Chapter 70: Inner Demon

Chapter 70 - Inner Demon "Heart Ghoul!" Miu Tyanh snapped awake, dread sinking into his bones like a jagged, rust-eaten blade. His mastery of the Heart Ghoul Fist Art—a sinister demonic technique—was no small feat. With it, he could summon phantom ghouls from the shadows of the mind, their eerie murmurs weaving a hypnotic aura that enslaved weaker cultivators, binding them to their own darkest fears. It was a power as haunting as it was potent. But every blade has its edge turned inward. The Heart Ghoul Fist Art carried a curse: its wielder faced periodic assaults from the very ghouls they commanded. When the cultivator's Dao Heart wavered, the ghouls would stir, reborn from doubt, clawing at their master's soul. Miu Tyanh's cultivation will had once been ironclad, a blazing torch on the path to the Great Dao. That unshakable Dao Heart was why he'd chosen this perilous martial art. It was also why he'd plunged headfirst into the Lurewoven Grove's dreamscape—partly to meet his dead brother one final time, partly to shatter the mirage with raw force and carve a swift path through the grove's tangle. But fate mocked him. The Heart Ghoul didn't strike early or linger late—it chose this moment, when his Dao Heart teetered on the edge. His chest heaved as he sucked in a ragged breath. With a snarl, he drove his fist into the illusion's skull. A wet crack split the air, crimson blood sprayed like a geyser, and the illusion image's corpse burst apart. The surrounding scenery shattered with it, peeling back to reveal the truth: a writhing sea of blood-red vines surging toward him, their snarling tendrils whipping with feral hunger. Miu Tyanh's lips curled into a savage grin, but his vision warped. The vines twisted before his eyes, morphing into countless copies of Kinson Wexford and Lordi Payne. In a heartbeat, their numbers swelled—dozens, then hundreds—flooding the grove, their faces contorted with malice as they closed in from every angle. "Kill!" The word exploded in his mind, a single spark igniting a wildfire. It roared louder, splitting into a deafening chorus, reverberating through his skull like a storm of shattered glass. "Kill! Kill! KILL!" The voices multiplied, relentless, clawing at his sanity until his thoughts frayed into ribbons, leaving only one primal urge: kill everyone before him. His eyes blazed crimson, twin infernos of unquenchable rage. Every fiber of his being screamed with hatred—an endless, searing wildfire that no river or lake could douse. These figures weren't just enemies; they were the embodiment of every betrayal, every wound, every shred of guilt that gnawed at his soul. In that instant, murderous intent erupted in his chest, a molten tide that consumed all reason, urging him to tear the world apart with his bare hands. BOOM! Miu Tyanh's fist erupted forward, unleashing a tempest of raw, terrifying force. The shockwave roared outward, a howling gale that smashed into dozens of arm-thick vines like a battering ram. The tendrils didn't just snap—they shattered, their splintered ends whipping backward as if a colossal waterfall had been yanked midair and hurled in reverse. Blood sprayed from the ruptured vines, a crimson geyser that drenched the grove in a choking, metallic reek. The Lurewoven Grove wounded but enraged. The severed vines stabbed into the earth, rooting instantly, and sprouted anew with vicious speed. In a heartbeat, their numbers doubled, tripled—tendrils surging forth in a frenzied assault, a tidal wave of blood-red fury. Amid the chaos, ghostly white flower buds bloomed along the vines, their petals unfurling with an unnatural, predatory grace. Then came the thorns—countless jagged spines erupting along every tendril, glinting like razors thirsty for flesh. The vines reared back and lashed forward, unleashing a storm of thorns that screamed through the air like a monsoon of death, aimed straight for Miu Tyanh. He answered with a guttural roar, his fists igniting with a faint, sinister black glow—Heart Ghoul Fist Art surging to life. Shadows twisted around him, and from the haze emerged dozens of seductive demonesses, their bare feet gliding over the blood-soaked ground. Their eyes gleamed with wicked allure as they spun in a mesmerizing dance, weaving between the onslaught. The thorns slammed into them like a storm rain, piercing their ethereal forms—but not a single spike reached Miu Tyanh. The demonesses absorbed the barrage, their seductive laughter a haunting chime amidst the carnage. Then Miu Tyanh struck. His fists blurred into a storm of motion, too fast for the eye to track—a hundred, no, hundreds of blows unleashed in a single blink. The air itself screamed under the onslaught, each punch a thunderclap of destruction. A bucket-thick vine lunged at him, and his fist storm met it head-on, pulverizing it into a cloud of ash with a sickening crunch. In his wild, bloodshot gaze, it wasn't a vine—it was Kinson Wexford's sneering face, obliterated under his knuckles. The grove quaked as the delayed echoes of his strikes finally crashed through—BANG! BANG! BANG!—a relentless drumbeat of devastation reverberating off the vast walls of twisted roots and thorns. "Die! Die! DIE!———" Miu Tyanh's roar tore through the grove like a beast unshackled, a primal howl that shook the air itself. His fists erupted into a whirlwind of shadowy blurs, thousands of strikes hammering out in a relentless barrage. Around him, the demonesses of his Heart Ghoul Fist Art spun in a frenzied, otherworldly waltz—barefoot and wild, their seductive grace clashing with the carnage. Vines and flower buds shattered under the onslaught, exploding into a thick, crimson slurry that splattered across the earth like a butcher's canvas. The broken tendrils hit the ground, writhing in defiance. Fresh vines clawed up from the gore, desperate to reclaim their hold, but Miu Tyanh's fury was a tidal wave—too fast, too savage. His punches outpaced their regeneration, each blow a death knell that pulped the grove's defenses. The Lurewoven Grove thinned, its once-teeming vines dwindling under his relentless assault. Yet the demonesses danced on, their murmurs weaving a hypnotic dirge that echoed through the blood-soaked haze, shielding him in a cocoon of dark beauty. Then, deep within the grove, a lone flower bud withered abruptly. In its place swelled a grotesque, bloated fruit. It dropped with a wet thud and began to morph, flesh rippling until it shaped into a young man—Miu Toanh's face staring back, hollow and accusing. BOOM! Before the figure could take a step, Miu Tyanh's fist rocketed through the air, a comet of black fury. The illusion image shattered in a deafening blast—limbs and gore sprayed outward, raining down in a grisly cascade. Miu Tyanh threw his head back and laughed, a jagged, unhinged cackle that reverberated through the grove. "BWAHAHA! Another dead! Kinson Wexford! Lordi Payne! I'll rip you all to shreds!" BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The slaughter stretched into a timeless frenzy, each punch a thunderclap that split the air. When his senses finally clawed back from the abyss, Miu Tyanh staggered, chest heaving. He glanced over his shoulder and froze—he'd already left the area of Lurewoven Grove by carving a bloody swath clean through the entire grove. The carnage blurred time itself, leaving only a trail of ruin in his wake. "Inner Demon Calamity..." The realization hit like a blade to the gut, his face paling to ash. His bond with Toanh—forged in the crucible of their orphaned years—ran deeper than he'd ever admitted. Grief had festered unseen, a rot that cracked his Dao Heart, a chink the Heart Ghoul had exploited with insidious precision. He'd thought his will was unbreakable. When word of Toanh's death reached him, the shock and rage had burned hot, but he'd steeled himself, certain his path to the Great Dao would hold firm. He was wrong. Years of leaning on each other had woven Toanh into his soul, and the gnawing guilt of unavenged blood had dusted his Dao Heart with doubt—ripe for the Heart Ghoul's ambush. Had he not stormed into the Lurewoven Grove, this Inner Demon Calamity might have simmered undetected, a silent doom creeping closer. Miu Tyanh turned, staring at the blood-red cascade of vines behind him—a grotesque waterfall frozen in defeat. The wildfire in his eyes dimmed, giving way to a raw, unmasked sorrow. "Toanh, my dear brother, rest in peace," he murmured, voice thick with resolve. "I'm still your brother—same as ever. Nothing's changed. Those who tore you from me, no matter their status or power, will pay in blood. I swear it." With that, Miu Tyanh shook off the lingering haze. His eyes flared crimson once more, twin embers reigniting with purpose. He locked onto the bloody footprints stretching ahead and surged forward, a predator reborn in the hunt. When Miu Tyanh realized Oen Shinae's crew was bound for the Yin-Yang Venomgulf, a sneer curled his lips, cold and cutting. In the next heartbeat, his form shimmered into a dreamlike blur—a streak of black lightning tearing through the abyss. The air itself seemed to scream as he surged forward, unstoppable. The treacherous, narrow path that Oen Shinae's squad had tiptoed across—every step a gamble with death—was nothing to him. To Miu Tyanh, it stretched wide as a grand highway, its dangers mere pebbles beneath his boots. Even the cliff-edged ridge, a razor-thin spine flanked by gaping voids, didn't steal a single breath of his momentum. He stormed across it like a phantom, untouchable, the wind howling in his wake. In mere moments—three sharp inhales—he'd conquered the deadzone, leaving its perils choking on his dust. But then, he skidded to a halt, boots grinding against stone. The bloody footprints he'd tracked with had grown chaotic near the Venomgulf's far bank—smeared, tangled, then gone, swallowed by the earth as if erased by some sly hand. "Caught on, have they?" Miu Tyanh's brow furrowed, a flicker of irritation sparking in his crimson gaze. Sharky Ink's fate was dirt to him—he'd step over that fool's corpse without a blink—but letting Lordi Payne slip through his fingers? That gnawed at his gut like a starving beast. Refusing to let the trail die, he vaulted atop a jagged, towering rock. Perched like a predator, he swept his eyes across the sprawling Gworm Abyss, hunting for any trace of Oen Shinae's squad. The Abyss was a living riddle, its paths and mazes twisting with every trespasser's step. Yet its deadliest landmarks—the Lurewoven Grove, the Yin-Yang Venomgulf—stood as grim constants, unyielding anchors in the chaos. And the Ice Pith Fire's lair? It would smolder close to such cursed terrain, a prize tethered to peril. "Oen Shinae's the toughest among them—Mid-Phase Foundation Stage, nothing more," Miu Tyanh muttered, his mind slicing through possibilities like a blade through silk. "The Wormrot Catacombs southeast? Nah, that's graveyard for any Foundation cultivator—without Core Formation strength, any cultivators would become worm food before theirs fool head even step close. Scratch that. The Corpse Howling Field south? Less brutal, but even an Advanced-Phase Foundation cultivator like me would barely shield my own skin. No chance there either." Miu Tyanh ticked off the deadliest zones with ruthless precision, narrowing the field. "That leaves three: Necrospore Chasm southwest, Skeletal Roost Mire in west, and Maggotcradle Summit east." "Fusing the Ice Pith Fire takes time—quarters, maybe hours. With my Umbral Spectre Footwork Art, the worst case? I tear through these deadzones one by one till I sniff you out." Miu Tyanh's lips twisted into a feral grin, eyes glinting crimson. "Lordi Payne, damn miserable motherfucker—your death's overdue!" In a flash, his figure melted into a shadowy blur, a streak of vengeance bolting east toward Maggotcradle Summit. ---- In a shadowed nook of the Skeletal Roost Mire, numerous dead skeletal cranes lay strewn across the swamp like forgotten relics, their bones gleaming faintly under a deathly hush. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of decay and the unnatural stillness of a place untouched by life. Atop the spine of a massive crane carcass stood Oen Shinae, her beauty was unsettling, porcelain-pale skin stretched too taut over sharp, doll-like features. Oen Shinae's icy gaze piercing downward, overseeing Sharky Ink as he deploying the array formation below. Sharky Ink's face was a mask of ashen dread, his eyes smoldering with barely-contained loathing. Behind him, the ghostly bone flowers pulsed faintly, a cruel leash that forced his trembling hands to obey. Gritting his teeth, he drove the refined formation flags into the swamp's muck. They sank with a soft squish, barely rippling the surface, encircling a cluster of pale blue flames flickering in the distance—the Ice Pith Fire. As the Siege Array neared completion, Oen Shinae turned her head, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Once the formation locks, the Ice Pith Fire's trapped—no escape. I'll step in, seize it, and hand it to you for fusion, Lordi Payne. Merging a Dao Flame into your body's no stroll—it'll hurt like hell. But you will endure. The Bloodline Lord's efforts hang on this. Do you understand what I'm saying?" "Aye!" Lordi Payne dipped his head in a respectful bow, soaking in her words. Then, a flicker of doubt sparked in his mind. He leaned closer, voice hushed. "Uh, Senior Sister... how exactly do I fusion? Uh... fuse the fire? Do I just... swallow it or...?" The question hung in the air like a thunderclap. Oen Shinae froze, her icy composure cracking. Fang Jit blinked, jaw slack. Even Sharky Ink, hunched over the array in sullen defiance, faltered—his hands jerking mid-motion, a flag nearly slipping from his grip. "What the fuck did you just say?!" Fang Jit exploded, his voice a whipcrack of fury. He'd never liked Lordi Payne, and now his patience snapped like dry kindling. "You don't even know the Pyro Fusion Art?! Senior Sister, he's screwing with us! We dragged this idiot through every death trap in the Gworm Abyss for this? What's the point if he's clueless?!"