The Path of the Forsaken

The slums of Broken Sky City never truly slept. Even in the dead of night, desperate figures prowled the alleyways, scavengers looking for scraps, thieves waiting for the careless. The air was thick with the stench of rot and despair, an ever-present reminder that survival here was a luxury few could afford. The heavens had long forgotten this place, as had those in power. Only the strong, the cunning, or the lucky survived here.

Inside a dilapidated shack tucked in the darkest corner of the slums, Shen Tian sat cross-legged, his body a fragile silhouette in the dim light. His thin frame trembled with exhaustion, his breathing slow and deliberate. Every movement caused a dull ache to ripple through his muscles, but he ignored it, as he had for countless lifetimes. He was a being forged in the fires of suffering and rebirth. Weakness meant nothing to him. It was a passing state—a challenge to be conquered.

The Phantom Veins Sutra, the technique Shen Tian had begun refining in this forsaken city, was working—albeit slowly. It was not designed to bring instantaneous power, but to draw energy from the world around him, even in the most barren of environments. And Broken Sky City, with its filth and decay, was a place so devoid of spiritual essence that most cultivators would not even dream of trying to recover here. But Shen Tian had always been different.

Closing his eyes, he focused inward. His meridians were still shattered—broken from the endless battles he had fought in past lives. His soul, once boundless and infinite, now felt like a faint ember in the wind. But there, deep within him, pulsed the Eternal Dao Seed, the heart of his immortality. It was weak now, far weaker than it should have been, yet it still existed. The meridians were his chains, but the Dao Seed was his key.

He focused his breath, drawing in the faintest traces of energy from the air, the dirt, the decay around him. The Phantom Veins Sutra allowed him to absorb this energy without disturbing the balance of the world around him, a skill that had taken him countless lifetimes to master. It was slow, painful work—like a starving man sucking nourishment from the earth. But it was progress, and Shen Tian was patient. The slums, in their own twisted way, offered him a silent, grim challenge. And he would rise above it.

As the first wisp of energy entered his body, Shen Tian let out a breath, the pain of his frail body fighting against the energy as it wove its way into his shattered meridians. His body trembled with the effort, but he did not stop. The Sutra guided him, but he still had to do the work himself—pulling the energy into his veins, letting it slowly nurture his damaged body. A small trickle of power coursed through him, but it was enough.

Each passing breath felt like a victory, every moment of pain a reminder of his resilience. Shen Tian had lived through countless lifetimes, and this was just another test. The slow pace of his recovery only spurred him on further. The heavens could not break his will, not even the weight of time itself.

But time was against him.

Shen Tian's enemies were many. Zhao Kun, the brute who had tried to humiliate him, was still out there, gathering strength, no doubt waiting for the right moment to strike again. The gang wars in the slums were constant, but the true danger lay in the power struggles that thrived beneath the surface—factions and underworld figures constantly jockeying for control, each looking to exploit the weak for their own gain.

Shen Tian opened his eyes. He could feel it—the pull of something lurking outside. Someone was watching him, but not from a distance. They were close. His instincts screamed at him, his senses sharpened by countless battles and betrayals. A figure moved outside his shack. It wasn't the first time. He could hear the faintest scuff of a boot, the creak of the door, the subtle shift in the air.

Before he could react, the door creaked open.

Jiang Hao stepped inside, his dagger glinting in the faint light. He was younger than Shen Tian by several years, but his sharp eyes and unspoken understanding of the slums marked him as someone who had survived through sheer cunning and a ruthless will to live. There was no fear in his gaze, only curiosity—a predator eyeing a potential ally or enemy.

"You're still alive," Jiang Hao remarked, his voice low and casual, but there was a certain sharpness to it. He was a street-smart survivor, and he'd learned the value of every piece of information.

Shen Tian did not bother to stand. "Disappointed?" he asked, his voice steady despite the aches in his body. He kept his gaze locked with Jiang Hao's, no weakness in his eyes.

Jiang Hao's lips twisted into a half-smile. "No. If you were weak, you'd already be dead," he said with an edge of amusement. He stepped further into the room, his eyes flicking over the crude surroundings with a mix of familiarity and disdain. "Zhao Kun hasn't come for you yet, but he will. And when he does, he won't act alone."

Shen Tian's lips curled slightly. He had anticipated this. Zhao Kun was nothing if not predictable. A thug with the ego of a noble, thinking he could crush Shen Tian without consequence. The brute would gather allies—perhaps the other gangs in the slums, or even some of the smaller factions looking to gain power through the chaos. Shen Tian wasn't worried about Zhao Kun's petty grudge. He was worried about the consequences of the bigger game at play.

"How much time do I have?" Shen Tian asked, keeping his tone casual. There was no rush, no panic. Only clarity.

Jiang Hao ran a hand through his unkempt hair, his eyes scanning the room again. "A few days. Maybe less." He flipped the dagger idly in his hand, watching it twirl. "Word's spreading about you. Some think you got lucky with Zhao Kun. Others…" He glanced at Shen Tian with a sharp gleam in his eye. "Others think you're dangerous."

Shen Tian allowed himself a small smile. "Good."

"Fear is a weapon," Jiang Hao added, his tone shifting as if he understood that particular truth all too well. "People will hesitate. And hesitation is the one thing you can exploit in this world."

"I'm not here for their fear," Shen Tian replied softly, but with a certainty that was unmistakable. "Fear will come on its own."

Jiang Hao studied him for a moment before nodding. "You're not like the others in the slums."

"Neither are you," Shen Tian remarked.

Jiang Hao chuckled, his posture relaxing slightly. "Fair enough. I like that." He tossed the dagger in the air again, catching it effortlessly. "Listen, I've got an offer for you. Join us."

Shen Tian raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not showing any outward excitement. "'Us'?" he asked, leaning back slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought.

Jiang Hao's face darkened, the casualness in his expression fading away. "You're not the only one who refuses to be stepped on. There are others like me—like you—who won't bow to the gangs or the nobles who spit on us. We take care of our own." His voice dropped a touch, as if sensing that the room had grown heavier.

Shen Tian tilted his head, considering the offer. He had no illusions about the slums. Every group here fought for survival, and alliances were as fragile as glass. However, strength lay in numbers, and Jiang Hao was no fool to offer such a proposition without considering the risks. It would be a dangerous move, but perhaps the right one.

"What do you want from me?" Shen Tian asked, his eyes not leaving Jiang Hao's.

Jiang Hao smirked, his expression lightening again. "To prove yourself. There's a test. If you pass, you're one of us. If you fail…" He shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, at least you'll know where you stand before Zhao Kun finishes you off."

Shen Tian's thoughts shifted rapidly. A test. A trial by fire. He had known the weight of such challenges before—though the circumstances were different, the result would still be the same: survival.

"Fine," Shen Tian said, standing up slowly, his movements deliberate. "Lead the way."

Jiang Hao motioned for him to follow, and the two left the small shack behind, moving into the winding alleys of the slums. The further they went, the more the streets became narrow and crumbling, the buildings leaning against each other as though holding on to the last remnants of their existence. The stench of decay thickened in the air, and the ground was slick with muck, dirt, and refuse. Even the rats avoided this place. It was a district abandoned by the world, a forgotten corner of Broken Sky City.

They came upon a small gathering of figures standing in the shadows, their faces half-hidden by ragged hoods and scarves. Shen Tian took in the scene with a practiced eye. These were no ordinary slum dwellers—they were members of Jiang Hao's crew, a group that refused to bend the knee to the established powers of the city.

One of the boys stepped forward. He was tall, his face obscured by a hood, but Shen Tian could see the scar that ran down his left cheek. His left eye was covered by a bandage, and his hands were calloused from years of combat.

"So, you're the cripple who embarrassed Zhao Kun," the one-eyed boy said, his voice flat, but with a trace of challenge beneath it.

Shen Tian met his gaze calmly. "I am."

The boy eyed him for a long moment, then smirked. "Good. Let's see if you're worth keeping alive."

He whistled, and two others immediately rushed forward, weapons in hand.

The fight that followed was quick, but deadly.

Shen Tian was already in motion before the first attacker could even land a blow. The boy wielded a rusted pipe, swinging it with a wild strike aimed at Shen Tian's ribs. It was sloppy, too obvious, but Shen Tian didn't dodge. Instead, he allowed the strike to pass, then stepped inside the attack, seizing the boy's wrist and twisting. The pipe clattered to the ground as the boy cried out in pain.

The second attacker—a boy with a dagger—was faster, his movements more precise. But Shen Tian was faster still. As the blade lunged toward his side, he shifted his weight, avoiding the strike by mere inches. In one fluid motion, he pivoted, slamming his elbow into the boy's throat. The boy fell to the ground, clutching his neck, gasping for air.

Silence descended upon the group. The others tensed, hands moving to their weapons, unsure of whether to strike or retreat. But the one-eyed boy raised his hand, signaling them to stop.

"That's enough," he said, his voice cool and authoritative.

Jiang Hao chuckled, the sound carrying a hint of pride. "Told you he was different."

The one-eyed boy regarded Shen Tian with sharp eyes, then nodded. "You're in."

Shen Tian didn't respond immediately. He dusted off his tattered clothes, taking a moment to survey the group. These were not friends, not yet. But the path ahead had just become clearer.

"Fine," he said, his voice low, but his eyes burning with quiet determination. "Where do we go from here?"

The one-eyed boy turned away. "If Zhao Kun is really after you, we need to move fast." He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk crossing his lips. "This is just the beginning."

Shen Tian followed, feeling the weight of his new reality settle upon him. The slums had many masters, but soon, there would be one more.

And this time, it would be his name they feared.