Rodha's insatiable hunger surged within him, crashing against the shores of his existence with relentless power. Slowly regaining his senses, he found himself disoriented, his vision blurred, and his mind in disarray. His heart raced, pounding with rapid intensity as the hunger clawed at his very core.
Frantically scanning the room for sustenance, his desperate gaze landed upon a lifeless body sprawled on the ground, its head brutally severed. A gulp caught in his throat, his heart quivering, as he hesitated, questioning the unthinkable act he contemplated.
Could he cross that line? Was he truly prepared to devour a fellow Abyssus, one of his own kind?
Yet, a voice from the depths of his past echoed in his mind, reminding him not to be confined by meaningless limits. Hadn't he consumed her soul merely hours ago? Would he now be hypocritical even in his thoughts?
Consuming souls had felt easier, a familiar practice in the world of Abyssus, where numbness shielded him from the weight of his actions. But was it truly easier, or merely a mask to hide behind?
Stepping out of the realm of normalcy and embracing the extraordinary demanded conquering countless internal battles. Today, Rodha realized that even the minutest of choices required meticulous analysis to ensure his thoughts remained under his sole control.
Any deviation from the accepted norms would always face resistance, even from his own self. But was he to be forever restrained by the expectations of society? Never!
He was his own master, living by his own rules.
CRASH!
The sudden thunder and pouring rain jolted him out of his reverie, propelling him forward once more. The dimly lit shadows danced in the tempestuous winds and storm outside, shrouding the entire Abyss Enchantment Sect.
The storm materialized out of thin air, impervious to the powers and abilities of the sect's members. It wreaked havoc, shaking the very foundations of the earth. Despite the relentless quakes, Rodha rose to his feet, undeterred, and pressed on towards the lifeless body.
Windows shattered, doors slammed, and electricity crackled as chaos reigned. The world seemed to descend into an apocalyptic state, yet Rodha's mind remained fixated on his insatiable hunger. His hands delved into the corpse of the freshly slain woman, his fingers piercing the neck's empty cavity, and he tore out her flesh.
No, he didn't just tear it out; he viciously ravaged it.
As the bloody flesh reached his mouth, his jaws opened wide, allowing the macabre morsel to slide down his throat. With each bite, his mind was struck by agonizing shocks, his body convulsing in tandem with the ever-intensifying storm outside.
Higher-ups of the sect emerged from their sanctuaries of life, bewildered by the raging fury of the world. They questioned why nature itself appeared so wrathful, so furious.
Yet, oblivious to all else, Rodha laughed. His laughter was tinged with madness as blood spewed from his mouth. The already chilling blood tasted bitter and cold, but to him, it was akin to the finest liquor. He relished every bite, savoring the grotesque banquet.
As he turned around, the storm began to subside, and Rodha stood amidst the remnants of his gory feast. The lifeless body now quarter-gone, a scripture imprinted itself in his mind.
He wasn't sure if it could be called a scripture; it just seemed right to call it that.
Its front page had a name—Identities.
Within its pages, only two names resided—
Soha and Raven Rodha.
However, as the nourishment settled in his stomach, the scripture expanded, adding a new name to his ever-growing list of identities—Hua Fang Li.
The purpose of this newfound identity remained elusive, shrouded in mystery. He could only wonder what role it would play in his tumultuous journey.
With the taste of flesh lingering on his lips, he relished in the knowledge that he had defied societal norms, breaking free from the chains of conformity. In this world of strife and chaos, he would forge his own path, unbound by the expectations of others.
Rodha's laughter echoed through the chamber, mingling with the faint whispers of the wind. It was a laugh that spoke of defiance, of rebellion against the mundane. He knew that the path he had chosen would be fraught with perils and tribulations, but he welcomed them eagerly, for they were the stepping stones to his ascension yet to come.
As he wiped the blood unceasingly flowing from his mouth—the blood of his prey—Rodha's eyes gleamed with an intensity that pierced through the shadows themselves.
He had unsealed a part of himself that he had long suppressed—a hunger that could no longer be contained.
A hunger for living flesh!
A hunger for self-improvement!
The world shall tremble before his might, and his name shall be etched into the annals of history.
With each bite of forbidden flesh, Rodha had crossed a line that separated him from the masses. He had shed the shackles of normalcy, embracing the extraordinary. In doing so, he had become something more—something both feared and revered.
Lord of himself.
Yet, maybe with the scripture, he was something even more brilliant.
Even more... extraordinary.