The moon hung high in the sky, its frost-like light pouring down upon the forbidden woods.
A millennium-old sacred tree stood tall against the heavens, its branches twisted and gnarled, its crown blotting out the moon and stars.
Upon that very trunk, a young boy was pinned by three bronze spikes driven through his shoulders and abdomen.
Blood trickled down the bark's cracked crevices, glistening an eerie dark red in the moonlight, drop by drop seeping into the tree's roots.
Around him, the clan formed a great circular array, holding torches whose flickering flames cast shifting shadows across every face.
The ground lay in chaos.
Shattered yellow talismans were scattered everywhere—some trampled into the mud, others still bearing the scorch marks of unfinished embers.
Footprints crisscrossed the muddy earth, splatters of blood dotting the roots, fallen leaves, and even the low-hanging withered branches.
Everything silently declared: a fierce battle had just taken place here.
The High Priest stood directly before the sacred tree, flanked by the Shamaness and the Patriarch.
The Patriarch stepped forward, slamming his wooden staff hard against the ground with a muffled thud.
"One trip outside, and you forget what you really are?" His voice echoed through the silent forest. "How many times have I told you? You're nothing but a dog raised in this village. When the High Priest calls, you come running back with your tail wagging!"
He raised his foot, grinding it into a crumpled yellow talisman on the ground until the paper split apart.
"And you—your first move back is to bite your master?" the Patriarch gritted his teeth. "Born into the Witch-Gu Clan, yet you go off learning those sanctimonious immortal sect techniques!"
He recalled the scene from earlier and still felt a lingering chill.
Not long ago, the High Priest had escorted Wu Li back to the village.
As the Patriarch, he had planned to whip the boy in front of the entire clan, to properly teach this arrogant brat a lesson.
He would never forget how his own daughter, the Saintess, had ruined the Saintess bloodline for a foreign man, giving birth to this bastard child. And now the bastard was running wild—if he didn't curb him, his own position as Patriarch was at stake.
But what he least expected was that the bastard, who had never fought back no matter how much he was beaten or cursed, was actually rebelling for the first time.
And even using immortal sect techniques, catching everyone off guard.
After a brutal struggle, it was the High Priest who finally pinned him to this sacred tree.
"Hey."
A hoarse, rasping voice cut through his thoughts.
Wu Li's eyelids lifted slightly, his cold stare fixed on the Patriarch's shoe, his voice like it had been torn, rough and broken: "Move your foot."
"What did you say?" The Patriarch froze, hearing something like a command in the little bastard's tone—as if the boy was an overlord looking down on an ant.
"Can't understand human speech?" Wu Li curled his lips into a mocking smirk, his pale face smeared with blood. "I said it one last time—move your pig's hoof. You're stepping on my talisman."
The Patriarch's expression darkened. Gripping his staff, he strode forward, seized the boy's hair, and yanked his head up.
"You learn a few hand seals and talisman tricks, and now you think you're something? Look at you—did any of it help? Those flashy routines, worthy of being mentioned alongside witch-gu arts?"
"Our Witch-Gu Clan has passed down true skills for a thousand years, not those pretentious immortal sect shenanigans. Using those garbage techniques against your own people—shameful!"
The Patriarch released his grip abruptly, letting the boy's head slam back into the trunk.
"Pathetic piece of trash, your blood is filthy. A dog learning this stuff—what, thinking you can cultivate immortality?"
"Who told you I wanted to cultivate immortality?" Wu Li let out a sardonic laugh, irritation creeping into his eyes.
Tch.
All because of that old bastard, going on about cultivating his heart, warning him never to use killing intent again, or he'd be consumed by it and become a mindless slaughtering machine.
Because of that, he'd held back the whole fight, not daring to use even a trace of killing intent.
And the result?
He ended up pinned to a tree.
Truth be told, these pathetic techniques were useless!
That lying old man and that fat cat—he actually believed their bullshit about these techniques being all-powerful.
Of course, he couldn't blame it all on the weak techniques. There was also the mother worm in his heart, controlled by the High Priest, which made every move a losing game.
"Patriarch, why waste words on this bastard? Let the High Priest summon divine fire and burn him for three days and nights!"
"That's right! He won't die anyway—let him taste what it means to wish for death!"
"After the burning, nail him to this sacred tree forever, seal him here. That blood of his is a treasure—it raises bloodworms a hundred times stronger than normal!"
Malicious faces surrounded him, every one of them grinning, eager to see the boy writhe and scream in the flames.
"Heh... hehe..."
Suddenly, a chilling laugh escaped from the boy's hoarse throat.
Slowly lifting his eyelids, he scanned the crowd with a look of amusement.
"Bastard." He mouthed the word as if savoring it. "My wife doesn't like that word. So from now on, anyone who has said those two words... dies."
Mimi, I'm sorry.
He didn't want to dirty his hands either.
But to break free from the High Priest's control, these people had to die.
"If you don't want to die, then run."
"Though—"
"Maybe it's already too late."
A demonic gleam flickered in his heterochromatic eyes, a wicked smile curling at the corner of his lips.
In an instant, torrents of black killing intent burst from his body, shrieking with a sharp, piercing sound.
Before the Patriarch could react, a surge of killing intent swept him into the air. Fortunately, the High Priest acted swiftly, pulling him back in one motion.
The next moment, the bronze spikes in the boy's body began to tremble violently, shaking the entire sacred tree.
The High Priest stared in shock at the scene before him, but his eyes gleamed with fierce intensity.
Killing intent...
Carrying Wu Ying's curse...
This child, raised under his very watch, truly harbored a terrifying power within. Now, at last, it was revealed to the world.
Without hesitation, he invoked the gu arts and summoned divine fire.
A bolt of heavenly thunder rolled down, striking precisely at the base of the sacred tree—tongues of flame leapt up instantly.
Black killing intent and blazing orange fire twisted and tangled together.
A gale roared up, whipping countless leaves into a vortex spinning around the sacred tree.
Amidst the flames, that face was hauntingly, breathtakingly alluring.
The High Priest stared, dazed, as the face overlapped with a memory.
"Ah Ying..."
But gradually, the face changed.
Dark, demonic black markings crawled up from his neck, spreading like living things across his entire face, devouring every familiar contour inch by inch.
The flames seared Wu Li's body, but he seemed not to feel them.
Flesh blackened, cracked, peeled off in the inferno, then grew back anew, merging with the totems like a demon crawling out of hell.
A blood-red glow suddenly spilled down from above.
The High Priest looked up sharply.
The pale moon in the sky had turned into a blood moon, eerily red like a wide-open eye, gazing down upon the burning land.
“Interesting.” The High Priest let out a low, bitter laugh, his tone desolate. “This is what your mother left you—her hatred for this world, for that man... etched into her very bones. She sacrificed herself in the end, just to plant that hatred deep within you.”
“This vicious aura is potent enough to turn you into a monster, capable of destroying everything in this world.”
“But I refuse to grant her wish.” The young man’s mismatched eyes glimmered in the firelight, their pupils gradually being corroded by the black miasma. Yet a glimmer of awareness clung stubbornly to life.
“Oh?” The High Priest bit his right index finger and, using the welling blood, quickly traced a twisted rune on his left palm. The bloody mark squirmed on his skin as though alive. Under the shadow of his hood, his lips curled into a cruel smile. “Then let me see with my own eyes whether you can hold onto your mind.”
Raising his blood-drenched hand toward the crimson moon in the sky, the High Priest intoned in a heavy voice:
“By my blood, I invoke your name. All curses, hear my command—Devour!”
As his voice died away, countless venomous insects surged from the shadows, a dark, overwhelming swarm that blotted out the sky.
The blood moon was completely swallowed.
