(~1,000 words)
The air in the Abyssal Pit was thick with decay.
Every breath Shen Liun took was tainted by the stench of rotting flesh and damp stone. The cave ceiling stretched endlessly above, a dark maw that had swallowed light and life alike. Only the faint glow of his Ashen Core lit the immediate few feet around him, casting flickering shadows on jagged walls.
He had no food, no water, and no map of the abyss.
But he had fire.
And it hungered.
His steps were slow, careful. Every sound in this place could mean death—rocks shifting, distant growls, the scratch of claws on stone. The Abyssal Pit was a dumping ground for the forsaken—criminals, failed experiments, and monstrous beasts mutated by corrupted Qi.
"I need strength," Liun murmured, gripping a broken femur he'd fashioned into a crude spear. It had once belonged to some humanoid corpse. Maybe even a cultivator. He didn't care. He was still too weak to summon flame at will, and the Ashen Devourer Art required something to burn.
> "Ahead," Aoshen's voice echoed in his mind. "There is life. Rage-filled. Hungry. Perfect."
Liun crept forward, senses sharpened. His body still ached from the rebirth, but the pain had dulled into a constant background thrum. He stepped through a narrow crevice and into a chamber littered with bones—some human, others far from it.
And there, at the far end, stood his first test.
A Shadowfang Wolf.
Its fur was pitch-black, its body the size of a horse. Silver stripes ran along its spine, pulsing with Yin Qi. Its eyes were milky white, yet they locked onto Liun the instant he stepped forward.
It growled—low, guttural, hungry.
Liun's breath hitched. The wolf was stronger, faster, and built to kill. In his old life, even with intact meridians, he wouldn't have dared face it alone.
But he wasn't that boy anymore.
As the wolf lunged, he dove aside, narrowly missing its claws. The beast smashed into the wall, sending rocks flying. Liun rolled and scrambled up, jabbing his bone spear into the wolf's flank as it turned.
The spear snapped like a twig.
Liun jumped back just in time to avoid its fangs.
"Too strong," he muttered, sweat dripping down his brow.
> "You cannot outmatch it with strength," Aoshen said. "Use your flame. Devour its essence. Feed your core."
"But I can't control it yet—!"
> "Then surrender to it."
The wolf lunged again.
Liun didn't move.
He threw his hand forward, channeling every ounce of fury, fear, and hunger into his palm.
"Ashen Devourer Art — First Flame!"
A rush of heat exploded from his chest, channeled through his hand. For a second, the world dimmed. The flame that erupted wasn't orange or red—it was black, with golden streaks spiraling outward like the veins of a volcano.
His palm struck the wolf's shoulder—and the beast screamed.
The fire didn't burn its fur. It didn't sear flesh. It ate it. Like a living thing, the flame burrowed into the beast's body, consuming Qi, blood, and bone in one horrifying breath.
The wolf thrashed, claws tearing into Liun's side, drawing blood—but it was too late. The Ashen Flame had already taken root.
Moments later, the beast collapsed into a pile of ash and steaming bones.
Liun dropped to his knees, gasping, clutching his ribs.
He was bleeding. Exhausted. But the fire in his core burned brighter.
> "You have fed your flame," Aoshen said. "Do this enough times, and your body will refine itself anew. You are no longer limited by stages or realms. You rise by devouring."
Liun clenched his fist, feeling warmth flow through his veins. The Qi he had taken from the Shadowfang pulsed in his core, settling into him like nutrients in soil.
But this was different from cultivation.
He hadn't absorbed spiritual energy—he had stolen the life of another.
The act didn't sicken him.
Not anymore.
His old self—the innocent boy raised in clan halls, who bowed to elders and believed in justice—had died in fire.
What remained was a survivor.
He stood, wiping blood from his mouth, and walked deeper into the tunnel. A faint glow caught his eye—a dim, bluish crystal embedded in the wall. He approached and placed his palm against it. The light responded, flickering to life.
> "A spirit ore," Aoshen noted. "Weak, but enough to sustain flame. Mark this place."
Liun carved a symbol into the stone using a sharpened rock—two slashes crossed by a third. He would remember this spot.
"Do all cultivators fear this path?" he asked aloud.
> "No," Aoshen replied. "They fear what it becomes. The Ashen Dao was once practiced openly. Until the Heavens called it heresy."
> "Why?"
> "Because it does not beg for power—it takes it. That terrifies those who already have everything."
Liun nodded slowly.
Let them fear.
He turned back toward the darkness. There were more beasts ahead. More corrupted cultivators. More ancient horrors.
And he would burn them all.
Not just to survive—
—but to climb back into the world that spat him out.
And set it on fire.