The Xuanyin Clan's courtyard was silent.
The rain had ceased, leaving puddles that reflected the dim morning sun.
But silence could not calm the storm within the young cultivator.
He stood over the fallen disciple, violet eyes still glowing, a whisper of ten thousand voices echoing in his mind.
Every technique, every Dao comprehension, every fragment of knowledge—alive and restless within him.
He staggered.
The sensations were intoxicating.
It was power unlike anything a mortal could wield.
But there was pain, too: a dissonance in his mind as the devoured whispers clamored for attention.
From the hall, his mother emerged, regal and graceful, though her expression was tight with worry.
Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword.
"Zhēn," she called softly—her voice trembling.
"Control it. You must control it."
He swallowed.
"I… I can't stop it. They will never accept me."
Her eyes softened.
"Then learn to master it. But do not let it consume your soul."
Before he could reply, a messenger arrived, panting and drenched. He handed her a jade tablet, etched with the seal of the Imperial Family.
"The Heavenly Mandate observes an anomaly. A cultivator of the Xuanyin Clan has awakened forbidden techniques. Immediate investigation required."
His mother's lips pressed into a thin line. She knew what this meant.
The Imperial Family did not send inquiries lightly—they sent judgment.
The young cultivator's pulse quickened.
"Do they fear me?"
She shook her head.
"No. They fear what you might become."
Lightning split the sky again. He clenched his fists. He needed to grow stronger. But he was still too weak to defy them.
And that was when he saw it,
A scroll on the temple's altar, faintly glowing.
It was the Xuanyin Clan's most sacred forbidden technique, the Eternal Moon Soul Scripture.
The whispers inside his mind intensified, as if urging him forward.
He could absorb it.
Bend it to his will.
Become… more than mortal.
He hesitated. To take the technique would mean:
Breaking clan law;
Absorbing the Dao comprehension of every master who had previously touched it;
Risking the whispers overtaking his identity
But the hunger inside him—the Devouring Dao itself—would not be denied.
With a steadying breath, he reached forward. His fingers brushed the scroll.
A violet aura erupted, spiraling around him like a living shadow.
The air tore with the sound of countless voices, angry, pleading, commanding.
His vision blurred.
"Ugh" He blurted out.
Memories of the masters who had used this technique flooded his mind.
"AHHHHHHH!"
He screamed as intense searing pain seeped through his bones.
He felt like his bones will shatter at any moment.
Pain. Ecstasy. Fear. Power.
And then… silence.
When his eyes cleared, the scroll lay inert at his feet.
The forbidden technique was no longer separate—it was part of him.
And the whispers had changed: he recognized a new voice now… his own, emerging stronger than before.
His mother gasped.
"Zhēn… you've done it."
He lowered his hands.
"I am… stronger. But they will know soon."
Above, in the heavens, a ripple stirred.
The Imperial Family's observation reached outward, sensing the distortion in Dao.
Somewhere far away, the Emperor's eyes narrowed, and a single thought crossed his mind,
"A Devourer has risen. Prepare the judgment."
The world had shifted.
The Devouring Dao had fed for the first time.
And its appetite… was insatiable.