The world was red. Or was that just his vision getting red?
Lu Qinghe couldn't remember how long he had been floating in it. Time had long lost its meaning to him. There was no sun, no moon. Only the endless haze of crimson, warm and thick, pressing against his skin like heavy burden that he couldn't shake off.
His eyes remained shut most of the time, though he was awake more than he wished to be. He used to be an Innate Realm Martial Artist, a genius in the martial world but now he was reduced to nothing more than a prisoner.
He was hailed as a person who might become a Martial Grandmaster, the epitome of power in the whole of Linquing province, maybe even become a Martial Saint and be renowned throughout the Wuyuang Kingdom but now he was stuck here. Where this was, he didn't know.
At first, he tried to scream. Call for help. Use his inner qi to break free. But his qi had been sealed, suppressed by something he didn't understand. There were runes—he could feel them, like invisible chains etched into his very bones.
The pain came and went in waves.
Sometimes it was a dull ache, like needles buried under his flesh.
Sometimes it was worse.
Much worse.
His mind frayed at the edges. He would drift, caught in twisted dreams filled with blood, laughter, and whispers he didn't recognize. But when he woke, the whispers followed. They clung to the corners of his consciousness, murmuring in voices that sounded almost… familiar.
At first, he thought he was just losing his mind.
Then he realized the whispers came from the blood.
He would float, weightless inside the glass tube, and the water—if it even was water—would shimmer. Turn red. Then darker. And then, the voices would start. Not always loud. Sometimes they were just murmurs, barely a whisper in the back of his mind. But they were there.
He didn't understand the words.
But he felt them.
Hatred. Fury. Hunger.
And as the days passed, he began to feel them as his own.
There had been a moment, not long ago—he wasn't sure how long, really—when something changed.
Through the warped, foggy glass, Lu saw movement. A shadow. A shape.
A boy.
No… not a boy. A young man. Haggard. Blood-soaked. Angry.
Lu's heart thudded against his chest.
He moved.
He shouted.
Pounded his fists against the glass.
But the boy—whoever he was—never heard him.
The boy moved through the lab, looking around like a trapped animal. Then Lu saw the body—slumped, broken. The man. The robed man who had put them both in here.
He was dead.
The boy had killed him.
He was escaping.
Lu screamed again, a hoarse sound that never reached the boy's ears. He slammed his fist against the glass until it bruised, until blood floated like red smoke in the tube.
But the boy was already gone.
The heavy metal door creaked shut behind him. And Lu was left alone.
Again.
He didn't know how long had passed since then. Hours. Days. Maybe weeks. The pain came and went, but the silence was louder than ever. There was no one now. Not even the man with the calm, cruel voice.
Just him.
Him and the whispers.
He was always hungry, but never starving.
It wasn't normal. Nothing was normal here.
He didn't need food anymore. Somehow, the red liquid kept him alive. But it wasn't living. He missed chewing. He missed the taste of grilled rabbit over open fire. He missed the smell of meat.
He missed… being human.
But those days were fading fast.
The man inside the glass was no longer the same Lu Qinghe who had walked into Qinling Forest to hunt a crimson-horned deer. That young rogue Martial Artist, full of pride and future dreams, was now only a flicker in the back of his mind.
All that was left was pain.
And hatred.
He hated the man who had captured him.
He hated the sects who let monsters like him roam free.
He hated the boy who had escaped and left him here.
Most of all, he hated himself for being weak. His mind was nearly consumed. So much that he didn't even notice the red liquid wasn't red anymore. It was fading in color. So, whatever kept him alive was being exhausted with no one to replenish it.
Then came the noise.
A rumble. A screech. The sound of claws against stone.
Beasts.
Through the crimson haze, Lu saw them.
One. Then two. Then more.
Creatures of the forest had found the hidden facility. Maybe drawn by the blood. Or maybe, it was just fate.
They tore through the place like a storm. Crashing. Screeching. Snarling.
One of them slammed into the strange glowing stone beside him which had almost lost all of its luster beside his tube.
There was a sharp crack.
Glass groaned.
Then shattered.
The liquid exploded outward, flooding the stone floor in a wave of red.
Lu dropped with it, coughing, choking, gasping for breath he hadn't needed in days. The floor was cold, rough under his palms.
And then pain returned—raw, physical pain that made his nerves scream.
The beasts turned to him.
Five of them.
Slick with red fur, eyes glowing yellow, mouths filled with teeth.
They pounced.
But Lu Qinghe did not run.
He didn't flinch.
He welcomed them.
His hands moved before he thought. His legs shot up. His body was slower than he remembered, but the strength in his limbs was real.
The beasts came at him. Claws raked his side. Fangs bit into his arm.
He roared.
And tore into them.
With bare hands.
He killed the first by snapping its neck.
The second with a broken shard of glass.
The third he grabbed by the throat and crushed until its windpipe turned to jelly.
The fourth… and fifth… didn't take much longer.
And when it was done, he stood in the middle of the slaughter. Breathing hard and covered in the innards of the beats he had slain. The scent of blood thick in his nostrils. He loved it.
His body ached. His mind burned.
But his hunger—his true hunger—was louder than both.
He reached into the chest of the largest beast.
Tore out its still-warm heart.
And bit into it.
As blood dripped down his chin, Lu Qinghe turned his eyes to the darkness ahead. The hallway beyond the ruined chamber. The path to the world above.
His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, but clear.
"I'll burn it all. The sects. The kingdoms. The forests. Everything."
He stepped forward, over the corpses of his enemies.
"They'll pay."