Chapter 47: Chapter 47
Ethan followed Elder Azel deeper into the bowels of the Demon Sealing Cave. The passage spiraled downward through floor after floor of ring-shaped corridors, each lined with shadowy caves sunk into the dull stone.
"Demon Sealing Cave, the farther down, the more dangerous and powerful the demons that are suppressed here become," Azel explained as their footsteps echoed through the dim passage.
"Up here on the upper floors, you’ll mostly find humans: sect traitors, degenerates, and those who once plotted the Dao Sect’s death."
Passing cell after cell, Ethan glanced in. Faces stared back—dirty, wild-haired, eyes brimming with malice, lifetimes of rage compressed into narrowing pupils.
Their murderous hostility would’ve cowsed any ordinary disciple. For most, the weight of so many hungry gazes would dry their throats and make their legs tremble.
Ethan, however, just stared right back, his gaze as steady as still water. He found the sight almost funny—these fanatics, gnashing their teeth from behind bars, thinking to cow him by glare alone.
He let out a low, dismissive chuckle. "Heh."
Azel caught the faint sound, his lips curving up.
"You really are something, Ethan. Most would shrink away from this much suppressed malice. Mr. Burn was right to pick you out."
As they moved through the corridor, three young men in dark disciple robes approached. When they saw Azel, they greeted him with quick bows. "Greetings, Elder Azel."
He acknowledged them with a nod, and they moved on, giving Ethan curious glances. In low whispers, they exchanged quick judgments.
"Newcomer?"
"Which peak is he from? Doesn’t look familiar..."
"Pretty good-looking, actually."
"But I feel no spiritual power on him?"
"A physical cultivator?"
"How strange..."
Azel continued to narrate as they walked.
"The sect posts select disciples here as well, not just elders. Each peak sends its elites—usually chosen because their cultivations are focused on extreme yang or yin, granting them resistance to the cold, demonic taint, or both. For some, it’s a test; for others, a lesson in humility."
He grinned. "Every new disciple, no matter how proud, is humbled on their first day here. They’re all spooked by those murderous glares."
Ethan shrugged. "Honestly, after ten years sweeping tombs, this mist and cold feel familiar. The tomb was always thick with yin, but at least I was alone there."
Azel gave him a sidelong look.
"You’re too modest."
They proceeded further down. Gradually, the hostility and cold in the air thickened.
The prisoners began to change: twisted forms pushed against the bars, some with pointed ears, tails, or bestial features, hybrids of man and monster. Here were not just humans but demon cultivators—some grotesque, some eerily beautiful, all radiating a dangerous power.
A dry, jeering voice floated from a cell below.
"Azel, brought a fresh lamb again? Careful you don’t ruin his courage down here."
A more mocking voice followed close behind.
"That’s a pretty one, hope you brought him an extra set of robes in case he pees himself!"
Azel laughed openly.
"The person chosen by Mr. Burn? He won’t flinch at words from a few old ghosts."
The cave fell momentarily silent at the name. Some scoffed quietly, restless and sour. "Mr. Burn? Why would Mr.burn pay any mind to some body cultivator brat?"
"I sense no spiritual roots from him, is he a physical cultivator. Physical cultivation is dead, hasn’t been respected in ages!"
"Keep talking, old fool. Next time Burn’s around you’ll wish you hadn’t."
Ethan felt no concern, only a mild annoyance at the loudness—their taunts carried easily in the stone.
He muttered, "Do they think whispering that loud counts as subtle?" But he let it pass.
He’d long ago realized: If you live for the approval of others, you’ll die by their words.
Azel said, "Ignore them. These fellows are all bark. Stay close—Mr.Burn guards the deepest level, and there, even the walls are alive with danger."
Ethan nodded. As they continued down, the cold thickened into a physical force; even Ethan, with his monstrous physique, felt it clawing at his bones. The demonic aura was a tangible mist. Each level down, another measure deeper into hell.
On these final floors, Ethan noticed truly monstrous prisoners: hulking bodies, writhing tentacles, eyes that glowed in unnatural ways. Despite bars of enchanted gold and layers of arrays humming, he noticed swirls in the mist—wisps of corrupted spirit and ancient spite woven together.
Azel’s warnings echoed.
"They’re chained, but demons are cunning. Sometimes an illusion slips through. Never drop your guard in these depths."
Ethan was alert, gaze hard, as he stepped from one pool of gloom to the next.
Then, he blinked. Suddenly, all sound dropped away.
He glanced around—Azel was gone. Mist pressed in on every side, eating the world down to a drunken swirl of gray. Even the familiar stairs upwards had vanished.
The only reality was a stone railing and a line of false torches receding forever into fog.
Ethan tensed, heart beating harder—his every sense screaming vigilance.
"What is this? A formation? An illusion?"
He advanced, eyes searching for the way through, when a new figure emerged from the haze.
A woman. Her silhouette burned in the mist—tall, full of curves, her every motion as fluid as windblown silk.
The subtle sway of her hips, the delicate arch of her wrist, the gentle roll of her step—every line was made to ensnare the gaze and ripple through the mind.
As she drew closer, the temperature spiked subtly. Each footfall conjured a faint, sweet scent, intoxicating as forbidden wine. Her features remained just out of focus: long hair like a waterfall, delicate ankles glimpsed between rich, trailing silks, and a smile both inviting and dangerous curled at lips you could only half-see.
Ethan’s instincts rang warnings.
This was no ordinary prisoner, no mere illusion. This seductive presence carried a hidden danger, one that reached past the eyes and curled cold fingers around the heart.
He braced himself, every muscle ready for anything.
The enchantress advanced with a sultry sway.