"What is this thing? Some kind of demonic treasure?" Zheng Xie muttered, his voice low, though his tone carried an edge of wariness. His eyes lingered on the grotesque sculpture before him.
From those nerves, blood seeped. Thick, viscous, it streamed down its malformed surface, dripping ceaselessly until the pool around Zheng Xie spread wide enough to lap against his boots.
The wetness seeped in. He felt it. Cold, sticky and repulsive.
A foul dampness pressed through the soles of his shoes, clinging to his skin as though the very blood wished to merge with him.
Krrrkkkk—
The sudden crack, like bones splintering beneath a heavy weight, shattered the stagnant silence. It reverberated across the chamber, crawling into Zheng Xie's ears and gnawing at his nerves.
Slowly, unnaturally, the sculpture stirred.
Its single hollow socket, an eye that dangled by a rope of twitching nerve snapped open.
The eye fluttered like the shuddering gasp of a dying creature, yet the gaze it cast upon him was undeniable: it was aware.
At the same time, its wing-like appendages unfurled. Flaps of nerves stitched together. They twitched erratically, flapping not like the wings of a bird but like the tremors of a butterfly crushed and mutilated.
Though Zheng Xie stood with a calm expression, the reality was far different. Beneath that composed mask, his mind churned violently.
'This doesn't feel good…' His thoughts edged sharp, clipped. 'I don't condemn those who walk the demonic path. Paths are simply paths, neither inherently righteous nor wicked. A sword is only as evil as the hand that wields it. But… the demonic path does not hesitate to gnaw on its own bones. They burn their own essence, feed on their own body, and in doing so, poison all that surrounds them.'
He did not need to say aloud what his senses already screamed: this sculpture radiated such corruption.
The stench of death clung to it, but beneath it lay something fouler, the residue of endless sins, as if it had absorbed every hatred, every cruelty, every vile emotion that humanity had ever cast aside.
'Should I run?' The thought flickered across his mind.
No. That was not an option. Turning his back on something unknown, something incomprehensible, would be nothing less than suicide.
'To run is to leave my spine exposed. To remain… is dangerous, but at least I can face it. At least I can strike if the need arises.'
He let the thought settle. To run from what he could not understand was folly. To stand, however, gave him the dignity of choice.
Then—
"∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎."
A voice… not a voice, but a grinding of rot and bone. Words, yet no words. The utterance was alien, its sound warped as if spoken through broken flesh.
Zheng Xie's brows tightened. His expression, still calm, darkened slightly as he listened.
It was alive.
The appendages thrashed harder, spraying blood in a violent frenzy. The single eye snapped open and closed, spasming, as though trying to form words in a tongue it could no longer wield.
Desperation dripped from it as thick as the blood it shed.
But to Zheng Xie, its frenzy only heightened its vileness. Its twitching, its spasms, its blind attempts to communicate, every movement painted it as something obscene, something that had long ago lost the right to exist.
Psshh—
A stream of blood flung across his cheek, warm and thick. The stench burned into his nostrils.
Rot.
The blood was fresh in appearance, its color vibrant, its flow constant yet its smell betrayed it. This was no lifeblood. It was decay liquefied, rot distilled into liquid form. Blood that had lingered, festering in this forgotten place for countless years, perhaps centuries.
The realization crawled into his bones.
'Wait…' The thought clawed up his spine. 'Does this thing… feed on blood?'
A grotesque possibility dawned on him.
Its thrashing. Its desperate calls. The endless bleeding.
'Is it searching for fresh blood? Is it crying because it starves?'
The thought was grotesque. And yet… for something born of nerves and blood itself, it was not unreasonable.
Still—
'Why should I give it blood?' His gaze sharpened, his mind weighing the thought. 'What could I possibly gain? What assurance do I have that it won't devour me the instant it tastes it?'
"∎∎∎∎∎! ∎∎∎∎∎! ∎∎∎∎∎! ∎∎∎∎∎! ∎∎∎∎∎! ∎∎∎∎∎!"
At once, the sculpture's voice swelled. The sound wasn't simply noise, it clawed at his consciousness, gnawed at the edges of his patience, and wormed its way into his bones.
Zheng Xie still couldn't comprehend the meaning of its utterances, yet comprehension was hardly needed. The very cadence of its voice was enough to incite irritation, to awaken within him a deep, primal disgust.
Step— Step—
He began retreating, each step measured, his feet pressing lightly upon the slick stone. His eyes never left the sculpture, and his breathing slowed until it almost matched the rhythm of his footsteps. Though he was calm in appearance, his instincts screamed, every fiber of his being on edge.
But.
"∎∎∎∎∎!!!!!!"
The sculpture suddenly convulsed. Its motions, once rigid and cold, now turned erratic… violent, frenzied. Its wings flailed wildly, and the guttural sounds it produced surged into a roar, magnified several times over. The cavern itself seemed to tremble. The pressure of the sound struck Zheng Xie like a hammer, his eardrums screaming in protest.
Drip—
A line of warmth traced down his ear.
Drip. Drip.
Blood spilled freely, sliding down his neck before falling onto the ground below.
The moment the blood left his body, Zheng Xie's eyes widened, pupils contracting into needle-thin points. His instincts flared violently. He tried to suppress the flow, fingers moving in haste, but he was too slow—far too slow to stop them all.
One drop escaped.
One single bead of crimson life, unstoppable as fate, fell and struck the ground.
Plop—
And the world collapsed.
The cavern walls dissolved into nothingness, as though the entire space had been nothing but a fragile illusion. What replaced it was an expanse vast and endless, painted entirely in tones of blood. The sky above was a canopy of crimson clouds, seething like living flesh.
From them fell streams of blood, raining down ceaselessly like water in a torrential storm. The very ground seemed alive, an ocean of scarlet liquid with islands of coagulated flesh rising intermittently. The stench of iron filled his lungs, sharp and overwhelming.
Zheng Xie narrowed his eyes, the muscles of his face taut, but his mind turned.
'What is this place? A different dimension? A secret realm within a secret realm? Or perhaps… could this be someone's dantian?'
The thought was almost absurd, yet his intuition whispered otherwise.
And then came the answer.
"This is a dantian… a remnant of a dantian. Corroded by time… a husk of its former glory, nothing more than a decaying carcass of power."
The voice was deep, resounding, carrying the weight of ages. Zheng Xie's gaze immediately locked forward.
There, upon a scarlet tide, stood a figure.
Clad in a robe the color of freshly spilled blood, the man's hands were clasped leisurely behind his back. His long black hair cascaded freely, bound only at the crown with a simple tie, and his eyes were pools of blood even deeper than Zheng Xie's own. The youth of his features belied the immensity of the aura he carried.
Zheng Xie's face remained calm, his bearing composed. Slowly, he cupped his fists and bowed low.
"This junior greets the magnanimous senior."
The man's expression flickered. For the briefest of moments, something unreadable passed through his eyes before his lips curved into a smile.
"Aha, a polite one I see… There are not many juniors like you. This senior is very pleased."
His tone was light, almost warm, like a senior indulging a child. Yet beneath that surface lay something sharp and false. Zheng Xie did not allow his own mask to slip. He recognized the falsity, yet chose to play along.
"Senior," he said smoothly, "if this may not be presumptuous… may I trouble you to enlighten me regarding this magnificent place?"
The man stilled. For a heartbeat. Then he burst into laughter.
"Ahahahahaha! Magnificent? You call this place magnificent? This place where the skies weep blood, where rivers of crimson flow ceaselessly, where the very air reeks of slaughter? You, boy, think such a place magnificent?"
Zheng Xie's lips curved ever so slightly.
"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "This junior truly feels it is so. This blood-red sky, these endless pools of crimson… they resonate with me. They touch a corner of my heart, soothing both mind and soul. Where others would see madness and despair, I find clarity."