Reborn in the Abyss: The Warrior's Vengeance

The clash of steel had faded, but the echoes remained—etched into Murong Chen's soul like scars that refused to heal. His return to Baishan Fortress had not brought peace, only heavier burdens. The confrontation at Yan Pass was not just a battle—it was a message. One carved into blood and stone by Zhao Wei, his old comrade turned executioner.

Now, standing atop the citadel tower as dawn painted the sky with amber and crimson, Chen felt a storm brewing—not in the heavens, but within himself. The morning wind bit through his cloak, whipping at the ragged edges, carrying with it the scent of ash, steel, and old blood. His hand rested on the hilt of the blade at his waist—a standard weapon, serviceable, but nothing more. Its weight felt hollow now.

His thoughts drifted to the dream—the recurring nightmare that had plagued him since the battle. In that vision, he stood within a cavern of black stone, bound by chains pulsing with crimson light. A voice echoed in that darkness, ancient and cold, whispering, "Return to where it began. Claim the Abyss." Then a figure, cloaked in shadows—his father—stepped forward, blood dripping from his mouth, eyes hollow yet burning with something… familiar.

A knock at the tower door snapped Chen from his reverie. Lu Fan entered, the ever-loyal captain, his expression unusually grim. In his hands, he held a scroll bound in jade clasps, ancient and worn.

"My lord," he said, bowing. "This was uncovered during our patrol near the southern cliffs, beneath the ruins of the old shrine."

Chen took the scroll, unfurling it carefully. The parchment was fragile, the ink faded with age, but the characters—etched in the ancient script of the Xuanlong Dynasty—were still legible.

"When the line of kings is broken, the Abyss shall awaken. From the blood of betrayal shall rise the Ashen Flame, to claim the Blade of Eternity."

His grip tightened. A prophecy? Or perhaps a warning? He remembered the tales—passed down through the Murong bloodline—of a sealed vault beneath the Shrine of Fallen Flames. A place his father once spoke of with reverence and fear.

"Ready a party," Chen commanded. "We leave for the shrine tonight."

As twilight cloaked the land in shadows, Murong Chen and a handpicked group of warriors descended into the ruins beneath the shrine. Torches flickered against damp stone walls, revealing faded murals of ancient battles and forgotten kings. The air was thick with the scent of earth and decay. Deeper they went, until they reached a great stone door, adorned with glyphs that shimmered faintly as Chen approached.

He placed his palm upon the central glyph. Heat surged through his veins, not painful but searing in its intensity. The glyphs flared to life, and the door groaned open, ancient chains unbinding with a sound like the wail of ghosts.

Beyond lay a chamber, circular and empty—save for a single pedestal. Upon it rested a blade unlike any Chen had seen. Black as obsidian, its surface was etched with shifting runes that seemed to writhe under the torchlight. Its hilt was wrapped in crimson cloth, frayed with age.

Lu Fan gasped. "The Ashen Blade… the legacy of your clan."

Chen stepped forward, the air thick with energy that thrummed in his bones. As his fingers closed around the hilt, a surge of power exploded through him. His knees buckled, visions assaulting his mind—war, fire, a figure wielding this very blade, cutting down enemies like wheat before the scythe.

Voices screamed within his mind: "Claim the Abyss. Become what they fear."

He gritted his teeth, forcing the surge under control. When he opened his eyes, they burned faintly with a crimson hue.

"This power… it's what we need to turn the tide."

Back in Baishan, Chen spent the days in isolation, meditating before the Ashen Blade, unraveling its secrets. This was not Qi as he had known it. This was something older, wilder—Abyssal Qi, a force tied not to balance and harmony, but to destruction, rebirth, and defiance.

Traditional cultivators walked the path of Qi Ascension, progressing through nine realms:

1. Tempering Body

2. Gathering Qi

3. Core Formation

4. Spirit Foundation

5. Soul Condensation

6. Nascent Awakening

7. Void Step

8. Celestial Ascension

9. Eternal Crown

But Abyssal Qi followed another path—the Abyssal Veins. Each vein represented a stage of embracing loss, pain, and vengeance, drawing power from suffering rather than serenity.

Chen had entered the First Vein: Embers of Wrath. Mastery of the Ashen Blade was required to progress. He would need to dominate the blade's hunger without losing himself in its fire.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the empire, Zhao Wei knelt before the Emperor's Seer, a figure wrapped in veils and mystery.

"You failed at Yan Pass," she rasped.

"Murong Chen lives," Zhao replied, venom in his voice. "And he wields the Ashen Flame."

A long pause, then a dry laugh. "Then it begins. The Abyss awakens. Gather the Relic Hunters. We must claim the Blade of Eternity before he does."

Zhao's fists clenched. "It will be done."

Back in Baishan, Murong Chen stood before his commanders. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the hearth.

"Zhao Wei seeks the Blade of Eternity, an artifact that could grant dominion over all Qi. We must stop him. To do so, we journey south—to the Forbidden Wastes, where even the empire fears to tread."

He scanned the faces before him—men and women who had fought, bled, and nearly died for him.

Lu Fan stepped forward. "We follow you—into the Abyss itself."

A grim smile touched Chen's lips. "Then we ride at dawn."

Outside, the winds howled across Baishan's battlements, and in the sky, storm clouds gathered. The world stood at the edge of a blade—and Murong Chen would see it sharpened by vengeance.