The courtyard stank of blood.
Mo Tian knelt on the cold stone floor, his black robe torn, his face swollen from repeated blows. Around him, fellow disciples of the Demonic Royal Academy sneered.
"Is this the son of the Heavenly Demon?" one of them mocked, spitting at his feet. "A waste who can't even stabilize Body Cultivation."
Another disciple laughed. "His brothers will inherit the sect. This one? He'll die nameless, rotting in mediocrity."
Their voices mingled like knives piercing his ears.
Mo Tian clenched his fists, his nails drawing blood from his palms. He kept his head lowered, hiding the crimson flicker that stirred within his pupils. His body trembled—not from fear, but from the struggle of restraining the fury boiling in his chest.
He remembered the night his father, the Heavenly Demon, looked upon him with disappointment. "Weak", the old man had said. "Unworthy."
From that moment, the sect branded him as the useless son. Elders ignored him, brothers mocked him, disciples treated him as prey.
Mo Tian bit the inside of his cheek until iron flooded his mouth.
*Weak? Unworthy?*
A whisper rose in his heart, venomous and resolute.
*I will climb. Step by step, realm by realm. One day, all of Terra will kneel beneath me. And when they do, I will carve the word 'unworthy' upon their corpses.*
The disciples dispersed, their laughter fading. Mo Tian dragged himself to his feet, every muscle aching. He returned to his chamber, closing the door behind him.
The silence pressed against him, heavier than the humiliation. But in that silence, he smiled.
On his desk lay a jade slip—ancient, cracked, and faintly pulsing with dark light. A forbidden inheritance, stolen from the academy's vault weeks prior. No one knew he had it. No one knew the countless nights he'd bled himself dry, forcing his meridians open, risking death.
Tonight, the final step.
Mo Tian sat cross-legged, pressing the jade slip to his forehead. Instantly, demonic qi poured into his mind like molten lava. His body shook violently, his bones groaned as if about to shatter. His veins bulged, blood spurted from his lips, but he did not stop.
Minutes stretched into hours. Agony clawed through every inch of his being. Any ordinary disciple would have fainted, begging for death.
Mo Tian endured. His eyes burned, his soul trembled—but he endured.
Then—
*Boom.*
A wave of QI erupted from his body, rattling the room. Shadows writhed on the walls, coalescing into the phantom of a horned demon towering above him.
Mo Tian opened his eyes. Crimson irises glowed with malevolence. His aura surged, oppressive, undeniable.
"Body Cultivation… shattered." He muttered, his voice hoarse but steady. "Soul Cultivation… achieved."
A mad grin spread across his bloodstained lips.
The useless son had died tonight.
A monster had been born.
(...)
The night was endless. The faint glow of the demon phantom still lingered in the air, then faded into silence.
Mo Tian sat motionless on the cold floor, his breathing calm though his robes were soaked in blood. His body was ruined, meridians frayed, dantian unstable. Any other cultivator would call it suicidal to continue.
But he did not rest.
*Soul Cultivation achieved… yet unstable. My foundation is cracked. If I continue recklessly, I will cripple myself. If I stop, my brothers will devour me alive.*
He wiped the blood from his lips, eyes cold. *This is the path of demons. Pain is cultivation, betrayal is nourishment, and only corpses pave the way forward.*
A knock echoed on his door.
Mo Tian frowned. At this hour? He rose silently, demonic qi flowing faintly around his limbs.
The door creaked open. Two figures entered without permission. His elder brother, Mo Jian, tall, sharp-eyed, his aura heavy and oppressive. Behind him, the younger brother, Mo Liang, thin and pale, but his qi pure and sharp as a blade.
The sons of the Heavenly Demon—three wolves locked in the same cage.
"Little brother," Jian spoke first, voice cold as steel. "Word has reached me. You've been dabbling in… unorthodox methods."
Mo Tian said nothing, his expression unreadable.
Liang smirked. "Don't pretend, Tian. Even trash shines when it steals a forbidden treasure. But tell me, how long can you survive before it devours you?"
The air between them thickened. None of them were friends. None were allies. Blood bound them, but ambition sharpened their fangs.
Finally, Mo Tian laughed softly. "If I am trash, what does that make you, Liang? You've been stuck in late Soul Cultivation for three years. Your qi is stagnant. Even the worms in the dirt grow faster than you."
Liang's smirk vanished, his eyes flashing with killing intent. Jian raised a hand, silencing him.
"You grow bold, Tian," Jian said. "But don't forget… Father watches. He will name only one of us successor. And when the time comes, strength alone will not save you."
Mo Tian's crimson eyes narrowed slightly. *Strength alone? No. In this sect, one must wield strength, strategy, and cruelty in equal measure. Jian, you understand this well. That is why you are my greatest obstacle.*
A servant's hurried footsteps approached. He knelt at the door, trembling. "Young masters… a decree from the Heavenly Demon himself."
The brothers exchanged sharp glances. Jian took the scroll, unrolling it slowly. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned as he read:
> "In two weeks' time, the Demonic Sect shall hold a Grand Tournament. The victor shall inherit my mantle. The others… will kneel or perish."
The words hung heavy in the chamber.
Liang laughed, his tone sharp and mocking. "Two weeks! Father has thrown us into the pit. Only one wolf will climb out."
Jian's gaze pierced Mo Tian. "Do not think your little tricks will save you, Tian. When the tournament comes, you will bleed. I'll see to it myself."
The brothers left, their footsteps echoing through the corridor.
Mo Tian remained in silence. His hand tightened around the jade slip, blood dripping from his fist.
*Two weeks… too short to stabilize my foundation. Too short to climb to new heights. But two weeks is enough for blood to spill. Enough for pawns to move.*
He sat again in meditation, crimson light flickering faintly behind his eyelids.
*Brothers… you see me as weak prey. You are wrong. I will not survive this tournament. I will devour it. And when the dust settles, only one son will remain beneath Father's throne.*
The room darkened, his qi pulsing with cold determination.
The path of demons was carved not with mercy, but with corpses.
And Mo Tian was ready to begin.