The candlelight trembled inside the ruined shrine, its glow swallowed by the endless black that clung to the walls. Dust hung in the air like faded memories, disturbed only by Kael Yuan's shallow breathing.
The shrine had once been a place of prayer, where mortals begged gods for mercy. Now, the statues were faceless, their eyes gouged out, their hands broken. To Kael, it was fitting. Mercy was nothing more than a myth — just like justice, fairness, or destiny.
Kael whispered to himself,"Mercy is a tool — whether you give it or take it, betrayal will always follow."
The cold air inside the shrine carried a stench of rust and mildew. Every step Kael took echoed too loudly, as if the walls themselves were whispering his sins back to him. Cobwebs draped over broken idols, and dried offerings of fruit had long since turned to dust. Once, this place had been alive with chants and prayers. Now, silence reigned—an accusing silence that pressed on Kael's chest, demanding to know why he had come.
He pulled his ragged coat tighter around himself. Hunger clawed at his stomach, but it was nothing compared to the hunger in his soul. Years of struggle, years of being ignored, overlooked, and discarded as if his existence carried no weight. Every failure, every mocking word, echoed in his head.
Useless. Waste. Ordinary.
These words were slowly starting to tear him apart from within. His body was thin from years of struggle, his palms calloused from endless training that led nowhere. Yet here, in this ruined shrine, he felt something else—an invitation, as if the shadows themselves were waiting for him to reach out.
On the floor lay scraps of parchment, old records he had stolen, telling the same tale in different tongues:
"The Evil God's Hand"
They all described it differently — some called it a curse, others a divine gift. But one line remained constant:
"It raises the desperate to the peak… and drags away something they can never reclaim."
Kael's lips curled into a bitter smile.
He had already lost too much. His family abandoned him when he failed to awaken a spirit root in the East. The academies of the West rejected him, calling him "waste." His so-called friends betrayed him when power was at stake.
He clenched his fist until blood trickled from his palm.
"Ordinary men die as stepping stones. I refuse to die forgotten."
The words echoed in the empty shrine. For a moment, the silence pressed back — heavier, darker. The candle's flame twisted unnaturally, stretching toward him as though reaching for his soul.
"Then came the whisper, colder and creepier than silence itself."
It wasn't sound. It wasn't a voice.
It was like a thought that didn't belong to him, slithering into the back of his skull.
"Do you extend your hand, child?"
Kael's breath caught in his throat.
His eyes darted to the mural ahead — the painted figure of a god cloaked in shadow. Its hand stretched outward, half-erased by time. And yet, under the flickering light, the mural seemed alive, shifting, bending, as if waiting for him.
The whisper came again, sharper this time.
"Do you seek the climb… or will you rot at the bottom?"
His pulse pounded. A thousand voices from his past mocked him — teachers, rivals, family, even strangers. All calling him weak. All spitting on his dreams.
The sound of their laughter—imaginary yet deafening—rattled through his skull. The shrine seemed to warp under the pressure, the stone floor trembling as if sharing his rage.
His chest burned with rage.
His lips trembled, but his voice was steady.
"I will climb. I will reach the top. Even if I must pay the price."
All his memories pressed down on him, compelling him. Slowly, he raised his right hand into the darkness.
The candle sputtered violently, then died. Darkness swallowed the shrine. Yet Kael could still see — not with his eyes, but through a strange, suffocating clarity. He was enveloped in a heavy aura, one far removed from that of ordinary humans.
Something cold coiled around his fingers, crawling up his wrist like chains forged from shadow. The sensation was both agony and ecstasy. His veins lit up under his skin, glowing faintly with a sickly crimson light, as though blood itself was burning.
Kael bit back a scream. The pain was merciless, tearing through his flesh and soul. But beneath the torment, he felt it — power. A flood of strength, raw and intoxicating, surging into his body like a storm.
The whisper became a chorus now, countless voices overlapping into madness:
"Give us your dawns… and we shall give you what you cannot obtain."
His knees buckled. Images flashed in his mind — shadows devouring the world, blood soaking through endless fields, and a throne made of bones. He didn't understand them, but his instincts screamed one truth: this was no gift. It was a chain, a pact, a curse disguised as salvation.
The murals on the walls bled ink. The faceless statues turned their hollow sockets toward him, as if mocking his choice. Somewhere deep beneath the shrine, something rumbled—hungry, awake.
And still… he smiled.
Because for the first time in his life, Kael Yuan no longer felt ordinary.
The shadows receded. The shrine returned to silence. On his right hand, faint black markings curled across his skin like veins of ink, pulsing softly as though alive.
He stared at it, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his face.
The mark of his pact.
The price carved into his soul for choosing the forbidden way.
Kael flexed his hand, and the air itself seemed to shiver.
"So this… is power."
In the ruined shrine where gods had fallen silent, a new will of darkness was born.
"And in that absolute darkness, Kael Yuan laughed — not as a boy forgotten by the world, but as a monster it had just birthed."
...
Far beyond the shrine, under the veil of a crimson moon, a flock of crows burst from the trees, shrieking wildly into the night. Somewhere in the distance, bells rang in a temple that had been silent for centuries.
Across the land, cultivators woke in the middle of their meditations, their hearts gripped by a sudden unease they could not explain. A ripple had spread—silent, invisible, yet undeniable.
And in a hidden chamber miles away, a cloaked figure raised his head from meditation. His eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the same markings that now burned on Kael's hand.
"So… another has chosen."
The night deepened, as if the world itself was holding its breath.