Chapter 9: I want more
After a week, Wesley found himself in the same room—the same wooden floors, the same dustless walls, the same rhythmic silence that had become his strange sanctuary.
But this time, he wasn’t cleaning. He wasn’t scrubbing or wiping or polishing the corners.
Instead, he stood in the center of the room, eyes closed, breathing even, and the mop resting at his side like a weapon sheathed in meditation.
In his mind, the world had changed again, the edges of reality folding away like parchment curling in fire.
His thoughts dove deep into imagination—no, not mere fantasy.
A simulation, vivid and pulsing with life, born from his hunger to grow stronger.
He stood not in a classroom, but on the scorched stone plains of the Infernal Wastes, a realm whispered about only in the darkest tomes of ancient cultivation lore.
Flames lashed the black skies, and the stench of sulfur choked the heavens.
The ground was cracked and seething with molten rivers, and above him, thunder rumbled—not of storms, but of beasts.
Dozens of Immortal Fire Wolves emerged from the fog of heat, their fur composed of smoldering embers, tongues flicking flame, and their eyes two brilliant suns of killing intent.
Each step they took left trails of scorched stone and smoking ash. They circled him with snarls like an infernal choir.