The forest had changed.
Once a land of prowling beasts and endless killing intent, it had grown silent, as if holding its breath. Birds no longer sang. Predators no longer roared. The trees themselves seemed to bend away from the shadow of the one who walked beneath them.
A century ago, the forest devoured corpses. Now it had become a graveyard.
At its center, a young man sat cross-legged upon a throne of black stone, carved not by mortal hands, but by his will. His presence was suffocating, and even the air trembled around him.
Scales faintly shimmered beneath his skin, a reminder of the dragon that flowed in his veins. But his aura carried the abyssal weight of the demon race—corrosive, violent, destructive. Together, they wove into something unnameable, something that defied existence itself.
He was no longer the child cast aside.
He was the Primordial Chaos Demon Dragon.
In his palm rested a sphere of condensed energy, swirling with purple-black light—the fruit of twenty years of merciless cultivation.
The Origin Core pulsed, alive, as if a second heart.
"...So this is Core Formation," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "A realm where mortals believe they've stepped into the divine."
He clenched his fist, and the sphere sank into his dantian. A storm of chaos qi erupted from his body, spreading across miles. Trees splintered. Monsters fled. The sky above warped into an unnatural shade of crimson.
The system's cold voice echoed in his mind.
[System Notification: Origin Core (Perfection) achieved.]
[Passive Ability unlocked: Primordial Regeneration.]
[Bloodline Authority increased.]
A cruel smile touched his lips. He had reached what countless cultivators spent lifetimes chasing—yet for him, it was only the beginning.
But power never came without cost.
Each time he advanced, the mark of Heaven's Will seared deeper into his soul. The universe itself rejected his existence, branding him an anomaly. Strange tribulations gathered whenever he cultivated. Lightning storms fell without warning. Beasts went mad in his presence.
The world whispered: Monster. Abomination. Forbidden one.
He embraced every word.
One night, beneath a shattered moon, he ventured deeper into the forest. His scythe—an artifact birthed from his own chaos qi—hung at his side, its blade whispering with hunger.
He found a den of monsters, a colony of Chaos Serpents. Each one was powerful enough to destroy mortal kingdoms. Their scales glistened like obsidian, venom dripping from fangs that could melt steel.
They hissed, sensing his intrusion.
But the young man only raised his hand, and with a single thought, the scythe manifested. Its edge gleamed with an aura that reeked of death.
"Feed."
The serpents struck together, but the blade moved faster than sound. One by one, heads fell, venom splattering the earth. The scythe drank it all—the blood, the essence, the fear.
By dawn, not a single serpent remained. Only bones, and a lone figure standing amid the carnage, his violet-crimson eyes glowing faintly.
Every kill sharpened his intent.
Every kill deepened the shadow around him.
And yet, even he knew this was still the mortal stage of his path. The realms beyond—Nascent Soul, Soul Refinement, Immortal Ascension—awaited him, each demanding greater sacrifices.
The path of cultivation was endless. The path of calamity, even more so.
Far away, beyond the perception of mortal worlds, whispers began spreading.
A name.
In the southern kingdoms, they called him the Shadow of the Forest.
In the sects, rumors whispered of a youth who harvested beasts with a cursed scythe.
And in the high courts of empires, diviners trembled at visions of a crimson-eyed figure standing atop mountains of corpses.
The heavens rejected him. The world feared him. The strong sought him.
But in the depths of the forest, the young man simply opened his eyes after meditation and whispered—
"This is still far from enough."
The scythe pulsed in his hand, as if answering.
The Eternal Calamity had only begun.