I coated my hand in a dark crimson aura of demonic power and touched the ground, willing it to give me its life force.
Before my eyes, a small patch of green grass in the walled garden of the Lucifuge estate withered, turning brown and brittle until it crumbled into gray ash. I drew back my hand, my lips tightening in displeasure.
It was too little. Draining life from plants was even less effective than I had anticipated.
The only reason I had gathered enough life energy to stabilize my first level of Qi Gathering was due to the small amounts this body had passively absorbed over the years, not just from my single outburst.
To fully repair my spiritual root and create a second set of meridians, a necessity if I ever hoped to reach the Qi Condensation stage, I would need to drain ten gardens of this size.
That was a logistical nightmare, not to mention the fact that my new "father" would certainly not approve of me turning his entire estate into a barren wasteland.
From what I had read, the Underworld was not a place of lush greenery. It was mostly desert plains and mountains, often filled with aggressive monsters and magical beasts. It was on those creatures that I now pinned my hopes.
A little genocide of local fauna would be far less problematic than draining the life from my father's subjects, which would get me exiled at best.
But two things stood in my way.
First, my age. No one was going to let an eight-year-old demon wander off into monster-infested territory.
Second, my lack of power. While I might seem strong compared to a normal human, any of the Lucifuge House guards could defeat me in a real fight.
Their bodies were more developed, and their control over their demonic aura was far more practiced than mine.
If I ventured into the wilds now, I would likely be forced to use the power of my soul to defend myself.
Losing this body would be a catastrophe, and using my soul's power before reaching the Spirit Transformation stage would leave the body crippled for years. I would have to be patient.
So, I would have to grow stronger the "traditional" way here: by training my body, mastering my demonic aura, and studying their magic and combat arts.
I also needed to get a better grasp on their system of power ranking, which still confused me.
They classified demons from low to high rank based on social status and a rough, eyeball estimate of their demonic power. It was laughably simplistic compared to the system used in my old world.
In the world of the White Star, we had nine distinct stages of cultivation, grouped into three realms, with each stage further divided into multiple levels.
The Mortal Realm: Qi Gathering, Qi Condensation, and Foundation Establishment.
The Earthly Realm: Golden Core, Spirit Transformation, and Free Immortal.
The Heavenly Realm: Immortal Emperor, Divine Intent, and the legendary, unattainable stage of Heavenly Sage.
This system provided a clear and precise understanding of a cultivator's abilities.
Here, it seemed they just made things up as they went along.
But then, this demon civilization was young, less than ten thousand years old. It was too much to expect them to have a standardized system. Still, their potential was immense.
I summoned my crimson aura again, studying the shimmering film of energy that coated my hands.
What truly separated these demons from other living beings?
A peasant would talk about horns and hooves.
A cultivator would speak of their ability to devour souls and feed on negative emotions.
The local demons themselves would say it was their demonic power, an innate aura they could shape with their imagination to create various phenomena: enhancing their bodies, firing blasts of energy, creating barriers, influencing minds.
It was an impressive list of abilities, some of which were only available to cultivators in the Earthly Realm. And in all of that, I had almost missed the most important detail.
How do cultivators create their techniques and spells? Through understanding. They study the world, its laws, the interactions of elements.
Even the innate bloodline abilities of beastmen are just imitations of natural phenomena, encoded in their blood by their ancestors.
But a demon with enough demonic power could simply imagine something, and it would become real.
Understanding the phenomenon helped, of course, it made the creation more efficient and less likely to backfire, but it wasn't necessary.
This wasn't imitation. This was creation. They called it demonic magic.
And as I stared at my own demonic aura, I thought about the creation story of this universe. These demons were beings of light, twisted by darkness.
Primordial chaos giving birth to light and darkness, their clash creating the universe. The balance of Yin and Yang.
Was it possible? Had I stumbled upon a path that could lead me beyond the three realms, to the level of true, immortal gods?
….
"Young master, are you sure about this?"
A blond-haired demon asked the question with a hint of desperation in his voice. Vyshot Ansted had served the House of Lucifuge for two centuries.
He had witnessed the end of the Great War and the chaos that followed, when the Four Great Satans, once thought to be eternal, had fallen.
He had seen the radiant silhouette of God on the battlefield, a presence that inflicted agony with its mere existence, and he had survived the slaughter of the Red and White Dragon Emperors.
For his service, he had earned the rank of Guard Captain, the peak of a common demon's career.
But right now, he had the distinct feeling that this small, black-haired boy in front of him would be the cause of his premature death.
"As sure as the eternal purple of our sky and the constant presence of a wine flask on your deputy's belt during his shift," the boy quipped. "Which is to say, not at all. But one must try, mustn't one?"