Feng Zhiming had barely any time to process what was happening before the oppressive darkness that had surrounded him vanished, replaced by the warm hues of a vast field at dawn. The shift was so sudden it left him momentarily disoriented—the dead of night had turned to sunrise, and the environment had changed entirely.
He quickly surmised that the entity that had spoken to him earlier was responsible for this teleportation. The sheer power required to do such a thing was beyond anything he could contend with at his current level. Realizing this, he knew his only option was to obey whatever commands were given.
“You have some horrible luck, fellow cultivator,” a grotesque voice echoed from behind him.
Feng Zhiming turned to see the source of the voice—a creature so hideous it seemed like a walking abomination. It had six eyes and seven limbs, all of which were misshapen arms. Its torso appeared to be a disturbing mix of algae and grass, as if the earth itself had given birth to it.
The creature's strength, Feng Zhiming noted, was on par with his own. Both were Quasi Ethereal Core cultivators, meaning this battle would be determined by skill, cunning, and the unique techniques each possessed.
“Indeed, I curse the luck that let me gaze upon you,” Feng Zhiming replied, retrieving a fan from his storage ring with a casual flick of his wrist.
“The use of demonic phenomena has been forbidden. The use of spiritual sense has also been forbidden,” the voice from the sky dictated, its tone devoid of any emotion.
The creature’s misshapen face twisted into something resembling a grin. “It seems you can only die a gruesome death,” it said, its voice filled with perverse glee.
Feng Zhiming smirked, unfazed by the creature’s confidence. “I, the Demonic Crow of the heavens, have never bled in battle before. Yet this ugly creature actually believes it can kill me?”
The creature offered no verbal retort, only a sinister laugh as it began to sink into the ground, merging with the earth beneath them. Almost immediately, the grass around Feng Zhiming's feet began to move, wrapping around his legs and attempting to drag him into the soil.
“Repulsive,” Feng Zhiming muttered, slicing through the living grass with his fan. Though it appeared to be a simple fan, its edges were sharp enough to rival the finest swords.
“A spiritual weapon? You shouldn’t possess something like that,” the creature hissed, its voice echoing from all around him. The ground itself seemed to shift and contort, taking on properties similar to the creature, as if it had made the entire battlefield its body.
Feng Zhiming took flight, ascending into the sky to escape the creature's grasp. But as he soared upward, he encountered an invisible barrier that prevented him from rising more than twenty meters above the ground.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
Below, the earth split open to reveal a gaping maw filled with hundreds of algae-like arms, all reaching toward him with terrifying speed.
“How long can you fly, little crow? It's only a matter of time before your spiritual energy runs out, and then you’ll fall into my clutches,” the creature taunted.
Feng Zhiming knew the creature had a point. Maintaining flight consumed spiritual energy, and it wasn’t a sustainable strategy. But he refused to show any weakness. “Is hiding beneath the ground like a coward the best you can do, disgusting earthworm?” he spat back.
The creature didn’t rise to the bait, and for a moment, it seemed like Feng Zhiming’s provocation had failed.
“You said you were a demonic crow,” the creature finally responded, its tone dripping with mockery. “Do you really think tricks meant for orthodox doves would work on me? It seems you’re a few hundred years too young.”
Feng Zhiming’s expression remained smug, undeterred. “I, the Demonic Crow, have yet to meet my match. You twisted freak of nature, you want to kill me because you wish you were as handsome as me. It must pain you to imagine your mother's face as she gave birth to you—if she even had a face to begin with. Or could it be you were spawned from some abomination?”
The ground beneath him began to shake violently as the creature’s rage built up.
“Even eldritch horrors look upon you and frown. I’ve seen disfigured clumps of flesh better looking than you. Perhaps you should pursue the Dao of being so ugly your enemies die upon seeing you.”
A blade of grass shot toward him like a whip, narrowly missing as Feng Zhiming dodged at the last second.
“An orthodox dove, was it?” Feng Zhiming taunted, a grin spreading across his face.
“I’LL DEVOUR YOU PIECE BY PIECE!” The creature’s voice roared with fury, and the ground erupted with countless blades of grass, all aimed at tearing Feng Zhiming apart.
This was the opening Feng Zhiming had been waiting for. He quickly retrieved over a hundred second-order demon beast cores from his storage ring, imbuing each with an unstable amount of spiritual energy.
“Open wide, ugly bastard,” he muttered as he forced the cores to drop toward the creature’s gaping maw.
The creature realized too late what was happening and tried to close its mouth, but Feng Zhiming, exerting his spiritual power, forced the cores down at an incredible speed.
The cores fell into the creature’s body, and almost immediately, a series of powerful explosions rocked the battlefield.
BOOM! BOOM!
The ground heaved and ruptured as if a volcano had erupted beneath it. The explosions continued for several minutes, turning the area into a smoldering war zone.
When the dust finally settled, Feng Zhiming landed on the charred, broken ground. Amid the wreckage, he spotted a small piece of algae, still alive, trying to crawl away. It was the last remnant of the creature, spearheaded by a face twisted in pain and desperation.
“Crawling like a true earthworm,” Feng Zhiming said coldly, picking up the creature with a look of disdain.
“A de—” The creature began to plead, but Feng Zhiming cut it off, crushing it in his fist.
“Deals are only for those who are equal,” he said dismissively, opening his hand to reveal what remained—a ring, but no beast core. It had truly been a person, twisted into that abomination.
As he pocketed the storage ring, Feng Zhiming noticed the creature’s blood beginning to simmer, as if boiling.
"Come...," a voice, unlike any he had ever heard, whispered into his mind. The mere presence of the voice felt corrosive, eating away at his sanity.
Feng Zhiming clutched his head in agony, but before he could comprehend the source of the voice, a familiar white light engulfed him, pulling him out of the devastated battlefield.
He was left with a lingering sense of dread as the light consumed him, transporting him to another unknown destination.