The wind howled through the skeletal remains of the Azure Echo Sect, its mournful cry a fitting tribute to the desolation surrounding it. Beneath the cloud-choked sky, Rin Xie moved with purpose, his breath shallow as the weight of his own body pressed down upon him. Pain was a constant companion now, a friend he had grown to know intimately. And yet, it was in this pain, this agony, that his true path would be forged.
He had learned quickly that there were no shortcuts on the road to power, no easy ascension through the ranks of cultivation. Strength did not come from sitting in comfort, or from reading ancient scrolls in a quiet study. It came from pushing the body to its absolute limit—until it broke, until it shattered. Only then could true power be forged. Only then could he refine his Death Dao. The very act of survival in the face of death, the very act of breaking his body, would shape his future.
Rin took a deep, ragged breath as he stood in the center of the sect's remains. The Death Refinement Dagger at his side pulsed softly, a dark rhythm in tune with his heartbeat. The blade was more than a weapon—it was his tool, his teacher. It guided him, drawing out the power of death from within him, teaching him to break his own limits, to destroy the very essence of his mortal form so that something greater could be born.
He had already embraced this path. But now, he needed to push further. His body was weak, fragile—only a shell compared to the power he sought to wield. The Death Refinement Dao was not for the faint-hearted. It was a Dao of agony and rebirth. And Rin Xie had made his choice: he would walk this path, no matter the cost.
With a flick of his wrist, he drew the Death Refinement Dagger. Its blackened blade gleamed darkly under the oppressive sky, a harbinger of things to come. Rin knew that this was not a weapon for killing; it was a weapon for destruction—the destruction of his own body, his own life force. It would carve through the pain and forge something new from the ashes.
The first strike came without hesitation.
Rin brought the blade down upon his own ribs, his chest tightening in anticipation. The cold steel bit into his flesh with a sickening sound, and the pain exploded through his body in a fiery wave. His knees buckled, and for a moment, he nearly lost control, but he fought to stay conscious, his grip tightening around the dagger's hilt. The wound was deep, blood streaming down his side, but it was nothing compared to what he would endure. It was only the beginning.
The pain was an inferno, and Rin welcomed it. He had become a vessel for suffering, the very essence of his cultivation now intertwined with this agony. His ribs were broken, but he could feel it—his body was responding, his energy stirring within him, drawn out by the raw, brutal force of death.
A dark energy coiled around his ribcage, the first whispers of the inner death qi. It was unlike any other energy he had encountered. It wasn't spiritual power, nor was it the essence of life that ordinary cultivators channeled. This was something darker, older, something born of the void, of finality. It surged through him, filling the empty spaces where life once resided, replacing vitality with death.
Rin's vision blurred, and the world around him began to warp. His surroundings twisted into shadow and light, fading into a kaleidoscope of half-formed shapes. The pain in his chest, the rupture of his body, made him feel detached from his physical form. His body was just a vessel now, a means to an end. The pain was a bridge—a necessary one—that would carry him toward his true self.
And then the visions came.
They were fragmented, disjointed, like memories long buried. A soft voice whispered his name—his real name, long lost to time. The face that appeared before him was familiar, but he couldn't place it. The eyes were too cold, too empty.
"Rin… You were always weak…"
The words echoed in his mind, cutting through the haze. The voice was cruel, mocking. It was a memory of betrayal, a memory from a time when he had trusted someone—someone who had torn his heart to pieces.
He saw the face of the betrayer—a once-brother, a cultivator who had stood by his side, had shared his hopes, his dreams. And yet, it was that same man who had driven a bloody sword through his back. He could still feel the cold steel sink into his flesh, the life draining from him in a final, harrowing moment of betrayal. His brother had been the first to sever his ties to innocence. The first to take from him what could never be replaced.
Rin's breath hitched, and for a brief moment, the pain receded, replaced by the rush of old memories. He had tried to forget. He had buried those memories deep inside him, hoping that time would dull the edge of his grief, but it never did. Now, they surfaced once more—raw, bleeding, and unsparing.
The betrayal. The pain of watching his brother fall to darkness, turning his back on everything they had once shared.
But it was more than just the betrayal. It was the promise that had been broken. The promise that Rin would never be alone, that together, they would overcome anything, rise to the top, and claim their place among the immortal sects.
That promise had been shattered with a single stroke of the sword. His brother had claimed victory not just over Rin's body, but over his very soul.
The air around Rin seemed to thicken, as though the very fabric of reality was changing. His breath came in ragged gasps, the visions relentless, pulling him deeper into his past. But as the pain of the betrayal threatened to consume him, he forced himself back to the present. He could not afford to be lost in the past. Not now. Not when his body was breaking apart under the weight of the death qi.
He gritted his teeth and thrust the dagger deeper into his side. The pain surged again, an explosion of agony that threatened to rip him to pieces. But it was this pain, this excruciating torment, that would bring forth the death qi.
Rin's body shuddered, but he did not stop. The energy inside him twisted, surging to life like a snake reawakening from slumber. His heart hammered in his chest as the death qi began to pulse within him, filling his veins, spreading through his very bones. He could feel the cracks in his ribs, the breaks in his body, reforming with each pulse of the dark energy. His internal injuries began to mend themselves, but it was not the work of healing—it was the work of death. The death qi was taking hold, forging his body in its image, transforming him into something that could withstand the agony, the endless suffering that would follow.
The air around him was thick with the stench of his own blood, mingling with the death aura that clung to him like a shroud. Rin felt the energy within him, pulsing and thrumming like a second heart. It was powerful, yes. But it was also dangerous—dangerous because it was not a power that could be controlled. It was a power that consumed everything, leaving only ruin in its wake.
Yet Rin embraced it, welcomed it. This was his path, his purpose. He would not run from it. He would not shrink from the darkness. He would become it.
The price of pain was high. But in the end, the price would be worth it.
As Rin stood amidst the ruins, his breath ragged and his body trembling from the exertion, he felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. The first step had been taken. His ribs had cracked, his flesh had torn, and yet he stood. He had survived. And in that survival, he had awakened something far more dangerous than any cultivation technique.
The Death Refinement Dao was alive within him now, a dark force that would shape his destiny. But it had come at a cost. His mind, his body, even his soul—each would be tested in ways he could not yet understand.
For now, though, the price of pain had been paid.
Rin looked out over the broken ruins of the sect, his eyes hard with resolve. The past was dead. The future was yet to be written. But one thing was certain—no one would stand in his way.
Not anymore.
To be continued…