Chapter 10.1. Qi (1)

  Crack after crack split open, each one sending a jolt of agony through his body as if his insides were being torn apart from the centre. Soon the entire Dantian was covered in fractures, trembling on the verge of collapse. The room shook subtly as the pressure peaked.

  Then it exploded.

  The rupture was far fiercer than before. A wave of raw energy tore through his meridians, flooding every inch of his body. Lucifer clenched his teeth as the power ripped outward, reforming him from the inside. His bones hummed, his flesh burned, and his meridians felt as though they were being widened by force rather than gently carved.

  When the surge finally stabilized, a new Dantian formed—larger, denser, and far more powerful than its predecessor.

  Lucifer exhaled slowly, his breath carrying a faint red glow.

  Only then did he realize it.

  He had stepped into the Transcendent Realm.

  Now the true cultivation could begin, thought Lucifer.

  He stepped off the platform, and as he did, the red mist dissipated like smoke curling into nothingness, leaving the room shadowed but alive with the residual hum of energy. He sensed the mist had been part of the platform’s power, a conduit for the immense cultivation he had just undertaken.

  Lucifer closed his eyes and drew inward, feeling the torrent of Ki swirling violently through his twelve meridians, coursing through every muscle, tendon, and bone. The energy was relentless, raw, and alive—perfect for mending what had been broken.

  He directed the Ki toward his injuries. The gaping hole in his abdomen sealed first, the flesh knitting together with a soft, yet intense pressure as if the Ki itself had reshaped his body. Then the wound on the right side of his chest followed, closing perfectly without leaving a trace.

  Finally, all his attention focused on the hole through his heart. He poured every remaining ounce of Ki into it. Pain exploded through his chest, sharp and all-consuming, like molten fire burning through bone and sinew. His heart throbbed erratically, fighting to re-establish its rhythm. Sweat poured down his face, his breaths came ragged, each inhalation a struggle against the searing pressure of life trying to rebuild itself.

  The void slowly shrank, edges knitting together under the relentless force of his will. The throbbing, tearing agony gradually faded into a dull ache, and finally, the hole sealed completely.

  Lucifer opened his eyes, feeling the life in his chest, the steady beat of his heart resonating through his body. His wounds were gone, his body whole, yet a shadow of frustration lingered: despite his restored heart, his magic still refused to respond.

  He felt a surge of mixed emotions—annoyance at his inability to use magic, but awe at what had just occurred. When he opened his eyes, he froze. There it was—his white-and-black angel wings, unfurling majestically behind him. They were radiant, yet carried a dark edge, a paradox of his existence.

  A realization hit him. The sudden boost of energy he had felt while healing his heart wasn’t purely from Ki—it had been holy magic, flowing unconsciously through him. In the process, his wings had manifested, a dormant power awakened without intention.

  Memories surged unbidden. He saw himself in Heaven, the air thick with the stench of battle, surrounded by Michael, Raphael, and Ares. They were battered, torn, their bodies weak. Instinctively, he had unfurled his wings, shrouding them in a barrier of light and dark, healing their injuries in a protective cocoon of his own power. The memory was vivid, tactile—the warmth of their skin, the strain of his energy coursing through them.

  He shook himself out of the flashback and glanced down at the floor, muttering, “Tch, stupid memory.” But his gaze was drawn back to the wings. He ran his hands along the feathers, and they were as soft and perfectly structured as he remembered, each one humming faintly with suppressed power.

  After a few moments, he retracted them, the wings folding against his back with a whisper of movement, and returned to the platform. A grim determination settled over him. He realized forcing his heart to accept mana was futile for now. The only way forward was to become stronger—to cultivate his body and spirit to a level where his heart could naturally bear the weight of his magic once again.

  Four months passed in the blink of an eye, and within that time, the very walls of the Demon King’s castle quaked incessantly. The tremors rattled the floors and sent chandeliers swinging violently, yet none of the inhabitants dared complain. They all knew who was responsible—and they were right.

  Inside the blackened, rune-covered cultivation chamber, time moved differently, flowing with an intensity that warped the normal pace of existence. Two months in that room equated to four in Hell. Day after day, Lucifer pushed his body beyond its limits, forcing the Ki to surge, expand, and condense into something far stronger than any mortal or demon could comprehend.

  By the fourth month, he had shattered through the ceiling of the King Realm, his energy radiating with a quiet authority that seemed to make the very air tremble. Sweat and Ki residue coated his body, but he felt no fatigue, no hunger—the red mist had long since fused with his essence, nourishing him beyond the need for any worldly sustenance.

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  Lucifer walked slowly along the perimeter of the chamber, his footsteps silent but measured, his mind drifting with a calculated focus. So this is the power of a King Realm cultivator, he mused, flexing his fingers as the Ki coursed through him like molten fire. Still, it’s nothing compared to my original strength… Back then, I could have annihilated any number of King Realm experts with a single motion. But that was in the past. For now, I must rebuild.

  He let his gaze drift upward, toward the invisible ceiling where the Ki swirled like a storm contained by sheer willpower. My foundation… it’s solid. Rock solid. And by using impurities to cultivate, I’ve broken the rules of that world. Hah. Then again… I’ve never been one to follow rules I find useless.

  A faint crackle of energy whispered through the room as the air itself bent under the pressure of his aura, the walls trembling in silent acknowledgment of the King Realm power now emanating from the Demon King.

  Lucifer continued pacing along the walls of the chamber, his boots making barely a sound against the cold, rune-etched floor. Each step was deliberate, each movement controlled, as though he were mapping the flow of energy around him. Well, that’s enough of a break, he thought, flexing his fingers as he observed the Ki swirling through his twelve meridians. All my realms so far are perfectly stable… no risk of backlash from an unstable realm. Back to it.

  He returned to the platform, the red mist already thickening and rising like a living entity from the floor. Soon, it enveloped the entire room, swirling in furious spirals around him. The air vibrated with the intensity of concentrated Ki, and shadows danced on the walls, cast by the pulsating energy. Lucifer closed his eyes, inhaled, and exhaled slowly, feeling the mist seep into every pore, every vein, every fibre of his being.

  Overlord Realm… the pinnacle of all cultivation, he muttered, the words reverberating in the chamber as if even the room itself understood the weight of the goal. No one—not even in that other world—has ever reached this level. I wonder how it will compare to my original power… He smiled faintly, the thought both tantalizing and challenging. It should be fun to compare someday.

  And with that, he plunged himself into cultivation, every muscle, every meridian, every atom of his body pushed beyond limits. His aura flared violently, the walls quivering as if afraid of the power contained within the chamber. The red mist thickened further, almost solid now, wrapping around him in tendrils that seemed alive, writhing and feeding the Demon King’s body with unimaginable energy.

  Time lost all meaning. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, hours became days… and days turned into years. Five years passed in that chamber, yet to Lucifer it felt like an instant, each heartbeat and breath a step closer to the realm of an Overlord. The room had transformed under his cultivation—the runes on the walls burned brighter than ever, the mist burned hotter than the sun, and the air itself seemed heavy with power, humming with the presence of a force that no being had ever contained.

  Lucifer’s body sat cross-legged on the platform, surrounded by the thick red mist, his aura radiating outward like a storm about to break. Every atom of him screamed with power, yet he remained serene, focused, and unbroken. The Overlord Realm awaited, and soon, he would claim it.

  The red miasma swirling across the entire Demon World condensed into a massive vortex around the Demon King’s castle, twisting and roaring like a living storm. Lightning tore through the sky in jagged bolts, illuminating the chaos, while distant volcanoes erupted, spewing molten rivers that glowed like rivers of fire. The castle trembled violently, its foundations groaning under the raw force of the energy being poured into it.

  Then, Lucifer opened his eyes. The very air seemed to scream in response. Dark red flames erupted from his body, exploding outward with a force that defied comprehension. The shockwave shattered stone and steel alike, reducing the fifth, sixth, seventh, and half of the eighth floor of the castle to rubble in an instant. The ground cracked, pillars crumbled, and debris was hurled like missiles in every direction.

  Even after the explosion, the aura of power radiating from Lucifer’s body was palpable—a suffocating, oppressive force that pressed down on everything in the Demon World. The Demon Lords’ castles trembled as if they might collapse under the weight of it, and even the Council of Elders felt it like a physical blow, their hairs standing on end as the waves of power rippled across the realm.

  The sky itself seemed to bleed, darkened clouds swirling in chaotic spirals, and the red miasma that once only covered the world now screamed in resonance with the power emanating from the Demon King. The entire world quaked, and in the eye of this cataclysm, Lucifer sat, unmoved, the very embodiment of power ascending beyond reckoning.

  Once the oppressive aura slammed into them, the Demon Lords and Elders struggled forward, each step feeling like wading through molten stone. The closer they got to the castle, the more unbearable the pressure became—each heartbeat throbbed painfully in their chests, their limbs trembling under the sheer weight of Lucifer’s power. By the time they reached the gates, many were gasping for breath, their bodies pressed to the ground by an invisible force that seemed intent on crushing them.

  Then the doors of the castle creaked open, and their eyes widened in shock. Lucifer emerged, every inch of him wreathed in a crimson-red flame that twisted and hissed like a living storm of fire. The aura radiated outward in waves that distorted the very air, and the sheer heat made the ground beneath them smoke. He gazed at the Demon Lords and Elders, frozen and sprawled on the ground, unable to lift a single limb. With a slow, deliberate motion, he retracted his aura, and the suffocating pressure immediately eased, leaving them gasping and drenched in sweat.

  Lucifer strode forward with the grace of one who belonged entirely to his domain. When he reached them, he bent slightly and spoke with a deep, resonant calm, apologizing for the chaos his uncontrolled power had caused. Relief and awe flooded their faces as they knelt, not just in respect but in recognition of the staggering force they had witnessed.

  At that moment, Kane emerged from the castle, his skeletal frame illuminated by the last wisps of residual aura. “My Lord, I apologize for not coming to your side sooner, but there were pressing matters on the floors you… destroyed,” Kane said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of urgency.

  Lucifer chuckled, a sound that rumbled like distant thunder. “Hahaha, yeah… sorry about that,” he replied, the amusement in his voice cutting through the tension like a knife, though the flicker of crimson flames behind him hinted at the raw power he now commanded.