A third roar echoed through the ancient temple like thunder tearing across the heavens.
Miss-Mo, lying against the cold stone floor, felt her body seize up. The pain in her chest was unbearable, as if something monstrous was clawing its way out of her very soul. Her breathing became erratic, each gasp laced with blood. Then, with a sickening crack, the skin over her sternum split.
A grotesque creature began to emerge—a fully evolved parasitic worm, swollen with demonic energy. Its body was slick and pulsing, layered with armored scales and a jagged crest along its spine. Its six gleaming eyes opened, each glowing with a deep crimson hue, and its long tail coiled like a serpent poised to strike.
Miss-Mo screamed—not just from the pain but from the sheer terror of what had grown inside her.
The creature reared its head and released a deafening screech that made the very walls tremble. It turned to its weakened host and, sensing the faintest trace of life still within her, plunged its barbed tail into her leg. The impact shattered bone and tore flesh. Blood sprayed across the stone floor.
Tears welled in Miss-Mo's eyes, a mix of fear and helplessness. Her body convulsed.
That beast tore her clothes with its sharp fingers. It cut one of Miss-mo's two large breasts with its other tail, Miss-mo screamed as if someone was breaking a bone. That beast ate her breast in front of her. That beast gave a smile as if he was saying that you are very weak. He ate her breast very slowly, he was feeling its smooth meat with every bite. Miss-mo was just watching everything with tears in her eyes.
After eating it the beast directly grabbed her other breast with his hand, Miss-mo understood what would happen to her now. Without showing any mercy the beast licked her breast, again a loud shrieking sound came. This one was a much louder shrieking sound than the other one. Miss-mo fainted, now she did not want to see anything. The beast again slowly ate the breast, but he was not satisfied. He caught Miss-so with the sharp fingers of his two hands, he turned it around. The beast opened his mouth, his teeth were very sharp. He bit Miss-mo's ass, when his sharp teeth entered her ass, Miss-mo had already lost consciousness, she came to her senses and screamed loudly. The beast did not show any mercy, slowly he ate her alive. After eating he roared as if he was even more hungry, he disappeared into the darkness.
As the heavy stone door creaked open, the group of cultivators followed behind the Dragon Boy whose hair was streaked with Black and whose steps had begun to slow with age. But his eyes remained sharp — like blades that had seen a thousand battles and a hundred betrayals. The torches flickered as they entered the large chamber, casting eerie shadows that danced across the blood-stained floor.
The moment the Boy stepped inside, the stench of rot hit him — thick, metallic, and ancient. It wasn't just the smell of death; it was the smell of betrayal, struggle, and something far more unnatural. All around them were crumbling remains — skeletons slumped against the walls, some collapsed over one another in twisted agony. Their chests were hollowed out, broken from the inside as if something had burst forth.
The cultivators gasped. One whispered, "What… what happened here?"
But the Dragon Boy didn't speak immediately. He stepped forward slowly, crouching near one of the skeletons. His fingers brushed the cracked bones — cold and brittle. His sharp eyes scanned the pillars. There were markings on them, almost like symbols or inscriptions, worn down by time but still faintly glowing with demonic energy.
His expression darkened.
"These men didn't die from an attack," he said finally, his voice low and heavy. "They were part of a ritual. The kind that eats you alive from within…"
One of the cultivators shivered. "Ritual? What kind?"
The Boy stood slowly. "A soul-implanting ritual — where parasites or ancient beasts are sealed into a person's body to refine them… or possess them. But something went wrong here. The hosts weren't strong enough… or the beasts were too powerful. They burst free… tearing their way out."
The group fell into a thick silence as the elder looked to the pillars again.
"This… was a trap. A test. And those who failed paid with more than just their lives. Something old… something terrible… was trying to wake up here."
The room pulsed faintly, as if still remembering the agony it had once witnessed. Dust drifted from above. Somewhere deeper in the temple, a faint rumble echoed — as if the very walls were listening.
Iye-Shang, the son of the Dragon King, carried in his blood not just the pride of his clan but the burden of ancient knowledge passed down through generations. His clan — one of the oldest and most revered in the world — had been protectors of the balance between realms for millennia. Deep within their sacred mountain lay a hidden chamber known only to the royal bloodline — a sealed vault containing ancient scrolls and forbidden records that had survived countless wars and catastrophes.
It was in those records that Iye-Shang first read of the Iye — creatures not born of the mortal world, nor the spirit realm, but forged deep within the chaos of the Nether World. The Iye were not ordinary insects or beasts. They were purpose-built abominations — created by long-forgotten demonic lords with one singular intent: to eradicate cultivators. Their design was horrifyingly efficient — part parasite, part predator, and entirely insatiable.
What made the Iye truly terrifying was not just their raw strength or speed, but their nature as evolving weapons. When first born, they were worm-like, entering the bodies of cultivators either through ingestion or blood contact. But once inside, they began to grow, feeding on the cultivator's spiritual energy, twisting their meridians, and absorbing their cultivation. When the host could no longer sustain the growing Iye, it tore its way out — stronger, faster, and more intelligent than before.
Some accounts in the ancient book described Iye that had consumed dozens of cultivators, reaching monstrous forms with six or more limbs, psychic attacks, and even the ability to mimic human voices to lure their prey. These were not mindless monsters — they were cunning, adaptable, and born from realms where death was a natural state of being.
Iye-Shang clenched the scroll in his hand when he read the final line on one of the ancient pages:
"The Iye do not feed. They exterminate. Their hunger is not for flesh but for the death of cultivation itself."
He had seen signs of them in the temple — the hollowed skeletons, the chest-burst wounds, the faint trails of demonic residue in the air. And worse, he felt their presence — a familiar aura that triggered his deepest instincts, the kind dragons inherited to detect ancient enemies.
Now, standing within the ancient temple that was originally a seal — not a sanctuary — Iye-Shang realized that the resurgence of these creatures was no coincidence. The seal was weakening, the Iye were returning, and if they spread beyond the temple…
It wouldn't be a battle.
It would be a massacre.
And only someone with dragon blood — someone who knew the truth — might be able to stop it.
In the echoing silence of the ancient temple, Iye-Shang's voice cut through the shadows like a blade. His eyes, golden and slitted like a true dragon, gazed coldly across the blood-stained chamber. Bones cracked beneath his boots, remnants of cultivators whose lives had been snuffed out by something far beyond their comprehension.
"They are not just parasites," he said grimly, his voice layered with deep ancestral resonance. "The Iye are natural predators of cultivators. They were not born — they were forged, built in the crucible of the Nether World's hatred for our realm. Every inch of their being is designed to counter the flow of spiritual energy."
The gathered cultivators behind him listened in silence, the weight of his words sinking in. Iye-Shang continued, his tone more solemn now, as if reciting scripture from memory.
"They target the meridians first — the veins through which our spiritual power flows. They infect it like poison. No matter how high your cultivation, the Iye can twist and invert your qi against you. And once they evolve, they gain intelligence, memory... malice."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"Yes, members of the dragon clan can kill them. Our blood resists the corruption. Our fire burns hotter than their dark essence. But…" He turned toward the darkness where he felt their presence growing. "If there are too many… even I will fall."
Someone stepped forward nervously. "Then is there no way? Are we all doomed?"
Iye-Shang turned slowly. "There is one way. One truth hidden in our bloodlines."
He raised his hand, and a golden glow started to ripple through his skin. His aura changed — deeper, ancient, primordial. The dragon within stirred. His voice dropped to a whisper that echoed like thunder:
"If a dragon clan member sheds his human form… if he awakens the true dragon blood — not the diluted trace most of us carry, but the original essence — then he may become a real dragon. And in that form…" He clenched his fists, causing sparks of golden lightning to crackle in the air, "...he can crush Iye like insects beneath his claws."
But then, his hand trembled. He pulled it back, the light fading slightly.
"Yet it is not that simple. To awaken the true blood, one must offer something in return. A sacrifice… sometimes the body, sometimes the soul. The price may be madness, death, or something worse. The path to true draconic awakening is drenched in blood."
He looked into the distance, where the walls of the temple groaned again — a sign that the Iye were moving, multiplying.
"No… it is very difficult to defeat them. You cannot rely on cultivation alone. You cannot rely on strength. Only fire that remembers the dawn of this world can burn them away."
Silence.
And then, in a whisper only he could hear, the blood of his ancestors stirred again — the echo of dragons long dead calling him toward his fate.