Chapter 3: The Seed that Devours the Sky
The massacre painted the glade in crimson.
Jiang Fan moved like a ghost carved from shadows, each step accompanied by the silent scream of the beasts who dared approach. His projection, the Phantom of Despair, mirrored his movements, striking down those that lunged with emotionless efficiency.
He did not roar. He did not chant. He devoured.
Their howls faded.
Their blood pooled.
And as the last beast—a serpentine wolf with twin horns—charged at him, Jiang Fan opened his hand. Black mist erupted, twisting mid-air into a jagged spear of despair.
He whispered, "Fall."
And the spear obeyed.
It struck the creature's head with a soundless flash. There was no explosion. No flames. Only silence. The kind of silence that comes after a eulogy.
The wolf died kneeling.
Beast Kills: 28
Seed Nourishment: +12.8%
Emotion Feedback: Control, Wrath, Clarity.
Warning: Emotional conflict detected. Stabilizing… complete.
Supreme Heart Demon God Technique – Tier 0 (97%)
Approaching evolution.
The system's voice faded. Jiang Fan stood alone.
And then he laughed.
Not because it was funny.
But because for the first time in days, he understood something.
Power wasn't about cultivation levels. Or bloodlines. Or secret techniques. Power was truth. Raw, unfiltered, uncomfortable truth. And the truth was simple:
He enjoyed this.
That night, as he sat beneath a skeletal tree, he began to dream.
Not of Earth.
Not of monsters.
But of himself.
He stood in an endless field of mirrors. Each one showing a version of Jiang Fan—angry, grieving, insane, numb. Some were gods, standing atop mountains of corpses. Some were broken, weeping in gutters. All of them were him.
One stepped forward.
This one had no face.
Only a void where a face should be, swirling like a black hole.
"You've tasted it," the faceless one said. "The truth."
Jiang Fan said nothing.
The void continued. "Every man runs from himself. Every cultivator flees his past. They chase divinity as if it's a ladder out of hell. But we—we are the hell."
It reached out a hand.
A black lotus bloomed from its palm, dripping dark nectar.
"Swallow the sky. Burn the heavens. Ascend not despite your flaws, but through them."
Jiang Fan reached out.
The lotus dissolved into ash.
And he awoke.
Supreme Heart Demon God Technique has evolved.
Tier 1: Path of the Inner Abyss – Sin Rooted
New Features Unlocked:
Emotion Absorption (Passive): Absorb negative emotions from slain enemies or surrounding environment. Stores potential for breakthrough or technique use.
Mind Mirror (Active): Reflect a target's deepest fear or unresolved guilt. Weakens spirit and disrupts will.
Demon Heart Pulse (Passive): Natural aura emits low-level mental corruption. May cause hallucinations or emotional instability in weaker foes.
Warning: Technique influences host's psyche. Path chosen is irreversible. Continue?
[Y/N]
Jiang Fan didn't hesitate.
Y.
Three days passed.
The forest began to change.
Beasts grew restless. Fleeing rather than attacking. The trees themselves whispered in fear, their roots curling inward. Birds stopped singing. The air thickened like oil.
He came across a traveling merchant one evening.
Old, hunched, trembling in fear even before Jiang Fan spoke.
"W-who… who are you?"
Jiang Fan looked at the man, then down at his own reflection in a puddle. His eyes were no longer the same. One glowed like molten hate. The other remained a swirling abyss.
He smiled. Not kindly.
"Tell me," he said. "Who are the strongest beings in this world?"
The merchant stammered. "T-the Four Divine Sects… The Seven Underworld Palaces… and the Immortal Asura Empire… b-but—"
"And which of them," Jiang Fan interrupted, "rules the mind?"
The old man blinked.
"None," he whispered. "Everyone chases qi, sword, blood, fate… but no one… no one dares touch the soul."
Jiang Fan turned away.
"Then I will."
Later that night, he meditated atop a corpse-strewn cliff, surrounded by whispering winds and the scent of blood-soaked moss.
He thought of Earth.
Of therapists, shrinks, broken dreams, and philosophies that dissected pain like a clinical experiment.
Here, pain wasn't studied.
It was worshipped.
"Let them cultivate the body," he muttered. "Let them chase golden cores and dragon bloodlines. I will master despair."
His demon seed pulsed.
Emotion detected: Acceptance.
Seed Stabilized. Cultivation progressing.
And in the sky above him, the clouds cracked.
Not from thunder.
But from presence.
Across the continent, somewhere deep within the core of a divine sect, a high elder stirred from meditation.
Eyes opening slowly, she whispered:
"…A Demon God is being born."
End of Chapter 3