Devil's Shadow, Heaven's Bane

Zhang Yan's smirk deepened as he read further, his mind already racing with possibilities. This was not a technique for those content to crawl their way to power. It was for those who would climb over the bodies of their enemies, who would seize every opportunity to rise above the rest. It was a technique for survivors. For predators.

He closed the manual and set it aside, his fingers lingering on its cover for a moment before he leaned back against the rough wooden wall of his hut. The oil lamp's flame guttered, sending the shadows into a frenzied dance. Zhang Yan closed his eyes and focused inward, feeling the pulse of his Demon Seed. It was a steady, rhythmic throb, like a second heartbeat, but there was an edge to it now—a restless, gnawing hunger that mirrored his own.

The air in the hut seemed to grow heavier, the shadows pressing in around him as if they were alive. Zhang Yan exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cool, damp air. He could feel the corrupted qi swirling around him, drawn to the Demon Seed like moths to a flame. It seeped into his pores, into his very bones, and the seed devoured it eagerly, its hunger only growing with each passing moment.

He opened his eyes, his gaze sharp and calculating. The path before him was clear. He had the technique. He had the hunger. Now, all he needed was the opportunity to feed.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of blood and iron. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed, its voice harsh and mocking. Zhang Yan's lips curled into a faint smile as he rose to his feet, his movements smooth and deliberate. The night awaited him, and with it, the shadows of the fallen.