The Dao of Magic (Harry Potter/Xianxia)

[The Ruler of Hell]

The Dao of Magic

Chapter 1: A Genius Encounters the Impossible

Harry Potter. No, Tian Longwei, former Young Master of the Crimson Phoenix Formation Sect, Grand Formation Master of the Seventy-Two Celestial Arrays, Breaker of the Immortal Sky Barrier. He woke up in a cupboard.

For a moment, the memories warred within his skull. Eleven years of abuse, starvation, and sleeping in darkness clashed against twelve hundred years of glory, cultivation, and standing at the peak of the immortal world. The battle was brief. Laughably brief.

The victor sat up and immediately cracked his head on the underside of the stairs.

"Fuck!"

The curse escaped before he could stop it, a habit from his previous life where such language was common among even the most venerated ancestors. He rubbed his head, grimacing at the pathetically weak body he now inhabited. Not even at the Body Refinement stage. Not even at Mortal Cleansing. This body was... mortal. Utterly, completely mortal.

But that wasn't the worst part.

Tian Longwei closed his eyes and searched within himself, feeling for his Golden Core, for the vast ocean of Qi that had taken him eight hundred years to accumulate. He felt for his nine Dao Pillars, for the Immortal Spark that had allowed him to split mountains with a gesture.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

His eyes snapped open, and for the first time in a thousand years, Tian Longwei felt something approaching panic.

He took a breath, forcing calm. Perhaps his cultivation had been sealed? Yes, that must be it. A powerful formation, perhaps placed by whoever had orchestrated his death. That treacherous bastard Shen Wu had always been skilled with curse work. Longwei would simply need to break the seal, rebuild his cultivation base, and then...

He reached for his Qi.

Still nothing.

He tried circulating the Eternal Dragon Breath technique, the basic method every outer disciple of his sect learned before the age of six.

Nothing.

Growing frantic now, he attempted the most basic of basic techniques, the Mortal Foundation Breathing that even spirit beasts could accomplish by instinct.

Nothing.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no..."

He pressed his senses outward, trying to feel the ambient Qi that permeated all of existence. Every world had it, from the lowest mortal realm to the highest immortal plane. It was as fundamental as air itself, the very essence of...

He couldn't feel it.

There was no Qi.

None. Anywhere.

"THERE'S NO FUCKING CULTIVATION?!" The scream tore from his throat before he could stop it, echoing in the cramped cupboard. "HOW?! THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

A fist banged against the cupboard door. "BOY! What are you screaming about in there?! Get out here and make breakfast! NOW!"

The horse-faced woman. Petunia. His... aunt, apparently. Longwei's eye twitched. In his previous life, a mere maid who dared speak to him in such a tone would have found herself thrown from the sect grounds. But now...

He took a shuddering breath, trying to process the impossible. A world without cultivation. Without Qi. Without the very foundation of existence itself. How could such a place even function? How did the world turn? How did the seasons change? How did...

Wait.

A memory surfaced. Harry's memory. The fat pig child, Dudley, chasing him. And then... he'd been on the ground one moment and on the roof the next. Teleportation? No, he hadn't done it consciously. But it happened.

Another memory. A teacher had been trying to cut his hair, and he'd... wanted it to grow back. And it had. Overnight.

Longwei's eyes widened. "There IS power here!"

It wasn't Qi, that much was certain. But there was something. Some form of energy he could manipulate, even if this child's body had done it unconsciously and clumsily.

If there was energy, there was cultivation. The forms might differ, the methods might be foreign, but the fundamental truth remained: where there was power, there was a path to ascension.

He just had to find it.

Longwei looked down at his pitifully small hands, at the cupboard that had been his "room" for a decade. These... these mortals had dared to treat a once-Immortal like a slave? Like garbage?

A cold smile crossed his face.

"When I have returned to my proper strength," he murmured, "I will ensure you understand the error of your ways."

But first, he needed to understand this world's power system. And that meant meditation.

"BOY! I won't tell you again!"

"Coming, Aunt Petunia!" he called back, his voice dripping with false cheer. Patience. A true cultivator had patience. He had spent three hundred years in seclusion once, perfecting a single formation. He could endure these mortals for a while longer.

After he made their breakfast (and how degrading, to cook for those beneath him), after he'd done their garden work, after the sun had begun to set and the Dursleys had settled in front of their "television" (a mortal entertainment device, apparently), Longwei finally escaped.

"Going to the park," he mumbled.

Vernon didn't even look away from the screen. Petunia just waved him off dismissively. Perfect.

The park was a short walk away, and Harry's memories guided him to a secluded spot behind a cluster of trees, away from the playground. It wasn't much, just a small clearing with overgrown grass, but it would do.

Longwei sat down, crossing his legs in the lotus position. The moment he did, muscle memory from twelve centuries kicked in, and his back straightened, his breathing naturally falling into rhythm.

Good. The body might be weak, but the soul remembered.

He began with the most basic cultivation technique, the one taught to children barely old enough to walk: the Mortal Foundation Breathing Method. Breathe in through the nose for four counts, hold for four counts, exhale through the mouth for four counts, hold for four counts. Simple. Fundamental. The basis of all cultivation.

Except he couldn't feel anything.

No Qi flowing in. No energy circulating through his meridians. Just... air.

Frustration built in his chest. This body was too young, too undisciplined. His mind kept wandering. An itch on his nose. A bird chirping. The distant sound of cars. After twelve hundred years of perfect meditation, being unable to focus for more than thirty seconds was maddening.

Calm, he told himself. You were once a child too. Every master was once a beginner.

He started again. Breathe in, two, three, four...

A fly landed on his hand. His concentration shattered.

"ARGH!" He slapped at his hand, then immediately felt embarrassed. A true cultivator should have such perfect focus that a mountain could crumble around them without notice. But here he was, defeated by an insect and a child's attention span.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

He spent fifteen minutes just trying to sit still, to calm this hyperactive child's mind. It was like trying to still a pond in a windstorm. Every thought spawned three more. Every sensation demanded immediate attention.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Slowly, painfully, he began to find the rhythm again. Four counts in. Four counts hold. Four counts out. Four counts hold.

And then, for just a fraction of a second, he felt it.

Something moved around him. Not Qi, but something else. Something that resonated with that foreign energy he'd accidentally used before. It was like catching a scent on the wind, there and gone in an instant.

But it had been there.

Longwei's eyes snapped open, a grin spreading across his face. "Aha!"

He had it. Just a glimpse, just a bare hint, but he'd touched something. There was energy in this world after all.

For the next hour, he chased that feeling. It was elusive, like trying to grasp smoke, but he could sense it now. The energy didn't flow through the world the way Qi did. It was... ambient. Surrounding everything. Permeating reality itself but not circulating.

Every time he almost had it, his child's mind would wander. A noise would distract him. His legs would cramp. His stomach would growl.

Pathetic, he thought. Absolutely pathetic.

But Tian Longwei had not become Grand Formation Master of the Seventy-Two Celestial Arrays by giving up at the first obstacle. Or the hundredth. Or the ten-thousandth.

When others had talent, he'd had determination. When others had resources, he'd had ingenuity. When others had powerful backing, he'd had sheer, stubborn, absolutely unreasonable refusal to accept failure.

A thousand years ago, his sect elders had said he had mediocre aptitude. Acceptable, but not outstanding. He'd proved them all wrong through sheer force of will, ascending to heights they'd never imagined possible.

This would be no different.

As the sun sank lower, painting the sky orange and red, Longwei sat in that clearing and refused to give up. His legs had gone numb. His back ached. His stomach growled. None of it mattered.

There. That flicker again. Stronger this time.

Yes.

He held his breath, not physically but mentally. He focused everything he was, everything he had been, on that single thread of energy. Coaxing it. Calling to it.

It resisted. Of course it did. This energy didn't want to be drawn in. It was meant to stay ambient, to remain external. Every law of this realm seemed designed to keep it that way.

But Tian Longwei had broken natural laws before.

He reached deeper, drawing on every scrap of knowledge from his past life. Formation arrays worked by manipulating ambient energy, didn't they? By creating patterns that redirected natural flows?

What if he could do the same, but internally?

His consciousness, his will, shaped itself into the most basic formation pattern he knew. A simple gathering array, the kind used to concentrate Qi for meditation. Four points, four lines, one circle. The most fundamental structure in all of formation mastery.

And he pulled.

The energy moved.

Not into his meridians, because apparently this body didn't properly have those. But into... something. Some space within himself that resonated with the energy.

It was the tiniest trickle, barely a drop where once he'd commanded oceans. But it was there. Solid. Real. Undeniable.

And then his chest seized.

Longwei gasped, feeling something tear inside. A wet cough escaped his lips, and when he pulled his hand away from his mouth, there were flecks of red on his palm.

Blood.

He stared at it for a moment, then let out a short, barking laugh that sent another spike of pain through his chest.

"Bah!" He wiped his hand on the grass, grinning despite the pain. "What's a cultivator without coughing up blood, hmph? I'd almost forgotten the sensation."

In his previous life, he'd coughed up blood during his first breakthrough, during his hundredth breakthrough, and at least a dozen times in between. It was practically a rite of passage. Every cultivation manual should have included a warning: "Side effects may include internal injuries and spontaneous hemorrhaging."

The body was too weak, too unprepared for what he'd just forced it to do. A normal child attempting this would have probably died. But Tian Longwei was no normal child, and he knew exactly how much damage he could sustain and survive.

Pain was just weakness leaving the body, as his Third Master used to say. Usually while beating his disciples with a bamboo stick.

Tian Longwei opened his eyes properly now, still grinning like a madman despite the blood on his lips.

"Heaven itself could not stop this one's cultivation," he whispered. "What chance do the laws of this backward realm have?"

He looked down at his small, weak hands. Then he looked up at the darkening sky.

"I, Tian Longwei, Grand Formation Master of the Crimson Phoenix Sect, Bearer of the Title 'He Who Defies Heaven's Will', Holder of the Supreme Sage's Token, Master of the Seventy-Two Celestial Arrays, declare this truth: I shall cultivate. I shall ascend. And I shall NOT be stopped by something as trivial as the wrong universe."

A drop of the strange energy pulsed within him, responding to his declaration.

It was a beginning.

And beginnings, Longwei knew from long experience, were all a cultivator ever truly needed.

---

The walk back to Privet Drive was... interesting.

Every step sent a dull ache through Longwei's chest, a reminder that this body was nowhere near ready for proper cultivation. But beneath the pain, he could feel it. That single drop of energy, sitting in what he'd mentally dubbed his "false dantian" for lack of a better term.

It wasn't circulating. Wasn't growing. Just... existing. Like a seed planted in soil, waiting.

Waiting for what, he wasn't sure yet. But he'd figure it out.

The streetlights were coming on by the time he reached Number Four. Through the window, he could see Vernon's bulk silhouetted against the television's glow. Perfect. If they were distracted, they might not notice how late he was, or the blood he'd hastily wiped from his face.

He slipped in through the front door as quietly as possible.

"BOY!"

Or not.

Vernon Dursley's purple face appeared in the living room doorway, mustache bristling with indignation. "Where the HELL have you been? It's nearly nine o'clock! Your aunt had to make dinner herself because of your laziness!"

Longwei bowed his head in what he hoped looked like proper contrition, even as part of him calculated exactly which formation would cause the most suffering without permanent damage. Perhaps the Thousand Needle Array? No, too obvious. The Internal Flame Torture? No, too lethal for these pathetic mortals.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon. I lost track of time at the park."

"Lost track of... IN YOUR CUPBOARD! NOW! No dinner for you tonight, boy. Maybe that'll teach you about responsibility!"

Longwei shuffled toward his cupboard, keeping his head down. No dinner was hardly a punishment. He'd once gone six years without eating during a particularly intense cultivation retreat. One night was nothing.

The cupboard door slammed shut behind him, and he heard the lock click.

Finally. Alone.

He sat down in the cramped space, automatically falling into a meditation pose despite the limited room. The drop of energy pulsed within him, almost eager.

Now, let's see what you really are.

In his previous life, when he'd first formed his Qi center, his master had described it as "grasping a thread of heaven and weaving it into your soul." Poetic nonsense, mostly, but it had captured the essential truth: Qi became part of you, integrated into your very being.

This energy felt different. It sat within him, yes, but it was... separate. Like a guest in his body rather than a part of it. And when he tried to move it the way he would Qi, circulating it through nonexistent meridians, it simply... didn't.

Frustrating.

He tried a different approach. Instead of treating it like internal energy to be cultivated, what if he treated it like external energy to be manipulated? Like he was a formation array himself, and this drop was the power source?

The moment he shifted his thinking, something clicked.

The energy responded, flowing outward from his false dantian toward... his hand. He opened his eyes and stared at his palm, watching intently.

Nothing visible happened, but he could feel it. The energy pooling in his hand, waiting for direction. For purpose.

The energy came from outside and it wanted to stay that way, perhaps the answer could be in…

External manipulation.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."

He focused on the energy in his palm, imagining it extending outward, touching the air itself. In formation work, you needed three things: a power source, a pattern, and an intention. He had the power source, limited as it was. He had intention. But the pattern...

How had Harry done it unconsciously? Through emotion. Through desperate want. The boy had needed his hair to grow back, and it had. He'd needed to escape Dudley, and he'd teleported.

Need. Desire. Emotion.

Crude. Unrefined. Completely inefficient.

But it worked.

Longwei stared at a spider in the corner of his cupboard. Crush, he thought, pushing his will through the energy in his palm.

The spider continued crawling along its web, completely unconcerned.

He tried again, this time adding emotion to the mix. Annoyance. Frustration. The anger of a thousand-year-old cultivator reduced to sleeping in a cupboard.

The energy flickered. The spider twitched.

Then it got completely crushed.

Longwei blinked. Then smiled.

"Aha! So emotion is the catalyst, but will is the director. The energy needs both to function properly." He looked at his palm, then at the crushed spider. "Inefficient. Wasteful. I used nearly a tenth of my energy reserve to kill one insect. But it's a start."

He closed his eyes again, pulling more energy from the ambient field around him. It came easier this time, now that he understood the trick. Still a trickle, still painfully slow compared to Qi cultivation, but present.

Another drop joined the first in his false dantian.

Then another.

Then...

His chest spasmed. Blood filled his mouth, and he barely managed to swallow it down instead of spitting it across the cupboard. The pain was sharp, immediate, and accompanied by a sensation like his insides were being shredded.

"Ah," he gasped, slumping against the wall. "So that's the limit. Two drops. Maybe three if I push it."

The body was too weak. Too young. Too unprepared.

He'd need to strengthen it before he could hold more energy. But how? In his previous life, Body Refinement came first, using specific techniques and often medicinal baths to strengthen the flesh before beginning Qi cultivation.

But this world had no such techniques. No spirit herbs. No...

Wait.

Harry's memories surfaced again. The boy had been starved, beaten, forced to do manual labor. And yet his body had survived. More than that, it had healed from injuries that should have left scars. The accidental effects had been protecting him, keeping him alive despite the Dursleys' abuse.

The energy didn't just change the external world. It also affected the body of its user, passively, unconsciously.

"So you do have Body Refinement," Longwei muttered. "Just... automatic. Primitive. Inefficient." He smiled. "But improvable."

If the energy naturally protected and healed the body, then he could use that. Guide it. Make it intentional instead of reactive.

He placed his palm against his chest, where the pain was worst. Then, carefully, he released one of his precious drops of energy, not outward but inward. He shaped his will around it: Heal. Strengthen. Reinforce.

The energy sank into his flesh, and the pain... lessened. Not much. But noticeably.

"Yes," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes, this will work."

It would be slow. Painfully slow compared to proper cultivation. But he would adapt. He always adapted.

Tian Longwei had been called many things in his previous life. Genius. Prodigy. Monster. But the title he'd been most proud of was the one his enemies had given him: The Unkillable.

Because no matter how many times they'd tried to end him, no matter how many impossible situations he'd faced, he'd survived. Adapted. Overcome.

This world thought it could limit him with its strange rules and absent Qi?

"How cute," he whispered to the darkness of his cupboard.

Then he closed his eyes and began gathering energy again, one painstaking drop at a time.

Outside, the Dursleys watched television, completely unaware that in their cupboard under the stairs, something impossible was happening.

A cultivator was being born in a world without cultivation.

And Heaven help anyone who tried to stop him.

---

Over the next three days, Longwei established a routine.

Wake up. Make breakfast for the Dursleys while secretly circulating what little energy he had through his body, practicing control. Do chores. More practice. Escape to the park. Meditate and gather energy until his body screamed in protest. Return before dark. Sleep while cycling energy through his injuries, healing and strengthening.

Repeat.

It was mind-numbingly boring compared to his previous life's grand adventures, but also necessary. Foundation was everything. His first master had beaten that lesson into him literally, with a stick, every time young Tian Longwei had tried to skip basics in favor of flashy techniques.

By the third day, he could hold five drops of energy without coughing blood. By the fifth day, ten drops. His body was adapting, growing stronger, the passive healing effect of the energy reinforcing his flesh bit by bit.

It still wasn't enough to do anything impressive. The spider killing had taken one drop. Anything more complex would require dozens, perhaps hundreds.

But progress was progress.

On the sixth day, as he sat in his usual spot in the park gathering energy, Longwei paused mid-breath.

He should probably name this energy, shouldn't he? It wasn't Qi, after all. Calling it "the energy" or "the power" in his thoughts was getting tiresome, and imprecise terminology led to imprecise thinking. His Formation Master would have smacked him for such sloppiness.

What had the common people called what cultivators could do, back in his old world? The peasants who didn't understand the intricacies of Qi manipulation or the Heavenly Dao? He dredged through twelve hundred years of memories, looking for the word.

Ah, yes. Magic. They'd called it magic.

Simple. Crude. But fitting, somehow, for this world's equally crude energy system.

"Magic it is, then," he muttered, opening his eyes. "Now, let's see what this 'magic' can really do."

He had ten drops stored in his false dantian. Enough to kill ten spiders, perhaps, or accomplish one slightly more complex effect. But that was still pathetic. He needed more power, and gathering it drop by drop was too slow.

In his previous life, when cultivators needed to gather Qi faster, they used formations. Specifically, gathering arrays that pulled ambient spiritual energy toward a central point, concentrating it for easier absorption.

Could he do the same here?

The problem was materials. Proper formations required formation flags, spirit stones, cinnabar ink made from demon beast blood, jade slips carved with intricate patterns. He had none of those things.

But...

Longwei stood up, brushing grass from his oversized trousers. The Dursleys threw things away constantly. Broken electronics, old garden tools, bits of metal and wire from Vernon's amateur fix-it attempts. He'd seen the bins overflowing with refuse every week.

And he had spent two hundred years studying improvised formation work.

During the Demon Sect War, he'd created a defensive array using nothing but rocks, tree branches, and his own blood while being hunted by seven Nascent Soul cultivators. He'd later turned that hastily-constructed formation into a killing array that had ended three of them.

Garbage was just unused resources. Everything had inherent properties that could be exploited.

He needed to see what was available.

The walk back to Privet Drive was quick, his mind already spinning with possibilities. The Dursleys were out, probably shopping, which gave him time to investigate without questions.

The bins were kept on the side of the house, hidden behind a wooden fence. Longwei opened the first one and began methodically sorting through the contents.

Broken remote control. Possibly useful, if the batteries still held a charge. Electronics seemed to have some relationship with energy, even if these mundane devices couldn't use magic.

Bent coat hangers. Metal wire, excellent for creating physical anchor points.

An old garden stake, wooden and rotting at one end. Normal wood could hold and channel energy, though not as efficiently as jade or spirit wood.

Bits of broken mirror. Reflective surfaces had interesting properties in formation work. They could redirect energy flows, create illusions, trap light.

He pulled out piece after piece, laying them on the ground and examining each one with the critical eye of a master craftsman.

"Hmm. Not ideal, but workable." He picked up the coat hangers, testing their flexibility. "I'll need to reshape these. Create anchor points in a circular pattern. The mirror fragments can go in the center as a focusing array. The wood can..." He mumbled to himself.

"What the HELL are you doing, boy?!"

Longwei didn't even flinch. He'd heard Vernon's car pull up thirty seconds ago, had known this confrontation was coming. He turned slowly, face carefully blank.

"I was looking for... for something to play with, Uncle Vernon. I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Playing in the RUBBISH?! What's wrong with you, boy? Are you simple?" Vernon's face was turning that familiar shade of purple. "Get inside! NOW! And you're cleaning this mess up before dinner, or so help me..."

Longwei shuffled past him, head down, but not before palming the coat hangers and a few mirror fragments. The rest he could retrieve later.

Once locked back in his cupboard, he allowed himself a small smile.

Perfect, actually. The cupboard was small, enclosed, and entirely his. An ideal location for a first formation.

He straightened the coat hangers as best he could with his small hands, bending them into rough approximations of the shapes he needed. In his previous life, formation flags would be carved with intricate patterns, each line precisely measured to channel Qi in specific ways.

Here, he had to work with cruder materials. But the fundamental principles remained the same.

A gathering formation required five anchor points arranged in a pentagon, with lines of energy connecting them and a focal point in the center. The pattern created a natural spiral that pulled ambient energy inward.

He placed the pieces of coat hanger wire in the corners of his cupboard, bending them into small hooks that he wedged into cracks in the walls. Not perfect, but they'd hold.

The mirror fragments went in the center, arranged in a smaller pentagon.

Now came the hard part.

In proper formation work, you'd connect the anchor points with channels carved into the ground or drawn with specialized ink. Here, he had neither. What he did have was magic, ten drops of it, and his own understanding of energy flow patterns.

Longwei placed his hand on the first anchor point and released a drop of magic into it, shaping his will around the energy: Flow to the next point. Follow the pattern. Connect.

The magic resisted. It wanted to dissipate into the ambient field, not stay concentrated in the wire.

"Stubborn," he muttered. "But I am more stubborn."

He tried again, this time adding intention and emotion. The frustration of being trapped in this cupboard. The burning need to regain his power. The absolute refusal to accept limitations.

The magic moved. Reluctantly, shakily, but it moved. It flowed from the first anchor point toward the second, creating a faint connection that he could feel more than see.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. This was harder than any formation work he'd done before. Qi wanted to be shaped, wanted to follow patterns. Magic seemed to actively resist being controlled.

But he was Tian Longwei. He'd mastered the Seventy-Two Celestial Arrays. He would not be defeated by five pieces of garbage and a crude gathering pattern.

Drop by drop, he connected the anchor points. The pattern fought him every step of the way, the magic constantly trying to slip free of his control. By the time he connected the fifth point back to the first, completing the circle, he'd used all ten drops and his nose was bleeding.

He wiped it absently, staring at his work.

The formation was... ugly. Unstable. A master craftsman would weep at the crude construction. But it was there, a faint pattern of energy connecting his improvised anchor points.

Now for the test.

Longwei sat in the center of the formation, on top of the mirror fragments, and began to meditate.

For the first few minutes, nothing seemed different. The ambient magic drifted around him the same as always, neither approaching nor retreating.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the flow changed.

The magic began to move in a slow spiral, pulled by the pattern he'd created. Not much. Not even noticeably faster than normal gathering. But it was moving, concentrating, drawn toward the center of the formation where he sat.

Longwei's eyes snapped open, and he laughed. Actually laughed, a sound of pure triumph that he had to muffle with his hand before the Dursleys heard.

"It works! It actually works!"

The formation was weak, barely functional, constructed from literal garbage. But it worked. He'd created a magical formation in a world that supposedly had no cultivation, using principles adapted from Qi manipulation applied to an entirely different energy system.

He'd taken the first real step toward creating something new. Not Qi cultivation. Not whatever crude system this world's supposed "wizards" used.

Something else. Something better.

A synthesis of twelve hundred years of knowledge applied to an entirely new form of energy.

Tian Longwei settled back into meditation, feeling the magic flow toward him just a fraction faster than before. His body still ached. His nose still bled. He was still trapped in a cupboard, still weak, still limited.

But he was building something. Creating a path where none had existed before.

And that, he thought as the first new drop of magic formed in his false dantian, was what being a cultivator truly meant.

Not following established paths, but forging new ones.

The formation hummed around him, crude and imperfect, but undeniably real.

His cultivation had begun.

---

AN: He basically made a Magic Core in a world where Magic Cores do not exist. Well, it isn't a core yet, just internal energy. I plan to expand on it and make a Cultivation System out of Magic… somehow. His sheer fucking will is what allowed him to do this, it's semi-crack so, might not be everyone's tea, I'll probably start a cult I mean, sect, in Hogwarts.

I've made a Patreon (patreon.com/TheRulerofHell). You can read the next chapter over there, as of now it's only at Chapter 2, but I'll add more backlog, around three chapters, at least, so around 20k~ words in total before the next release. I don't really consider myself a good writer, so I'm not expecting anything over there.

If you do like this, then please like the thread and reply, I'm a comment whore, help me brainstorm stuff, throw in your suggestions, it's greatly appreciated.

 

[The Ruler of Hell]

This was meant for the NSFW Thread, I've accidentally posted it here. I'll be deleting this.