Scarlet Shadows: Rise Of The abyssal demon emperor

The chilling wind of the mountains carried whispers of danger, yet Zhen Yang remained unbothered. His body, no longer the weak frame of the Zhen family's discarded third son, brimmed with newfound strength. It wasn't memory that guided him but a deep, primal instinct. Every motion, every decision, felt natural—as though he had done it countless times before. After incinerating the assassin with a flicker of crimson flame, Zhen Yang stood silently, staring at the ashes that drifted into the night. His heart felt nothing: no fear, no regret—only satisfaction. 

"I didn't need to think," he murmured. "My body just knew what to do."

Back at the Zhen estate, the air was thick with tension. Zhen Hao paced his chambers, his mind racing. The report of the assassin's death weighed heavily on him. Zhen Yang had always been a thorn in his side—not because of his strength, but because of his potential. Now, that potential had grown into something dangerous.

"A weakling doesn't just vanish and return with the power to destroy an assassin," Zhen Hao muttered. "He must have found something. Something dangerous."

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. A servant entered, bowing low. 

"Young Master Hao, the elders have summoned you," the servant said. 

Zhen Hao's brow furrowed. "Do they suspect something?"

The servant hesitated. "It is… unclear, young master. But they seem concerned about recent events in the mountains."

"Of course they are," Zhen Hao muttered. "Inform them I'll be there shortly."

As the servant departed, Zhen Hao clenched his fists. If Zhen Yang had truly returned stronger, then the game had changed. And in this game, there was no room for mercy.

Far from the estate, Zhen Yang wandered deeper into the wilderness, drawn by an unseen force. It wasn't memory—it was something else, something ancient and raw. The world around him felt familiar in a way he couldn't explain. The rustle of leaves, the scent of blood on the wind, the crackle of power in his veins—all of it resonated with him.

He paused at a cliff's edge, staring at the valley below. The moon cast an eerie glow over the landscape, and in the distance, the faint lights of a village flickered. Hunger gnawed at him, not just for food but for something deeper. Power. Control.

"I've changed," he said quietly, his voice carrying into the void. "But what… changed me?"

The memory of the crimson book flashed in his mind. He could still feel its texture—the grotesque sensation of human flesh bound together. The words written in blood had burned themselves into his soul, though he couldn't consciously recall them. 

"It doesn't matter," he decided. "What matters is what I do now."

His gaze shifted to the village. Without hesitation, he descended the cliff, moving with an agility that defied his human form. He didn't question how he could leap from rock to rock or balance on narrow edges. He simply did it.

The village was quiet, its inhabitants asleep. Zhen Yang moved like a shadow, his senses guiding him to the largest house at the center. He could smell wealth and power—a subtle yet distinct aura that clung to the air.

Inside, a man slept soundly, his snores echoing in the dark. Zhen Yang entered silently, his crimson eyes glinting in the dim light. He didn't know why he had chosen this man, only that something deep within him demanded it.

The man stirred as Zhen Yang approached. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he stared in confusion. Then, fear took hold.

"Who… who are you?" the man stammered.

Zhen Yang said nothing. He raised his hand, and the crimson flame flickered to life once more. The man's screams were brief, silenced by the overwhelming power that consumed him. When it was over, Zhen Yang stood amidst the ashes, his breathing steady.

He felt no remorse, only satisfaction. The power coursing through him had grown stronger, the flame brighter.

"This is who I am now," he said, his voice firm. "A predator."

The next morning, news of the massacre spread like wildfire. The villagers spoke in hushed tones of a demon that had descended upon them. Some claimed to have seen glowing red eyes in the night, while others swore they heard unholy laughter echoing through the hills.

Zhen Yang, now miles away, paid no mind to the rumors. He had no interest in their fear or their stories. His only goal was to grow stronger, to uncover the full extent of his power.

And somewhere, deep within him, a voice whispered—a voice that wasn't his own but felt intimately familiar.

"Rise," it urged. "Rise, and take what is yours."

Zhen Yang smiled faintly, his pace quickening. The world was vast, and he intended to conquer it—one step at a time.