The Abyss of Despair was far from ordinary darkness. It breathed, it moved, a living maw that consumed hope and exhaled a suffocating despair, sinking into the marrow of any who dared linger. The air was thick with echoes of the forsaken, murmurs of the damned, and a spiritual weight so oppressive it pressed on one's chest like a mountain of frozen sorrow.
Lin Tianyao, fifteen years old yet carrying the weight of countless torments, sat cross-legged at the heart of this void.
His once-pristine robes, adorned with the proud heron of the Lin Clan, were now tattered and caked in blood. His long, matted black hair framed a face too sharp, too pale, too cold to belong to a boy. But it was his eyes that chilled the soul — twin pools of obsidian reflecting no light, only a stillness more terrifying than outright rage. In their depths flickered a faint violet ember, the single sign of the inferno raging within.
One year, seven months, three days.
The timeline etched itself into his soul, a relentless reminder of the night the Lin ancestral lands burned. The scent of roasted peacock from festive banquets had turned into the stench of burning flesh. His father's stern voice, once a toast, had become a final, guttural roar. His mother's gentle hand, now a lifeless grip in a pool of crimson.
Exhaling slowly, the cold air fogged around him. Memories no longer pierced like jagged shards; he had refined them into a weapon, forging the foundation of his Dao Heart. His heart was no ordinary jade or diamond—it was frozen magma, still on the surface but containing a latent, destructive fury that waited for its eruption.
"The Path of the Soul Flame is no path for the faint of heart," a raspy, ancient voice murmured inside his mind. Old Man Kui, a fragment of a lost soul, had become his mentor in this hellish domain. "It devours the spirit to empower itself. Every step is a march across coals forged from your sanity."
Sanity is a luxury for those with a future, Tianyao thought. I have only a past and a thirst for vengeance. Let it burn if it must.
He closed his eyes, diving inward. Inside his dantian, his spiritual sea roiled with a unique phenomenon: a vortex of faint violet flame. His Soul Flame, born from hatred, despair, and relentless will, pulsed hungrily, threatening to consume him from within.
The Path of the Soul Flame was heretical, feeding not on heaven and earth's ambient energy, but on the raw, corrosive fuel of negative emotions. Betrayal, rage, grief, and agony became kindling for his flame.
Stretching his spiritual senses, he touched the walls of the Abyss, saturated with millennia of sorrow. He called to the echoes of lost souls: come, let your pain strengthen me. Let your despair feed my fire.
A low moan vibrated through the cavern. Tendrils of grey-black mist, thick with spiritual decay, brushed against him, each touch injecting fresh waves of alien anguish.
Agony struck him like a blade. The memories of strangers' suffering crashed against his consciousness. Yet Tianyao did not resist.
He embraced the torrent. The sorrow of countless lives, the rage of the betrayed and murdered, fed the violet ember in his dantian.
"Excellent," Old Man Kui whispered with excitement. "You do not resist the poison; you make it yours! Compress it! Command it! The Second Stage of the Soul Ignition Realm is within reach!"
The Soul Flame's stages were perilous: Soul Ignition, Soul Forging, Soul Conflagration, Nirvana Flame. Each required risking one's very existence.
The mist surged into a violent torrent. His veins darkened beneath pale skin. The ember flickered wildly, consuming the toxic energy.
More. I need more. The thought was a roar. Pain was a familiar companion now, welcomed like an old friend. He poured all the Abyss's despair into the flame.
"Careful! You'll scatter yourself!" Old Man Kui cried, but Tianyao was beyond caution. His only wish: see his enemies drown in their own blood. Zhao Feng, the Silver Serpent Patriarch, smiled once and called him "nephew." That smile was now a target for his hatred.
The final catalyst: focused hatred. BURN!
An explosion erupted in his dantian. Reality narrowed to the violet inferno. The cracks of raw power sealed with scar-like spiritual tissue, darker, more resilient.
The flame, once a struggling ember, now pulsed with a calm malevolence, threads of abyssal black weaving through the violet. Spiritual pressure shattered the mist. The Abyss itself seemed to acknowledge his rise.
He opened his eyes. The obsidian pools flickered with violet sparks. His Second Stage mastery solidified. Strength, speed, senses, and flame control surged.
A wisp of violet flame appeared above his palm, drawing warmth from the air, cold and consuming life, hope, and spirit. A fitting power for a ghost, he mused.
"A fine Spirit Flame," Old Man Kui breathed. "Cruel, hungry, like its master."
"It's only the beginning," Tianyao rasped. "A tool, the first of many."
The forces that destroyed his clan were vast. Zhao Clan had been a pawn; behind them, the Profound Heaven Sect coveted the Lin ancestral treasure and a manual to Nascent Soul. A head-on strike now would be suicide.
No. He would be an ember starting a wildfire from within, exploiting greed and suspicion among his enemies.
Identity was crucial. He would join a rival sect, perhaps the Verdant Sword Sect, to sow chaos.
"The Abyss has one last test," Old Man Kui warned. "The Gallery of the Lost. Residual spirits of centuries guard the exit."
Tianyao stood. The violet flame vanished, replaced by a faint, ordinary aura — camouflage.
The Gallery of the Lost was a narrow gorge flanked by black cliffs. Semi-corporeal spirits, clad in tattered regalia of bygone eras, glared with sickly green eyes.
An ancient general spirit pointed a spectral sword. "Halt, living one. Turn back, or your end will be mercifully slow."
Tianyao analyzed: the general was late Foundation Establishment level; others were weaker. Their usual psychic attacks would fail.
The general lunged, sword trailing soul-freezing frost; psychic screams struck.
He welcomed it all. The Soul Flame consumed the assault. Absolute zero met frost.
He seized the ethereal blade. A sizzling sound rang through the gorge. "Your despair is stale," he said. The violet flame unmade the general, devouring identity, memory, and cohesion. Other spirits fled.
He walked on. The consumed energy merged with his own, strengthening the Second Stage.
Hours later, a pinprick of light appeared. Dawn, clean air, free of the Abyss's residue. He drew in a breath tasting of vengeance.
He masked the Soul Flame, projecting a common Qi Condensation aura. In the valley lay Azure Peak City, neutral ground and perfect cover.
A cruel smile crossed his lips. Zhao Feng. Profound Heaven Sect elders. You thought the Lin bloodline ended. You only taught the last ember to burn.
He stepped into the fog. Silent. Determined. The game of revenge had begun.