THE BOY THEY CALLED A JINX BECAME THE SUPREME CULTIVATOR

2 - STOLEN SPIRIT ROOT II

Zhentian felt a strange, vibrating heat radiating from Mo Wudi’s palm, seeping through his skin and into his ribs.

It wasn't a healing technique, and it wasn't a standard attack to shatter his organs.

It was an ancient, forbidden extraction art, something Mo Wudi must have stolen from the sect’s restricted archives.

"An Indigo Spirit Root is wasted on someone who doesn't even share our blood," Mo Wudi whispered, his eyes fixed on Zhentian’s chest.

"It belongs to the Azure Dragon Hall, which means it belongs to me."

The heat in Mo Wudi’s palm suddenly spiked into a searing, unbearable fire that tore through Zhentian's internal pathways.

It felt as though someone had reached directly into his soul and grabbed the very foundation of his existence.

Zhentian’s back arched off the frozen stone, his eyes flying wide open as a silent scream tore at his throat.

The Ghost-Weeping Powder kept his muscles locked, trapping the agony inside his own mind with no way to release it.

He could feel his meridians being forcefully severed, snapping one by one like over-tightened strings.

Mo Wudi gritted his teeth, sweat dripping from his chin as he poured all his energy into the violent extraction.

"Give it to me," Mo Wudi hissed, his fingers curling like claws against Zhentian’s skin.

A faint, brilliant indigo light began to bleed through Zhentian's chest, illuminating the darkness of the cliff.

The light pulsed with a pure, heavy energy, fighting against the foreign force trying to rip it away from its host.

Zhentian’s vision began to blur with red at the edges, the pain pushing him dangerously close to passing out.

He refused to close his eyes, refusing to let the last thing he saw be the ground beneath him.

He stared directly into Mo Wudi’s manic eyes, watching the older boy’s face light up with the indigo glow.

"Look at it," Mo Wudi breathed, his voice thick with awe as the light grew brighter.

With a final, sickening pull that felt like his spine was being ripped in half, the connection finally snapped.

Zhentian collapsed back against the stone, gasping desperately for air as a profound, terrifying emptiness bloomed in his core.

The heavy, comforting presence of his cultivation foundation was simply gone, leaving behind a hollow, aching void.

He was empty, stripped down to nothing but a broken shell of a mortal boy lying in the dirt.

Mo Wudi stumbled backward, falling onto his knees as he cradled a mass of pulsing, liquid light in his hands.

The Indigo Spirit Root shifted and swirled, beautiful and terrifying, casting deep shadows across the cliff.

Mo Wudi laughed, a breathless, hysterical sound that carried out over the edge of the roaring ocean below.

"I have it," he choked out, staring down at the stolen power as if holding a newborn child. "I finally have it."

Zhentian lay shivering on the ground, the freezing wind biting into his exposed, bloodstained chest.

The initial shock of the betrayal and the blinding agony of the extraction had finally begun to recede.

In their place, a deep, quiet, and terrifying wrath began to settle into the hollow space where his talent used to be.

He didn't feel sadness, and he certainly didn't feel the urge to beg for his life.

He just felt cold.

Mo Wudi slowly stopped laughing, looking up from the glowing root to see Zhentian staring at him.

The older boy’s smile faltered, clearly unsettled by the absolute lack of fear in Zhentian’s dark eyes.

"You should be crying," Mo Wudi muttered, carefully sealing the Indigo Root into a specialized jade box he pulled from his robes.

He tucked the box away safely and stood up, walking back over to stand above his paralyzed brother.

"You should be begging me to end it quickly, Zhentian."

Zhentian didn't blink, his gaze fixed on Mo Wudi with a chilling, detached intensity.

"Say something," Mo Wudi demanded, a flash of insecurity briefly returning to his features.

He nudged Zhentian’s ribs with the toe of his boot, deliberately pressing near the stab wound.

"Curse me. Scream. Do something to prove you actually care that you just lost everything."

Zhentian took a slow, rattling breath, tasting the blood coating his teeth.

"You are going to regret leaving me awake for this," Zhentian whispered, his voice steady and devoid of any panic.

Mo Wudi stared at him for a long moment, the wind howling around them as the tension stretched tight.

Then, the older boy sneered, shaking his head as he stepped around to Zhentian’s side.

"You always were too arrogant for your own good," Mo Wudi said, looking out over the edge of the precipice.

The Forbidden Demon Ocean raged in the darkness below, a swirling abyss of toxic water that consumed everything it touched.

No one survived the drop, and nothing that fell into those black waves ever washed back up to the shore.

"Goodbye, little brother," Mo Wudi said, his tone finally settling into a hollow, empty finality.

He raised his boot and planted it firmly against Zhentian’s shoulder.

With a forceful shove, Mo Wudi kicked him backward over the edge of the stone.

Gravity vanished instantly, replaced by the terrifying, weightless sensation of the fall.

Zhentian didn't thrash, and he didn't scream as the edge of Lingyun Cliff rapidly disappeared into the night above him.

The freezing air roared past his ears, violently tearing at his clothes as the world spun around him.

He kept his eyes open, watching the faint silhouette of the cliff grow smaller and smaller in the dark.

He could hear the ocean roaring up to meet him, a deafening thunder that promised absolute destruction.

He knew the stories of the demon waters, how the acidity would melt his skin from his bones before he even had a chance to drown.

The black waves rushed up, jagged and massive, waiting to swallow him whole.