MTLNOVEL Chapter 3: Chapter 3
The night was thick with a deathly silence as a demonic cultivator, clad in an all-black hanfu embroidered with crimson threads, streaked across the sky. Xuán Tianlei's limp body floated beside him, encased in a cocoon of blood-red Qi that pulsed faintly with an eerie rhythm. Below them, jagged mountain peaks jutted toward the heavens, shrouded in mist so dense it writhed like living shadows. The cultivator, however, paid them no mind—his gaze remained locked on the boy.
At first, he had expected some flicker of resistance. Even the dying claw at life. A subconscious struggle, a ripple of soul energy—anything. Yet, Xuán Tianlei remained still. His body, though weakened, bore no fatal wounds. His dantian was fractured but not destroyed. His meridians were damaged but not severed.
And yet, his soul had withdrawn, severing itself from the physical realm.
That fascinated him.
He tightened his grip, fingers forming a clawed gesture as the cocoon of Qi thickened, condensing like coagulated blood. The boy's body twitched in response, but it was nothing more than an involuntary reaction. No true consciousness. No resistance.
Xuán Tianlei was lost—somewhere beyond life and death.
---
Deep within the sect's forbidden grounds, far beneath the surface, lay a cavern carved into the bowels of the earth. The walls pulsed like living flesh, etched with thousands of ancient runes that exhaled waves of dark Qi. Hundreds of torches lined the pathways, their flames burning not with fire, but with the ghastly green glow of imprisoned spirits.
This was the Bloodlit Abyss—the heart of the sect's most wicked cultivators, where unspeakable techniques had been refined for centuries through sacrifice and ritual.
In a secluded chamber, Xuán Tianlei's body lay upon a stone altar. Chains of black iron—infused with the torment of slaughtered cultivators—wrapped around his limbs, humming with suppression seals. Around him, talismans floated mid-air, forming a shifting web of demonic scripture.
The demonic cultivator stepped back, studying his subject. He had seen countless souls break—watched men crumble in the face of true darkness. But this boy...
He is different.
Kneeling beside the altar, he pressed two fingers against Xuán Tianlei's forehead, sending a surge of Qi into the depths of his being.
Darkness. Silence. Emptiness.
That was all he found. Then, the moment his Qi brushed against the boy's soul, the laws wrapped around Xuán Tianlei's body twisted—like living chains, they encircled his fingers, draining their vitality within seconds.
Pain lanced through his arm, but he did not pull away. If anything, the revelation thrilled him.
The boy's soul was not missing.
It was hiding.
A slow grin stretched across his lips.
"Let's wake you up."
---
Day 70
Xié Wúyān, a Nascent Soul cultivator in the middle stage, had spent seventy days trying to wake Xuán Tianlei while avoiding the backlash of the laws surrounding him.
Spirit beast blood, Qi transference, acupuncture infused with demonic techniques—every method with known soul-recovering properties had been exhausted. Nothing worked.
Which left only one option.
A technique he had been developing for years, based on ancient rituals from a long-forgotten era: Forced Soul Infusion.
A blood-red formation covered the chamber floor, glowing with infernal power. Tortured spirits, bound in ethereal chains, writhed within cages formed from condensed resentment. Their wails echoed through the cavern, thick with hatred and despair.
Xié Wúyān raised his hand.
One specter—a woman who had suffered decades of torment before death—was selected.
Her translucent form trembled as her cage opened. Chains of Qi wrapped around her, dragging her toward the boy.
"Burn."
The formation flared, turning the chamber into a sea of crimson light. A beam of Blood Qi shot from the altar, locking onto the specter above.
She screamed.
Her body ignited. Wraith-like limbs twisted as she was refined into strands of soul essence, turning into whisps of smoke that spiraled downward, sinking into Xuán Tianlei's pores.
Xié Wúyān watched, waiting for any sign of change.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Then—a twitch.
A faint aura of vitality flickered around the boy's body. His fingers trembled, just barely.
A slow smile stretched across Xié Wúyān's face.
"It was a success."
He turned to the next cage.
"Again."
---
5 Years Later (1825 Days)
The experiments continued.
Disciples were assigned to maintain the rituals in his absence, feeding Xuán Tianlei a steady stream of spirits. At first, his body absorbed them slowly. Then, over time, the process accelerated—as if a void had awakened within him, a hunger that refused to be sated.
The sect elders took notice.
By then, Xuán Tianlei had already begun dissecting the laws surrounding his body, comprehending the Dao of Yin despite remaining unconscious. The discovery sparked new interest in his transformation, leading the elders to fund Xié Wúyān's research.
The experiments evolved.
If forcing souls into him was not enough, they would stitch them into his body like thread into cloth.
The Warping of a Soul
They carved runes into his bones, symbols of suppression and control.
They ground down ancient, vengeful spirits into raw essence, infusing it into his blood.
They shattered the souls of condemned cultivators and layered their remnants over his own, hoping to reconstruct something new.
And all the while—deep within his mind—Xuán Tianlei wandered.
His memories looped endlessly. His childhood. His father's hand on his shoulder. Laughter in the courtyard. The clash of steel during training.
But as time passed, the images warped.
The warmth faded. His father's hand vanished. The laughter turned to echoes.
A shadow loomed at the edges of these dreams.
A woman, shrouded in demonic mist, walked beside him, whispering.
"You are lost," she murmured. "Why resist?"
His memories shifted. He saw himself—dying in the streets, begging for food, ignored by righteous cultivators who spoke of justice yet turned their backs.
"Where were they when you needed them?"
The words wrapped around him like silk.
He saw his sister, sick and shivering, dying as no righteous sect came to help.
But a demonic sect did.
It was not the righteous world that saved him. It was the Hēi Yào Mó Zōng.
Somewhere in the depths of his soul, he knew it was a lie.
But lies told enough times become truth.
---
500 Years Later
The greatest Nascent Soul cultivators of the sect gathered for the final experiment.
The ritual was grander than anything before—an ancient soul-forging array, spanning an entire mountain range.
As the last piece—a fragment of a vengeful spirit—was forced into his core, the heavens groaned.
And within his mind—
His father's voice whispered.
"Live."
The illusions shattered.
Xuán Tianlei's eyes snapped open.
And the mountains trembled.
This version keeps your dialogue untouched while refining the grammar, sentence structure, and flow for a smoother and more immersive read. Let me know if you want any further tweaks!