A note from DeathGodAsura
I understand that the change in FIRST TO Third person may annoy some people, this only happens in the first chapter. Push through and enjoy a great story. EDIT- REWRITE IS COMPLETE
The last thing I remember is the smell of weed, smoke, and the taste of Wrey's on my lips. London was home, and I was 26 years old—a place of noise and chaos, but it was home. Me, De-Reece, and my brothers, Conan and Thaddeus, had just wrapped up a long day of caveman living in the wild—or at least, that's what we liked to call it. Fishing, hunting, and cooking anything we could over a fire. Daring each other to do stupid shit, winding each other up. Thaddeus, being the youngest, got the most of it, but he held his own. The night was warm, with a cool but not cold summer breeze. The stars were bright, and it couldn't have been a better night to have fun.
At least, that's how it was supposed to be... until we found the cave.
I figured it would just be one of those normal days—messing about, daring each other to do stuff.
I discovered the cave searching for firewood I was instinctively drawn to it and rushing back I called for my brothers, retracing my steps back was the steps that changed everything.
When we stepped into that cave, it was nothing like what we expected. The air inside was damp and cool, but there was a strange energy, almost like the very stones themselves had been infused with something ancient. It was dark at first, but we managed to make our way deeper with just the light from our fire. The walls were rough, and the smell of old earth and metal filled the air.
As we ventured further, our torchlight revealed something unexpected—ancient inscriptions etched into the walls, their characters glowing faintly in the flickering light. The script was unfamiliar, composed of intricate symbols that seemed to shift subtly when viewed from different angles.
"Whoa," Thaddeus murmured, running his fingers near the carvings. "What language is this?"
"No clue," I replied, stepping closer. "Looks... otherworldly."
"Mr 160 IQ and you have no idea huh" Thadeus shadily threw
Conan squinted at the symbols, his brow furrowing. "I... I can read this."
Thaddeus laughed. "Yeah, right. Since when can you read ancient alien graffiti? You're dyslexic, bro."
"I'm serious," Conan insisted, tracing the characters with his fingers. "'We had to send you away to keep you safe. If you find this place, it means the passage back is open. Either it's safe... or we're dead. Hide your artifacts and your lineage.'"
I stared at him, disbelief churning in my gut. "You're messing with us."
"I'm not," he said, eyes wide. "I don't know how, but I can understand it."
We stood in stunned silence, the weight of the message settling over us.
Deeper into the cave, we discovered a stone tablet resting on a pedestal, adorned with the same enigmatic script. Conan approached it, his eyes scanning the text.
"It says, 'To reclaim your birthright and ascend to your former glory, you must cultivate the Heavenly Dao,'" he read aloud.
Thaddeus raised an eyebrow. "Cultivate the what now?"
Conan grinned, reaching behind the tablet to reveal a scroll bound in aged leather. "Looks like a manual of some sort."
"Bro this is a fucking cultivation manual like the novels" Conan screamed with glee
"Proabally something someone drew up" I threw back.
He unrolled it, eyes gleaming as he skimmed the contents. "Haha! You two are fucked. I'm going to be a god. Maybe I'll let you be my disciples."
"Disciples?" I scoffed. "In your dreams."
"Wrestle for the manual?" First to tap wins?" I enquired
Thaddeus chuckled. "Yeah, right. We'd probably end up fetching your divine laundry."
We shared a laugh, the tension easing slightly.
Then, nestled against a bed of moss-covered stones, we found a set of objects, gleaming in the dim light like they were waiting for us. The first thing that caught my eye were the two rings. They weren't just ordinary rings—they were massive, almost comically so, but in the kind of way that demanded attention. Their bands were thick, made of a heavy, silvery metal that shimmered in the firelight. But it wasn't just the material that was striking—it was the intricate designs etched into the surface. There were swirling patterns, like vines or flames, curling around each ring. And the centre of each ring held a large, blood-red gemstone, polished to a perfect gleam. It looked like a ruby, but with an otherworldly glow to it, as though something deep within was alive.
Conan picked up one of the rings first. His fingers were almost swallowed by the size of it, but when he slid it onto his finger, the gemstone seemed to pulse, just once, before settling into a quiet, steady glow. I remember the look on his face—like he knew something had just changed. Something had just chosen him.
Thaddeus, being Thaddeus, immediately grabbed the other ring. He was the smallest of the three of us, but that ring fit him like it had been made for him. As he held it up to the firelight, the ruby shimmered like it was alive, casting strange reflections off the walls. It almost felt like the cave itself was watching us.
Then there was the pendant. My pendant. It was smaller, but no less significant. Unlike the rings, it wasn't made of metal but of some smooth, jet-black material that looked like obsidian. It had a deep sheen, like it was absorbing the light around it, and the weight of it felt... important. The pendant itself was carved into the shape of a dragon coiling around a circular gemstone, not a ruby, but a swirling black opal that seemed to capture every color in the room. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. The moment my fingers brushed against it, I felt a strange pulse of energy—not from the pendant itself, but from the world around me. A hum, almost as if the very air had shifted.
When I touched the pendant, it was as if the universe itself had aligned. There was no reason for it. No logic to it. But the moment it rested in my palm, something clicked. It felt like it was meant for me—like it had always been mine, as if I had been chosen to carry it.
I stared down at the pendant in my hand, and everything around me seemed to fall silent. A strange calm washed over me, but just as quickly, the peace shattered, replaced by a sharp pain in my head. I shook it off, blinking as the light from the fire flickered—only to realize the fire wasn't the same anymore.
Suddenly, I wasn't standing in the cave anymore.
I was back by the fire, sitting on the cold ground, with Conan and Thaddeus still laughing beside me, the familiar scent of weed and the warmth of the flames wrapping around me once more. The strange pulsing energy from the pendant still tingled on my skin, but I was back. I looked around, disoriented, the cave was now gone from my mind as if it had never existed.
Conan raised an eyebrow at me, noticing the confused look on my face. "You good, bro? You spaced out there for a second."
Thaddeus snickered, passing me a blunt. "Probably just the weed, man. You hit that last one too hard."
I took a deep breath, glancing down at the pendant still in my hand. It was real, I knew that. It had to be. And yet everything felt... too normal. Too ordinary.
"No way this is fake, ill be body tempering if I use this cultivation manual real soon" I distantly heard Conan mutter. Thadeus jumping up to sit closer to him and get a better look.
Accumulate Qi and breakthrough the 12 meridi…
Wrong.
Then I felt it—a pulsing in my chest. At first, I thought it was the weed, but the rhythm was too steady, too deliberate. I looked down and realised it wasn't my heart—it was the pendant. The black opal glowed softly, synchronising with the beat. Before I could react, the world around me blurred, my brothers faces in similar contorted confusion, colours smearing into streaks of light, and then... I was gone.
I knew this wasn't some joke my brothers had cooked up. This was a forest, unlike anything I'd ever seen. Massive trees, strange smells, and something that I couldn't quite put my finger on—it was just off. I'm not just talking about the usual feeling of being watched when you're in the woods. The air felt different. Like there were almost vibrations, a crackling energy to it. And I could feel it—eyes watching me. Not normal forest creatures. My body exuded something strange—almost a sense of danger.
I ran my hand through my thick dreadlocks. The strands brushed against my muscular frame. At six-foot-four, I'm used to standing out, even back in London or among my brothers I hadn't let them outgrow me, My size and strength were something to be reckoned with. But here? Here I could feel the difference. My body felt supercharged—more than just increased muscle growth or ordinary strength. Something my old gym workouts could never prepare me for. Maybe it's something to match this new, strange world I'd fallen into?
And then there's the pendant.I still have it. Even though I don't have much on, (just my Fur coat I was wearing at the fire, my Timberlands, a dark top, a pair of combat trousers and my trusty zombie knife I keep for any bears or wolves I laughed inwardly). But it's with me, and it feels like it's meant to be. I don't know what these artefacts mean or how they brought me here, but it's connected to me now. The rings? Conan and Thaddeus? Gone. I have no idea where they are or if they're even alive.
Did they get transported with me here, or did they get to keep their rings on earth? I'm sure my abduction to this place has something to do with this damn pendant.
Back home, I'd think about that. But right now, my priority is survival. And then, finding them.
This forest doesn't seem to care about my problems. There's danger here, and my body feels it. It vibrates from every pore in my being. I can feel it in my bones.
Could conan have really been right in that we needed to cultivate?
Creatures of all shapes and sizes could be roaming this area. Looking around, I don't doubt that they're massive strange aberrations, nothing like the creatures of the earth, The Trees here are gigantic and deep, Ruby Thick Branches stretching into the sky, strange plants I could never imagine seeing, and The grass had a strange blue hue to it in the moonlight.
I've read about these things.
Heck, me and my brothers spent thousands of hours studying cultivation novels, Mangas, and wuxia stories, and learning about the world of Murim.
I know how to fight maybe not here but soon enough. I know how to control my body my years of boxing and martial arts experience, plus barely missing a workout had left me in good shape. I knew how to gain power in my old world but this one is an enigma to me. I need to figure out how it all works in this world—a world where the rules of reality bend in ways I can barely comprehend. There are so many cultivation systems, which one could it possibly be?
I think I heard Thaddeus mentioning meridians before I though I was about to throw up. Hmm trying to piece together what conan had mentioned from the book and Thadeus reading over his shoulder, Fuck I hadn't been paying attention I'm sure it's something to do with accumulating qi and then breaking through the meridian points.
But how do I gain Qi?
No time to think I need to get somewhere with safety this place definitely isn't on earth, this isn't some Amazon I thought.
I pull my coat tight around me, the cold wind biting against my skin, but my body feels stronger, alive in a way it never did back in London. Maybe it's this world. Either way, I've got to keep moving. Every moment I waste is another moment my brothers could be in danger. And I have no idea where they are or how the hell we even got here. But now, I'm not leaving this place without them.
I see a path ahead. These beasts here might be low-levelled if I'm lucky, but they're still dangerous if I'm not prepared. I will die if I'm careless. But I wasn't born to hide or cower in fear.
I'm here to survive. And I will make my mark in this world.
The ground under De-Reece's Timberlands is uneven, blanketed in dead leaves, twisted roots, and remnants of the hunt that came before. The smell of earth and blood thickens the air. He steps lightly, but even the smallest crunch of twigs beneath his boots sounds unnaturally loud in the silence.
A few hours ago, he'd have called the zombie knife on his hip a collector's item. Illegal in the UK. But now, it feels like the only thing keeping him alive. Cold steel pressed against his side is the only comfort he has in this twisted forest that looks more like something out of a dark fantasy novel than anything he's ever known.
His movements are fast. Too fast.
Each step comes easier than it should. He doesn't stumble. Doesn't trip over the gnarled tree roots or lose balance on loose stone. Something is off. His limbs respond with precision. Reflexes sharpened. Muscles—ones built through years of pullups, dumbbell curls, and heavy bar weights—feel like they've levelled up overnight. The coordination, the balance, the control… it's as if he's been trained for this world his whole life, and yet he knows he hasn't.
A strange heat builds in his chest, subtle at first, but growing. Not painful. Not overwhelming. Just present.
Why am I moving like this? he queried inwardly. This isn't just a boost in strength—it's like my whole body has shifted into something... more.
A growl.
Low, guttural, and too close.
He freezes.
The bushes to the left rustle, a pair of glowing yellow eyes emerging from the darkness. A creature, something straight out of the horror story slinked into view. It was wolf-like, but its body was too long, too sinewy, with jagged patches of dark fur and rows of bony spikes running along its spine. Its claws glimmered like obsidian, sharp enough to slice through flesh and bone.
A Wolf of this world.
Not a pup, but a young male—its movements still holding a hint of awkwardness, though the raw aggression in its gaze is anything but immature. A low-level beast, he guesses, but still more than enough to kill him if he wasn't careful.
He takes a slow step back, keeping the knife steady and his breathing calm. The wolf bares its fangs, a long string of saliva dripping from its maw. Its body lowering, muscles rippling beneath its ragged fur, preparing to lunge.
"Alright," he mutters under his breath, "just like the novels. Move with intent. Strike fast. No hesitation."
The beast pounces.
De-Reece side-steps—not smoothly—too fast, too strong. His body reacts quicker than his mind can process, the sudden burst of speed nearly throwing him off balance. Still, he manages to lash out with the knife, slicing a deep gash across the beast's shoulder. Wisps of blood haze drift from the wound, curling in the air like smoke. The creature howls, a sound so sharp and unnatural it makes his bones vibrate.
This isn't right. He shouldn't be this fast.
The Wolf lunges again, but this time, De-Reece meets it head-on. He ducks under its swipe, driving the knife into its ribcage. It screeches, claws raking across his coat, tearing fabric but missing flesh. With a growl of his own, he twists the blade deeper, feeling the beast shudder—but it doesn't collapse.
Instead, it thrashes wildly, knocking him off balance. His back hits the ground hard. Before he can react, the Wolf is on him again, jaws snapping inches from his face. He shoves his forearm into its throat, keeping its fangs at bay, but the creature's strength is staggering. His muscles scream, but that strange energy flares again inside him—untamed, wild—giving him the push he needs.
Move! Don't die here!
Roaring, he grabs the knife still lodged in its side and yanks it free, stabbing upward into its neck. Blood sprays, the crimson haze spiraling into the air, and finally, the beast goes limp, collapsing on top of him.
The Wolf's lifeless body slumps to the ground, its final snarl frozen on its bloodied maw. Silence follows, broken only by the ragged sound of his breathing, each inhale dragging the cold air into his burning lungs. He stands there, chest heaving, his muscles a screaming symphony of pain and exhaustion. The battle has been brutal—a relentless clash of instinct and confusion—and though the wolf was young, it pushed him close to his limits.
He staggers back a step, fingers still white-knuckled around the hilt of his zombie knife, its edge slick with dark blood. His mind spins, but before he can gather his thoughts, something else hits him.
A rush.
It starts in his chest—a sudden, violent surge of energy that rips through his body like a jolt of electricity. It isn't the slow burn of adrenaline he knows from scraps back in the city; this is raw, untamed, and utterly foreign. The energy doesn't just pulse through him—it storms. He feels it racing down his arms, curling through his fingers, spiraling in his legs. For a moment, he thinks he'll collapse, but instead... he stands straighter.
What the hell is this?
His vision sharpens—every detail of the forest coming into unbearable focus: the swaying of distant leaves, the minute shifting of shadows, even the faint flicker of insects crawling along the ground. The air seems thicker, heavier, like he could reach out and grab it.
The wolf's blood pools at his feet, dark wisps of blood haze rising faintly from the wound, dissipating into the night like smoke. Is this... part of the kill? Is this the price of taking a life in this world?
Then, a whisper of a thought—not a craving, but an awareness. The energy is more than just power; it's possibility. Each pulse through his veins feels like a door cracking open, a glimpse into something greater. This world isn't bound by the rules he knows—here, strength matters. Power defines everything.
He grits his teeth, trying to steady himself, but the power coursing through him refuses to calm. Every muscle vibrates with strange tension—not pain, not fatigue—something else entirely. Something new.
He looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers, watching the slight tremor in them. His body is responding to something unseen—an invisible current flowing through him, pushing him beyond what he thought he could handle.
What the hell is happening to me?
A part of him doesn't care. This world is different. Ruthless. But here, he isn't just a nobody. Here, strength isn't just survival—it's freedom.
The pendant against his chest remains cold and inert, offering no answers.He isn't the same anymore. This world is changing him—with or without his permission.
And he has no problem spilling blood to survive.
Then—rustling.
Two more pairs of glowing yellow eyes emerge from the darkness. Their forms are larger, more muscular than the first. Adolescent Wolves. Older, more experienced, but not fully grown. They step into the moonlight, their fur rippling with each predatory movement. The air grows heavier.
His body, still buzzing from the rush of energy, responds before his mind can. The knife in his hand feels lighter now, more an extension of himself than just a tool.
The first wolf lunges—faster than the last. He barely pivots, its claws raking across his side. Pain flares instantly, a sharp line of fire tearing through his ribs, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it. The second wolf circles, teeth bared.
Blood drips from his wound, but the energy inside him surges again—reckless and unyielding. His heart pounds a brutal rhythm as he meets the first wolf's attack head-on. He ducks under its swipe and slashes his blade across its flank, drawing a furious snarl.
The second wolf darts in, aiming low. He twists, but not fast enough—its jaws clamp down on his calf, sending a white-hot burst of pain through him. Gritting his teeth, he drives the knife into its shoulder, forcing it to release him with a yelp.
Move. Don't stop.
He staggers back, blood seeping into his torn pants, but the wolves press the attack—one high, one low. Coordinated. Not instinctual—practiced.
Desperation fuels him. The energy roaring through his veins pushes him to move faster, hit harder. He slashes wildly, catching the first wolf's muzzle, then kicks at the second, sending it stumbling.
The fight becomes a brutal dance—a blur of teeth, claws, and blood. His blood.
Back against the hard bark of a tree, he curses under his breath. "Shit. This isn't how it's supposed to start. Shouldn't I run into a damn demon rabbit or something?"
Pain gnaws at him—ribs burning, leg throbbing. He's taken too much damage. Any more, and he'll barely be able to move.
The wolves circle, calculating. Their glowing eyes fix on him, waiting.
Then—an opening.
The first wolf lunges. He sidesteps and drives his knife deep into its neck, twisting the blade until it collapses.
The second wolf hesitates, a flicker of fear in its eyes. He seizes the moment. Ignoring the pain, he tackles it to the ground and stabs down with everything he has.
It lets out a final, agonized howl. Then—silence.
He kneels, bloodied, gasping, wounds burning like fire. But he's alive.
And the power still pulses—stronger than before.
The pain screams louder now, but he forces himself to move. He needs higher ground. Somewhere safe.
De-Reece's gaze finds a tree—tall, sturdy, branches reaching skyward.
He limps over and begins carving footholds into the bark with his knife. Every movement sends flares of pain through him, but he climbs, inch by inch, until he reaches a thick branch high above. He slumps against the trunk, knife still in hand, and exhales shakily.
He needs to control this energy—this wild force. If what his brothers said holds any truth, he has to start somewhere.
Closing his eyes, he focuses inward, picturing the qi nodes he read about—the dantian below the navel, the heart node in the chest, the baihui at the crown of the head, and the minor nodes in the limbs. He recalls the diagrams, visualising each one.
But those are just the nodes—the reservoirs. The real challenge lies in the meridians—the canals. His energy is a storm, and the canals are blocked.
He grits his teeth and pushes on the energy. It flows surprisingly well with his will. Is that normal?
He forces it to move, feeling it respond—his awareness catching on certain areas. Blockages. Meridian points?
Breathe. Focus.
He visualises the meridian path, tracing it with his mind. Hmm shoulder node increase power ill kill those fucking wolves a lot quicker next time. He wills the energy forward. Resistance builds—then breaks.
A meridian point snaps open in his left shoulder.
A flood of energy roars through him, racing up his spine like liquid fire. Pain vanishes, replaced by searing heat. His vision blurs, the world spins—but the flow moves.
The wound on his side still aches, but there's a tingling—energy brushing the edges of the injury, testing the limits of what it can mend.
His breathing slows. His heart steadies.
He doesn't know if it's truly qi, or something else entirely.
But it's his now.
And he's going to master it.
The last of his strength fades. Adrenaline crashes. His head lolls back against the trunk, the moonlight filtering through the branches. The pain dulls. His thoughts drift.
There's no way he's dying before he finds his brothers.
And with that final, stubborn thought, sleep claims him.