Threading the Demonic path

In the mass grave, I fed a ghost alive. It was nothing more than a tool for survival. The essence and blood of clan members. The flesh and marrow of so-called geniuses. The souls of an entire lineage All of it became nourishment for refining ghosts. The stronger the ghost, the more vicious the backlash? Then impose harsher restraints. Lay deeper schemes. Crush its will until it becomes a permanent slave. There was no line I would not cross. Robbing cultivators. Slaughtering villages. Infiltrating sects. Killing masters. Raising devils. I used every method imaginable. My ghost arts spread across the heavens, and I used the masses as raw materials to refine my supreme Ghost Dao. Standing before the barrier of the world, I looked back. It was nothing more than the first stepping stone on the path to the summit.