Kael did not move for a long time.
The body lay at his feet, half-hidden by leaves and shadow. The man's eyes were still open, frozen in a mixture of disbelief and fear. His skin had lost all color, drained until it looked gray and brittle, like dried bark.
Kael stared at him.
This time, there was no confusion.
No shock.
Only a heavy, crushing awareness.
This was not a beast.
This was not an accident witnessed from afar.
This was a cultivator. A man who spoke. Who lied. Who had intentions and a future that would never arrive.
Kael's hands trembled.
They were stained red.
Not splashed or soaked, but marked. As if the blood itself had chosen to cling to him.
His stomach twisted violently and he fell to his knees, retching until bile burned his throat. His body shook with each dry heave, yet the warmth inside him remained calm.
Satisfied.
That terrified him more than the killing itself.
"I didn't want this," Kael whispered hoarsely.
The forest offered no answer.
When he finally forced himself to stand, his legs felt unsteady. The wound on his shoulder throbbed where the blade had struck him. Blood seeped through torn cloth, warm and sticky.
Pain grounded him.
He welcomed it.
Kael tore a strip from his cloak and bound the wound tightly, hissing as he pulled it closed. His hands worked with a precision he did not remember learning.
Another change.
He glanced once more at the corpse.
Leaving it here was dangerous.
Ironclaw Sect cultivators would notice when one of their own failed to return. They would search. They would find this place.
Kael crouched and pressed his palm against the earth.
The warmth stirred reluctantly.
"Just this once," he whispered.
The ground darkened as the remaining blood seeped downward, drawn into the soil unnaturally fast. The corpse shriveled further, skin tightening against bone until it looked like something long dead.
Kael stood back, breathing hard.
The forest felt quieter.
As if it had watched.
He did not linger.
Kael moved deeper into the Blackwood, putting distance between himself and the place where everything had changed. He forced his pace to remain steady, ignoring the burn in his muscles and the dull ache spreading through his body.
Night fell quickly beneath the canopy.
Strange sounds echoed through the trees. Howls. Clicks. Low, rumbling calls that vibrated through the ground.
Kael climbed into the branches of a massive tree and wrapped himself against the trunk, forcing his breathing to slow.
Sleep came fitfully.
The dream came anyway.
The black stone plain was different.
Larger.
The crimson sky above had almost fully repaired itself, cracks sealed with dark light. The shadows before Kael stood taller now, their forms clearer, less fragmented.
The presence waited for him.
"You crossed blood with blood," it said.
Kael's jaw tightened. "I killed a man."
"Yes."
"I felt it."
"Yes."
The simplicity of the answer angered him.
"That matters."
The presence tilted its unseen head. "To you."
Kael clenched his fists. "Doesn't it matter to you?"
Silence stretched.
Then the presence spoke more softly than before. "Once, it did."
Kael looked up sharply. "Once?"
A low sound echoed across the plain. Not quite laughter.
"You are not the first devil who wished to remain clean."
Kael's chest tightened. "And what happened to them?"
"They learned," the presence replied. "Or they died."
Kael woke with his heart pounding violently.
The wound on his shoulder had sealed overnight.
Not healed completely, but closed enough that movement no longer sent sharp pain through his body. That alone would have taken weeks for an ordinary person.
Kael stared at it in silence.
He felt no pride.
Only inevitability.
The forest grew more hostile the deeper he traveled. The blood signatures became denser, overlapping, layered with aggression and hunger. Several times, Kael narrowly avoided creatures that radiated power far beyond anything he could handle.
Each time, the warmth urged him forward.
Each time, he resisted.
Until hunger caught up with him.
Not physical hunger.
Power hunger.
By the third day, the warmth grew restless, flaring unpredictably. Kael's thoughts grew foggy. His senses dulled slightly, as if something inside him was withholding strength.
He collapsed beside a fallen log, breath ragged.
"Is this how it works?" he muttered. "You starve me if I don't feed you?"
The warmth pulsed once.
Not denial.
Kael rose slowly.
This time, he chose his prey.
A boar-like beast roamed nearby, its blood thick and violent but nowhere near the level of a cultivator. Kael tracked it patiently, controlling his breathing, keeping his presence low.
When it charged, he did not hesitate.
The warmth surged.
The kill was fast.
Too fast.
As the blood flowed into him, the fog lifted. Strength returned. His senses sharpened.
Kael wiped his mouth with shaking fingers.
It worked.
And that frightened him more than failure ever could.
He did not notice the formation until it activated.
The air rippled violently as invisible lines flared to life around him. Symbols burned into the ground, glowing faint gold.
Kael froze.
A trap.
Pressure slammed down on him from all sides, forcing him to one knee. His breath came in short gasps as his chest felt crushed beneath unseen weight.
Footsteps approached.
Three figures emerged from the trees.
Ironclaw Sect.
The lead cultivator's gaze was cold. "We felt the disturbance," he said calmly. "And now we see why."
Kael's vision blurred.
The warmth surged violently, pushing back against the formation, cracking one of the glowing lines.
The cultivator's eyes widened. "Devil qi," he whispered.
Another raised his weapon. "Kill him."
The third hesitated. "No. Capture him."
Kael forced himself upright, blood dripping from his nose.
The warmth roared.
Consume.
The formation shattered.
Energy exploded outward.
Kael moved.
Not away.
Forward.
Far above the Blackwood Forest, golden light intensified.
The Heavenly Sovereign stood from his throne.
"There," he said quietly.
"The devil has chosen blood."