TWINCEST CULTIVATION: a Tale of Vengeance

The air in the northern reaches of the Pixie Forest was dense with mist, the kind that clung to the skin and distorted the landscape.

Trees loomed like ancient sentinels, their twisted branches curling toward the sky, and the ground was littered with jagged stones that shimmered faintly under their foot.

A group of five figures moved cautiously through the fog, their voices low but sharp.

Each one carried themselves with the confidence of power—Eltsopa, beings born with mystical abilities that placed them far above ordinary mortals.

At the head of the group was a tall muscular man clad in armor that gleamed like obsidian. His silver hair was tied back in a hair bun, and his green eyes scanned the terrain with piercing intensity. Hunter gaze, tall nose, sharp jawline, what else he could be but handsome?

His name was Marshall, a veteran hunter and the leader of today expedition.

"This place reeks of death," muttered a younger man, his flame-red hair flickering like embers.

He trailed behind Marshall, clutching a halberd etched with glowing runes.

"Everything reeks of death to you, Yorg," snapped another voice, this one belonging to a wiry, pale-skinned woman who twirled a dagger between her fingers. "You're just mad because your flames barely work in this cursed fog."

"Shut it, Noryl," Yorg growled, gripping his weapon tighter.

"Hey, don't start," Marshall barked, his tone brooking no argument. "It's watching us, don't cross the line."

"What? The trees?"

"Yes." Marshall said curtly.

"…."

Noryl laughed, "What's with that face? Is it your first time to the Pixie Forest? Hahaha!"

"Shut up, bitch!"

"But she's right, boy." someone chuckled from behind, "You can be all you want outside, but here? You must keep your attitude. Even killing must follow a certain rule, or else… you'll never made it out of this fogs."

"Really? What's so great about this forest anyway?"

"The Pixie?"

"Pixie?" Yorg asked in confusion, "You meant the Elves from the legend?"

"What? Do you think this forest got it's name just like that?" Allen, the owner of the girly voice, laughed before continuing, "I've never witnessed it myself but there's a myth all around here about how this forest came to be; in fact, just few thousand years ago, it was normal forest. But then, Pixies use this forest as their graveyard and you have it, the Pixie forest."

"Just few thousands years ago he said," Noryl snorted.

"…so why they extinct?" Yorg intrigued.

"Who knows," Allen, the blond haired girlish (femboy) man, raised his shoulder, "There's too many missing pages in history."

Ignoring their conversation, Marshall's eyes glowed with magical light before he spoke. "We're close. I can feel it. The mystical aura here—it's stronger than anything I've encountered before."

"The resonance here is ancient."

Behind him, a quiet figure clad in dark robes paused to study the ground. Her voice was soft, almost melodic. "Whatever lies ahead has been sealed for thousands of years, maybe even longer."

"And that's supposed to make us feel better, useless little sister?" Yorg shot back, rolling his eyes.

Yeva ignored him, "This isn't just a tomb or a treasure vault. It's a repository of knowledge." her gloved hands brushing against the runes carved into a nearby stone. "Something left behind by the ancients."

"Something worth dying for," Noryl quipped, her grin sharp.

"If you plan on dying today, make sure it's useful." Marshall glanced at her coldly, "Otherwise, shut up and focus."

The group pressed on, their conversation ebbing and flowing as they navigated the treacherous terrain.

"So," Yorg began after a moment of silence, his voice deliberately casual. "What do you think this treasure is, anyway? Another fancy sword? Maybe a staff that makes you live forever? Or one of the remnants of Eight blood king?"

Eight-Blood king—among the legends in this world, their story always make children and adult alike shudder in terror. They're eight Eltsopa who rose to power eight hundred years ago, and practically turned the world upside down, thus gaining the title.

They had fell around nine hundred years ago, but even though they're one group, their tomb wasn't one. It said that they had buried themselves in eight different locations at eight different direction, with all of their power, wealth, and possession with them.

So while people feared their legend, they also eyed this story with greed. But even at this point, there's only three tomb that had been found.

"It's not a weapon," Yeva said, her tone measured. "The employer call it an inheritance of a cultivation method."

"Cultivation method? Like what they practiced at east?"

"Yes, that's what the order said."

"Sounds like old bullshit to me." Yorg snorted. "'Harness the world's energy and become a equal with god.' Please."

Yorg disdain was apparent, but he couldn't be blamed, after all he had good reason for it.

Far in east end, there's a certain country that seek balance. In society where majority hold enough power to shake the continent, those who powerless obviously could only obey. But there, in that country, people practiced the so called cultivation to gain equal power, thus mortal and Eltsopa can be equal.

But it was only the premise.

The reality?

Well, it's so bad that Yorg didn't bother to conceal his disdain.

"It's not that bullshit, this one is different." Marshall interjected. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't believe in them. None of us would."

"Hey, I don't believe in shit. I'm here for the money in your pocket."

"Then shut up and do your job."

"Aw, come on, you hadn't even tell me who's our employer this time."

Yorg was very curious about it. After all, he had been in this business for years, and to offer such a large amount of money, there has to be two reasons; the item they about to excavate was a real good one, and the employer should be extra rich.

Hearing the name of "cultivation method" he knew it was not the first reason, so it must be the second.

"It's none of your business." Marshall glared.

"But why here?" Noryl chimed in, her tone light but edged with curiosity. "The Pixie Forest aren't exactly prime real estate."

"It's not the place," Yeva explained. "It's the fog. It's been theorized that the mist in this region is infused with the residual energy of ancient battles. The kind of battles that leave behind powerful artifacts—or methods of cultivation."

"Ancient battle? Like the Eternal Battlefield?"

"I believe so."

"Now that you mentioned it, this place was quite close to it… even the fog was connected.." Allen shuddered at the thought. "Urgh, I hope we didn't encounter nasty undead here."

Yorg arched a brow. "And what happens if we 'cultivate' this method? Do we all turn into walking gods? Sounds like a good deal to me."

"What a great imagination." Herling, the giant like man with wild aura who keep silent beside Allen, chuckled, "The world will bend to us by then."

"The world already bends to Eltsopa," Yorg scoffed.

"That isn't our concern." Yeva cut the conversation coldly.

Marshall nodded, "We have build this golden reputation through sweat and blood, I won't tarnished it even if I become a walking divinity."

"You and your beliefs.." Yorg sighed, "I wonder why I said yes back then when you invited me in?"

"Trust me," Herling laughed, "We've wondered the same thing."

"…."

"…."

"…."

"Hey, don't look at me like that, you scare me!"

As they climbed higher into the rocky hills, the fog grew thicker, and the air itself seemed to hum with tension.

After hours of climbing, they reached a clearing at the summit of a rocky hill. The fog parted slightly, revealing a massive stone gate, at least hundred meters tall, embedded in the mountainside. The black gate was adorned with intricate carvings—beasts and humans locked in eternal battle, their forms twisting and merging into one another.

"This is it," Yeva whispered, her voice filled with awe as she compared the gate with what's written in scroll in her hand. "The Inheritance's location."

Yorg let out a low whistle. "Impressive."

"What's the deal with this place, anyway?" Noryl asked while glancing around clearly nervous, "It's couldn't be more obvious, like, it's literally fucking THERE! Why isn't it swarmed by hunters like us?"

Marshall glanced at her, his green eyes hard. "Because most who come here don't return. They say the fog drives you mad. That it whispers lies and twists your senses."

Yeva shivered. "Well, that's comforting."

"It's not just the fog," Herling added deeply. "The beasts in this area are different. I can feel it. Stronger. More intelligent. Real threat. It's good that Yorg didn't cause some ruckus earlier, or we wouldn't even able reach this place."

"Aw, but you'll protect me, right honey?" Allen clung to Herling's muscular arm sweetly.

"Hmph," Herling puffed his chest, "I'll do anything for you." he said as he grab Allen's ass.

"Yuck!" Noryl spat.

"Alright, alright, my bad, okay?" Yorg yawned, used to their antics. "So, how do we get it open?"

"Follow me," Marshall said.

As they followed him, Allen's eyes couldn't help but narrowed. It's not just Herling who feel it, but he could sensed it as well. So, why their path so... Comfortable? With this much threat in the air, it wouldn't strange if one if them had been corpse by now.

The five hunters stood before the gate, their breaths visible in the cold, mist-laden air.

From afar it was big enough, but up close, the structure was impossibly large. An arch of blackened stone covered in glyphs that seemed to writhe and shimmer, defying comprehension. Now, the ancient legends felt dangerously real, the air around the gate humming with a low, foreboding breaths.

Yeva walked carefully and crouched near the base of the gate, traced her fingers over the symbols.

Her sharp bluish eyes flickered with magical glow as they darted over the incomprehensible symbols. She try to decipher them, her mind slowly consumed by whispers in forgotten tongues.

"This is no door, Marshall," she said finally, her voice tight. "It's...a wound."

Behind her, Herling shifted uneasily, his massive warhammer leaning against his shoulder. The hulking fighter had faced monsters in countless ruins, but this was different.

"Wounds bleed," Allen muttered, his voice as soft as pure virgin. "What's coming out of this one?"

"I don't know, I've never saw this symbols before." Yeva then hesitated before shook her head. "But it's... waiting, for something…"

"I don't care what it's waiting for," Yorg muttered. "Let's just get this over with."

He didn't really feel it before, but after swallowing Herling's words, he couldn't help but feel conscious and yes, he could feel it now. Something like sticky gaze, coming from all directions even below his foot.

It's really uncomfortable.

Not to mention the mist, that damned mist.

Marshall nodded grimly as he took out a horned black skull, barely as big as baby's fist, from his chest armor.

"Yuck, why'd you put something like that close to your skin?" Noryl chuckled.

Allen's eyes glinted, "Was that… the reason why nothing happened to us?"

"Yes, it's given by our client this time."

Ignoring his teammate's reaction, Marshall stepped forward, raising the skull. The unknown skull's hollow eye socket began to glow, casting eerie shadows across the party's faces. The air gradually grew heavier, thick with the scent of sulfur and decay.

The red light intensified, and the symbols across the gate began twisted unnaturally, as if fleeing from the light before ignited with a crimson glow, writhing like veins filled with fire.

The light spread across the gate unnaturally.

Like it was alive.

A deep, guttural vibration emanated from the gate, growing until the air itself seemed to ripple.

Then the first crack appeared.

Right in the middle.

A hairline fracture split the surface of the gate, and from it seeped a thick, black mist, curling and writhing as it spread across the ground. The four hunters instinctively backed away, weapons raised.

Allen said deeply, "It's bleeding."

The crack widened, splitting with the sound of grinding stone. From within the gate came a sound—low, deep, and resonant.

A growl, not of an animal or human or anything else, but something far older.

Far angrier.

The mist coalesced into shifting forms that writhed just at the edge of their perception—limbs, face, eyes, human's head, beastly.

Yeva cursed under her breath.

"Do your job, mage!" Marshall bellowed.

Yeva didn't answer. The magical orb in her hands pulsed violently, its light flickering as if struggling to hold itself together.

The gate shuddered, the crack splitting further until the two massive slabs of stone began to part. The mist poured out like a flood, bringing with it a deafening howl. The sound clawed at their minds, raw and primal, as if a thousand voices screamed in unison.

"What in the hell…" Yorg blurted, his weapon trembling in his grip.

As the gate fully opened, it revealed not a chamber, not a passage, but a void—a churning abyss of darkness, swirling with flashes of crimson lightning like crazy living blood.

Those lightning instantly streaked out, causing them to flinched in alert.

But it was not an attack.

Marshall eyes widened as he realized that the skull, a crucial item his employer had given to him, was now slowly dragged by those lightning to the void.

Seeing the scene, Noryl spoke, "…I have a bad feeling about this."

And she's just said their thoughts.

Like a fish return to water…

Like a snowball rolling…

From the void, something slowly emerge.

The shape was impossible to comprehend, its body shifting between forms—a mass of writhing tendrils, a skeletal frame draped in tattered shadow, and a thousand burning eyes that stared into the hunters with a malevolence that felt eternal.

"Boss," Allen hissed, his sweet girly voice grim. "What did you lead us to?"