Zhao Fei awoke in a dimly lit room, the air thick with an unfamiliar scent, one that was both soothing and sharp. His body ached, and his mind felt sluggish, as though the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but everything seemed hazy.
The first thing he noticed was the dull throbbing in his head, a constant reminder of the blow he had taken when the bandit's sword had come too close. But that wasn't what troubled him the most. No, it was the strange emptiness inside him. The power, the fury, that had surged in his chest when he had faced the bandits… it was still there, but it was different now. It pulsed softly, like a distant drumbeat, always present but never truly satisfied.
His eyes adjusted to the room's low light, and he saw the figure sitting across from him. A tall man, draped in dark robes, with an aura of power that made Zhao Fei's blood run cold. The man's eyes glowed faintly, like embers in the dark, and his presence was… oppressive.
Zhao Fei recoiled instinctively, but his body was too weak to do much more than shift slightly. His breath hitched as the events from before flooded back into his mind. The bandits. His parents. His village. The unrelenting desire for revenge.
"You're awake," the man said, his voice calm, almost too calm for someone who had just saved his life.
Zhao Fei tried to speak, but his throat was dry, his words coming out as a hoarse rasp. "Who… who are you? What do you want?"
The figure regarded him for a moment, as if weighing the worth of the question before answering. "I am someone who has been watching you," he said cryptically. "Your pain, your anger… it is a power that cannot be ignored."
Zhao Fei tried to sit up, but the effort was too much. He winced as a sharp pain shot through his chest. "You… you saved me?"
The man nodded. "You would have died out there. Those bandits are nothing but small-time thieves, but your heart… it burned too bright, too hot. Without guidance, it would have consumed you."
Zhao Fei's heart skipped a beat. "Guidance? What do you mean?"
The man leaned forward slightly, his glowing eyes piercing Zhao Fei's. "I saw the potential within you. A rage, a power, far greater than what you could control. But it is a double-edged sword. It can either be the force that brings you vengeance or the force that destroys you."
Zhao Fei's chest tightened at the man's words. He could still feel it—the power, the darkness, something ancient and gnawing deep within him. He didn't understand it, but it was there. It was his.
"What is this power?" Zhao Fei asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and curiosity.
The figure smiled, though it wasn't a kind smile. It was a smile that belonged to someone who had seen much, perhaps too much. "This power you feel is not your own, at least not yet. It is the inheritance of the Eternal Devouring Art."
Zhao Fei's heart froze. The name felt wrong, foreign, as though it resonated with something he should have known. But he hadn't. His eyes narrowed. "The Eternal Devouring Art? What is that? What does it do?"
The man's smile faded into a more serious expression. "It is a demonic technique. One that allows you to absorb the power, the vitality, the very essence of those you kill. It feeds on death, on destruction."
Zhao Fei's breath caught in his throat. No. This can't be real. I didn't… I didn't ask for this.
But the man's eyes never left him, his gaze unyielding. "You are its inheritor now. You cannot undo what has been done. The technique will remain dormant within you until you choose to accept it—or reject it. But rejecting it will only cause pain, for the power you now possess is intertwined with your very being."
Zhao Fei shook his head, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "No. I didn't want this. I don't want to be a killer."
The man's expression softened, though not by much. "It is not a matter of want, boy. It is a matter of survival. You have been chosen by the technique, and now it has awakened inside you. The power will grow, and it will consume you if you are not careful. It can make you strong, but it will twist you. The question is… how far will you let it twist you?"
Zhao Fei clenched his teeth, his fists trembling with the fury that had been growing inside him ever since the bandits had slaughtered his family. I don't want to be like them. I don't want to become a monster.
But the hunger was there. It was real. And it felt right.
"You have two choices," the man continued, his voice calm. "You can accept this power, let it guide you, and use it to take what you desire. Or, you can refuse it, and suffer. But I warn you, boy… the path of rejection is not easy. The Eternal Devouring Art is a part of you now, just as your heart is. Rejecting it might mean rejecting your life."
Zhao Fei turned his gaze toward the man, his mind in turmoil. Everything inside him screamed for vengeance. Everything inside him screamed for power—for a way to never feel this weak again. The choice the man presented seemed so simple, but it wasn't. I don't want to be like them. I don't want to lose myself.
The figure stood up, his robes rustling softly. "Think on it. You are not ready yet, but the time will come when you must make your choice. Whether you accept or fight it, the Eternal Devouring Art will shape your destiny."
Zhao Fei remained silent as the man walked toward the door, his steps light and quick, like a shadow dissolving into the night. Before leaving, the man glanced back over his shoulder.
"Remember this, boy. The world does not wait. You must grow, or you will perish. Choose wisely."
With that, the door closed behind him, leaving Zhao Fei alone in the dim room, the weight of the choice before him pressing down like an unbearable burden.