Scarlet Shadows: Rise Of The abyssal demon emperor

The Zhen family estate sprawled across miles of pristine land, its towering walls and gilded gates a testament to their power. Within its confines, the halls buzzed with life, though the atmosphere was tense. Everyone had heard the news: Zhen Yang, the insignificant third son, had vanished. Some whispered he was dead; others speculated he had fled, unable to bear the weight of his family's scorn.

For Zhen Hao and Zhen Liang, the eldest brothers, the news was welcome. One less rival in the race for the patriarch's seat.

Meanwhile, deep in the mountains, Zhen Yang was alive—and changing. He stood in a clearing, his eyes closed as he tested the newfound power coursing through his veins. The book from the cave had given him more than knowledge; it had awakened something primal within him. His once frail body now exuded strength, and his senses were sharper than ever. 

"This power…" Zhen Yang muttered, his voice low. A small flame flickered to life in his palm, its color a deep crimson. It pulsed with a life of its own, as if feeding off his emotions.A rustle in the bushes snapped him from his thoughts. Zhen Yang turned, his gaze cold and calculating. From the shadows emerged a man dressed in black, his face obscured by a mask. The assassin moved silently, a blade glinting in his hand."So they sent another one," Zhen Yang said, a hint of amusement in his tone. He didn't move as the assassin lunged at him, the blade aimed for his throat. At the last moment, Zhen Yang sidestepped, his movements fluid and precise. He grabbed the assassin's wrist, twisting it with enough force to make the man drop his weapon.

The assassin grunted in pain but managed to free himself, leaping back to create distance. 

"Who sent you?" Zhen Yang asked, his voice calm but laced with menace.

The assassin said nothing, charging forward again. This time, Zhen Yang didn't wait. He raised his hand, and the crimson flame roared to life, engulfing the man in an instant. The assassin screamed as the fire consumed him, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.Zhen Yang stared at the smoldering remains, his expression unreadable. He had never killed before, not like this. But instead of guilt or fear, he felt exhilaration. The power was intoxicating, and he wanted more.

"Zhen Hao, Zhen Liang…" he whispered, a faint smile on his lips. "You have no idea what's coming."

Back at the Zhen estate, Zhen Hao lounged in his private chamber, a goblet of wine in hand. He was in high spirits. With Zhen Yang out of the picture, his path to the patriarch's seat was clearer than ever.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," he called, setting the goblet down. A servant stepped inside, bowing deeply.

"Young Master Hao, there's news from the mountains," the servant said, his voice trembling. 

Zhen Hao raised an eyebrow. "Speak."

"The assassin… he's dead. They found… nothing left but ashes."

The room fell silent. Zhen Hao's expression darkened, and he stood abruptly, the goblet tipping over and spilling wine across the table.

"Ashes?" he repeated, his voice cold. "Are you telling me Zhen Yang killed him?"

The servant nodded nervously. "It's the only explanation, young master. No one else was nearby."

Zhen Hao clenched his fists, his mind racing. How could that weakling survive, let alone kill a trained assassin? Something wasn't right.

"Send word to the other families," Zhen Hao ordered. "I want to know everything about what's happening in those mountains. If Zhen Yang is alive, I want him found and dealt with."

Zhen Yang, unaware of the growing storm brewing back home, continued his journey deeper into the mountains. He sought solitude, a place to hone his skills and uncover the full extent of his power. The book had shown him glimpses of techniques that defied the natural order—methods to manipulate life and death, to bend the very fabric of reality.

As night fell, he found a secluded cave and sat cross-legged at its entrance. Closing his eyes, he focused inward, drawing on the crimson flame that burned within him. The energy responded eagerly, flowing through his veins like molten fire.

Visions filled his mind once more. He saw himself standing atop a mountain of corpses, his enemies bowing before him in fear. He saw the faces of his brothers, twisted in anguish as they begged for mercy. And he saw a throne, bathed in blood, waiting for him to claim it.

When Zhen Yang opened his eyes, they glowed faintly with a crimson hue. 

"This world will bow to me," he said, his voice steady. "And I will stop at nothing to make it so."