From DEMON to TRASH: The rise of Demonic Emperor Zhiyun

Zhiyun wake up from the chill of a cold breeze slipping through the cave's entrance. Blinking away the haze of sleep, he quickly realized he was no longer in the same cave as before. His surroundings were different, more barren, with none of the treasures or furniture from the other place.

Then, the memory struck him.

"The blood pearl!" he shouted, anger boiling in his chest, only to be cut off by a sharp pain in his head. He clutched his temple with one hand, groaning as the pain forced him to steady himself.

"That woman… cunning beyond measure! To think she struck first after realizing I had seen through her armor. Next time, I won't be so forgiving. I will take that damn pearl!" His voice echoed in the empty cave as another wave of pain wracked his weak body.

Frustration etched on his face, Zhiyun sat down and forced himself to meditate, steadying his mind and controlling the weak flow of energy in his body. Though this frail vessel was leagues beneath what he once had, the techniques he'd mastered over millennia could still offer some help.

After a quarter of an hour, the pain dulled, and his body felt alot better. His eyes opened, glowing faintly in the dim light. "This body is trash," he muttered. "I need nourishment. Something to rebuild my strength."

Unlike mortal cultivators, demonic cultivators like Zhiyun relied on darker, more forbidden methods to grow stronger. He thought of the possibilities such as draining life force, consuming highlevel pills or devouring souls.

His mind began to calculate his next move when a distant sound caught his attention.

Faint voices echoed from outside the cave. His senses sharpened as he picked up the distinct noise of footsteps. There are several people outside, their movements arei uneven and heavy.

"A group of humans," he murmured, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "13… no theres 14 of them, weakened probably from a travel or battle. How fortunate… fate truly favors me today."

Zhiyun moved toward the cave's entrance, keeping his presence concealed as he peered outside. The scene before him confirmed his thoughts—a group of mercenaries, clad in battered armor and carrying weapons that had clearly seen better days. They looked weary and disheveled, laughing and talking as they made their way towards the dark forest.

The leader, a scarred, burly man, gestured to the others. "We'll rest here for a bit. Set up camp. Stay alert; we can't afford another ambush like the last one." He said as he sat on the log of a dead tree.

Zhiyun's smile widened as he observed them, he didn't act immediately. Though the thought of draining their life force was tempting, his current body was far too frail to handle them all, he dont wanna admit it but he is no less than a mortal right now, and to make it worst, he is not just a mortal but a mortal with broken meridians and no spiritual roots to addup he is still poisoned.

Adjusting his expression to one of desperation, he stumbled out of the cave's shadows, deliberately making enough noise to attract their attention.

"H-Help…" he croaked, clutching his side as if injured. His steps faltered, and he collapsed to his knees in front of the group, looking every bit the pitiful young boy he pretended to be.

"Who goes there?!" the leader barked, raising his weapon in defensive mode.

Zhiyun looked up weakly, his voice trembling. "Please… I'm just a boy. I've been lost for days… no food, no water… I don't have anything. Please, help me…" He lowered his gaze, feigning helplessness.

The leader of the group hesitated, his sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned the boy before him. Clearly, the boy infront of him is nothing but a cannon fodder however, something about Zhiyun's presence didn't sit right, but before he could speak, one of the younger mercenaries stepped forward, he have large brown eyes and messy brown hair tied in a ponytail, he leaned forward to whisper something with the leader.

"Boss, he's just a kid. Look at him, doesn't even have a weapon. Besides," the younger man added with a sly grin, "we could use an errand boy. This one's perfect."

The leader seems to be satisfied withh the thoought as his lips twisted into a sinister smile. A smile Zhiyun didn't miss.

"Fine," the leader finally said, waving a dismissive hand.

"Let him be. But don't get too close. Keep your eyes on him at all times."

The thin disheveled man with a messy ponytail, sneered at Zhiyun. "Hey, you there! Beggar boy!" he barked. "The boss is generous enough to let you tag along. But in return, you'd better pull your weight tomorrow! Don't forget to repay his kindness!"

Zhiyun inwardly sneered at their arrogance.

'Repay? These humans had no idea what sort of nightmare they'd just invited into their group' Outwardly, however, he put on a weak, grateful smile.

"1Thank you… thank you so much…"

As the group settled around the fire for the night, Zhiyun stayed quiet, his sharp eyes observing every movement, every word, and every interaction they made. They laughed, they argued, they made plans for the next day—all the while oblivious to the predator in their midst.

'Humans… so predictable. So foolish'

Later that night, Zhiyun retreated to the tent the mercenaries had assigned him, sitting cross-legged in the dim light. The moon's pale glow filtered through the thin fabric, casting faint shadows as silence enveloped him. For the first time since his rebirth, he allowed his thoughts to wander, free of the constant survival instinct that had consumed him.

This was his first moment of peace—a rare chance to piece together the chaos that had unfolded. Betrayed, killed, his empire shattered in an instant, and then that being who had spoken to him as he teetered between life and death.

"It will be a waste to let you die." ( I know this is not what it qouted but close to it so let it go hahaha)

The words echoed in his mind, a taunting melody that refused to fade. His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

"What is that being planning? Why did he keep me alive?" he whispered coldly, his voice low but filled with venom.

He hated not knowing. His survival had always been calculated, his victories the result of cunning and meticulous preparation. But now? Now, he felt like a pawn in someone else's game.

Still, he couldn't deny the truth—the being's intervention had spared him from complete oblivion. Self-destruction was the ultimate gamble for a cultivator, and the cost was absolute. Destroying one's core meant annihilating not only the body but also the soul, reducing it to scattered fragments that would dissolve into the cosmos. Those fragments, in turn, became mere fuel for the cultivation of others.

Rebirth? Reincarnation? For a soul shattered in such a way, those were impossibilities.

And yet here he was, alive, with a fragment of his former strength and the memories of his past life intact. It was an outcome only a being with immense power could grant—no, a Deviant.

"Deviant," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with loathing as the name passed his lips.

Then, like a spark igniting a dry field, realization struck him. His eyes widened, and he shot upright as his mind raced.

"The Book of Arcane!"

It was the very reason why the Celestial kings attacked him, and in truth he actually have it deep within his soul, a place not even the ancestor knows.

The realization sent his heart pounding as he sat back down and closed his eyes. His body stilled, his breathing slowed, and he focused inward, retreating deep into his consciousness. He was searching for something, something buried within the fragmented remnants of his soul.

This was a gamble. His former cultivation and techniques had been obliterated in the moment of his self-destruction. But the Book of Arcane—a treasure that defied the laws of existence—was no ordinary artifact. It had been bound to his soul, something he had painstakingly achieved over centuries of cultivation. If even a shred of it had survived…

His spiritual consciousness plunged deeper, passing through the turbulent void of his inner world. It was in ruins, as expected, but amidst the chaos, there was a faint glimmer. A sliver of energy, pulsing weakly, yet undeniably present.

"There it is."

Zhiyun's lips curled into a faint smirk as his mind wrapped around the energy. The Book of Arcane was still with him.

Zhiyun couldn't help but laugh to himself, low and almost manic, he run through a hand to his gorgeous hair, a habbit he does when things are going on his favor.

"To think the Book of Arcane stayed with me even after rebirth," he muttered, his lips curling into a dark smirk. "It seems luck is still on my side."

The thought of having the book, with its boundless knowledge and forbidden power, sent a thrill through him. If he could claim it once more, the road back to his former strength—and beyond—would be within reach.

Driven by his excitement, he reached for the book with his spiritual consciousness. But the moment he touched its edge, a violent force exploded outward, slamming into him like a thunderclap.

"UGGHH!" Zhiyun gasped as a sharp pain tore through his soul. His eyes shot open, and he clutched his chest, his breathing uneven. A sudden pressure weighed him down, and he doubled over, coughing up blood that splattered onto the ground.

For a moment, he sat still, his trembling hands pressed against the earth, clutching it as he tried to steady himself.

Then, despite the pain, a hoarse chuckle escaped his lips. It grew louder, filling the quiet tent as his shoulders shook with a mix of frustration and exhilaration.

"I knew it wouldn't be easy," he muttered between ragged breaths, wiping the blood from his mouth. His voice was soft but laced with determination. His eyes, still wild with pain, gleamed with something far more dangerous—excitement.

The electrifying force had left his soul battered, but it had also ignited a fire within him. The challenge of reclaiming the book, of forcing it to submit to his will, was almost intoxicating.

"The Book of Arcane," he said quietly, his tone dripping with amusement, "still as stubborn as ever. Testing me, as if I'm some powerless mortal."

He straightened himself slowly, letting the pain course through him without flinching. If anything, it fueled his resolve.

"No matter the cost, no matter how long it takes… I will claim you," he promised, his voice steady, cold, and filled with certainty.

As the ache in his chest lingered, he sat cross-legged and closed his eyes, forcing his mind into a meditative state. He focused on stabilizing his soul, his breathing evening out with each passing moment.

In the stillness of the night, one thought burned clearly in his mind

'Yuzhe, Celestial Kings, wait for my return, I will show you what true suffering is"