Dawn broke fully over the Bloodfang Mountains, bathing the jagged peaks in a muted red light. The remnants of the blood moon's glow clung stubbornly to the crags, a lingering stain of ominous power. The valley below, littered with the shattered remnants of demonic seals, seemed almost alive—quivering under the pulse of residual energy from Xue Ling's awakening.
He stood amidst the ruins, his aura still pulsing like a heartbeat. The crimson veins that had erupted across his body the night before throbbed faintly beneath his skin, an unrelenting reminder of the power now coiled within him. His chest heaved as he inhaled deeply, tasting the iron-laced air, thick with the scent of ash and blood.
Behind him, Yan Mo's dark wings stretched wide, forming a shadow that swallowed the rising sun. The black feathers shimmered faintly, catching the first rays of dawn like wet obsidian. His presence exuded both menace and guidance, an ever-present reminder of the cost of the path Xue Ling had chosen.
"You survived the first night," Yan Mo murmured, his voice a low rasp that seemed to merge with the wind. "Few can endure the awakening without losing themselves to the hunger within."
Xue Ling clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. "I am not weak," he said, voice low, cold, but trembling slightly under the strain of lingering adrenaline. "But… what is this hunger? The power inside… it feels alive, like it wants to tear me apart."
Yan Mo stepped closer, claws glinting in the dim red light. "The blood of demons is not a gift—it is a curse. Every step you take, every ounce of power you claim, will consume a piece of your humanity. Those who fully embrace it… become something beyond human… feared even by demons themselves."
Xue Ling's jaw tightened. The veins across his body seemed to pulse in response to Yan Mo's words, black energy crawling across his skin like living ink. "I don't care," he said, his voice hardening into steel. "If I must lose myself to avenge my clan, then so be it. I will master this power, and nothing—no one—will stand in my way."
Yan Mo's lips curved into a shadowed smile. "Bold words. Very well. Let us begin your first lesson. The path of demonic cultivation is not learned from books. You must awaken the Seals of Shadows within your body. Only then will you control the darkness… instead of being consumed by it."
Xue Ling dropped to his knees, knees sinking into the jagged stones beneath him. He could feel the black veins writhing beneath his skin, thrumming like snakes eager to strike. Yan Mo reached forward, claws brushing lightly across Xue Ling's chest. Pain shot through him like molten metal, scorching nerve endings and leaving streaks of white-hot agony.
"Focus on your rage," Yan Mo's voice instructed, soft but commanding. "The demon inside feeds on emotion. Anger, fear, grief… channel them into power. But be warned—lose control, and it will devour you completely. It will swallow your mind, your soul… your very essence."
Xue Ling's mind raced. Memories of fire, blood, and screams slammed into him with unbearable intensity—the massacre of his family, the sight of his father's lifeless body, his mother's screams echoing as the Scarlet Demonic Sect's soldiers tore through the courtyard. The taste of vengeance, bitter and metallic, filled his mouth.
He let the fury flow. Let it rise like molten fire, filling every vein, every artery, every corner of his being. His aura flared, first red, then black, then crimson so deep it seemed almost liquid.
And then it happened.
The first seal awakened.
It burned in his chest like a coiling serpent, writhing with sentient malice, whispering secrets of power and death. Shadows around him began to move, stretching, twisting, wriggling as if alive. They responded to his will, writhing at the edge of his vision like black smoke made tangible. The air seemed heavier, thick with energy that made his hair stand on end.
Hours passed, though time itself became meaningless. Xue Ling practiced endlessly, summoning shadow tendrils and shaping them into whips, blades, and shields. Pain gnawed at him relentlessly. His arms ached, muscles burning, veins throbbing as if his body were rebelling against the unnatural surge of demonic energy. Exhaustion tried to claim him, but every success, every controlled movement of the shadows, fed his aura, making him stronger, more alive, more terrifying.
And then the peaks above stirred. Shadows moved unnaturally, sliding across jagged rocks and twisting through the mist like snakes. Three figures descended with deliberate precision, their auras jagged and malevolent. The Scarlet Demonic Sect had come, drawn by the residual energy of Xue Ling's awakening.
Xue Ling's body tensed, the shadows coiling around him like black serpents, ready to strike. His hand shaped the Shadow Fang, the dark energy forming a whip that seemed to hum with anticipation.
"Show yourselves," he called, his voice low but commanding, cutting through the valley like a blade.
The battle erupted violently. Shadows collided against demonic auras with earth-shattering force. The boy in red and black moved with unnatural speed, faster than the attackers had anticipated. Pain and rage fused together in his mind, sharpening every strike, every counter. He was a whirlwind of crimson and black, moving fluidly, striking with lethal precision.
The first Sect member lunged with a talon wrapped in black energy, but Xue Ling's shadow tendrils intercepted, wrapping around the attacker's arm and snapping it like a branch. Another attempted a strike from above, only to be entangled in a whip of shadow that coiled around his legs and hurled him into the jagged rocks. The last attacker tried to retreat, only to be met with a flurry of razor-like tendrils that forced him back with searing pain.
When the dust settled, two were beaten, one fled, and Xue Ling stood amid the broken earth, bloodied, bruised, yet alive. His aura still flared crimson and black, the shadows rippling like water disturbed by a storm.
Yan Mo watched silently from the ridge above, wings folded, eyes glinting. "This was your first true test," he said quietly. "Rage is power—but control is survival. Never forget that."
Xue Ling's chest heaved as he wiped the blood from his lips. He looked to the peaks, where the Scarlet Sect had disappeared. "Next time… they will not escape," he said, voice low, filled with icy certainty.
The first step along the path of shadows and blood was complete. The boy who had knelt in grief, drowning in memories of loss, had awakened. His body was stronger, his mind sharper, his aura darker. He had tasted power—and he hungered for more.
From the valley's edge, shadows seemed to stir, whispering secrets of forbidden arts. The mountains themselves seemed to bend subtly to his presence, reacting to the tremor of demonic energy that now coursed through the valley.
Xue Ling's lips curved into a faint, cold smile. "Let them come."
Somewhere in the distant peaks, the masters of the Scarlet Demonic Sect stirred, their eyes glowing like embers. The name of the last Xue heir was spreading, carried by whispers of fear and awe.
The blood moon had faded, but its legacy endured. And the world would soon tremble beneath the coming storm of vengeance, darkness, and unrelenting power.
Xue Ling's crimson aura burned brighter than the rising sun. He was no longer a boy who had knelt in grief. He was a Demon Cultivator, heir to vengeance, and the harbinger of a new age of shadows.