Chamber of Blood

Emerging on the other side of the gate, Dobroslav found himself in a dimly lit, narrow corridor. The air hung heavy with an unfamiliar scent, far from the promised lushness his uncle's vivid tales had painted. "Strange," he muttered, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Xia, be careful―"

The warning left Dobroslav's lips just before they realised they were separated during the transfer. "Crap!" they both shouted in their hearts simultaneously.

Dobroslav stood alone in the murky corridor of an unknown dungeon, shadows playing tricks on his senses. Meanwhile, Xia stood with other cultivators in a large chamber.

Before everyone dived into the portal, Xia and Dobroslav ignited a slaughter, stoking the embers of animosity from their fellow cultivators. Just as she realised that she was surrounded from all sides by other cultivators and Dobroslav was nowhere to be found, Xia swiftly veiled herself in shadows with her clans technique, Shadowmeld, to shield herself from the brewing vendetta.

The Daemonhart Clan members, practiced both sword and shadow techniques, their skills tracing back to an ancestor who once vanished in the demon realm only to return with newfound knowledge and power. Yet, mastery of these arcane techniques eluded many, the requisite Qi proving elusive to those below Spirit Manifestation Realm, when wielding Qi-based techniques becomes a more attainable feat. However, some talented individual could still use Qi techniques before that.

The chamber buzzed with activity, a congregation of cultivators huddled together in a space vast enough for each to claim a few precious meters of personal territory. Its round shape encased a mysterious ambiance, heightened by the pentagram-shaped metal chandelier that dangled ominously from the room's centre.

Amidst the whispers of anticipation, Xia melted into the shadows, a silent observer of the unfolding spectacle. Having arrived moments later than the rest, she found alliances and camaraderies had already formed within the chamber. Small groups of 3 to 5 cultivators huddled together, their discussions echoing against the chamber's walls.

Restless with curiosity, one eager cultivator couldn't contain himself and pointed excitedly at a mysterious box nestled in the chamber's centre. "Fellow cultivators, what do you suggest we do with the treasure box?" His eyes darted from one group to another, as if seeking the opportune moment to make his move.

The chamber resonated with discordant voices as three groups of cultivators quarrelled over the mysterious treasure box at its centre.

"We found it first!" exclaimed one cultivator, his eyes defiant as he faced the other groups.

A cultivator from another group retorted, "That doesn't matter! We're stronger; we should have it!"

The third group, trying to keep the peace, suggested, "Perhaps we could find a way to share the treasure equally?"

"Share? No way! We risked our lives to get here!" argued a member from the first group.

The second group leader sneered, "Strength is what matters. We'll take it, and that's final."

Suddenly, without warning, members of the second group collectively charged towards the box. Chaos ensued as cultivators clashed, their blood dripping onto the box in the frenzy of the fight. Unbeknownst to them, the box was absorbing the spilled blood.

As blades clashed and energies collided, the cultivators were too absorbed in the battle to notice the subtle shifts in the treasure box. The once pristine surface now bore the stains of their conflict, and the room echoed with the sounds of their struggle.

The chamber transformed into a battlefield, shadows dancing in the dim light as cultivators fought fiercely for control. Unaware of the box's ominous actions, they continued their desperate clash, each blow contributing unknowingly to the awakening power.The box started to emit a faint red glow as it gathered the blood of the fallen.