The dying sun barely pierced the dense fog enveloping the Dark Abyss. The ground was slick with blood and littered with the broken remains of long-forgotten battles.
A foul wind howled like a chorus of tortured souls.
At the highest ridge, Vạn Thiên Phong stood silently, his dark cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a demon. His eyes gleamed with a ruthless, predatory light as he overlooked the dozens of cultivators who had come here — each dreaming of snatching fortune and opportunity.
Fools.
He didn't come here to compete.
He came here to conquer.
---
At the center of the Abyss, an ancient altar pulsed with a sinister red glow. Floating above it was a black orb — the rumored Blood Spirit Core — a treasure that could awaken dormant bloodlines or enhance cultivation beyond mortal limits.
The cultivators glared at each other, tension snapping in the air like taut wires.
All of them wanted the core.
None were willing to share.
Suddenly, a voice broke the standoff.
"Since none of you dare move, allow me!"
A cocky young cultivator in silver robes lunged toward the altar, sword flashing.
The moment he stepped onto the black stones — his body convulsed violently.
Dark tendrils erupted from the ground, wrapping around his limbs, draining his blood in seconds.
He collapsed into a shriveled husk.
The crowd recoiled in horror.
Vạn Thiên Phong chuckled softly.
"This altar is alive," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "And it hungers."
His eyes narrowed. Perfect.
The more chaos, the easier to execute his plan.
---
Without warning, a group of cultivators banded together and rushed forward, desperate to claim the core before it was too late.
Blades clashed. Blood splattered the stones.
Screams of agony filled the abyss.
Exactly what he wanted.
Vạn Thiên Phong tapped a hidden sigil engraved on the inner lining of his robe.
Immediately, a thin, almost invisible mist began leaking from his sleeves — a potent soul-corrupting poison he had concocted using forbidden arts.
Those who inhaled it would slowly lose rationality, becoming bloodthirsty maniacs.
The fighting below grew fiercer. Former allies turned on each other.
Laughter and weeping mingled with the sounds of steel meeting flesh.
Within minutes, the battleground was reduced to a savage slaughter.
Vạn Thiên Phong smiled coldly.
"Humans are always their own worst enemies."
---
Among the chaos, a few cultivators noticed him standing aloof and untouched.
Envy, suspicion, and fear twisted their faces.
"He's behind this!" one bellowed.
Several broke away from the main melee, charging up the cliff toward him.
Vạn Thiên Phong's smile deepened.
He raised a single finger.
From the ground, a massive skeletal hand erupted, grabbing three of the attackers midair and crushing them like insects.
The survivors skidded to a halt, faces pale.
"You think you can touch me?" Vạn Thiên Phong's voice was soft, almost amused, but it carried through the chaos like a blade.
Another cultivator, braver — or perhaps more foolish — than the rest, roared and hurled a fireball toward him.
Vạn Thiên Phong didn't move.
The fireball froze in midair, then twisted backward — hurtling back toward its caster and engulfing him in a blaze of screaming agony.
"Pathetic," Vạn Thiên Phong whispered, stepping forward leisurely.
---
He descended the cliff like a reaper walking among wheat fields.
Where he passed, death followed.
A swordswoman in crimson armor tried to ambush him from behind.
Without even glancing, Vạn Thiên Phong reached out, grabbed her by the throat, and lifted her into the air.
Her sword clattered uselessly to the ground.
"You could have lived," he murmured into her ear.
"But you chose to be stupid."
With a simple twist, he snapped her neck.
The other cultivators recoiled, terror finally overtaking their greed.
Some tried to flee.
Too late.
The mist had already seeped into their minds.
Turning around, they fought each other blindly, madness glittering in their eyes.
Vạn Thiên Phong walked toward the altar without resistance.
The Blood Spirit Core pulsed faster, as if sensing his approach.
---
Just as he reached out to claim it, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
A black dagger flew toward his heart at terrifying speed — faster than any mortal weapon should have moved.
Vạn Thiên Phong's body blurred, shifting half a step to the side.
The dagger missed by a hair's breadth — but not without consequence.
A small cut opened on his cheek, and for the first time that night... blood dripped down his skin.
He turned his head slowly, eyes blazing with genuine interest now.
Standing atop a ruined pillar was a man draped in tattered black robes, his face hidden behind a wolf mask.
The aura around him was chaotic — a blend of human and demonic energy.
Someone dangerous.
Someone interesting.
"Finally," Vạn Thiên Phong murmured, licking the blood from his lip.
"Someone worthy of killing."
---
The masked man didn't waste time. He formed a strange hand seal, and a tidal wave of shadow energy surged toward Vạn Thiên Phong.
Most cultivators would have tried to block or dodge.
Vạn Thiên Phong did neither.
Instead, he stepped forward — right into the center of the attack.
The shadows swallowed him whole.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
The masked man tilted his head, wary.
Then — the shadows trembled violently.
A terrible force exploded outward, tearing the shadow magic apart like paper.
Vạn Thiên Phong emerged, completely unharmed, his own shadow writhing unnaturally beneath him.
His aura had changed.
It was no longer just menacing.
It was monstrous.
"You dare use shadows against me?" he said softly.
"Let me show you what real darkness feels like."
---
He raised his hand, and the ground beneath the masked man shattered.
From the abyss, black serpents made of pure void energy erupted, hissing as they lunged.
The masked man reacted quickly, dodging and counterattacking with skill — but he was clearly on the defensive.
Each time their attacks clashed, shockwaves tore the surrounding terrain apart.
The other cultivators could only watch, paralyzed by fear, as two monsters fought for dominance.
---
Minutes passed.
Neither gained the upper hand.
Then, in a flash of ruthlessness, the masked man sacrificed his own left arm, letting a void serpent bite it off — just to create an opening.
He threw another black dagger — not at Vạn Thiên Phong — but at the Blood Spirit Core itself!
The core wavered, destabilizing.
Vạn Thiên Phong's eyes narrowed.
"Clever. You seek to destroy it rather than let me have it."
But it was too late for tricks.
Before the dagger could reach the core, Vạn Thiên Phong vanished — reappearing beside the altar, his hand gripping the dagger midair.
With a casual squeeze, he crushed it into powder.
Then, he turned to the masked man.
"You have spirit," he said, voice low and deadly.
"But spirit alone cannot save you."
He snapped his fingers.
The black serpents swarmed over the masked man, dragging him screaming into the abyss below.
The Blood Spirit Core pulsed brightly one last time, then floated gently into Vạn Thiên Phong's hand.
Victory.
But not without cost.
The cut on his cheek burned strangely — not from poison, but from a curse hidden within the dagger.
Vạn Thiên Phong frowned, feeling the alien energy trying to invade his soul.
He closed his eyes.
Within his mind, a great black dragon roared — devouring the curse in one gulp.
When he opened his eyes again, they gleamed with a deeper, darker light.
---
Standing alone amid the ruins, Vạn Thiên Phong raised the Blood Spirit Core to the blood-red sky.
The winds howled.
The earth trembled.
The abyss itself seemed to bow before him.
And somewhere far away, ancient powers stirred...
Sensing that a true monster had been born tonight.
[End of Chapter 9]