The night was silent. Too silent.
He sat in his cluttered apartment, papers scattered across the floor, the faint hum of his computer drowning in the stillness. His life had never been grand—another man swallowed by bills, routine, and the quiet despair of insignificance. But tonight, something was wrong.
The smell of gas lingered in the air.
Click.
The lights flickered. His phone buzzed with a single message from an unknown number:
"Fate devours all."
And then the explosion came.
The world tore apart in fire and shrapnel. He didn't even have time to scream. Flesh was shredded, bones shattered, lungs collapsed under the crushing wave of heat. In his final second, as flames swallowed him whole, only one thought remained:
If this is fate… then I curse it.
Darkness.
Yet not the silence of death.
A suffocating abyss stretched endlessly, deeper than the grave, darker than night itself. Something pulsed there, ancient and hungry. It reached for him like a tide.
Child of shadows… take my hand.
He could not refuse. Cold tendrils wrapped around his soul, pulling him deeper. He drowned in the void, yet did not die. Instead, he awoke.
When his eyes opened again, the sky above was vast and starless. The air reeked of blood and iron. His body ached, but it was not his own—slender, younger, dressed in tattered robes. Beneath him lay corpses, strewn across a battlefield.
Panic flared, then faded as instinct whispered truths not his own. He remembered—this was not Earth. This was a world of Gu Masters, where strength meant survival, and weakness meant death. He had read of it once, a cruel story called Reverend Insanity.
But now… he was inside it.
A shiver crawled down his spine. His hands trembled, and for the briefest moment, his reflection in a puddle of blood warped. His eyes—once brown—were now glints of abyssal black. Something inside him breathed.
From his skin, a thread of darkness writhed, shifting like liquid shadow before retracting again.
"What… what is this?" he whispered. His voice was hoarse, but the abyss inside him answered with hunger.
Nearby, a wounded cultivator groaned, clutching at his broken leg. "You… you're still alive? Help me, brother!"
The words stirred something primal. His stomach twisted, not with hunger for food—but for flesh, blood, essence. The abyss coiled tighter, whispering promises.
Feed. Grow. Break your chains.
He staggered back, horrified. This world was already merciless enough, but now he carried a power that reeked of corruption. It was not Gu. It was not human. It was… something else.
Something older. Something darker.
And it had chosen him.
In the distance, torches flickered. Survivors were combing the battlefield. Voices carried on the wind:
"Check the corpses!"
"Don't let anyone escape!"
"Kill the wounded, leave no enemies alive!"
His heart pounded. He was weak, unarmed, and surrounded by predators. He could hide. He could run. Or… he could listen to the abyss.
For the first time since death consumed him, he smiled faintly.
So this is my second chance?
The world was cruel. But so was he.