Worthless

I opened my eyes, and the world came back to me in fragments, like shards of a broken mirror. The cold floor beneath my cheek was unyielding, a slab of stone that seemed to leech the warmth from my body. My mouth was a battlefield, the coppery tang of blood pooling on my tongue, sharp and metallic, as if my own veins had turned traitor. My head throbbed, a dull, insistent rhythm that whispered, 'This is only the beginning.'

"Pathetic," a voice sneered, cutting through the haze in my mind like a knife through rotten flesh. It was a voice I knew too well, one that carried the weight of disdain and the promise of pain. "This piece of shit can't even cultivate."

Before I could muster a thought, a boot crashed into my face. The impact was a symphony of agony, my skull ringing like a cracked bell. I felt something give—maybe my cheekbone, maybe my pride. A sound escaped me, a guttural groan that was more animal than human. My eyes, swollen and heavy, fought to open, but the world was a blur of shadows and malice.

There were four of them standing over me, their faces twisted into masks of contempt. My brothers. My blood. They were my family, but in that moment, they were something else entirely—predators circling wounded prey. The air around them seemed to shimmer with an almost palpable energy, the Qi they had harnessed through years of cultivation. It made them glow, not with light, but with a kind of cruel radiance that made my stomach churn.

Today was supposed to be my awakening ceremony, the day I would discover my spirit root and step into the world of cultivation. The ceremony had been held in the grand hall of the Red River Clan's ancestral home, a place of towering stone pillars and flickering torchlight. The air had been thick with incense and the murmurs of the gathered clan members, their eyes heavy with expectation. My father, the patriarch, had stood at the center of it all, his presence like a storm cloud, dark and unyielding. He had looked at me, his seventh son, with something that might have been hope—or maybe just the faintest flicker of curiosity.

But the moment I placed my hand on the Spirit Root Stone, the room had fallen silent. The stone, which was supposed to glow with the color of my potential, had remained dull and lifeless. No spark. No light. Nothing. The silence had been deafening, and then the whispers began, like rats scurrying in the dark.

No spirit root. Nothing. Not even a flicker.

The boot came down again, and this time I didn't make a sound. The pain was a living thing, crawling through my veins, settling deep in my bones. But worse than the pain was the knowledge, cold and unrelenting, that this was my life now. This was who I was. A boy with no spirit root, no future, no hope.

My father was a court official, the patriarch of the Red River Clan, and the most powerful man in Red Blood City. His name was spoken with reverence and fear, a man who had carved his legacy in blood and Qi. His children—my siblings—were reflections of his glory, each of them gifted, each of them destined for greatness. But me? I was the seventh son, the afterthought, the mistake. A failure. A void where potential should have been.

In this world, cultivation was everything. It was the line between the powerful and the powerless, the living and the dead. Cultivators harnessed Qi from the world around them, bending it to their will, strengthening their bodies, and unlocking abilities that bordered on the divine. Even the lowliest farmer had a spirit root, a connection to the Qi that flowed through the world like an invisible river. But I had nothing. I was nothing. A piece of trash, discarded and forgotten.

The boot came down again, and again, until the world was a haze of pain and darkness. I could hear my brothers laughing, their voices like the cawing of crows. "Look at him," one of them sneered. "The great seventh son of the Red River Clan. A waste of flesh."

I wanted to scream, to fight back, but my body wouldn't obey. I was a puppet with its strings cut, a hollow shell. And yet, deep inside me, something stirred. It wasn't Qi, not the kind my brothers wielded with such cruel ease. It was something darker, something older. It whispered to me, a voice that wasn't my own, and it said, *This isn't the end. This is where it begins.*

The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it carried a weight that made my bones ache. It was the voice of the void, the emptiness that had always been inside me. And for the first time, I realized that emptiness wasn't a weakness. It was a hunger. A hunger that could devour the world.

My brothers didn't notice the change. They were too busy laughing, too busy reveling in their superiority. But I felt it, a cold fire spreading through my veins, filling the hollow spaces inside me. It wasn't Qi, but it was power. A different kind of power. The kind that didn't need a spirit root.

They left me alone eventually, their laughter echoing down the stone corridors of the Red River Clan's ancestral home. One of them—I think it was Bai, the eldest—spat on me as he walked away. The spittle landed on my cheek, warm and wet, a final insult to cap off the humiliation. I didn't wipe it away. I didn't have the strength.

Since I had no spirit root, no one cared about me. Not even my mother. She had been there during the ceremony, standing beside my father, her face a mask of stoic indifference. When the Spirit Root Stone remained dull and lifeless under my touch, she had turned away without a word. No comfort. No pity. Just silence. It was as if I had ceased to exist the moment my failure was confirmed.

I lay there for what felt like an eternity. An hour? Two? Time had lost all meaning. The cold floor beneath me seemed to seep into my bones, leaching what little warmth I had left. My body ached, a symphony of bruises and broken pride. The taste of blood still lingered in my mouth, a bitter reminder of my worthlessness.

When I finally opened my eyes, the world was cloaked in darkness. The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the courtyard. It was midnight, or close enough. The Red River Clan's compound was eerily silent, the kind of silence that feels alive, like it's watching you. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of incense and decay. The air was cold, biting at my skin, but I barely felt it. My body was numb, inside and out.

I stood up shakily, my legs trembling beneath me. The courtyard was empty, the torches extinguished. Everyone was gone, probably asleep in their warm beds, dreaming of power and glory. Only I remained, a ghost in my own home. I took a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs, and began to move. My steps were unsteady, my body protesting with every movement, but I forced myself forward. I had nowhere else to go.

My room was in the eastern wing of the compound, a spacious chamber that had once felt like a sanctuary. Now, it felt like a prison. The door creaked as I pushed it open, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night. The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon streaming through the window. I didn't bother lighting a lamp. The darkness suited me.

The bed was large and comfortable, a luxury I didn't deserve. I stumbled toward it, my legs giving out just as I reached the edge. I collapsed onto the soft mattress, the impact sending a fresh wave of pain through my body. I was thirsty, my throat dry and scratchy, but the thought of getting up to fetch a mug of water was unbearable. The drowsiness was overwhelming, a heavy weight pressing down on me, pulling me under.

I closed my eyes, and the world faded away.

But sleep didn't come easily. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, each one sharper than the last. The humiliation of the ceremony. The cruelty of my brothers. The indifference of my parents. The knowledge that I was nothing, a failure, a stain on the Red River Clan's legacy. It all swirled together, a storm that refused to quiet.

And then there was the voice. That strange, dark whisper that had stirred inside me earlier. It was still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting. I didn't understand it, didn't know where it had come from or what it wanted. But it was real. I could feel it, a cold presence that sent shivers down my spine.

'This isn't the end,' it had said. 'This is where it begins.'

I didn't know what that meant, but the words filled me with a strange sense of anticipation. Something had changed. Something inside me. I didn't know what it was, but I could feel it, like a seed planted deep in the soil, waiting to sprout.

The last thing I remembered before sleep finally claimed me was the sound of the wind outside, howling like a wounded animal. And then there was nothing but darkness.