A Red Lesson
The final hundred and twenty survivors of the duels were unceremoniously teleported to a new location.
It was a vast, enclosed forest under a sky of permanent, hazy twilight.
An elder with a face that looked permanently disappointed addressed them from a floating platform, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else.
"This is the Veridian Maze," he announced, his voice dripping with a boredom so profound it was almost an art form.
"Your final trial before the finals.
The maze is filled with demon beasts. Your task is simple: collect as many Beast Cores as you can.
The top ten with the most cores will be accepted as inner disciples.
The rest… well, try again in a decade.
Assuming you survive." He paused, yawning.
"A word of advice: the beasts in here are all at the Peak of Lo Refining.
They are, however, extremely cranky and have not been fed in a week.
Do try not to get eaten. The paperwork is a nightmare. Begin!"
With that, he vanished, leaving them in the eerie, oppressive silence of the maze.
The candidates scattered, a mix of determination and terror on their faces.
Michael's plan was simple: find a quiet corner, bag a couple of low-level cores, and pass without drawing any undue attention.
How dreadfully boring, Umbra complained from his perch on Michael's shoulder.
Can't we find something interesting to fight?
I'm starting to get numb from the sheer lack of carnage. My claws are literally falling asleep.
"We're being stealthy," Michael hissed, pushing through a thicket of glowing, shoulder-high ferns.
"Stealth is the opposite of carnage. Try to keep up.
He broke through into a small, sun-dappled clearing.
In the center, a small, twisted tree bore five crimson fruits that pulsed with a gentle, warm light. They smelled of cinnamon and raw, untamed power.
"Crimson Vigor Fruits," Michael breathed, his eyes wide.
A single one could boost a cultivator's physical strength for weeks.
Five of them was a small fortune, enough to buy a dozen victories like his last one.
Now that's more like it, Umbra purred telepathically. Snack time. I call dibs on the shiniest one.
Michael was just about to pluck one when a low, guttural growl echoed from the other side of the clearing.
A massive, yellow-furred bear demon stomped into view.
It was easily twelve feet tall, with claws like obsidian daggers and a primal rage burning in its beady black eyes.
It pointed a claw at the fruit, then thumped its own massive chest.
"Mine," it growled, the single word rumbling through the ground.
Michael let out a long, weary sigh.
"Just a big, furry roadblock."
He didn't bother with talismans this time.
He took a single step forward, and the ground cracked under his foot, a web of fissures spreading out from his boot.
He wasn't projecting the aura of a Lo Refining cultivator anymore.
For a split second, the true, terrifying pressure of an Aether Forging master washed over the clearing like a tidal wave.
The bear's eyes widened in shock and abject terror.
The instinct of a thousand generations screamed at it to run, but its body was frozen.
The creature before it was no longer prey; it was an apex predator of a kind it had never encountered. It didn't even have time to roar.
Michael lashed out with the God Whipping Whip.
There was no fancy technique, no intricate form, just pure, brutal, overwhelming force.
The air split with a sound like a thunderclap.
CRACK!
The whip connected with the bear's head, and the massive demon's skull simply ceased to exist.
It exploded in a shower of gore, brain matter, and bone fragments, its headless body collapsing to the ground with a wet, heavy thud.
Michael calmly wiped a speck of blood from his cheek and proceeded to pocket the fruits.
In a hidden hollow behind the tree, which Umbra pointed out with a smug flick of his tail, he found three more Beast Cores and, to his surprise, a single, perfectly crafted pill resting on a bed of moss.
A Nexus-Shattering Pill, capable of helping a cultivator break through a major bottleneck.
See? Carnage pays dividends, Umbra said smugly.
As Michael turned to leave, he felt two auras approaching. Fast.
One was grim and steady, the other sharp and focused.
Jude Crestfall and his partner, Silas.
"His energy signature just spiked to Foundation Establishment and then vanished completely," he heard Silas say from a distance.
"He's hiding something big.
He's more dangerous than he looks."
Michael cursed under his breath and took off, darting through the trees.
He needed to lose them. But as he rounded a rocky outcrop, he skidded to a halt.
He saw Elara, the cheerful young woman he'd traveled with for a few weeks.
Her partner, Cody, lay dead at her feet, a massive, gaping hole in his chest.
Elara herself was backed against a cliff face, trembling, facing down a leering, scar-faced man.
"Nowhere left to run, little girl," the man snarled, taking a slow, predatory step forward.
"Shame to waste such a pretty face."
Michael didn't even think. The world was cruel.
He had learned that lesson the hard way. He would not be a victim, and he would not stand by and watch others be victimized.
Not anymore.
He moved. A blur of motion, a shadow detaching from the trees. The scar-faced man's eyes went wide with surprise.
Michael's hand shot out, grabbing the man's head.
There was a sickening, wet crunch, and the man dropped to the ground, his neck bent at an utterly impossible angle.
It was Michael's first time killing another cultivator. It felt… disturbingly simple. Final.
Good, Umbra's voice was a cold comfort in his mind. Hesitation gets you killed.
Welcome to the real world, kid. It's a mess.
Elara stared at him, her face pale with a mixture of shock and terror.
She wasn't looking at a savior; she was looking at a monster.
Before he could say a word, Jude and Silas landed silently in the clearing, their weapons drawn.
"So, the little mouse finally shows his claws," Jude said, his eyes cold and hard.
He took a single step, and then, without a shred of warning, he lunged.
A spear of pure, black energy shot from his hand, screaming through the air, aimed directly at Michael's heart.
The attack was too fast, too powerful. There was no time to dodge, no time to block with his suppressed strength. This was a killing blow.
Michael's eyes blazed with a dark, furious light.
"You have no idea what you're dealing with," he roared, the sound echoing with an ancient power.
Darkness exploded from him.
Leathery wings, crackling with black lightning, burst from his back.
The oppressive, soul-crushing aura of the Shadow-devil Domain slammed down like a physical weight, making the very air thick and heavy.
The black spear of energy dissolved into harmless motes of light inches from his chest.
Jude Crestfall stopped dead, his face a mask of utter, world-shattering disbelief.
Silas staggered back, his breath catching in his throat, his sword trembling in his hand.
Jude stared at the shadowy wings, at the swirling dark energy, at the impossible, forbidden power radiating from the boy he'd been hunting.
His face went from shock, to confusion, to a dawning, earth-shattering recognition.
"That domain… The wings…" he whispered, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
"It can't be… You're… you're from the Ashborne Clan."
And then, to Michael's absolute astonishment, the grim, stoic, powerful Jude Crestfall dropped to one knee, bowing his head in a gesture of profound, desperate reverence.
"My lord," he choked out, his voice thick with a decade of pain.
"Forgive me."