Eleven years had passed since the day Malikai Doom was born under the veiled shadow of a forgotten legacy. The Central Continent had not changed much in that time, but within the Doom Clan, the future had quietly begun to stir.
Today marked the coming-of-age ceremony for the children of the Doom Clan's main and collateral factions. For the young, it was the moment they officially stepped onto the path of cultivation. For the elders, it was the time to observe and judge the worth of the next generation.
Malikai stood at the foot of the Asura Stone Altar, his black and crimson ceremonial robes fluttering lightly in the wind. His short black hair framed two sharp horns that jutted back from his temples, glistening obsidian under the rising sun. From his back, leathery black wings folded neatly, and his long tail wrapped calmly around his waist like a belt of shadows. His crimson eyes held a faint glow, deeper than a child his age should possess.
Beside him stood Anzu Doom—taller, broader, and more openly prideful. His wings were wider, his tail lashed with tension, and the faint smirk on his face never quite reached his cold, narrowed eyes. He was the spitting image of his father Abaddon, though the darkness behind his gaze was pure Tabitha.
Dozens of other children surrounded them, but only these two drew the eyes of the gathered elders.
On the stone platform above, Astaroth Doom raised his hand. The crowd silenced instantly.
"Today, you begin your path," Astaroth declared. "You will be tested, you will suffer, and you will rise. I bestow upon you the Asura Devouring Technique, the legacy of my line."
Gasps rose. That was a transcendent-grade technique.
Whispers rippled through the assembly. A transcendent-grade cultivation technique was the pinnacle of all creation, a divine inheritance that even some God Kings coveted. The fact that Astaroth would bestow it upon a mere twelve-year-old showed the depth of his expectations.
Malikai stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "This child shall not fail your hopes, Father."
The stone platform trembled faintly as a crimson jade scroll floated down from Astaroth's palm. As it neared, Malikai instinctively extended both hands. The moment his fingers touched the scroll, a surge of power jolted into him—a heavy, boundless presence filled with slaughter, devouring, and dominance.
His soul quaked. For a split second, a memory fragment flickered in the depths of his sealed mind—an ancient battlefield, a black crown, and a thunderous voice roaring across realms.
It vanished in an instant.
He said nothing, his expression calm as if unaware of what had just happened.
Tabitha Doom watched with narrowed eyes from the side, her elegant features untouched by age, her presence suffused with cold ambition. Standing beside her, Anzu's expression tightened when he saw Malikai receive the transcendent technique.
With a sweet smile masking venomous intent, Tabitha whispered to her son, "You'll receive something just as strong, my darling."
She waved her hand, and a silver-black scroll materialized, pulsing with a tyrannical aura.
"This is the Tyrant Refining Technique," she said softly, yet loud enough for all to hear. "It will allow you to refine all things—beasts, souls, spirits, and even your enemies. Take it, and rise above all."
The elders nodded with solemn approval. Though not the same technique Astaroth wielded, the Tyrant Refining Technique had a fierce reputation among the Doom Clan's secret arts—brutal, overbearing, and perfect for an emperor-to-be.
The stage was set.
Two stars had begun to rise.
The two boys stood at the heart of the Doom Clan's ancient cultivation grounds, surrounded by ancestral statues and blood-forged altars. On opposite sides, they sat cross-legged—Malikai cloaked in black-gold demonic qi, and Anzu surrounded by swirling red lightning.
A ring of elders observed from the shadows, offering no aid or comment. This was a sacred rite, the true beginning of their cultivation journeys.
The Asura Devouring Technique was like a slumbering beast inside Malikai. As he recited the first incantation, it stirred. His meridians expanded painfully, veins bulging as an infernal energy surged into his dantian. His body shuddered. Bones cracked and realigned, muscles coiled tighter, and demonic patterns shimmered faintly across his back.
His horns burned briefly with golden light, his wings stretched wide, and his tail coiled like a blade of shadow behind him.
Iris stood silently nearby, watching over him. Though just a maid, her senses were sharp. She could tell something was different about Malikai—not in cultivation or talent, but something deeper… older.
But she said nothing. She had been raised to serve, protect, and die if needed.
Meanwhile, Anzu roared as his Tyrant Refining Technique tore through his body. Lightning crackled around him as his physique surged with strength. Every breath was thunder, every beat of his heart a war drum.
He glared at Malikai with veiled hatred.
For now, both boys advanced rapidly through the Body Refining Realm, each forging their path through blood and will. By nightfall, Malikai opened his third meridian, and Anzu his fourth