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Chapter 1: Rebirth of the Abyss
Darkness.
It wasn't the absence of light, but a suffocating abyss—familiar, endless, cold.
Tian Mo had died once. Torn apart by divine tribulation, betrayed by the woman he trusted most, and devoured by the very sect he once led to dominance. The last thing he remembered before oblivion was the mocking eyes of his disciples, the traitorous whispers of his lovers, and the firestorm of heavenly wrath that reduced his empire to dust.
Yet here he was.
Breathing.
Heartbeat steady. Air cold. Chest rising and falling in rhythm he hadn't felt in millennia.
He opened his eyes.
White ceiling. Flickering lights. A familiar chemical scent.
A hospital?
He turned his head, the motion stiff and jarring. His body was weak, fragile—flesh and bone without the reinforcement of Qi. But his soul… ah, his soul was burning.
Reincarnation.
He grinned, lips cracked.
This was Earth. A low-grade cultivation world so degraded that spiritual energy was barely a whisper in the wind. He had once used this world as a prison for enemies—never imagining he'd be reborn here himself.
Tian Mo was alive.
A nurse walked in, gasped, and nearly dropped her tablet. "Y-you're awake?! The coma—six months—"
Her words were background noise.
He scanned her face. Twenty-four. Single. Weak meridians but a latent Yin body, unawakened. Useless now, but with some nurturing…
His mind clicked back into motion. Calculating. Analyzing. Planning.
He needed strength. Cultivation. Resources. Tools to manipulate this modern world.
He closed his eyes, reaching inward.
And there it was—the seed of his demonic path. The Primordial Chaos Divine Sins Emperor Technique—a forbidden art born of madness and lust, chaos and will.
He would rebuild his cultivation slowly, secretly. He could not afford to alert the Hidden Circle—the ancient cultivators and pseudo-clans secretly ruling Earth's underbelly. They would sense a threat if a Nascent Soul aura suddenly surged into existence.
For now, he would play the role of "young coma survivor."
Let them believe he was harmless.
Let them think he was weak.
Fools.
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Three weeks later.
Tian Mo walked the halls of the rehabilitation center with calculated grace. He'd learned everything he could about the current era—technology, politics, the underworld power dynamics. The Earth Cultivation Circle was fragmented. The strongest hidden sects barely had a few Spirit Severing elders. Most focused on wealth, power, women. Their cultivation had rotted into luxury.
Pathetic.
He had also begun "cultivating"—barely a trickle of Qi available, but enough to reach Body Tempering within days.
But more importantly, he had recruited.
Her name was Anna. Once a spoiled heiress, now his devoted servant.
Her initiation had been… thorough.
Bound in an array drawn in blood and lust, her soul had been marked with his Chaos Qi. Her desires twisted, her body attuned to his. She now moved in high society with elegance, subtly pushing his influence forward.
Through her, he planted seeds—whispers of a mysterious young man, a charismatic genius, a future leader.
Soon, Yin Hua came next. A spy once hired to probe into him. Instead, she became his tool. Her soul forcibly bound through Demonic Thread Sealing Art, her skills repurposed to form a growing underground intelligence network.
Each step was calculated.
Each pawn—pleasure and purpose.
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One night, as moonlight filtered through his penthouse window, Tian Mo stood naked before a cultivation altar made from stolen relics, bloodstones, and pleasure-wracked bodies.
Anna lay behind him, moaning softly in a haze of post-ritual ecstasy, her body inscribed with glowing crimson runes.
He had just broken through to Qi Condensation (Peak).
His Chaos Qi spiraled in his meridians, polluting the natural order, creating a path uniquely his.
"I've returned," he whispered to the stars above.
"Not to serve heaven."
"But to shatter it."
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