The deeper Ramon went, the quieter the forest became.
Gone were the chirps of tree-crickets and the rustle of low prey. Even the wind had grown hesitant, brushing only lightly across the branches, as though afraid to disturb what slumbered here.
He should have turned back. Regret was beginning to sprout in Ramon's mind.
But something stronger pulled him forward—something ancient and heavy, coiled beneath his thoughts and clouding his judge.
A calling. A destiny. Or probably Misfortune .
The trail had long vanished. Moss devoured the path behind him, and the trees no longer looked like trees. Their bark had turned blackish and slick, their limbs stretched too long, too still. Leaves hung like silent hands, unmoving in the stagnant air.
Spiritual pressure thickened with every step. Not like that of a cultivator—this was different. Wild. Uncontrolled. It didn't pulse; it waited.
Ramon's breathing slowed.
Each step forward was like moving through a dream—or a memory not his own.
"I should stop," he muttered.
But he didn't. Like he was hypnotized and his feet were moving on their own.
Step…
He crossed a line he could not see.
And the world changed.
The mist split like a curtain.
A clearing opened, impossibly wide and unnaturally circular. At its heart stood something that did not belong to the world of men or mortals.
A castle.
It rose from the ground like a fang, impossibly black, so dark it seemed to drink the light around it. Its towers twisted skyward like clawed arms frozen mid-reach. Its walls shimmered not with brilliance, but with hunger.
There were no birds. No insects. No sound.
Only the soft thrum of something behind the veil of reality.
And Ramon—tired, curious, and burning with a desperation he didn't understand—walked forward.
The gates loomed before him, sealed and monolithic. Strange symbols, half-erased by time, carved across their surface. A black sun with Six jagged rays marked the center, its eye a perfect void.
He felt it again.
The pull.
It wasn't spiritual energy, not entirely. It was older. It spoke not to the dantian, but to the soul.
His fingers brushed the black sun.
And the gate opened.
No sound.
Just… movement. The doors slid inward like shadows parting, revealing a hallway swallowed in darkness.
He didn't hesitate.
The air inside was thick and cold, pressing into his lungs like smoke. The stone beneath his feet was warm, pulsing faintly like a slumbering heart. Pillars lined the hallway, each carved with runes that bled faint red light.
Ramon stepped forward. No caution or fear on his face like he was being controlled by something.
Then another step. Still his face showed not even a thought
Something clicked under his heel snapping him out of the strange state.
Too late, he looked down.
A thin circle of red lit beneath his boot.
A seal.
The hallway screamed.
It wasn't sound—it was sensation. A roar inside the spirit, shaking his core. The red sigils ignited. The stone walls trembled. From above, the ceiling melted into shadows and those shadows moved.
Ramon turned to run.
He never made it three steps.
The shadow struck like lightning—silent, clean, absolute.
His spear snapped in half before he realized he'd drawn it.
The blow didn't hit his body.
It struck his soul.
He crumpled, blood leaking from eyes, nose, mouth. His limbs twitched. His vision blurred.
Above him, a figure emerged.
It wasn't a man. Not entirely.
It had no face. Just a hood of darkness. A long, flowing robe that shimmered with stars that didn't exist in this sky. Its body rippled like a mirage, unstable—unreal.
In its hand was a blade not of metal but of black fire shaped into a sword.
It looked at him, though it had no eyes.
And it spoke a single word.
"Unworthy."
Ramon tried to breathe.
He couldn't.
His dantian flared wildly, spiritual energy bursting in panic—but it was no use. His channels cracked. His muscles tore. His Spiritual energy and life slipped out through every pore of his body.
He remembered the orphanage.
The first time he saw a cultivator fly.
The way the light hit the Testing Stone before it condemned him.
The feel of wet moss under his back now.
And the black sun above him.
The figure stepped forward.
Its blade pierced Ramon's chest.
There was no pain.
Only darkness.
Ramon died.