The rain fell like a curtain of silver needles, drenching the jagged cliffs of Huangwu Valley. The wind screamed, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and decay. At the bottom of the valley, a young boy crouched against a rock, his tattered robe clinging to his frail body.
Jian Yu's chest heaved. He had run for hours, his legs battered and bleeding from jagged stones, yet the sound of pursuit never faltered. Behind him, the Shadow Clan assassins—masters of poison and stealth—were relentless.
"Boy… you can't escape your fate," hissed a voice in the storm, icy and cruel.
Jian Yu tightened his grip on the broken spirit dagger, its surface etched with faint runes. It was old, cracked, and almost powerless—but it was all he had left of his family. His parents had been executed by the Shadow Clan five years ago, accused of stealing the forbidden techniques of the Five Sovereigns.
"I… won't die here!" he spat, blood mixing with the rain.
A shadow flickered in the corner of his vision—a black-cloaked figure, moving faster than the eye could follow. Jian Yu swung the dagger with every ounce of strength he had, but the figure caught it effortlessly between his palms.
A voice, soft yet terrifying, whispered in his ear:
"You are nothing. A weakling destined to die. But… I can change that."
Jian Yu's vision blurred. The figure's eyes glowed like twin moons, and an invisible force slammed into him. Pain, sharp and searing, lanced through his body. And yet… a strange warmth spread from the depths of his chest.
"Who… are you?" he croaked.
"I am… a fallen immortal. My name is Yi Shen," the figure said. "And you… are the last of the Jian Bloodline. Do you wish to survive?"
Jian Yu's mind raced. Survival? After years of being hunted, mocked, and cursed… his heart screamed yes.
Yi Shen extended his hand. From his palm floated a black flame, writhing like a living serpent. "This is the Demonic Soul Flame. It will bind to your spirit, but heed my warning: it will corrupt you. Every power has a price."
Jian Yu hesitated. The stories he had heard… those who embraced demonic power often ended up as monsters, consumed by madness. Yet, if he didn't accept, the Shadow Clan would tear him apart in moments.
"I… I accept," he said, his voice trembling.
The flame leapt from Yi Shen's palm into Jian Yu's chest. Pain exploded like thunder, his vision fractured into a million shards. He screamed, falling to his knees.
And then… silence.
When he opened his eyes, the world had changed. Colors were sharper, sounds clearer, even the smell of rain carried new meaning. He looked at his hands—his veins glowed faintly, pulsing with a black, living energy.
"Your soul is now intertwined with the demonic flame. You have been reborn, Jian Yu," Yi Shen whispered. "From this moment on, you are no longer a boy of fate. You are a weapon of chaos."
Before Jian Yu could ask more, the Shadow Clan assassins struck.
Lightning-fast, Jian Yu's newly awakened power erupted. Black tendrils of flame shot from his hands, turning steel and bone into ash. The assassins screamed in shock, unable to comprehend the sudden surge of power from a boy they deemed weak.
When the battle ended, silence fell. Jian Yu stood in the midst of destruction, drenched in rain, his chest still pounding. His eyes, now blackened with the flame, reflected the storm above.
"I… I survived," he whispered, voice trembling between fear and exhilaration. "I am… alive."
And in that moment, a spark of destiny ignited. Jian Yu's journey into the Xianling Continent had begun—a path of cultivation, vengeance, and the relentless pursuit of the Eternal Soul.
Little did he know, every step forward would awaken ancient forces, celestial eyes, and rival sects that had been lying in wait for centuries. The world of Xianling Continent was cruel, but for Jian Yu… it was the only place where he could become more than just a boy who tasted death.