My System Devours Immortals

The Cripple and the Elder

Elder Han grabbed Sun's wrist before the punch landed.

"That's enough," the old man said.

Sun froze. Elder Han was thin, gray-haired, and walked with a limp. But his eyes were sharp. He was one of the few elders who still patrolled the outer sect. The rest had given up years ago.

"Elder Han," Sun said, forcing a smile. "We were just—"

"Leaving." Elder Han pointed at the door. "All of you."

Sun hesitated. His eyes flicked to Cris. "Zhao Kun won't like this."

"Zhao Kun can complain to me personally. Now go."

The disciples filed out. Sun shot Cris a look that promised trouble later. Cris didn't react.

When the door closed, Elder Han turned to Cris. The old man studied him for a long moment. His gaze lingered on the ring.

"You climbed out of the Beast Pit," he said. Not a question.

"I did."

"No one climbs out of the Beast Pit."

Cris said nothing.

Elder Han pulled up a stool and sat. His limp was worse than usual. Old war wound, rumor said. From a battle no one remembered.

"Three years ago," the elder said, "your meridians shattered during an assessment. No cause. No cure. You became trash overnight."

"I remember."

"I examined you myself. Your meridians weren't just broken. They were severed. Completely. You should have been crippled for life."

Cris held up his hand. The ring glinted in the lantern light.

"And yet," Elder Han said, "here you stand. Cultivation flickering in your veins. One percent repaired. Maybe more."

Cris tensed. "How did you—"

"I've been cultivating for forty years. I can feel the qi in your body. Weak. Unstable. But growing." He leaned forward. "What did you find in that pit?"

Cris considered lying. He considered running. But the old man had saved him from Sun. That meant something. Not much. But something.

"A ring," Cris said. "And a voice."

Elder Han's face went pale. "A voice."

"It calls itself a furnace. A spirit. It devours the dead. It makes me stronger."

Silence stretched between them. Elder Han stood slowly. He walked to the door, checked the hallway, then closed it again.

"You don't understand what you've found," he said.

"Then explain it."

Elder Han sat back down. His hands were shaking.

"There are things in this world older than the sects. Older than the cultivation realms. Ancient powers that were sealed away before the first emperor drew breath."

The system pulsed on Cris's finger. Hungry. Interested.

"One of them was called the Devourer," Elder Han continued. "A furnace-spirit that could consume anything—beasts, cultivators, immortals. It was unstoppable. The heavens themselves feared it."

"What happened to it?"

"They broke it. Shattered it into pieces. Scattered the pieces across the world. That was ten thousand years ago."

Cris looked at the ring. "And now it's back."

"Now a fragment of it is back. Weak. Dormant. Bound to a cripple." Elder Han shook his head. "The heavens won't ignore this. If they learn what you carry—"

"Who are 'they'?"

"The Nine Heavens Immortal Court. The ones who rule above all sects. Above all kings. Above everything." Elder Han's voice dropped. "They erased the Devourer from history. They killed everyone who remembered it. If they find out you exist—"

"Then I'll devour them too."

Elder Han stared at him. "You're arrogant."

"I'm hungry."

The system pulsed again. Approval.

Elder Han stood. He walked to the door, then paused.

"Zhao Kun will come for you tomorrow. He won't come alone. His brother, Zhao Lei, is a Foundation Establishment cultivator. He could kill you with one finger."

"Then I need to be stronger."

"You need to run."

Cris smiled. "No."

Elder Han sighed. "You'll die."

"Maybe." Cris looked at the ring. "But not today."

The elder opened the door. Before he left, he spoke one last time.

"Come to my quarters at dawn. If you're still alive."

The door closed.

Cris sat alone in the dark. The system whispered in his mind.

"The old man knows more than he says."

"I know."

"Do we devour him?"

Cris considered it. Elder Han was strong—stronger than any outer sect disciple. His cultivation could be a feast. But he was also useful. Knowledge was a weapon.

"Not yet," Cris said. "First, we need Zhao Kun."

"And after?"

Cris lay back on his cot. His meridians flickered with faint light. His body still ached. But the hunger inside him was patient.

"After," he said, "we devour everyone."

---

Outside the dormitory, Elder Han walked toward his quarters. His limp was heavy. His mind was heavier.

He had lied.

He knew exactly what the Devourer was. He had seen it once, fifty years ago, when he was a young disciple. He had watched it consume an entire sect. He had watched it laugh as immortals screamed.

And he had watched it get sealed.

The boy was a fool. Arrogant. Reckless. But there was something in his eyes. Something familiar.

Hunger.

Elder Han stopped walking. He looked back at the dormitory. Then he looked up at the sky.

"The heavens are watching," he whispered. "They always are."

He continued walking.

Behind him, in the shadow of the outer sect wall, a figure stepped out of the darkness.

Not a disciple. Not an elder.

Something else.

The figure watched Elder Han disappear. Then it turned toward the dormitory. Toward Cris.

Its eyes glowed red.

It smiled.

And it waited.