His breath was uneven. His pulse pounded in his ears.
The last traces of abyssal energy faded from his hands, vanishing into the darkness like whispers in the wind. Yet, the sensation still lingered—a foreign, unnatural power now rooted deep within him.
The beast was gone. Not slain. Devoured.
The weight of what had just happened pressed down on him. That was not Qi. That was not magic. It was something else entirely—something the heavens had never allowed him to wield before.
And yet, the abyss had given it to him freely.
His fingers curled into fists as realization set in.
"I am no longer a cultivator."
The thought was bitter, but undeniable. His meridians were shattered. His golden core no longer existed. The techniques he had spent lifetimes mastering were now useless.
His entire existence had been built upon the Dao, upon years of ruthless cultivation, carving his own path toward immortality. And now? He had nothing.
No sect. No allies. No power.
No… the abyss had given him something.
His eyes darkened. The heavens had cast him aside, but the abyss had welcomed him.
The whispers slithered through his mind again, this time softer, almost amused.
"You are learning, my disciple."
He exhaled slowly, steadying his thoughts. If this was his new path, he would master it. He had no other choice.
A World That Wasn't His
The temple was silent once more, its eerie atmosphere heavier than before. He pushed himself to his feet, his body still aching from weakness. His new body was untrained, malnourished. It would take time to rebuild his strength.
He looked about him, absorbing his surroundings. The massive temple was in ruins, with broken pillars and crumbling walls suggesting a more brilliant era.
The stone had a strange markings engraved into it, but time had erased their meaning .
There was o doubt that this location had long been deserted.
He looked down at the carcass of the beast he had just killed, or at least what was remaining of it. Dust was all that was left. The abyssal force had eaten even its bones, erasing them.
He said, "What kind of power is this?"
He tried to call forth the abyssal force again , but his fingers twitched in vain. The force seemed to have withdrew into the recesses of his body, unwilling to answer
"So, it only activates in battle… or when I'm near death," he realized. A dangerous condition.
He needed to understand it better. Needed to test it. But first—he needed to leave this place.
His body was too weak, and he had no food, no weapons. He had to find civilization and figure out what kind of world he had been reborn into.
Steeling himself, he turned toward the temple's massive entrance. The doors were broken, barely standing on rusted hinges. Beyond them, a thick forest stretched into the distance, shrouded in mist.
"Survival comes first."
He stepped forward, leaving the temple ruins behind.
The Mark of the Abyss
The forest was silent. Too silent.
As he walked, his senses remained on high alert. Even in his weakened state, his instincts—sharpened from years of surviving assassination attempts and sect betrayals—had not dulled.
Something was watching him.
His eyes scanned the twisted trees and thick underbrush. Shadows shifted unnaturally, flickering like dying embers. The air was thick, carrying the scent of damp earth and something else… something rotten.
Then, he saw them.
Eyes. Dozens of them.
Peering from the darkness, hidden among the trees.
Slowly, figures emerged from the mist.
They were human—or at least, they once were. Their flesh was decayed, their skin stretched too tightly over their bones. Their eyes glowed with a faint, sickly light. Undead.
His jaw tightened. He had fought against reanimated corpses before—but those had been the works of necromancers or demonic cultivators. This? This felt… wrong.
The undead moved unnaturally, twitching as if struggling against invisible chains. Some had weapons—rusted swords, broken spears. Soldiers, perhaps?
A cursed battlefield?
He took a slow step back, calculating his options. There were too many. Even at his peak, taking on an entire horde without knowing their strength was foolish.
One of the undead let out a hollow, rattling breath—and then they charged.
He reacted instantly, dodging the first swipe of a rusted blade. He grabbed the attacking corpse by the wrist and twisted, breaking its fragile bones with ease. The creature barely reacted, still reaching for him with unnatural persistence.
Another came from his right. He spun, using the momentum to drive his elbow into its skull. Crack. The corpse crumpled, but more surged forward.
"Tch—!"
He needed power.
The abyss had answered before. Would it answer again?
His heartbeat quickened. The whispers returned.
"You hesitate, my disciple. You fear the price of my gift."
His fingers twitched. The abyssal energy was there, waiting.
But… a price?
A moment of doubt flickered in his mind. That hesitation almost cost him—a blade nearly carved into his shoulder. He barely dodged in time, rolling across the dirt.
No choice.
"Lend me your power!"
The abyss answered.
A surge of darkness erupted from his palm, tendrils of shadow bursting forth, latching onto the nearest undead. The creature convulsed as its very essence was drained away. The light in its eyes faded, its body crumbling into black dust.
More tendrils lashed out, consuming two more. The hunger of the abyss was endless, devouring the undead without mercy.
He gasped as power flooded his body. Strength. Clarity. Energy.
The weakness that plagued him faded.
The remaining undead hesitated. Even in their cursed state, some instinct warned them—this was not a fight they could win.
"Leave."
His voice carried an unnatural weight, laced with abyssal power. The remaining creatures shuddered, then—they fled.
Silence returned to the forest.
He exhaled slowly, unclenching his fists. He had won.
But the abyss had taken something in return.
He could feel it—a part of his soul, missing.
The whispers laughed.
"Power always comes at a cost, my disciple. But worry not… I will not take more than you can bear. Yet."
His hands trembled. Not from weakness. From realization.
This power was not his. It belonged to something else. Something that had claimed him.
He clenched his jaw.
"I don't care what you are." He spoke to the whispers, to the entity that had granted him this gift. "I will master this power. It will not master me."
The whispers hummed in amusement.
"Then let us see, my disciple. Let us see how long you can keep your soul."
He turned, stepping deeper into the forest.
The heavens had forsaken him.
But the abyss… had only just begun its game