An agonizing, screech ripped through the mountain air, before dying into a choked gurgle. Across the blood-slicked forest, Ye Hu staggered, his face a grotesque mask of fury and pain. He clutched at the ruin of his shoulder, where dark, viscous blood pulsed from the stump of his missing limb, flooding the ground in a spreading, crimson pool.
In the wake of the chaos, Shudu moved with a predator's grace. His eyes, were now burning coals of focus as he fell to one knee beside the silk-shrouded form of Xue Tuzi. With a careful tear of his sword, he shredded the enchanted bindings. The sight that greeted him stole his breath. Xue Tuzi, was pale as moonlight, his delicate features pinched with pain. Shudu gathered him into his arms, the weight feeling terrifyingly fragile against his muscular chest.
Xue Tuzi's eyelids fluttered open. A groan, soft as a sigh, escaped his lips before he mustered his strength and delivered a feeble, half-hearted punch to Shudu's chest. "What took you so long?" he murmured, the words slurred but laced with a familiar, stubborn warmth.
Shudu didn't answer with words. He silenced the question by capturing Xue Tuzi's lips with his own. When he pulled back, his voice was a low, gravelly rumble.
"I'm sorry." He trailed a line of soft, reverent kisses from Xue Tuzi's brow, down the bridge of his nose, to the point of his chin and the curve of his cheek. "I promise never to leave you again." He leaned in, indulging once more in the softness of those lips, trying to pour all his fear and resolve into the single, tender act.
The moment was shattered by a frantic rustling from the treeline. Shudu's head snapped up, his protective embrace tightening instinctively. Two junior sect disciples, their robes torn and faces smeared with dirt, emerged from the foliage. They had been sent to scour the lower paths for any lingering demonic insects
"You there!" Shudu called. The disciples froze. The one in front stumbled backward into his comrade, whose legs shook uncontrollably. Their fear was pure instinct—the terror of a rabbit that sees a hawk, even a tame one. Shudu clicked his tongue in annoyance. "What's the status of the sect?" he demanded, dragging a wary Xue Tuzi toward the trembling juniors.
The braver of the two disciples stammered, his gaze darting between Shudu and Ye Hu. "C-Clear! All demons have been vanquished!"
"Impossible!" The guttural roar came from Ye Hu. He was forcing himself upright, his body contorting. Where his arm had been severed, flesh and bone writhed like a nest of serpents. A new limb was grotesquely regenerating, pushing out from the wound in a pulsating, misshapen mass of raw tissue and gleaming bone. The sight was an abomination against nature.
The two disciples cried out, clinging to each other with renewed horror.
"There isn't much time left," Shudu sighed, he gently but firmly guided Xue Tuzi toward the terrified youths. "Take him back to the sect. Now."
Though he had been sinking in and out of consciousness, drifting on a tide of pain, Xue Tuzi had clung to one anchor: Shudu's promise. His eyes flew open, clarity burning through the haze. "You promised…" he managed to blurt out, his voice a thread of sound, yet sharp with betrayal. "You promised not to leave me!"
The disciples, eager for any order that would take them away, quickly grasped his arms. Xue Tuzi struggled weakly but his strength was gone, his protests fading as they began to pull him away from the man who had just sworn to stay.
"I will be back."
The words were a vow but to Xue Tuzi, they felt like a final, shattering blow. Shudu did not look back. He turned his broad back, a silhouette of resolve against the churning, demonic energy of the forest. With a sharp, practiced flick of his wrist, he sent a crimson arc of Ye Hu's blood sizzling from his blade onto the trampled earth. Then, he walked away, his figure swallowed by the oppressive gloom, each step taking him further from his promise.
"You promised not to leave me." The cry was torn from Xue Tuzi's lips.
As the disciples tightened their grip and began to pull him back toward the relative safety of the sect walls, a raw, guttural scream ripped from his throat. "Shudu! You promised me!" He strained against them, one hand stretching out toward the fading figure until his tendons ached, his fingers clawing at the empty, tainted air. But his strength was an extinguished ember, dragged back like a leaf torn in a storm.
Inside the sect, a scene of organized chaos unfolded. The grand courtyard, once a place of serene meditation, was now a field hospital painted in shades of blood and dust. Uninjured disciples moved with frantic purpose, their robes stained as they carried groaning comrades on makeshift stretchers toward the medical quarters. The air was thick with the coppery tang of blood, the sharp scent of medicinal herbs, and the low, harmonious hum of cultivators channeling their qi into those whose lives hung by the thinnest of threads.
It was here that Xue Laohu and Li Zhameng, their own bodies bearing the minor scrapes and bruises of battle, were tirelessly tending to the wounded when the two disciples half-dragged, half-carried Xue Tuzi into the chaos.
"Let me go! I have to go back!" Xue Tuzi fought with the desperate, flailing strength of a cornered animal. He was a portrait of devastation. Rivulets of fresh blood pooled from a gash on his leg, tracing dark paths down his skin. His body was a canvas of brutal purple and blue bruises, and a deep, angry scar across his stomach wept a slow, ominous red. But the most profound wound was etched upon his face—a pain so deep and consuming it was impossible to tell where his physical agony ended and his heartbreak began.
Xue Laohu, hearing the familiar voice bolted to his side with Li Zhameng a half-step behind. "We can take it from here," Xue Laohu said, his voice a forced calm as he addressed the exhausted disciples. His eyes, however, were fixed on his Xue Tuzi's broken form. "Please, tend to the others." The disciples, relieved to hand over the burden, gave quick, respectful bows and melted back into the throng of rescuers.
In an instant, Xue Laohu was at work, his experienced hands closing around Xue Tuzi's wrist, channeling a warm, steady stream of healing qi into his ravaged meridians. Li Zhameng knelt, already pulling bandages and salves from a pouch, his face—usually bright—now grim and set, covered in the grime and ichor of the insect demons he had slain.
"Shizun," Xue Tuzi stammered, his body trembling under the dual assault of healing energy and overwhelming panic. "I- I have to go back." Tears, hot and sorrowful, welled in his eyes, blurring the ravaged face of Xue Laohu. He tried to push himself up, his muscles screaming in protest.
"A-Tuzi, you're in no condition—" Xue Laohu began, his voice thick with fear.
"Please!" The word was not a request, but a scream that seemed to tear itself from the very core of Xue Tuzi's being. It was followed by uncontrollable, wracking sobs that shook his entire frame. He collapsed forward, his strength utterly spent, and clung to the front of Xue Laohu's blood-soaked robes like a drowning man, his tears adding fresh dampness to the fabric.
As he held the sobbing disciple, Xue Laohu's own heart felt as though it were being cleaved in two. His mind coldly assessed the truth: several broken bones, a deeply bleeding wound, a core depleted of spiritual energy. Even if his heart allowed it, Xue Tuzi's body would not make it ten paces. His gaze lifted from the disciples heaving shoulders to meet Li Zhameng's weary eyes, then swept over the sect grounds. The beautiful, ancient halls lay in smoldering ruins. The silent, sheet-covered forms of the dead lay in a grim row. All around them, the injured and dying fought for their next breath. And here was Xue Tuzi, desperate to throw himself back into the very pit of danger.
A deep, weary sigh shuddered from Xue Laohu's chest, a sound laden with the weight of impossible choices. Closing his eyes against the grim reality of the triage area, he retreated inward, mentally reaching for the infuriating, enigmatic presence that had been both his curse and his occasional compass.
Ayo, System! he called out in the silent theater of his mind.
The response was a loud, staticky cough that resonated directly in his skull, a sound like grinding gears. It was persistent, hacking and wet, refusing to cease even after several mental attempts to clear whatever constituted its metaphysical throat. Finally, it subsided, and a screen flared to life behind his eyelids, blindingly bright and garish.
WELCOME USER TO:
BOUND BY DARKNESS, YET DRAWN BY LOVE; THE DEMON'S ETERNAL CURSE AND THE MORTAL'S UNBREAKABLE HEART IN A WORLD THAT SHOULDN'T LET THEM BE TOGETHER BUT SOMEHOW, AGAINST ALL ODDS, THEY COPULATE…
Xue Laohu stared, mentally blinking at the bright neon text. A garish red dot at the end of the ridiculously long title blinked rhythmically, like a mocking, all-seeing eye. He remembered every trial, every absurd tribulation this so-called "system" had dragged him through. The knowledge was a cold stone in his gut: he could never truly stop Xue Tuzi. The boy was the protagonist of this twisted dogblood novel, destined to rush toward the climax and, against all logic, seize victory. But destiny was a fickle thing. If he, Xue Laohu, could somehow stack the deck, could become the unseen hand that guaranteed that win… he was willing to risk everything.
His gaze fell upon Xue Tuzi, still trembling in the aftermath of his sobs. In this battered state, he thought, he doesn't stand a chance against a regenerating horror like Ye Hu. But if he were to be completely healed… The thought was both a hope and a terror. He hesitated, his jaw tightening. "System," he muttered aloud, the word tasting like ash. He remembered the countless times it had screwed him over, its "help" often coming with twisted conditions and absurd rebuttals. But desperation was a powerful motivator. "I need Xue Tuzi in full recovery." He braced himself, gritting his teeth, waiting for the inevitable rejection or a demand for an unthinkable price.
Yet, the system stayed silent. The only response was the continuous, slow blink… blink… blink… of the red light, a silent taunt that stretched his nerves to their breaking point.
VERY WELL.
"Huh?" Xue Laohu murmured aloud, shaking his head as if to dislodge the words. Had the pain and exhaustion finally caused him to hallucinate? Such a straightforward agreement was utterly out of character.
USER MAY EXCHANGE HIS VITALITY WITH THAT OF THE MC.
The words hung in the air, their meaning chillingly clear. Xue Laohu turned his head, his eyes finding Xue Tuzi once more. The disciple was a wreck of torn flesh and broken spirit; nothing but agonizing pain would greet him if this "exchange" took place. He would accept Xue Tuzi's suffering as his own. But the alternative was death. A swift, brutal death at the hands of a demon.
"Fine!" he barked mentally, the decision a sharp, painful stab in his heart. "Let's do it!" There was no time for second guesses, no time for tender goodbyes.
He leaned over Xue Tuzi, his movements suddenly gentle amidst the chaos. "Hold on," he whispered, so softly it was almost stolen by the moans of the wounded. He pressed his palm firmly against Xue Tuzi's chest, directly over the his struggling heart. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a searing, violent current erupted from his core, a torrent of his very life force tearing through his meridians and flooding into Xue Tuzi. It felt like his soul was being unraveled and pulled out through his palm. The moment the transaction was complete, the connection severed, Xue Laohu collapsed. The world swam, then went dark at the edges.
"Shizun!" Li Zhameng cried out, lunging forward to gather the suddenly limp form into his arms.
Consciousness returned to Xue Laohu in a wave of pure, unadulterated agony. A guttural groan slipped from his mouth as every nerve ending screamed in protest. His body, which moments before had only ached with fatigue, now felt as if it had been trampled by a thousand horses, then set on fire. His muscles seized and tensed uncontrollably; beads of cold sweat instantly pricked his brow. Fuck he thought, his mind reeling, how was Xue Tuzi able to endure this?
Across from him, Xue Tuzi gasped, his eyes flying open. His breathing, once shallow and ragged, was now deep and clear. He ran his fingers over the deep scar on his stomach, his touch meeting only smooth, whole skin. He flexed his leg, the grievous wound gone as if it had never been. The crushing weight of his broken bones had vanished.
"Shizun?" he whispered, turning to look at the man who now recoiled and groaned in Li Zhameng's arms, his face pale and contorted with a pain that mirrored his own just moments before.
Understanding dawned, bright and horrifying. "What are you waiting for?" Xue Laohu managed to grind out through the pain that felt like it was splintering his bones. His voice was a ragged shadow of its former self. "Go!"
Tears, now of a profoundly different nature, welled in Xue Tuzi's eyes. Gratitude, grief, and a furious, burning resolve mixed into a single, powerful emotion.
"Shizun… thank you."
With that, Xue Tuzi turned, his movements now fluid and powerful, and ran back into the heart of the forest.
The air between them was thick with the promise of death. Shudu and Ye Hu were locked in a fierce, desperate battle, a whirlwind of clashing steel and raw fury where neither was willing to concede even an inch of ground. The sharp, percussive clang of Shudu's sword meeting Ye Hu's steel-like claws rang out.
With a guttural snarl, Ye Hu recoiled, his maw gaping wide. A cloud of sickly, purple-tinged miasma, thick with the scent of rot billowed forth, enveloping Shudu. Yet the demon warrior stood unwavering within the toxic haze, his lungs drawing the poisonous air without so much as a cough. His constitution, hardened by his demonic core, rendered the attack useless.
"Is that all you have?" Shudu's voice was a low, steady rasp, a stark contrast to the chaos around them.
"Weakling!" Ye Hu spat, the insult dripping with venom. In a fluid, grotesque motion, he spewed a stream of glistening silk threads from his mouth. They whistled through the air, not as a net, but as a dozen seeking serpents, aiming to coil around Shudu's limbs and throat. But Shudu was a tempest of motion. His blade, an extension of his own will, became a silver blur, shearing through the constricting threads with precise, sharp snaps. One after another, the silken bonds fell away, littering the ground like severed veins.
The miasma started to take an effect on Shudu's battered body. A tremor ran through his arm, and a cold bead of sweat traced a path through the grime on his temple. His chest heaved, each breath a ragged gasp that scorched his lungs. A deep, leaden weariness began to seep into his bones, making every movement an agony. The world at the edges of his vision started to blur and swim. He clutched the hilt of his sword so tightly the leather wrapping groaned in protest, his knuckles bleached white.
Seeing him falter, Ye Hu let out a loud, bellowing laugh that held no joy, only the cold triumph of a predator sensing a fatal weakness.
"You fool!" He roared, his voice dripping with contempt. "You've removed your demonic eye, cast aside your true power, and you still think you can stand against me?"
The taunt struck deeper than any claw. As the words landed, Ye Hu lunged. It was not a feral pounce, but a calculated, devastating strike. He moved like a shadow, his claws slamming into Shudu's blade with force. The impact sent a shockwave up Shudu's arm, numbing it to the shoulder. His sword was torn from his grasp, spinning through the air to land with a dull, final thud in the dirt.
Before Shudu could register the loss, searing, white-hot agony erupted in his gut. Ye Hu's claws, cold and unforgiving as forged iron, dug deep into his stomach, twisting viciously. The air fled Shudu's lungs, replaced by a coppery flood that welled up his throat. He coughed, and mouthfuls of crimson blood spattered the ground, each drop a testament to his failing body.
His vision flickered, sinking between stark white and consuming black. In that liminal space between consciousness and oblivion, a memory, sharp and painful, surfaced—the ordeal of sealing his demonic eye.
He saw it again: the insatiable, crimson eye, a void that consumed not just power, but life itself. He felt the ghost of its hunger, the way it had drained the very essence from Xue Tuzi, leaving only a hollow shell. The fear that had curdled in his own heart—the terror that he would one day turn that ravenous gaze upon his beloved. It was that fear that had forced him to depart, to wander the realms in a torturous quest to rid himself of the very thing that made him powerful, all to ensure he would never, ever kill him.
The memory of his sacrifice flooded back, not as a thought, but as a physical phantom pain that lanced through his skull.
He had found her in the deserted, barren lands at the edge of the world—a demonic cultivator who dwelled among the bleached bones of forgotten gods. The wind howled a constant dirge, whipping the crimson robes that clung to her form.
"Your demonic third eye," she murmured, her voice like shifting sand. "To seek its removal is to sever your own destiny. You will never become a True Demon."
Shudu had met her gaze, a weary defiance in his own. A faint, bitter smirk touched his lips. "I was never truly a demon to begin with. I have no use for a power that devours what I seek to protect."
Her eyes, pools of ancient obsidian, had widened a fraction, seeing not folly, but a resolve she had never witnessed. "Very well," she conceded, a note of something akin to pity in her tone. "Then I shall carve remove it. But be warned, you can never transform into your true demonic form ever again."
The ritual was not one of magic, but of brutal, surgical precision. As he knelt, she plunged a dagger of carved bone not into his flesh, but into the very essence of his being. His world dissolved into white, searing agony as she plucked the eye from its socket. It was a living thing of vibrantly red energy, twisting and writhing in her grasp like a captured star, its erratic movements a silent scream of protest. When the darkness returned, all that remained was a searing brand upon his forehead—a cinnabar mark in the shape of a small, eternal flame.
Now with the eye gone, his demonic prowess was depleted. He struggled futilely under Ye Hu's grasp, the moth demon's claws digging deeper into his torso with every movement. The moth demon, sensing his victory sneered, "Your struggle is pointless. Without your demonic eye, you are just a man. And men break."
He released Shudu, not out of mercy, but to revel in his final, futile scramble. The moment the pressure vanished, Shudu threw himself sideways in a desperate, sprawling dive. The world became a blur of churned earth and his own labored gasps. His outstretched fingers scraped through the dirt—then connected. The shock of the cold, familiar metal of the sword's hilt against his skin was like a jolt of lightning. He clenched his hand around it, a spark of defiance flaring in his chest.
That spark was immediately smothered. As he tried to push himself up, Ye Hu's enraged shriek tore through the air. A thick, glistening web of silk threads slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. It wrapped around his arms and torso with brutal efficiency, yanking him back and pinning the reclaimed sword uselessly to his side.
The very air grew thick with Ye Hu's miasma, a heavy, cloying blanket that made every breath a laboring, painful effort for Shudu. But his body began to falter, his strength bleeding out into the soil around him. He grasped his sword tightly, but the torrent of silk threads enveloping his body completely, wraped him from shoulder to ankle in a cocoon of stunning strength. The bonds tightened with every struggling breath, rendering him immobile—a fly trapped in a web. Yet, even as the silk constricted, his right hand, white-knuckled and trembling, refused to relinquish its grip on the sword's hilt.
Ye Hu let out a loud, maniacal laugh that echoed his eyes narrowing into evil, glinting crescents. He extended his sharp claws, which now crackled with malevolent energy, each movement a promise of finality.
"It's a pity," Ye Hu hissed, his voice dripping with venomous glee, "he won't be here to see you die."
Just as Ye Hu's claws descended, piercing into Shudu's chest the bound demon growled through a mouth full of blood. "Tch. A shame... you won't be alive to find out."
With a roar Shudu summoned the last dregs of his strength. He drove himself forward, impaling his own body further onto Ye Hu's claws to close the distance, and simultaneously thrust his own sword up and deep into the moth demon's chest.
Shudu felt an excruciating, tearing pain as Ye Hu's claws dug deeper, searching, scouring for the remnants of his demonic core to crush it. The pain was unimaginable, erupting behind his eyes. His pupils dilated into black pools, the veins on his temples pulsed like live wires, and he spat a final, mouthful of blood onto Ye Hu's face. Yet he did not stop. He pushed grinding the steel deeper, feeling the satisfying, visceral crunch as the tip of his blade found and shattered Ye Hu's own demonic core.
The crackling energy around Ye Hu's claws flickered and died. The triumphant glee in his crescent eyes extinguished, replaced by a void of shock, and then, nothing at all.
A piercing screech, raw with agony and fury, tore from Ye Hu's throat—a sound so profound it seemed to shake the very foundations of Sect Mount Dingbu. His body was consumed from within by a vengeful, violet flame, his physical form unraveling into ash. But with his final, dissipating strength, his claws gave one last, vicious squeeze deep within Shudu's chest. An audible crack was soon followed the sound was not loud, but to Shudu, it was the crack of his own world ending. The sound of his demonic core fracturing.
As Ye Hu turned to motes of dust on the wind, Shudu gasped, a wet and ragged sound. The strength fled his limbs, and he collapsed. The brilliant light in his eyes began to dim, flickering like a guttering candle, and a visible, dark energy—the very essence of his life force—began to seep from the wound in his chest like smoke from a dying fire.
"Shushu!"
The cry was a lance of pure panic, cleaving through the settling dust. From the deep shadows of the ravaged forest, Xue Tuzi emerged, his own form a testament to a separate, desperate battle. He stumbled over splintered roots and the scorched debris of their fight, his eyes wide with terror until they landed on the fallen demon.
He fell to his knees beside him, the impact jarring. Shudu's robes were torn, blood oozing from the wound on his chest. Xue Tuzi's hands, trembled violently, flying to Shudu's torso, applying pressure in a futile attempt to stanch the flow of demonic energy and blood. Hot tears welled in his eyes and spilled over, tracing clean paths through the grime on his cheeks.
"Mmm, stop crying," Shudu murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper. His brows furrowed against a wave of nauseating pain, yet his focus was entirely on the man weeping above him. He could feel it inside—the intricate structure of his demonic core was not just cracked, but failing completely, small pieces beginning to disintegrate into nothingness. He lifted a heavy hand, his thumb brushing away the tears that refused to cease their flow on Xue Tuzi's cheek. The gesture was impossibly gentle. "I'm so lucky," he breathed, his gaze softening as it traced the familiar, beloved features. "I get to see such a beautiful face before passing. So please… stop crying."
He felt the hot, salt tears fall onto his own bruised skin as Xue Tuzi leaned in, his voice breaking on a whisper, "Do you intend to leave me again?"
The demon could only manage a pained grumble before his lips were sealed by the other's in a kiss. It was a kiss of reunion and a protest against farewell.
When they parted, Xue Tuzi's movements were suddenly precise, fueled by a frantic hope. With a deft hand, he pulled a single, thin golden thread from his own hair. It shimmered under the dim moonlight, humming with latent spiritual energy. In a movement that was both terrifying and tender, he sank the end of the thread, sharp as a needle, into the devastating wound, directly into the fractured core.
A raw groan was torn from Shudu's throat, his body arching in agony. But Xue Tuzi worked with the unwavering precision his own pure qi flowing through the golden thread. The thread moved as if alive, weaving through the shattered pieces of the demonic core, stitching the fragments of dark energy back together with threads of brilliant gold. It was a tapestry of salvation, each pass of the thread binding the broken essence, making it whole again. The once-shattered core, now a fused between shadow and light, began to pulse with a warm, golden glow before it sank back into Shudu's chest.
A long, shuddering breath escaped Shudu, color slowly returning to his ashen face. Xue Tuzi slumped forward, his energy spent left him breathless. He wiped his tear-streaked face with a torn sleeve, his voice hoarse but soft as he said, "Let's go home."
Shudu's lips curved into a weak but genuine smile. He reached over, his hand steadier now, to grasp Xue Tuzi's chin, pulling him in for another, softer kiss. Against his lips, he whispered, "Carry me."
Xue Tuzi's heart swelled as he gathered the demon into his arms and onto his back. A soft grunt escaped him. "You're quite heavy."
A low, pained chuckle vibrated against his shoulder as Shudu nuzzled into the crook of his neck, savoring the familiar scent.
"It's the weight of my love," he murmured.
Xue Tuzi adjusted his grip, his own heart feeling impossibly light despite the weight on his back. "Then I will carry it," he vowed, his voice soft but unwavering, "all the way home, and for every day after."
Blah Blah Blah:
And that concludes the main story. Fear not I still plan to write the Epilogue because there are some loose threads I plan to wrap up. Like what will happen now to our Narrator? With the story concluded what of his future? I also have a final smut scene I've been itching to write.