The survivors knelt in silence, their bodies arranged within a massive blood pentagram carved into the stone floor. Crimson runes pulsed beneath them, casting an eerie glow over pale, anxious faces. The air was thick with metallic scent and boiling Qi—like the breath of a slumbering beast.
Wei Feng sat among them, calm as still water. But inside, his senses were sharp, coiled, watching.
This wasn't a ritual. This was a judgment.
The walls of the grand hall trembled faintly, as if breathing.
From the far end, an elder from Blood Cauldron Peak stepped forward, his robes deep crimson stitched with runes that flickered like candlelight. His presence was precise, refined, deadly—like a poison blade honed for centuries.
"This ritual," he began, voice smooth and low, "is not ceremony."
He scanned the kneeling initiates. His gaze lingered on the young and weak, the defiant and strong.
"You are bound to the Blood Stream Sect. But it is not you who chooses your fate."
The runes beneath them flared brighter. The elder's voice dropped an octave.
"Our founder, the Blood Origin Patriarch, left behind a soul fragment. Through this rite, he will weigh your essence, ambition… and darkness."
A low hum rumbled beneath the floor. Qi surged. The blood lines ignited, flaring like wildfire.
Wei Feng inhaled once—
And the world shattered.
His soul burst free.
No body, no breath, no flesh. Just awareness, hurtling upward like a spark escaping a fire.
The world below shrank. Mountains, rivers, cities—all spun together like ink in water. He passed the clouds. The sky. The stars.
He drifted through space, watching empires rise and fall on distant planets. He saw black holes sing their death songs. Light bent. Time bled.
Then—
A voice. Vast, ancient.
"You."
Reality folded inward.
Wei Feng found himself seated across from an old man in a dimly lit room. No grandeur. Just a table. Two chairs. A silence heavy as death.
The elder's posture was straight, arms resting calmly. His body was thick with muscle, scarred and coiled like a beast that never forgot war. But his eyes burned sharp. Human. Alive.
A faint smile curved his lips.
"Brian."
Wei Feng's breath caught.
The name struck like a nail to the heart. The one name he never spoke.
The old man sipped tea, unaffected.
"I see you kept your mind sharp, even while wearing another man's skin."
Wei Feng narrowed his gaze. "Who are you?"
"The one who called you here," the elder said. "A shard of the Blood Origin Patriarch. Not a puppet—me."
Wei Feng's shoulders tensed. "Why?"
"Because I saw a flicker of something rare. A mind that doesn't bend. A soul scarred and remade." He tapped the table. "I chose you for the Blood Trials."
Wei Feng remained still.
"You have a gift," the Patriarch continued. "Not just for Qi. But for illusions. For control. Even in the test, I watched you turn one against the other with words alone. And your latent telekinesis—raw, but promising."
Wei Feng said nothing.
"You even have a faint resonance with the sword," the old man mused. "But it's tainted by calculation. Your blade has no heart, only aim."
The Patriarch stood.
"That is why you must go to the Abyss Mountain."
Wei Feng's eyes narrowed. "Why the Abyss?"
"Because the Abyss is honest. It breaks masks, burns false hearts. You cannot fake power down there. You either survive… or you are swallowed."
He paused.
"And because I once walked that path myself. Cold. Sharp. Alone."
A flicker of pain passed behind the elder's eyes.
"Don't make my mistake."
Wei Feng remained silent. The storm within him said enough.
The Patriarch offered a final smile. "I will leave you with this. Fifteen years ago, I met a strange boy who spoke to roots more than men. Now the Cauldron Peak calls him 'Old Man.' I suspect your fates will coil together… like vines in dark soil."
The world crumbled.
Wei Feng gasped as his soul snapped back into his flesh. The runes dimmed. The air fell still.
Around him, others blinked awake, confused, silent.
The elder from earlier stepped forward. "It is done. The Patriarch has spoken."
Names were called. One by one, initiates were assigned their paths. Blood Sword. Blood Cauldron. Blood Soul.
Then—
"Wei Feng."
The hall stilled.
"You have been accepted by Abyss Mountain."
A murmur passed through the initiates. Some recoiled. Others pitied him. The Abyss was legend—for breaking bones, minds, and fates alike.
Wei Feng only stood, quiet.
And smiled.
Later, as the initiates filed out—
A rift split open the air. From within stepped Xie Wuyu, Master of the Blood Sword Peak. His Voidblade hovered at his side, dripping faint tendrils of spatial energy.
He stopped beside Zhang Yilin of the Blood Cauldron.
"That one—Zhu Zhongying," Wuyu said. "The boy who took the sword. He's ruthless. A perfect heir."
Zhang Yilin's brow furrowed. "Indeed. But the one who took the Abyss… Wei Feng. His Qi control surpasses the norm. His mind is layered."
Wuyu's lips curled into a sharp grin. "Let's see how long he lasts in the dark."
They said no more.
The void closed.
And the hall was empty.