Chapter 4: The Dark Desire
It had been a week since the uneventful passing of the storm. The skies were calm, the sect resumed its usual activities, and to any outsider, it was as if nothing had changed. But deep within the Celestial Blade Sect, turmoil brewed within the heart of a young disciple.
Wen stood alone in the training grounds, his breath heavy as sweat dripped from his brow. His hands gripped his blade tightly, knuckles white as he practiced the same strike over and over again. The sound of steel slicing through the air echoed in the empty courtyard. To any observer, he appeared focused—dedicated, even. But his mind was far from calm.
**That day**. It replayed in his mind over and over, a nightmare from which he could not wake.
Liang, the senior disciple, had easily defeated him in front of everyone. The taunts, the smirks, the way the other disciples had looked at him with disdain—it all boiled inside him. Wen's pride had been shattered, and with it, something deeper stirred within his soul. His desire to grow stronger became all-consuming, but it was not the strength of honor or dedication. It was fueled by something darker—resentment, anger, and desperation.
"Why should I remain weak?" Wen muttered under his breath, driving his sword into the ground. "Why should I let them trample over me? If strength is all that matters, then I'll do whatever it takes to obtain it. Even if... it means going beyond the bounds of honor."
He paused, eyes narrowing as he glanced at the dark clouds on the horizon, their presence strangely ominous despite the clear sky overhead.
It was said that the Arcane Blight was just a myth—stories told to scare children, a long-forgotten curse. But in his desperation, Wen had begun to wonder if such a power existed... and if it could be harnessed.
The thought gnawed at him. What if the Blight wasn't just a curse? What if it was the path to power?
The wind blew softly through the courtyard, but it carried with it an unnatural chill that Wen barely noticed. He had been practicing alone for hours, pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, driven by that lingering humiliation. The same drills, the same strikes, the same techniques—none of them would make him strong enough to challenge someone like Liang. He needed more.
"I'll never be a shadow," Wen whispered, clenching his teeth. "Never again."
His vision blurred for a moment, and a strange, creeping sensation crawled over his skin. His hands trembled, but not from fatigue. Something was wrong, but Wen didn't care. He dismissed the unease, thinking it was just his body pushing its limits.
But it wasn't.
Days passed, and Wen grew more isolated. The other disciples noticed, but none dared to approach him. His once cordial demeanor had changed, replaced by cold indifference and bursts of aggression during training. They whispered amongst themselves—concerned, yet none spoke up, not even to the elders. There was an air about Wen now, something unsettling that kept them away.
In the depths of his mind, Wen could feel it. A growing hunger, a power that tugged at the edges of his consciousness. He had heard the rumors—the legends of the Arcane Blight, a force that could corrupt even the purest of souls. But Wen no longer cared. If the Blight could make him strong, he would embrace it.
He didn't realize that his desire had already set the curse in motion.
It started subtly. His skin would tingle, and his muscles would ache more than usual after training. His sword felt heavier, his thoughts clouded. But rather than weakness, he saw it as a sign of transformation—a step toward the strength he sought. The price of power, he told himself.
As he continued to train in solitude, Wen's mind began to shift further from reality. He would lose track of time, sometimes spending hours standing motionless, staring into nothingness as the thoughts swirled inside his head. More than once, he found himself on the brink of an overwhelming rage, as though his body could no longer contain the emotions tearing through him.
The other disciples had grown wary of him. They watched from afar, unsure of what was happening to their once approachable peer. Even the instructors noticed Wen's erratic behavior, but none had yet approached him directly. Wen's obsession with training had taken on a darker intensity, and as the days passed, he trained not for the pursuit of discipline, but to satisfy the growing hunger within him.
Wen spent more and more time alone in the training grounds, far beyond the regular hours, long after the other disciples had retired for the night. His hands were blistered from overuse, and his body cried out for rest, but Wen ignored the pain. Pain was nothing. Weakness was everything.
On one particular evening, Wen found himself unable to sleep. His mind was restless, filled with thoughts of Liang, of how he had been humiliated. The memory was like a poison, festering in his mind, and no amount of training could purge it.
I was nothing to him. The thought gnawed at Wen. Just another obstacle in his path, another weakling to be brushed aside.
He sat alone in the dimly lit courtyard, the moon high above casting long shadows across the stone. His blade lay beside him, resting, while his thoughts churned relentlessly.
If I had the strength... If I had the power... He wouldn't have stood a chance.
Wen clenched his fists, feeling a strange warmth spread through his chest. It was the Blight, though he didn't fully understand it yet. His body was changing, slowly, imperceptibly at first, but the signs were there—the growing darkness in his eyes, the spots of black spreading across his skin. But Wen wasn't afraid. He welcomed it. This power was his path to vengeance, to strength.
By the fifth day, Wen had become a different person. His interactions with the others had dwindled to almost nothing. When he did speak, his voice carried a coldness that hadn't been there before. He found himself seeking isolation, not out of fear but out of necessity. He could feel the changes taking hold, and the more he embraced them, the stronger he became.
Yet, there was always a price. His body ached in strange ways, and his mind sometimes drifted into dark thoughts he could barely control. But the power was real. He could feel it coursing through his veins, changing him from the inside out.
One afternoon, as Wen stood alone in the training grounds once more, practicing his strikes, something strange happened. His sword, which had once felt like an extension of his arm, now felt foreign in his grasp. He paused, staring down at it with a frown.
Why did it feel so heavy?
As he pondered this, a sharp pain shot through his arm. Wen gasped, dropping the blade as he clutched his wrist. The dark spots on his skin were spreading, growing darker, more pronounced. His veins pulsed beneath his skin, and he could feel his heartbeat quicken.
What is happening to me?
But even as the fear crept in, Wen pushed it aside. This was the price of power. He would endure it. He had to.
By the seventh day, Wen's transformation was no longer subtle. The changes were visible now, even to the untrained eye. His skin had taken on a faint grayish hue, and the dark patches had grown larger, covering much of his arms and neck. His eyes, once a deep brown, now glowed faintly with an eerie red light.
The other disciples kept their distance, too afraid to approach him. They whispered among themselves, but none dared to confront him.
It was on that seventh day that Liang, ever diligent in his duties as a senior disciple, wandered through the training grounds. He had noticed Wen's absence from group training sessions and had heard the whispers among the other disciples. Something about Wen had changed, and Liang intended to find out what.
As he neared the far corner of the training grounds, Liang saw him—Wen, alone as always, practicing relentlessly. But something was different.
Wen's movements were erratic, lacking the precision and grace of a disciplined martial artist. His strikes were wild, fueled by rage rather than control. The air around him felt heavy, oppressive even, as if it carried the weight of something unseen.
"Wen!" Liang called out, his voice firm but not unkind. "You've been avoiding the others. What's going on?"
Wen froze, his back turned to Liang. For a moment, there was silence, and then he spoke, his voice low and hoarse. "Why do you care, Senior Liang? I thought you would be happy to see me groveling in the dirt."
Liang frowned, stepping closer. "You know that's not true. What happened during training—it wasn't personal."
"Wasn't personal?" Wen spun around, his eyes burning with an unnatural intensity. "You humiliated me in front of everyone! And for what? To prove that you're stronger? I already know that!"
Liang's gaze hardened as he noticed the change in Wen's appearance—the red veins in his eyes, the dark patches on his skin. "Wen... what have you done?"
For a moment, Wen seemed to hesitate, but then his face twisted into a bitter smile. "What I had to. I will not be weak any longer, Liang. "I've found strength," Wen snarled, his voice dripping with malice. "A power far beyond what this sect could ever give me. And I'll use it to destroy anyone who stands in my way."
Liang's heart sank. He had seen ambition in many disciples before, but what he saw in Wen's eyes now was something far darker—an abyss of desperation and anger. The once determined, yet disciplined, young man had been consumed by his thirst for power.
"Wen, this isn't strength. Whatever you've done, it's corrupting you. You're not yourself anymore," Liang said, his tone softening slightly, trying to reason with him. "The path you're walking—it'll lead to destruction, not power."
But Wen's twisted smile only grew wider. "Destruction? Maybe. But it's a destruction I'll control. With this power, I can rise above you all. Above the Celestial Blade Sect. I won't be humiliated again."
Liang took a cautious step forward, but his muscles tensed. He could feel it in the air—the dark energy radiating from Wen. This was no longer just a simple clash of wills. Something had taken root in Wen's body, and Liang could sense that it was growing stronger by the moment.
"I'll show you, Liang," Wen continued, his voice trembling with excitement. "I'll show all of you what real power looks like. You'll all see... when you're bowing before me."
And then it happened—subtle, but undeniable. Wen's body twitched, and the dark patches on his skin began to spread further. His hands flexed unnaturally, his nails elongating into sharp claws. His eyes glowed with a fierce red light, and veins bulged across his arms and neck. The transformation had begun.
"Wen!" Liang shouted, alarmed. "This isn't you! Stop!"
But Wen's body jerked violently as the corruption surged through him. His breathing became erratic, his chest heaving with the weight of the Blight now coursing through his veins. He let out a low, guttural growl, his humanity slipping away by the second.
"This... is power!" Wen bellowed, his voice now distorted, no longer fully his own. "And soon... you'll see it too."
Liang instinctively stepped back, reaching for the hilt of his sword. This was no longer a matter of simple discipline or punishment. Wen was becoming something else—something dangerous.
The transformation was incomplete, but the signs were there. Wen's limbs seemed to elongate slightly, his muscles bulging grotesquely as the Blight continued to warp his body. His features twisted into something that was no longer fully human. He was becoming a Malphyric—a creature of pure malice born from the Arcane Blight.
But Liang wasn't about to back down. As much as he had once regarded Wen as a fellow disciple, he knew now that he would have to stop him—before the Blight could fully consume him. Before Wen became something far worse.
"Wen, I'm giving you one last chance!" Liang called out, his voice firm but not without compassion. "Fight it! You still have control! Don't let the Blight take over!"
But Wen only laughed—a cold, hollow sound that sent chills down Liang's spine. "Control? I am in control! This is what I wanted all along. And now, Liang, I'll show you how weak you really are."
The air around them seemed to thicken as the tension mounted. Liang tightened his grip on his sword, preparing himself for the inevitable. He didn't want to fight Wen, but there was no other choice. The Blight was relentless, and it would not stop until Wen was completely consumed.
In that moment, the courtyard was eerily quiet, save for the ragged breathing of Wen as he struggled with the last remnants of his humanity. Liang watched carefully, his heart heavy with the realization of what he might have to do.
Then, with a sudden burst of movement, Wen lunged forward, his clawed hand aiming directly at Liang. His speed was unnatural, his movements erratic, but there was power behind them—more power than Wen had ever shown before.
Liang barely managed to block the attack, his sword clashing against Wen's claws with a deafening clang. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through Liang's arm, and he gritted his teeth as he pushed back.
Wen snarled, his eyes glowing with unholy light. "Is this the best you can do, Liang? Is this the strength of a senior disciple?"
Liang didn't respond. Instead, he focused, his breathing steady as he prepared for Wen's next move. This wasn't just a fight—it was a battle for Wen's soul. And Liang was determined not to let him fall any further.
The two of them stood there, facing off in the courtyard, the night air thick with tension. Wen's transformation wasn't complete yet, but it was close. Liang knew that time was running out.
"Wen, I don't want to do this," Liang said quietly, his voice filled with regret. "But I will stop you. For your sake."
Wen's twisted grin only widened. "You can try, Liang. But you'll see soon enough... I'm already beyond saving."
And with that, Wen lunged again, his movements wild and unpredictable. Liang braced himself, his sword ready as the battle truly began.