Beneath the shadow of the Celestial Demon Citadel lay the Dragon’s Maw, a shimmering, ominous pool.

Guarded ceaselessly by legions of demon soldiery, its banks were also frequented by powerful figures from the Imperial Capital, hidden in plain sight, dedicating themselves to secluded cultivation. Though cataclysms might shake the realm, should the Dragon’s Maw remain untouched, these recluses would remain undisturbed.

Such was the potency of the demon energies that permeated the place that even a celestial tribulation a decade past had failed to mar its surface.

The waters of the Maw pulsed with raw demonic power, yet its depths concealed a wonder. Behind a veil of roiling energy, a colossal subterranean cavern lay hidden.

Within this cavern stood a monolithic statue carved from obsidian, a perfect likeness of the Ancient Demon himself.

And now, in this timeless place, the statue’s eyes flickered with a malevolent, inner light.

At the statue’s foot, in a shallow pool of viscous, black liquid, sat Wang Lin, clad still in his battle-worn armor, his eyes tightly shut.

Before him, encased in a cocoon of shimmering amethyst, lay a hulking warrior, his visage bearing an uncanny resemblance to the late Sword Saint, Ling Tianhou. The ravaged flesh upon his body slowly healed within its violet embrace.

Waves of eldritch light emanated from the Ancient Demon’s statue, flowing into Wang Lin, causing him to shudder with each surge.

Within his nascent soul, the shadowy form of the Demonic Soul, wrestled with the power of Wang Lin himself, bolstered by the legacy of the Ancient Demon. It was suppressed, drifting in a dazed stupor. But Wang Lin sought not mere suppression, but utter devouring!

He would consume this fallen demon, using its essence to nourish his own cultivation.

Yet the Demonic Soul was immense, a thing not easily swallowed. For months, Wang Lin had sat in that pool, slowly chipping away at its defenses, but the demon remained unconquered.

Still, with each passing moment, layer upon layer of arcane seals were woven into existence and branded upon the Demonic Soul. Months of tireless effort had resulted in a veritable tapestry of restraints.

Further, aided by the power of the Ancient Demon, Wang Lin had managed to plant a seed of control within the demon’s heart, a nascent brand. The Demonic Soul was strong, however, and the brand was faint. Only through time, and the relentless etching of Wang Lin’s will, could it take root and claim dominion over the beast.

Then, one day, Wang Lin’s eyes snapped open, revealing within them a fleeting glimpse of demonic fire.

“To devour this demon outright, with my current strength, is beyond me,” he mused. “I must deepen the brand upon its soul. In time, I will wield it as my own. Then, instead of consuming it, I could forge it into a Second Soul – a tempting prospect indeed!”

The Second Soul was a rare and coveted technique, manifest only to those who had reached the pinnacle of the Soul Formation stage. Yet it was not a path open to all, for its success hinged upon the strength of the vessel chosen to house it.

A weak vessel would doom the attempt, and failure would leave the cultivator crippled.

Furthermore, the process was intensely draining, a burden that deterred most Soul Formation experts. In truth, Wang Lin had never known a Soul Formation master who had mastered this art. As for those who surpassed this stage, their secrets remained veiled to him.

“But this being, a Fallen Demon from the court of the Ancient Demon… surely few vessels in all the realms could surpass its inherent power. To forge a Second Soul from such a creature, I am confident of success!” Wang Lin thought.

“My soul and body are now perfectly aligned, my Soul Formation fully stabilized, and all immediate dangers have passed. But there are other matters that demand my attention! I must obtain the remaining Sword Qi of the late Sword Saint, Ling Tianhou! To leave such power in the hands of his incompetent disciples is a waste!”

With a gleam in his eyes, Wang Lin rose from the pool.

Clad in his obsidian armor, he resembled a demon lord incarnate, his long hair cascading over his armored shoulders, adding to the aura of dark majesty.

He ran a hand over the armor, and a thrill shot through him. This armor was mighty! A potent, raw demonic energy radiated from its depths, though Wang Lin could not absorb it. A pity.

“Yet, to wield the Demon Finger art while wearing this… its power might even surpass my own Dao-Transformed Underworld! Alas, my cultivation is not yet sufficient to claim its complete obedience, to unlock all its secrets. But once I have forged the Demonic Soul into my Second Self, the armor’s full potential will be unleashed!” He patted the armor, then reached into his storage pouch, withdrawing a bracer.

As soon as it was free, it unraveled into a stream of black tendrils that snaked around his arm, solidifying into a protective shield.

“You… are leaving?” The voice of the Ancient Demon echoed from the statue.

Wang Lin turned, bowed respectfully to the statue, and said, “Ancient Demon, you have aided me three times. I shall not forget your kindness. I depart now to fulfill our pact! But before I go, there are a few matters that require your assistance.”

The Ancient Demon paused for a moment, then spoke. “What is it?”

Wang Lin hesitated, then retrieved a pagoda, the gift given to him long ago by Zhou Yi.

“I seek a Sword Spirit. This tower contains traces of its divine sense. I ask for your aid in locating it.”

The Ancient Demon’s divine sense swept over the pagoda. “Within my Celestial Demon Prefecture, there is no sign of this spirit. As for the other realms, I cannot say. The land of demons is vast, beyond my full reach. If you were to bring me a demon to consume, I could then use my power to search a wider area. Now, my power is limited. Or, if you possess the Ancient Demon’s Tower, you can unleash its divine sense.”

Wang Lin put away the pagoda and nodded. He pointed to the warrior encased in amethyst. “This one, I require.”

The Ancient Demon took longer this time, then said, “He is yours. But within a century, you must bring me a demon in return!”

Wang Lin’s gaze was unwavering as he nodded. “I wish to enter your Ancient Demon Inheritance Realm, to comprehend the strange enlightenment, and to master my own divine arts!”

“That request is not difficult. However, I have now assisted you many times, fulfilling our agreement. Yet you have offered no service in return. Wait until you have brought me a demon, and then we shall speak of it!”
Wang Lin, a faint smile gracing his lips, murmured, “I can, though such a task may prove… challenging for one such as I, alone.”

“From this day forth,” boomed a voice that seemed to shake the very foundations of the realm, “you shall be my envoy, your authority surpassing even that of the Demon Emperor. The Heavenly Demon Prefecture declares war upon the Fiery Demon Prefecture, that your endeavours may be better aided. Upon reaching the Everspring of Changdu, in the heart of the Fiery Demon lands, forget not the incantation I have bestowed upon you.”

Wang Bei, his fist clenched in salute, his other hand grasping at the crystal prison containing the hulking warrior, dissolved from the Dragon Pool in a blink of an eye, vanished in a ripple of space.

The requests he made of the ancient demon – the search for Zhou Jie and the opportunity to experience the inheritance – were not made lightly. The ancient demon had already offered much. Should Wang Lin appear perpetually aloof and without desire, the ancient demon might well question his sincerity.

These two requests were indeed matters he wished the ancient demon to assist with, and so were no mere feint. In this way, he hoped to ensure the demon’s continued patience.

A thousand leagues beyond the walls of the ancient demon city, Wang Lin materialized from the void. He glanced at the crystal clutched within his hand, then banished it to his storage pouch.

“This man is surely connected to Sword Sovereign Ling Tianhou. To hold him captive might prove… advantageous in the days to come.” His eyes narrowed in contemplation, before he again stepped forth, enacting the Great Shift.

Wang Lin traveled thus, his destination a place within the Fiery Demon Prefecture, where Zishu had met his end. He could not resist taking a look, for the sword qi of Ling Tianhou was a thing of immense worth.

The Art of the Shift, a sorcery of the highest order, drew upon all his power. After many such leaps, Wang Lin finally stood within the borders of the Fiery Demon Prefecture.

Zishu’s final resting place was a patch of desolate woodland, withered and blighted. The ground was littered with the decaying remains of his foes, their flesh rent and rotting after the passage of months.

Yet Zishu’s corpse remained untouched.

A faint golden glimmer emanated from his lifeless form. Around him lay the bodies of birds and beasts, drawn by the promise of carrion, only to fall dead at the very edge of his aura.

On this day, a sapphire streak tore across the heavens. A middle-aged man clad in simple Daoist robes swept through the air, his spiritual sense unfurling like a tendril. He discovered Zishu’s remains and swiftly descended, halting a mere ten paces from the corpse.

“This is the place! As I suspected, the man was filled with treasures. Otherwise, such vibrant sword qi could never have lingered so.” The man’s eyes shone with avarice, fixed on the dead body.

Zishu had died in a remote and forgotten place. Only the most diligent search would have revealed his corpse.

This man’s cultivation was tied to the birds and beasts of the wild. His spiritual sense, though weak in its own right, could be projected through the creatures of the wood. During his daily practice, a bird under his control had stumbled upon the corpse.

Startled, the man immediately recognized the anomaly. He hurried to the scene with all haste.

Gazing at the corpse, he inhaled sharply, then slapped his storage pouch. A cloud of enormous black beetles erupted from within, buzzing hungrily towards the corpse.

But the moment they crossed the ten-pace threshold, the corpse erupted with golden light, incinerating the swarm in a blinding flash.

Far from disheartening the man, this display only intensified his greed. He stared at Zishu’s flesh, muttering to himself, “He must have treasure!” Taking a deep breath, he prepared another spell, when a voice, cold and sharp, cut through the air from behind.

He whirled in alarm, hurling a dark cloud from his sleeve – a swarm of tiny, rice-grain sized insects that swarmed towards the source of the voice.

Seizing the moment, he leaped back, then gasped in horror.

Behind him stood a figure clad in black armor, radiating waves of palpable demonic energy. The insects, upon nearing him, shattered and died.

His face paling, the man retreated once more, clasping his hands in a respectful bow. “Friend,” he began, his voice trembling, “why do you impede me from retrieving the body of my brother?”

“Your brother?” The armored figure, Wang Lin, had arrived just as the other man was eyeing the corpse with undisguised lust.

“Of course, my brother! We are disciples of the Cloud Confluence Sect. This man was Zhou Qu. I am Teng Yun. We traveled to the Lands of the Demon together. A month past, we became separated. I never imagined he would meet such a gruesome end! Had he not carried a relic of our sect, one that radiates a golden aura to guide me to his location, I would never have found his remains.” Teng Yun feigned grief, his expression a mask of sorrow.