The Ancient God Clan
The biting wind whipped around Mo Yang as he knelt before the newly erected cenotaph, the whispers of his tormentors echoing in his ears. "Trash!" they cried, their accusations like daggers. "You caused the Fourth Elder's death!" Ten years of fruitless cultivation had left him a pariah, a living testament to his own perceived failure.
His master, his only family, was gone, sacrificed in a desperate bid to find a cure for Mo Yang's inexplicable inability to condense Qi. The Lingxu Sect, once his home, now spat him out, merging his desolate Wood Peak into the main sect.
"It's time to leave..." he murmured, the words tasting like ash. The world stretched before him, vast and indifferent. Where could he go? Then, a flicker of defiant fire ignited in his eyes. "I will step onto the path of martial arts. I will become strong, and one day, I will avenge you!"
As the last light of dusk bled from the sky, Mo Yang sat cross-legged, a final, futile attempt at cultivation. A wisp of Qi formed, then, as always, dissipated. But this time, a sharp, internal crack echoed through him. His Dantian, inexplicably unlocked, surged with a power that ripped through his meridians, plunging him into a bizarre, misty realm.
