On Earth, one would quickly choose benevolence over malevolence, despising those who would choose otherwise. However, in this accursed world, the equation was entirely different. Here, the lines between right and wrong were blurred, twisted by the harsh reality of survival. Compassion was a weakness, a luxury afforded only to those who had never tasted true despair.

  In this world, power ruled above all. Those who wielded it dictated the course of history, while those who did not were mere pawns in a game far beyond their comprehension. The strong crushed the weak, the ruthless trampled on the compassionate, and the virtuous were often the first to fall. Survival here wasn't about making the right choices, it was about choosing the right moments to betray, to deceive, to act with cold efficiency.

  And Ren Lin, the demon who had orchestrated everything from the shadows, was no stranger to these rules. His rise to power had not been shaped by kindness or honor. It was built on manipulation, sacrifice, and an unrelenting will to dominate. He had learned long ago that in this unforgiving world, it wasn't the righteous who triumphed, but the ones willing to sacrifice everything, morality, humanity, and even their very soul, for power.

  Should I choose death in pursuit of benevolence, or live a life of malevolence myself? In a world where resources are scarce and death is ever present, such moral dilemmas become irrelevant. Survival of the fittest is the only law that matters.

  The question had long since ceased to be philosophical. Benevolence? Malevolence? They were concepts that meant little when your very existence was at stake. In a world where every step could lead to your untimely demise, where every ally could turn into an enemy, and every moment of weakness could be your last, morality was nothing more than an illusion.

  In the end, it was simple: those who could kill, those who could betray, those who could manipulate the very forces of life and death, they thrived. The rest? They were devoured by the relentless hunger of the world, discarded as mere afterthoughts in the grand game of survival.

  The scorching heat, a relentless 50 degrees, was no excuse for respite, especially for the mortal slaves. The air was thick with stifling humidity, the ground cracked and dry underfoot, yet the slaves worked without pause, their bodies wilting under the oppressive sun. The scorching winds bit at their skin, as if the very world sought to break them.

  In this unforgiving environment, beauty was both a gift and a curse. Beautiful women, once cherished in other worlds, were reduced to mere property, their worth measured by their usefulness to the powerful cultivators who owned them. Many became personal maids or concubines, their every move dictated by the whims of their masters. Their lives, once filled with potential, now circled the drain of servitude, their bodies only valued for their appeal.

  Men, less fortunate, were relegated to grueling labor, forced to toil in the sweltering heat for the whims of their masters. The physical toll was unrelenting, each task pushing them closer to exhaustion and death. But even among the men, there was a grim hierarchy. The physically attractive among them might find themselves serving as personal slaves, an unusual privilege that was, more often than not, reserved for women. Those who were deemed less appealing faced the brutal fate of endless toil or worse, thrown into the crucible of death for the smallest offense.

  Deep underground, in a dimly lit chamber shrouded in an oppressive gloom, faint candlelight cast flickering shadows across the room. The setting was barren, save for a single wooden chair and a dark, crimson pool that reeked of blood. The air was thick with an iron tang, the cloying scent nearly suffocating.

  Seated in the chair was a man whose demeanor teetered on the edge of despair. His eyes were wide, darting erratically, while his trembling hand gripped tufts of his hair, yanking at it as though to steady the storm in his mind. His face twisted in anguish.

  In stark contrast, the figure in the blood pool lay still, lifeless. Only the head surfaced from the viscous crimson liquid, its pale complexion a chilling sight amidst the sea of red. The silence was deafening, a sinister metronome ticking away the moments in this grim tableau.

  "Damn it, damn it!" The man's voice was hoarse, each word tearing through the silence like a raw, wounded animal. His teeth clenched so hard they seemed on the verge of shattering, grinding against each other in frustration. Tears streamed freely from his bloodshot eyes, glistening under the faint candlelight, a testament to his despair.

  Every few seconds, his fists came down hard on his legs, the dull, repetitive thuds echoing through the oppressive chamber. Each strike seemed more a punishment than an expression of pain, as if trying to drown out the overwhelming tide of regret and helplessness that engulfed him. His entire frame trembled, a man unraveling in the suffocating gloom.

  "Why, Ren Lu? Why?" the man bellowed, his voice cracking under the weight of his anguish. The words echoed in the dim chamber, bouncing off the walls like haunting specters. His hysteric cries grew louder, more frenzied, each one piercing through the suffocating silence.

  His body convulsed with every sob, and his nails dug into his scalp, as if clawing at his own torment. The candles flickered weakly, as though recoiling from the raw intensity of his pain. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each moment dragging him deeper into despair. The lifeless figure in the blood pool remained silent.

  Until.

  Suddenly, the figure in the pool stirred, his movements sluggish yet deliberate. The thick, viscous blood dripped down his form in heavy rivulets, pooling back into the crimson abyss below. His once black robe was now a sinister shade of deep blood red.

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  The young man's body was riddled with cuts and gashes, yet his expression held an eerie calm. His chest heaved as he took in his first breath after what seemed an eternity, and his lifeless eyes slowly flickered to life.

  The man on the chair froze, terror gripping him like a vice. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrest, unable to look away from the nightmarish spectacle before him. It was as though a demon had clawed its way out of the abyss and now stood reborn.

  His lips trembled, the name "Ren Lu" hovering on the edge of his tongue. But at the last moment, he clamped his mouth shut, swallowing the words. A deep instinct warned him that uttering that name now could seal his fate.

  The young man in the pool turned his gaze toward the man in the chair, his eyes cold and unfeeling, as if they had gazed upon the void itself. The dim candlelight reflected off the pool of blood, casting a macabre glow that made his eyes appear as if they were burning crimson embers.

  The ominous silence in the room pressed against the man's chest like an invisible weight, his breath quickening in terror.

  Suddenly, the young man's voice shattered the stillness, low and malevolent, resonating like the toll of a death knell.

  "Mountain Blood of Life."

  "Red Palace."

  "Despair. Rise. Shallow."

  "Come forth, Blood Seeking Yokai!"

  His words dripped with authority and wrath, and the air in the room seemed to quiver with an unnatural energy. From the pool of blood, ripples began to form, spreading outward as if summoned by the dark command. The flickering candlelight dimmed further, the room plunging into an even deeper gloom.

  Something stirred within the blood, an otherworldly presence answering its master's call.

  The blood in the pool swirled violently, transforming into a ravenous vortex. The man in the chair could only watch in paralyzed horror as the blood's reserves dwindled rapidly, siphoned into the vortex's core.

  The young man remained still, his gaze locked onto the terrified man, his expression devoid of empathy. It was as if he were feeding off the fear emanating from his observer.

  Within moments, the vortex began to rise, taking shape. From its center emerged a towering, monstrous entity nearly three meters tall, formed entirely of blood. Its dark crimson body shimmered with an eerie, liquid uniformity, giving it the appearance of something alive yet utterly unnatural.

  The creature's visage was a horrifying parody of humanity, a ghostlike form with no defined features except for its hollow, sunken eyes, which glowed with a deeper, darker shade of red than the rest of its body. Its hands were grotesquely oversized claws, jagged and sharp, pulsating faintly as if thirsting for life.

  The entity floated ominously above the now nearly empty blood pool, exuding an oppressive aura of dread that made the candle flames quiver.

  The monstrous creature let out a guttural, echoing wail before it lunged at the young man. Its claw like appendages slashed viciously, cutting deep into his flesh. Dark crimson blood poured from the wounds, mingling with the remnants of the blood pool, as the yokai began to dissolve into a liquid state, flowing directly into the young man's body through the gashes it had inflicted.

  A searing, unbearable pain erupted within him, as though molten iron were coursing through his veins. The young man trembled violently, his teeth gritted against the agony. Sweat mingled with blood, streaking his face as his body convulsed under the pressure of the integration.

  Yet, through the torment, his expression twisted into something between madness and triumph. A low, guttural laugh escaped his lips, growing louder and more unhinged with each passing moment.

  "Compared to the Heaven Defying Light... this is nothing!" he growled, his voice shaking with equal parts pain and exhilaration. His lips curled into a smile.

  The man in the chair trembled, his face pale and drenched in sweat. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat reverberating in his ears like the tolling of a death knell. His lips quivered as he struggled to form words, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

  "Ren Lu... my son!" he finally managed to spit out, his tone a mix of terror and anguish. His hands clutched the arms of the chair tightly, his knuckles white as his worry etched deeper lines into his already haggard face.

  But the young man, Ren Lu, did not respond immediately. He stood still, his bloodied figure radiating an oppressive, almost otherworldly aura. His eyes, glowing faintly crimson, flicked to the man in the chair, and a chilling smile tugged at his lips.

  Ren Lu's voice cracked as he spoke, his earlier confidence crumbling under the weight of the torment coursing through his body. His face twisted in agony, his features contorting in a way that made him look almost unrecognizable.

  "It hurts, father!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood stained walls of the chamber. His hands clenched tightly at his sides as he took a stumbling step forward, each movement labored and agonized. "Why... why did you start this ritual? Don't you care about your son?"

  The man in the chair flinched as though struck. His expression faltered, torn between guilt and desperation.

  The man in the chair lunged forward, tears streaming down his face, his earlier resolve completely shattered. "Let me help you, son!" he cried, his voice trembling as he stumbled towards Ren Lu, arms outstretched in desperation.

  But as he neared his son, he suddenly froze mid step.

  His eyes widened in shock, pupils shrinking as if to escape the horror overtaking him. Tiny holes began to bloom across his face, expanding rapidly, blood pouring from them in torrential streams.

  The man's hands flew to his face, trying to stop the unstoppable flow, but it was futile. His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground in a grotesque heap, lifeless before he could even utter another word.

  Ren Lu slowly raised his head, his expression unreadable, his glowing red eyes fixed on the now dead figure of his father. Blood pooled around the corpse, the room falling eerily silent except for the soft drip of crimson.

  Suddenly, the blood near the corpse began to stir, lifting from the pool in a swirling vortex. It seemed as though the blood itself had a life of its own, drawn toward Ren Lu with an almost magnetic force. The crimson liquid hovered in the air for a moment before it rapidly shot toward him, splashing against his skin with an unsettling wetness.

  Ren Lu stood still, his expression unreadable as the blood adhered to his wounds, sinking into his flesh. The pain from his previous injuries dulled, replaced by a strange, almost soothing sensation as the blood flowed into him. His body trembled slightly, but it wasn't from pain. Instead, it was as if the blood was integrating into him, becoming one with his being.

  Over the next few minutes, the gaping wounds, the bruises, and the abrasions that had marred his body began to close. The blood that had seeped into his flesh accelerated the process, stitching him back together.

  Ren Lu's cold expression gradually twisted into something darker, a twisted smile spreading across his face. His laughter echoed through the room, a sound that was chilling, almost manic. It was not the laughter of someone who had just survived a harrowing experience, nor was it the laughter of someone in joy.

  The demon is back! Ren Lu's eyes, now glowing a violent red, burned with an insatiable hunger, a hunger for power and destruction.