Cultivation: It Begins With the Slaughter of a Village

[Selfish + Cruel Methods + No Bottom Line + Attacking the Heart + No Taboos + No Female Lead]

Blades tempered in a blood pool bring calamity; five years of warm waters nurture a rampant demon.

Bones are scraped and hearts torn out at a feast of kin, while infant remains are laughed over and washed down with fine wine.

Immortal robes and feathered cloaks conceal an asura; painted paper puppets don false faces to enact mysterious rites.

Searching souls and refining spirits are commonplace; a small village is engulfed in flames and erased.

The Demon Lord's true body devours the bright moon, while an immortal castoff clone refines the morning sun.

A demon body is forged from blood pools and mountains of bone; star marrow and cloud sinews shape the pillars of the Dao.

Edicts from the Nine Hells summon demons and specters; imperial talismans from the azure heavens command humanity's emperor.

Skin is stripped to make drums, skulls become cups; sinews wrap soul lamps that light the dark wastes.

At the meeting place of the three extremes, calamity's flames bloom into lotuses in the land of chaos.

All laws return to one, beyond righteousness and evil; atop the Great Void, a mysterious shadow looms.

Suddenly, the firmament splits and purple lightning hangs down; the river of stars turns backward and pours into the boundless darkness.

Demonic script devours words and erodes the cosmos; immortal runes stream with light, stabilizing the nine directions.

Curses and resentment gnaw at the bones until the Dao is attained; hatred's flames burn the sky, and only then does one become emperor.

A feast for the living is set beside the river of time; demons are summoned before the Palace of Yama.

Two bodies bow together before the wall of primordial chaos; a single thought shatters the long cycle of calamities.

At last, the primordial scene of the hollow chaos appears, yin and yang spinning backward in the light of the eyes.

Heaven and earth overturn, and starry corpses fall; the river of time flows backward into a desolate age.

I tread the waves of the long river of time, while countless worlds shine behind me.

Though I tear the heavens and rend the earth, no Dao remains; the path of world-ending destruction becomes my final resting place.

Only in the eternal night of the void do I sit alone, stroking withered bones and the last traces of frost.