydreaming about the idea of becoming a disciple of the Celestial Star Sect.
That Sect was so full of mystery that no one knew where it was even located. Many thought it was just a legend.
As for his old master and sect? He cared not for them anymore, he knew that his master would not have the balls to offend the Celestial Star Sect, nor would his old sect be so bold. In fact, he was glad he was still given the chance to live.
He manifested a pair of jet-black daggers, their edges glowing with a faint purple light. With a thought, he sent them falling toward the neighborhood of the blond young man he had been watching earlier.
"Let's see what that little monster does with these," Niyanyu mused.
His thoughts then drifted back to the massive forest growing in the distance. The humans called it the "Reënboog Forest".
[I'm sure that man is inside there. Should I talk to him?] But soon he dismissed that thought, the red haired man didn't seem to be the type who liked to be flattered.
[In fact, what a stupid name these Earthlings gave to the Twilight Heavenly Tree!"]
Niyanyu shook his head. In fact, his heart was bleeding when he thought of such a divine resource being used in this way... to make a forest.
He slowly flew back to Tokyo. He could feel the first ripples of the Demonic Qi technique being activated. Somewhere below, the first murders were happening. The first "Demons" were being born.
The world was no longer just a place of survival. It was becoming a slaughterhouse.
"The stage is set." Niyanyu said to the empty sky. "I hope you enjoy the show as much as I will."