Darkness, Corpse looked above and all he saw was darkness. No stars, no lights just silent, everpresent darkness. A black stainless sheet that devoured anything that dared to approach. Corpse brought his sight down and a familiar sight entered his vision.

A village of sorts, or a small town. Familiar, yet now in ruins and desolate. Corpse could almost hear the voices that still hung in the air, but it was only the wind playing tricks. For there were no living there only the dead.

Dead youths in vibrant yellow robes cast their silent judgment on him. Their paths were broken, and now nothing but grudges remained. " This once was a martial sect. " Corpse somehow knew it to be true. A place where lively disciples competed and studied side by side to achieve their dreams and ambitions. Now it was a ruin, a monument to the frailty of life that cultivators are so eager to forget.

The bodies of the young disciples were cold and pale yet fresh blood still endlessly flowed out of their wounds. As if a beating heart could still be found within their chests. The blood pooled together and painted the ground in a spotless red that contrasted the black sky above.

Corpse felt their gazes upon him. Silent accusations for things he didn't remember doing, and judgment for choices he doesn't remember making. Those gazes piled upon him like chains that slowly strangled his body and soul." I have to get away, I have to move, otherwise, I will remain here forever, " Corpse desperately thought.

Corpse tried to run but every movement came out slow as if the air was as thick as mud, yet he didn't give up. He moved towards the center of the sect as if the abyss itself had opened up behind him. He walked on with heavy steps while his head hanged low. he couldn't look them in the eye, he couldn't face their judgment, but he could still feel their gazes upon him." I don't know what I did but please let me leave, " he pleaded while he struggled forward. Unwilling to face what was around him Corpse rushed to the end of this hell.

With every step he took a decade seemed to pass around him. Houses, pagodas, pavilions, training halls all of them crumbled to dust, none of them spared from the cruel touch of time. Same fate befell the bodies. Pale flesh turned to rot, and the rot to bone. Yet the bleeding never stopped. Fresh blood still flowed out of grey bones as if the skeletons were still unresigned with their fate. As if they still hoped that someone would save them.

As Corpse walked the volume of blood beneath him increased, soon turning into a stream and then a river, but it wasn't just blood that washed over him, there was also an unexplainable sense of regret. Once he walked past the desolation, past the bleeding skeletons, and got to the center of the sect he was greeted by a red whirlpool. It swirled round and round sucking up the surrounding blood and condensing in the middle where a red throne rose up. A red throne with a pretty little devil sitting on it.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The devil wore a black cloak that concealed his thin body, yet his beauty still shone through. With waist long, raven black hair and a face so beautiful one could swear that heaven itself carved it from jade, the devil looked at Corpse and laughed, " HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa. "

Corpse looked on in anger and confusion, but it was amidst this laughter that the world turned to black and his dream broke apart. He lay on the cold floor when he opened his eyes. A bit confused he looked around until he remembered the hell hole he was actually in and the horror he had to witness beforehand. After the ritual, strength finally left his body and Corpse collapsed on the floor while sleep overtook his mind.

Still in a daze Corpse heard footsteps going by. He called out in a coarse voice. " Hey! Hey, you there! " Metal creaked and the top part of the cell door opened up. An unsightly face with shining green teeth appeared. " The hell do you want dead meat? " Unbothered Corpse answered. "Give me some grub, I'm starving?"

The unsightly face snorted, " Hmph! Do I look like I fucking serve you? " Corpse stared at the unsightly man," You look like you'll do what's told if you don't want to get your head ripped off. " The unsightly man shut the opening on the cell door and left with a laugh. " You have to get out first. "

Corpse looked at the ceiling again and let out a shaky breath. Tired and hungry he drifted back to sleep, but he didn't get to dream for too long as he was woken up a short while later. A bowl full of green shiny leaves landed beside Corpse and woke him up. Groggily he looked at the bowl then at the door. There was another man there. A youthful man with scornful eyes and those same green shiny teeth. The bastard also wore his black cloak.

The youthful man said. " I heard you were hungry, so I went through the trouble of preparing a local delicacy. " Corpse frowned, " I'm not a cow, you can take that grass and shove it down your throat. " The man gleefully smiled, " Yes, you're not a cow, you're meat. Prideful meat, I'll give you that much, but meat none the less. HeHe, I wonder how much of that pride will be left after a date with our young master. " The man closed the opening and walked away, while Corpse's expression turned bitter.

Corpse felt tired. Tired of the constant hunger. Tired of his own broken body and of this broken world. Tired of the unknown. It would be easy to sate his hunger from the grass and drift back to sleep until his hour was up. He stretched out his hand for the bowl.

There was safety in that certainty, the safety of surrender. It was an easy enough line to cross, he didn't need to do a damn thing. Just eat and sleep, just like a cow. Yet there was this small voice at the back of his head, that prevented it. A small voice that told him he wasn't cattle, one that prevented him from believing that lie. Angry and ashamed Corpse clenched his fist and smashed the bowl to pieces

The whole room shook for a bit with a few loose stones fell from the ceiling. He grabbed one the size of a fist and squeezed it as hard as he could. He channeled all the power in his body into that simple motion, as if it was his prayer to the heavens. If there was even a smidgeon of hope he would take hold of it no matter what. Stab him, burn him, hang him, doesn't matter. Corpse won't let go for there isn't a thing more stubborn, more desperate than a [Death grip] from a dying man. Corpse loosened his hold and nothing but a pile of dust spilled from his hand,