The scales were obsidian, catching the pale moonlight filtering through the ancient trees. Cold blood coursed through its veins, slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the frantic scurrying of the forest mice it hunted. This was not just any snake. This was Xylos, and nestled deep in the primal part of his serpentine brain, a flicker of awareness had ignited. He was not merely a predator, he was… something more.
Xylos was a demon serpent, born from the raw, chaotic energies of the primeval forest, a place where the veil between the mortal and the immortal realms was thin. He didn’t understand ‘immortality’ yet, but he felt its potential simmering within him, a power he could taste like the metallic tang of blood. Unlike his kin who were driven purely by instinct, Xylos observed. He studied the subtle shift in the wind, the rustle of leaves that heralded prey, and the complex dances of martial cultivators who sometimes crossed his territory. He saw their strength, their fluidity, and understood, on an instinctual level, that it was the path to his own evolution.
He was not kind. He was a serpent: cold, calculating, and ruthlessly efficient. He hunted with a detached precision, not driven by hunger alone, but by a craving to consume and assimilate. He devoured not just flesh, but also the residual energy of his prey, feeling it strengthen his core, sharpen his senses. When he encountered weaker demonic beasts, he crushed them with a casual indifference, their struggle a minor inconvenience.
His first real ‘adventure’ was less a quest and more a calculated climb. He had seen a young cultivator, clumsy and arrogant, practicing swordsmanship near a waterfall. The boy, a novice in the Qi Condensation stage, carried a medicinal herb that pulsed with spiritual energy. Xylos understood the herb''s value instinctively. He approached silently, a ripple through the undergrowth, his obsidian scales camouflaged against the shadows. He struck with blinding speed, the boy barely having time to register the attack before Xylos had him in his coils, his body crushing the life from the young cultivator with chilling efficiency. He swallowed the herb and the cultivator''s body, the raw energy of both fueling the nascent power within him.
The power surge was intoxicating. He felt his scales harden, his senses sharpen, and his speed amplified. He had reached the Foundation Establishment stage, the first step on the long, treacherous road to immortality. He was stronger, but more importantly, he wasawareof being stronger.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
His travels were not sentimental journeys. He followed the currents of spiritual energy, seeking out places where it was concentrated – ancient ruins, forgotten battlefields, and even volatile spirit veins. He didn’t care about the history or the significance, only the power they held. He battled other demonic beasts, not with rage, but with cold, calculated efficiency. He didn’t roar, he didn''t posture, he struck, constricted, and consumed.
He learned to control his demonic Qi, shaping it into a poisonous miasma that could cripple his opponents. He learned to use the natural energy currents, moving through the environment with an uncanny grace, making him seem like a shadow in the undergrowth, a force of nature rather than a mere creature. His movements became fluid, an exquisite dance of death.
He encountered human cultivators, too. Some were arrogant, some were desperate, all were potential prey. He did not distinguish them. He ambushed solitary figures seeking treasures in the ruins he explored, taking their artifacts and their lives with equal coldness. He faced groups of cultivators who sought to eradicate him – their swords flashing, their spells crackling – and met their attacks with equal ruthlessness. He was not afraid. He was a predator, and they were simply obstacles to his growth.
One encounter, however, left a mark, though not in the way one might expect. He faced a seasoned cultivator in the Core Formation stage, a woman with eyes like jade and a sword that pulsed with pure Qi. She didn''t fall into his traps like the others. She fought with grace, skill, and an almost terrifying calm. He was injured, for the first time in a long time. He tasted the sting of her blade, a burning sensation unfamiliar to his cold flesh. He retreated, not in fear, but in analysis. He observed her techniques, her movements, and understood that brute strength alone was not enough. He needed to learn, to adapt, to evolve.
His journey wasn''t driven by ambition, but by a primal need for power, a hunger for the next stage of his evolution. He was a demon snake, a creature of instinct and calculated coldness, but he was also becoming something more. He was Xylos, and the world of Xianxia was his hunting ground, a vast stage for his relentless climb to power. He felt the hum of immortality within, a whisper promising untold power, and he would not rest until he had claimed it. His cold blood burned with a chilling ambition, and the world trembled beneath his gaze.