Chapter 5: The Heaven-Eating Scripture Returns

The wind howled through the cracks in the servant quarters, cold enough to pierce skin. Ashen Wu sat in the dark, legs crossed, the broken mirror nestled before him like a shrine. Around him, the rot of the Broken Sect whispered its familiar tune: mildew, blood, and failure.

But Ashen was no longer listening.

Something inside him stirred.

Not memory.

Not rage.

Something deeper—hunger.

It began in his bones, then his nerves, then in his soul. A craving he had not felt since his execution. It wasn't the need for food, sleep, or even revenge. It was the hunger that came before those things—the primal emptiness that screamed:

I must consume or die.

His breath grew shallow. The broken mirror reflected nothing now, yet he could feel its weight in his spirit. The image of his former self—the Heaven-Eater—had faded, but its mark had not.

The Heaven-Eating Scripture had awoken.

A fragment only. But it was his.

And it was alive.

Ashen's body shook as the scripture clawed its way through the sealed corners of his mind. Not words. Not chants. But needs. Instincts. A map of pain and power stitched together from stolen souls.

The scripture pulsed once.

And then—

Burning.

Ashen gritted his teeth as invisible flames licked across his flesh. It wasn't qi—it was anti-qi, reversed and corrupt, screaming against the natural laws of the world. The Heaven-Eating Scripture had never been about harmony.

It was about devouring harmony.

"You were born rootless," the voice of the scripture whispered inside his head. "So take what was denied."

"Starve, and you grow weak."

"Feed, and you rise."

His body buckled. He slammed a fist to the ground to steady himself. But pain answered.

His palm split open—blood welled, hot and dark.

The scripture reacted.

Devour the pain.

He obeyed.

He breathed in through the wound—not air, but essence. His own agony was the price. The pain didn't vanish. It was transformed. His blood pulsed with a faint black shimmer—shadowed qi. Not natural. Not given. Stolen from himself.

This is the first lesson, the scripture whispered.

Feed the void within you.

Even if what you consume… is you.

Ashen collapsed back, sweat coating his body, breath ragged. But he was different now. Even without spiritual roots, even without a dantian, something had changed.

There was now a place inside him that could consume.

A null point. A swirling hole in his soul where energy could go—so long as he was willing to suffer for it.

"Pain is currency," he murmured, remembering now. "And hunger… is the path."

He glanced at the wound on his palm. The blood had stopped. Already the flesh was closing—but the cost had not been light.

That fragment of energy, the sliver of black qi that now curled within him, pulsed gently.

It wanted more.

He staggered upright.

His time as a mere servant had just ended.

The next morning, the world returned to its cruelty.

Ashen's body ached with every step. His fellow servants noticed—he was slower, quieter, bleeding from a hand that hadn't healed properly.

"Cripple," they muttered. "Too weak to even clean the training floors."

One of them—Guo, a broad-shouldered brute with half a mind and twice the temper—shoved Ashen as they passed in the main courtyard.

"You bleeding on the tiles, trash?" Guo sneered. "Think the sect wants your filth mixed with their sacred grounds?"

Ashen didn't reply.

He was hungry again.

The scripture whispered.

"Feed."

Guo grabbed Ashen by the collar. "You deaf now? Maybe I'll fix that."

Ashen's hand twitched.

He didn't strike.

Not with force.

Not with martial skill.

He let his fingers brush Guo's wrist—just briefly.

And pulled.

Only a sliver. The tiniest breath of spiritual heat. Not enough to kill. Just enough to taste.

Guo staggered back, pale. "W-what the hell…?"

Ashen exhaled slowly.

Black mist curled from his lips.

The scripture purred.

That fragment of energy inside him pulsed brighter. His wound closed another inch. His spine straightened. The world sharpened.

Guo blinked, confused.

Ashen said nothing.

Just walked away.

The hunger was worse now—but he had fed.

He had tasted qi.

Even from a non-cultivator like Guo, it was possible.

And that meant…

He could begin.

That night, he returned to the mirror.

He sat before it in the dark.

"Now I remember the scripture," he whispered. "I remember what it asks of me."

The mirror remained still.

But within, his reflection returned—flickering, fire-eyed, wearing the face of the man he once was.

"You've tasted pain," it said. "Now taste power."

Ashen nodded.

"I need more," he said. "I need to rebuild the path."

The reflection grinned.

Then opened its mouth—and from it, glyphs poured like ash.

The first technique of the Heaven-Eating Path:

Spirit-Rending Palm.