A searing, unbearable pain tore through his skull, a white-hot blade slicing through the core of his being.
Aghhh! His scream echoed, raw and primal, reverberating in an endless void. It was the howl of a man teetering on the edge of madness, swallowed by a darkness so absolute it devoured light, sound, and hope.
His mind was a storm of chaos. It felt as if a truck had crushed his head, splintering bone, threatening to shatter his very existence. I feel like I'm going to die... My body... I can't feel my body... The thought clawed at him, desperate and fleeting, as he tried to move. A finger. An eyelid. Anything. But his limbs were leaden, unresponsive, as if they belonged to someone else. His eyelids refused to obey, locked in a prison of flesh.
A cold, paralyzing fear gripped his chest, squeezing tighter with every passing second. The darkness around him was not just absence—it was alive, suffocating, pressing against his soul like a weight he could not escape. Where am I? Someone... please... help me... His thoughts screamed, but his lips remained sealed, mute. He tried again, willing his voice to break free, praying this was a nightmare he could wake from.
But the pain was too real—sharp, relentless, undeniable. This was no dream. His mental screams grew louder, more desperate. Please... someone help! Save me! The words ricocheted in the hollows of his mind, unanswered.
Time dissolved. Seconds bled into minutes, minutes into eternities. The endless blackness eroded his sanity, each moment chipping away at his will to endure. I've been in this pain... this silence... for so long... am I even alive? The question lingered, unanswered, as despair coiled tighter around his heart.
Then, something shifted.
A presence. Cold. Shadowy. A hand—intangible yet real—gripped his soul, its touch like ice sinking into his core. It tugged, dragging him downward into an abyss deeper than the one he already drowned in. No... No! He thrashed against it, his will a flickering ember in the dark. Whatever it was, it hungered for him, clawing at the edges of his existence.
But then—he saw it.
A light. Faint, fragile, flickering like a candle in a storm. A single thread of hope in the suffocating void.
I won't give up... not yet! His mind roared, defiance surging through the cracks of his broken resolve. He crawled toward the light, inch by agonizing inch, his soul straining against the shadowy hands that scratched and tore at him. Their whispers filled his mind—promises of oblivion, of surrender. I DON'T WANT TO DIE! His will, though battered, blazed to life, a fire refusing to be snuffed out.
He reached for the light. The moment his soul brushed against it—
Boom!
The black hands shattered, exploding into dust. The chains binding his soul splintered like brittle glass, their fragments dissolving into the void. A gasp tore from his throat, sharp and ragged, as his body jolted.
His eyes snapped open.
Blinding light seared into his vision, stabbing at his retinas. He blinked rapidly, tears streaming down his face as he tried to adjust. Ugh... my head... it feels like it's going to explode... The pain lingered, a dull throb now, but it was nothing compared to the agony of the void.
Before he could gather his thoughts, a torrent of images and memories flooded his mind—vivid, chaotic, and not his own. Who... is this? Who am I? Where am I? The questions spiraled as foreign scenes flashed before his eyes: a child sobbing in a shadowed corner, clutching the lifeless body of a man; a woman, radiant yet broken, weeping in silence; relatives with greedy eyes, circling like vultures over a fresh kill.
He clutched his temples, gritting his teeth as the deluge threatened to drown him. Minutes passed—perhaps longer—before he forced the flood back, the memories settling into a blurry but coherent identity. This isn't Earth... this isn't my world. His breath came in shaky gasps. I'm in another body. Another life...
A distant, mechanical voice echoed in his mind, cold and precise: Cloning System binding... 10%... 20%... 50%... 90%... 100%. Host successfully bound.
A golden panel materialized before his eyes, shimmering in the air like a mirage:
Name: Shen Yue
Age: 14
Physique: None
Bloodline: None
Cultivation: None
Skills: None
Spiritual Root: None
Talent: Extraction
Unique Trait: Clones: 0 (Locked)
Stats:
- Strength: 10
- Dexterity: 8
- Wisdom: 2
- Spirit: 0.8
He stared, his breath catching in his throat. I don't know how I got this system... but this... this is my chance. A flicker of hope stirred in his chest, fragile but growing.
Another alert blinked into view: Warning! Host body in near-death state. Activating recovery phase...
A warm, soothing energy surged through him, like sinking into a hot spring under a gentle sun. The throbbing in his head faded, the cold in his bones melted, and his body relaxed, lulled by the warmth. His consciousness drifted, floating in a realm of quiet within his soul.
---
In that stillness, he turned inward, diving into the memories now etched into his mind. He saw a small courtyard, humble but filled with warmth. Two children played there—a boy and a girl. The girl, delicate and shy, with eyes that sparkled like stars, was his younger sister, Shen Ning. Twelve years old, her laughter once filled the air, but after their father's death, she broke. She stopped eating, locked herself in her room, and whispered to herself through endless nights. The boy—Shen Yue—tried to coax a smile from her, bringing her favorite dumplings, telling her stories of heroes and dragons. But nothing worked. Her light dimmed, and he was powerless to stop it.
Then came their mother, Lan Xue. Once the pride of the inner city's Lan Family, she was a vision of elegance, her beauty matched only by her strength. But when her clan fell from grace, banished in disgrace, she married Shen Yue's father, trading power for love. Now, she was a shadow of her former self, her eyes hollow with grief.
And their father—Shen Xing. A towering figure, a cultivator at the late stage of Qi Absorption, a commanding officer in the army. In battle, he was a storm, fierce and unyielding. At home, he was gentle, his laughter warm as he tossed Shen Yue into the air or fed slum children during famines. He protected the weak, earning silent enemies in the process. Then, he died. The family shattered. Relatives swarmed, their greed palpable, and the military that once hailed Shen Xing turned its back on his son.
Shen Yue, barely fourteen, was sent to war as cannon fodder, his life deemed worthless.
And now... I'm him. The realization settled heavily, the weight of Shen Yue's pain and dreams merging with his own. Rest in peace, Shen Yue... I'll protect your mother. Your sister. Your dream. I swear it. The words carried a quiet resolve, born from a place he didn't yet understand. The line between his old self and Shen Yue had blurred, their identities fusing into one
---
System? he called mentally, testing the waters.
The golden panel reappeared instantly, its details unchanged. His eyes lingered on one word: Extraction. What kind of extraction? Soul? Cultivation? Bloodline? Curiosity burned as he focused on it.
A new message materialized: Extraction: You can extract any special attribute from living or non-living things—soul, talent, physique, bloodline. Simply say: System, extract.
A shiver ran down his spine, anticipation mingling with disbelief. System, extract, he commanded mentally.
Ding!
The system responded: System has extracted:
- Low-Level Fire Spiritual Root (Mixed)
- Mid-Level Sword Talent
- Low-Level Archery Talent
- Low-Level Spear Talent
- High-Level Iron-Copper Molt Physique
- Mid-Level Flame Scorpion Bloodline
- Qi Absorption (3rd Level cultivation)
Warning: Host body cannot withstand cultivation. Qi stored for later use upon recovery.
He blinked, stunned, his heart pounding. His talents—once nonexistent—had erupted into a constellation of potential. I... I'm not trash anymore. The thought was a whisper, almost too fragile to believe, yet it carried the weight of a new beginning
---
A rustling sound broke his reverie, followed by a gruff, unfamiliar voice. Huh? There's a survivor here! What a lucky boy. Good thing I found you... if it were someone else, you'd already be tossed with the corpses.
Shen Yue's vision swam, but he caught the silhouette of a burly man, his face weathered and scarred, crouching beside him. The man's eyes, though hardened, held a flicker of pity. HEY! Over here! I found a survivor! he bellowed, his voice carrying across what Shen Yue now realized was a battlefield, littered with the fallen.
Shen Yue's lips twitched into a weak smile, his voice barely a whisper. Thank you, stranger... I owe you. The words were soft, but they carried the weight of his gratitude. As the man shouted for help, Shen Yue's consciousness slipped once more, not into the terror of the void, but into a gentle, healing sleep.
---
As he drifted, a faint whisper lingered in his mind—not the system's cold tone, but something older, deeper, like the echo of a forgotten promise. The light he had reached for was no mere coincidence. It was a beacon, a call to a destiny he could not yet fathom. The system, the extraction, the new body—they were pieces of a puzzle, and Shen Yue knew, even in his half-conscious state, that the road ahead would be fraught with trials. Enemies would come—those who had betrayed Shen Xing, those who saw Shen Yue as nothing more than a pawn. But he was no longer powerless.
I'll carve my own path, he vowed silently, his soul steadying as the warmth of the system's recovery phase enveloped him. For my sister. For my mother. For the boy whose life I now carry.
The darkness receded, and Shen Yue dreamed of a future where he would rise, not as a victim, but as a force to be reckoned with.