The night air was thick with the oppressive energy that permeated the Black Sect’s stronghold. Kalen moved silently through the dark corridors, his body tense, his senses sharp. He had absorbed the Abyssal Devouring Arts and the Abyssal Convergence Method, and with them came a new understanding of the Black Sect’s methods. But it was not just power he had gained—he had learned their weaknesses as well.

Ahead of him, the path split into two directions. One led to the outer courtyards, where disciples sparred and trained at this late hour. The other descended deeper into the heart of the sect, toward the chambers where the darkest rituals were held. Kalen knew his destination. He had been summoned to the Inner Sanctum, a place where only those deemed worthy could tread.

As he descended, the air grew colder, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows that seemed to writhe and move. His fingers twitched at the edges of his robes, his muscles coiled with anticipation. The Black Sect had given him power, but it was nothing compared to the secrets he would uncover tonight.

Finally, he reached a large iron door. It was marked with symbols of the Abyss, dark runes carved deep into the metal. The door opened on its own with a low, grinding noise, revealing the chamber within.

The room was vast and circular, with high ceilings that disappeared into darkness. At its center, a massive altar of black stone loomed, surrounded by floating orbs of dim light. Seated around the altar were the sect’s core elders, their robes flowing with the energy of the Abyss. Elder Tarian, the one who had inducted Kalen into the sect’s inner circle, stood at the head, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of approval and caution.

“You’ve come, Kalen,” Tarian said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You are about to witness the culmination of the Abyssal power you now hold.”

Kalen stepped forward, bowing slightly, his expression unreadable. “I am ready.”

The other elders murmured softly, their eyes studying him closely. Kalen felt their spiritual pressure, their cultivation far beyond his own, but he did not waver. He was not here to be tested. He was here to learn, and soon, to destroy.

Elder Tarian gestured toward the altar, where a single figure knelt in chains. The man was a fellow disciple, his body bruised and weakened, his cultivation suppressed by the dark energy binding him. His eyes flickered with terror as Kalen approached.

“This is the true purpose of the Abyssal Devouring Arts,” Tarian explained, his voice cold. “To consume not only Qi, but life itself. Through this method, you will absorb everything this one has—his strength, his soul, and even his spirit roots. His very existence will become fuel for your ascension.”

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Kalen’s eyes narrowed. This was what he had feared—the Black Sect’s ultimate expression of power. The Abyssal Devouring Arts weren’t just about absorbing Qi in battle. They were a means to fully erase another’s existence, to devour their entire being and make it one’s own.

He stared down at the disciple, who trembled beneath his gaze. The man’s fear was palpable, but so was the power that surged within him, the essence that the sect would now demand Kalen take for himself.

For a moment, Kalen hesitated. This was not the path he had chosen. He had accepted the sect’s power, but he had no intention of becoming a monster like the elders who stood around him.

But he couldn’t refuse. Not yet.

He reached out, channeling the Abyssal Devouring Arts, feeling the familiar pull of energy as it flowed from the man into him. But this time, it was different. The energy was more than Qi—it was life itself, raw and unfiltered. Kalen could feel the man’s memories, his emotions, his very soul slipping into the void as his essence was drained.

The man gasped, his body convulsing as his strength ebbed away, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. Kalen felt a sickening twist in his gut, but his face remained impassive. He could not let the elders see his hesitation. He had to maintain the illusion that he was one of them.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man’s body fell limp, his eyes glazing over as the last of his essence was consumed. Kalen felt a surge of power, his cultivation advancing as the stolen energy integrated into his core. But the feeling was hollow, empty.

“Good,” Tarian said, his voice filled with approval. “You have completed the ritual. You are now one of us in truth.”

Kalen bowed slightly, his mind racing. He had absorbed the man’s life force, but the cost was far greater than any advancement in cultivation. He could feel the Abyss gnawing at his soul, trying to corrupt him, to make him like the others.

But Kalen was not like them. He would not lose himself to the darkness.

Tarian waved his hand, and the other elders rose from their seats, preparing to leave. “In three days’ time, the sect will hold the Abyssal Ritual. You will participate, as all core disciples must. This will be your final test.”

Kalen nodded, his expression calm, though inside, he was already planning his next move. The Abyssal Ritual was the key to everything. It was during this event that the Black Sect would be at its most vulnerable. The sect’s leaders would gather in one place, focused on their own power, leaving the rest of the sect exposed.

As the elders filed out, Kalen remained behind for a moment, standing alone in the chamber. He glanced at the lifeless body on the altar, feeling a flicker of guilt for what he had done.

But he could not afford guilt. Not now.

Turning on his heel, Kalen left the chamber, his mind set on the future. The Black Sect was powerful, but it was also arrogant. They had given him access to their most dangerous techniques, and now he would use those very tools against them.

In three days, the Abyss would fall.

And Kalen would be the one to cast it into ruin.