Atop a sprawling medieval city, the moon cast an ethereal silver glow, accompanied by a myriad of twinkling stars. The city pulsated with life; its streets illuminated by the flickering flames of torches and indoor fires.
In the heart of the city, imposing structures rose above the rest. Decorated with all kinds of stoneworks.
Within a grand manor, moonlight streamed through arched windows, creating a kaleidoscopic projection of multicolored light.
Yet, the gentle illumination revealed a bloody scene.
A man shrouded in a black cloak sat at the head of the table, surrounded by well-dressed lifeless bodies slumped on their chairs. A mix of brown and crimson stained their attire of tightly woven brocade.
The telltale metallic fishy smell of blood filled the manor's grand dining hall.
A sigh escaped the man's mouth as his slender, long fingers swirled the red wine in a crystal goblet. "Nobles are such boooorrrinnng creatures," he lamented, his dark eyes twinkling at their corpses.
"I had far more fun with the peasants," he mused, lips curling into a sinister smile. His eyes darted towards the window, locking onto a distant figure. "Something to lift my boredom.."
He whispered in a malignant tone, "I've found it."
***
Meanwhile, in an alleyway engulfed by darkness, a clever-looking young boy wandered. Cloud-white locks framed his piercing gray eyes—a fireplace for an undying flame.
His tattered robe exuded an unpleasant odor, concealing his slender figure and giving him the appearance of a common beggar.
Yet, his demeanor was anything but. Unwavering and determined, each stride carried a sense of purpose.
Wearing a perplexed expression, "That old man, could he be a cultivator?" Huisè muttered to himself.
He inquired about the old man's background. However, the old man was stubbornly tight-lipped, repeating over and over again that he was just a simple beggar, eventually dozing off in the middle of their conversation.
'I didn't sense anything special about him, except for his hair. Could father have been wrong? Cultivators are said to be strong and proud beings. What would one be doing begging on the streets?'
Seeing that further involvement with the old man would be meaningless, Huisè had set off once more.
'Today. Another failure,' he thought, looking down at the orange in his palm. 'I still haven't seen any signs of the cultivators father spoke about.
At this rate, I'll simply starve for the rest of my life, here, in this cold city.'
Waves of disappointment and despair washed over him as the frosty air pressed down on his figure. A solemn expression enveloped his face, but only for a moment.
"No, my revenge. Those beasts, I will make them pay for what they did." In his eyes, a gray flame emerged, faint yet present. He clenched his fists tightly, and the pain from his nails digging into his palm portrayed his thirst for revenge.
Today, just like the day before, he had no knowledge of martial arts, nor did he have any idea where the cultivators were. But he had tomorrow. And for Huisè, that was all he needed.
The thought of a bleak future never crossed his mind.
"Hmm?" The young boy suddenly halted his steps, squinting his eyes as he scrutinized his surroundings.
There was a change in the air.
Previously, it flowed freely, carrying its frost to and fro; now, however, it holds something else. An unnerving chill.
As if the edge of a frozen blade traced his skin, Huisè felt a shiver run down his spine. 'When in doubt, run.' With that thought, he launched forward, sprinting as fast as he could.
A few moments later, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he glanced behind him. The alleyway remained empty, which only furthered his unease.
It was then that a thought flashed through his mind. He recalled the conversation between the vendor and his friend.
Tense and pale, the young boy discarded his previous grace and nimble steps, his strides becoming disorderly.
Far above, a man draped in black robes licked his lips. "I can smell it."
His voice rose a few octaves. "The smell of hope!" He exclaimed, his face contorting with unchained desire. His bearing akin to that of a ravenous beast that had been starved for days.
He laid eyes on his prey, and saliva dripped from the sides of his mouth while a dark and ominous black Qi seeped from his body.
He descended quickly.
A tightening sensation suddenly gripped Huisè's heart, and he plummeted to the ground. His face was dragged across the floor by the momentum of his run.
'What is this?' he murmured, attempting to rise to his feet. It felt as if gravity had increased tenfold; his body was burdened and sluggish.
With tremendous effort, he managed to ascend to a crouch, his legs shaking as he struggled for balance. In the darkness ahead, the black-robed figure released a pleasured moan.
Wearing a perverted expression, he quavered slightly as he envisioned the hope in his prey's eyes extinguishing.
He yearned for the look of despair that would smear Huisè's face.
Oblivious to his presence. 'Whats..happening..to..me.' Huisè stammered. His mouth felt strangely dry. His heart pounded like a drum, the tempo increasing with each second that passed.
In the moment of despair, he gritted his teeth, the fire in his eyes excited, bringing warmth to his ice-cold blood. Determination coursing through his veins, he mustered the strength to raise his head.
"Hiiii." A trauamatizing voice resounded out.
Huisè's eyes widened and.. He froze, petrified.
As if his lungs had turned to stone, he couldn't breathe.
Not even a faint gasp escaped his lips. Like a puppet on strings, fear manipulated his every movement.
His eyes reflected a sadistic smile, and a hint of understanding flashed through them. In that moment, realization struck – 'A cultivator.'
Huisè's imagined picture of a knight in shining armor crumbled. Standing before him was one of the beasts that razed his home, except this one was in human skin.
And many times more terrifying.
Adding to his dismay, an unsettling voice simmering with excitement resounded out, "Show it to me.." A palpable, thick killing intent bore into his soul.
The young boy, akin to a trapped animal, shivered.
"I want to see it." His arm extended out and latched onto Huisè's neck.
Before he could even register what happened, the assailant's arm streaked through the air and dug into Huisè's stomach. Sounds of colididing inwards reverberated out.
Broken-down food traveled up Huisè's body in a desperate escape. But the figure's hand clamped down on his throat, refusing passage.
Huisè, denied of voicing his pain, released muffled grunts as his face took on a bluish hue.
He struggled for breath.
The black-robed figure smiled delightfully, his face gained a tinge of red as he watched Huisè squirm in his grasp.
"That's it.. A little more." His voice was nothing short of horrifying.
For a moment that felt like eternity, the figure released his grasp. Huisè collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings snapped.
Begging for air, he inhaled deeply.
Then felt a crushing impact on his stomach.
Unobstructed, a murky orange substance poured out of his nose and mouth.
"ARGHHHH!" Huisè screamed.
Tears fell out of his eyes, unable to bear the pain any longer.
The young boy had reached his limit a long time ago. The initial blow to his torso had turned him numb. He laid on the cold cobblestone floor, unmoving.
Approaching his prey with anticipation in his strides, the figure exclaimed, "You are so much fun."
The shattering of bones resounded out. "Where have you been all this time?"
He ruthlessly stomped on Huisè's right leg, mangling it until it matched the appearance of the left one.
"Everyone else passes out the moment I lay eyes on them. But you. You're helpless, yet there's still hope in your eyes." He grabbed Huisè's neck, suspending him in the air.
"I love that about you.." He expressed, his face inches away from the young boy's.
Darkness blanketed the figure's face; Huisè made out only a single feature.
Black abyss-like eyes.
A stark contrast with his own light gray eyes, in which a faint gray flame was about to die out.
"I just break you more and more, yet you still have that hope in your eyes. It makes me want to crush it." The black robe figure exclaimed, staring intensely at the young boy's deadpan face.
Oddly enough, there were no thoughts going through Huisè's mind; he felt empty. Tired. He struggled to remain conscious.
On the brink of despair, images of faceless figures with bright white hair ran through his mind.
The odor from his ragged garments seemed to overpower the metallic stench of blood vomit covering him.
In the depths of his pupils, a gray flame flickered.
Huisè locked his eyes on the two black holes before him and murmured,
"Please.."
The face of the black-robed figure flushed even further. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
The time had come for his prey to beg for their lives like all his other toys did. The hope would disappear from the young boy's eyes, and he would relish in it.
Wearing a feigned pitiful expression, the black-robed figure leaned in and drew his ear close to the boy's mouth.
"What's that?" He asked in an attempt to give the boy a slight hope of being spared.
Blood and vomit clogged Huisè's throat, and moving alone took great effort.
Tears fell into his mouth as his lips brushed against the figure's ear.
His voice was low and hardened; he stammered,
"Please just shut up already."
With those words he coughed up a mixture of blood, tears, and vomit, spurting it all over the figure's face.