Devil's Shadow, Heaven's Bane

The sect's grand bell tolled, its deep chime echoing across the Black Whisper Mountains. It was the signal.

Disciples gathered in the central training grounds, their eyes burning with anticipation and fear. Zhang Yan stood among them, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his dagger. The whispers around him were filled with uncertainty.

"The Bone-Eating Forest… how many will survive this time?"

"Last year, nearly half died."

Zhang Yan ignored them. He focused on the Sect Elders, who loomed atop the black stone platform, their presence suffocating. At the center stood Elder Mo, his face hidden behind a mask carved with demonic runes. His voice carried a weight that pressed upon the chests of every disciple.

"You stand here today," Elder Mo's voice boomed, "because you wish to walk the path of demons. But strength is not given—it is earned, with pain and blood!"

His presence alone sent shivers through the crowd. Zhang Yan had seen Elder Mo only once before, from afar, but even then, he could feel the monstrous aura that emanated from the elder. It was said that Elder Mo once devoured an entire village to refine his Soul-Devouring Palm technique. Whether it was truth or rumor, none dared to question him.

Elder Mo lifted his hand. A crimson scroll unfurled in the air, glowing with eerie light. "Your task is simple. Survive the Bone-Eating Forest for three days. You may enter as disciples, but only those who return with proof of a kill shall be recognized as true cultivators of our sect!"

A moment of silence, then—BOOM!

A surge of demonic energy pulsed through the air. The massive Abyssal Formation beneath their feet activated, distorting space itself. The sky darkened as the formation sucked them in, an invisible force pulling at their very souls.

Zhang Yan felt his stomach lurch as the world around him twisted. The last thing he saw was the masked face of Elder Mo, watching them disappear with an expression unreadable.

Then—darkness swallowed him whole.

_____________________________________________________

Zhang Yan crashed into the earth, rolling through thick underbrush. His senses reeled as he tried to orient himself. The air was damp, the stench of decay heavy. He had landed in a dense part of the forest, the canopy blocking most of the moonlight.

All around, disciples were scattered, groaning from their rough landings. Some had already drawn their weapons, wary of the dangers lurking in the shadows.

A low growl echoed through the trees.

Zhang Yan turned sharply, his fingers tightening around his dagger. Eyes gleamed in the darkness—hungry, waiting.

The hunt had begun.