Poison God's Heritage

Within the infernal heat of dark mines were many enslaved cultivators, most were at the Nascent Soul stage, basically at the beginning of their cultivation journey. They were chained up, locked up like sheep and were led forward by wardens that seemed to have no mercy or will to ease on the whip they used to force the slaves into labor.

The mines were rich in Yang Qi, however, its purity was too much for many of the cultivators. This mine was both a boon and a curse since it gave so much Pure Yang for anyone working here, it would propel their cultivation, but too much of it...

"Another is turning! Help!" shouted one of the slaves, his voice breaking form the heat, his cracked lips were bleeding yet he still shouted for help.

Two wardens came rushing in, to see what was going on.

One cultivator who didn't seem too conspicuous. A man at the early stages of adulthood, yet now he began to change to something other than a human.

The purity of the Yang Qi was so much it reformed the body of this person into something that wasn't human anymore.

The man's body was covered in dark pulsating veins that seemed to swell with every heartbeat. His eyes turned bright red and his face began peeling over.

Skin turned to stone and his forehead grew horns, the man's hair fell, and his fingers grew talons and claws, while his jaws enlarged to accommodate fangs of razor-sharp edges.

The man now turned to this demonic entity roared with the power of a beast and then wrenched away the chains that were cuffing him.

"Such weak willed people, no wonder the quality of slaves from the barren lands was so mediocre," one of the wardens spoke, as if this nightmarish sight didn't faze him the least.

The chained cultivators next to the now rampaging creature tried their best to run away, only for an unlucky person to stumble right into one of the guards.

The man didn't even know when his end had come as the warden grabbed his head and smashed it against the nearest wall, shattering it like an egg against a rock.

"Filthy slave, don't touch me," spoke the warden to a dead body.

The slaves were at an impasse, run to the guards and die, stay with the beast and die.

The demonic creature howled and roared then charged at the cultivators while the wardens watched with smiles on their face.

Yet, before this creature could even touch one of the slaves, a young man, with brownish looking skin pushed his arm forward, grabbing the demon's claws with his bare hands.

The demon's claws were hot to the touch, easy to see from the sizzling of the boy's hands on contact. However, the boy didn't seem to be feeling the pain.

The boy had a sad look in his eye, for the demon perhaps, or for the person that was once human before him. Or maybe, just maybe, the boy's sadness was imparting of his own.

The demon, with one hand pinned, unable to wrench it away, tried to strike down at the boy with his other hand.

Only for the demon's vision to spin, and finally, it found itself landing on the ground with a loud thud sound.

Unable to understand why it was looking at the standing headless body of what used to be his own.

The demon tried to shout, but he couldn't bring any air to his lungs, and it was only then did it realize that it had been decapitated in one fast move.

The demon's final throws were silent, and soon the demon turned to ash.

"Hah, see, you can fend for yourselves if you put your heart to it, now back to work!" spoke one of the wardens as he cracked a whip right next to the boy's legs.

The boy didn't speak, not act, he turned and went to the nearest wall, grabbed a pickaxe and began digging once again as if nothing had happened.

The wardens all left the mines and left the cultivators to their own, working day and night, with not enough food to sustain themselves, not water to staunch the dreadful thirst.

One cultivator, the bravest of the bunch as it had seemed at the time, approached the boy.

Fear in his eyes, for the chains that everyone was strapped in, had limited the slaves' power by an incredible margin to stop them from revolting or attempting to escape. Yet this boy displayed power beyond what a child his age should be able to show, not to mention he was chained.

"Kid. Why did you save us?" spoke the man, "No one here will thank you, and they will all fear you. Was it wise to display your strength where you could have just stayed still and waited until the guards killed the transformed?" spoke the brave man.

The kid, while mining, still took a moment to think before he spoke, "By then, how many cultivators would die? Before the guards even act? Do you think that they will mourn or even care about us?" the child spoke.

"Even if, you displayed power that can be threatening to them," spoke the man.

The boy shook his head, "Not at all, in case you didn't notice, those guards are ascendant level, do you think my puny power is enough to even cause them to think twice of me as a threat? We're weak, all of us. And they know it, so why should the lion care for the strength of an ant?"

The boy's words stung the cultivator's pride.

But the cultivator knew it was true, there was no way the wardens would even care even if everyone here were to die. In fact, the majority will die before they even became appropriate appetizers.

This cultivator had known from the guards that everyone here is being forced to work just to be fattened up for the King's meal.

They will slave their lives here, and be forcefully infused with the Yang Qi from these lands, against their will. If they fail to subdue it, they'll turn demonic and lose all reason, if they manage to subdue the Yang Qi, then they'll be a good side dish for the fire king.

There was no winning condition here. Death, or Death, no option was better than the next.

"It feels that our lives have long since been forfeit. Perhaps, I should take matters in my own hands, and go on my own terms," the man spoke in a solemn voice.

The kid, for the first time, stopped mining and then turned to that man, "If you want to go, go ahead, I'm not planning on spending the rest of my days here. Nor am I a defeatist who will look for the easy way out. Work, live, and struggle, until you find an opportunity, no matter how sodding, how hard, or how impossible, a chance will reveal itself. For the heavens try you, but always leaves a way out, you only have to look," spoke the boy.

These words weren't his, but they were the words of a friend, a friend as slippery as a viper, and as venomous, but a good friend nevertheless.

The man, nodded, then spoke, "What's your name kid?"

"Meng, I'm Meng Hao."