NTR: Choice Based System

Even the illusion became weak in front of the system, and Yang realized that everything in front of him was just an illusion of his worst fears.

Though not surprised to see this, as he knew his insecurities of being weak and the disappointment his parents faced because of him, he still remembered the day he tried to take his own life and the voice of the strange woman.

"If you don't want to live for yourself," she had said, "then be mine and entertain me."

Slowly, he began to push back against the illusion, to assert his will over the insidious forces that sought to consume him.

With each passing moment, he grew stronger, his resolve solidifying. The whispers of doubt began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of confidence.

He was not defined by his past failures, nor by the judgment of others. He was strong, he was resilient, he was capable of overcoming any challenge.

As he continued to push back against the illusion, he began to notice subtle shifts in the environment. The blood-red sky began to lighten, the wind losing its chilling bite. The desolate landscape began to show signs of life – a lone flower blooming amidst the cracked earth, a distant bird singing a melancholic tune.

The illusion, sensing its grip weakening, began to intensify its attacks, throwing a barrage of terrifying images at him. But Ye Yang was prepared. He met each challenge with unwavering resolve, his mind a fortress against the onslaught.

Finally, with a surge of willpower, he shattered the illusion. The world around him dissolved. the memory of the terrifying ordeal still fresh in his mind.

But it was not the end. Though he had successfully completed the first level, 'Fear,' he still had to conquer four more.

Soon the scenery changed as he found himself surrounded by his clan members who were praising him, unknown to him, the second level, 'Doubt,' had begun.

The praise of his clan members washed over Ye Yang like a tidal wave, each compliment a drop of honeyed poison.

"You are a true warrior, Ye Yang!" boomed his uncle Barad, his voice booming with pride. "Such courage! Such strength!" Yu Mei his mother's voice beamed, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "You have made your ancestors proud!"

"What's going on?" Ye Yang muttered, bewildered by the sudden surge of people around him. The clan members, their faces a mixture of awe and relief, pressed in, treating him like a demigod who had just returned from the gates of death.

His mother, Yu Mei, broke through the throng, her eyes brimming with tears. She enveloped him in a fierce hug, her voice choked with emotion.

"My son," she whispered, "if it weren't for your courage, we would never have seen another sunrise. You saved me, you saved us all. You saved the entire clan. We are eternally grateful."

Ye Yang, still reeling from the sudden outpouring of emotion and unable to grasp the reason for their adoration, closed his eyes.

He desperately searched his memory, trying to piece together what he had done to warrant such a hero's welcome. But his mind drew a blank. The past few hours seemed to have vanished, leaving him adrift in a sea of confusion. Then, he heard his father's voice, a low rumble cutting through the excited din.

"To think you faced down a horde of demonic cultivators alone, and even managed to eliminate their leader," Ye Xuan declared, his voice thick with awe. He held aloft the severed head, a grim trophy that spoke volumes about his son's courage. "You have accomplished something that even I, in my prime, could only dream of."

Ye Yang recoiled in shock. Hundreds of demonic cultivators lay sprawled across the ground like discarded dolls, their lifeless forms a macabre testament to the carnage that had unfolded.

A river of blood, thick and viscous, snaked its way through the carnage, a grim reminder of the slaughter that had transpired.

As his mother finally released him from her embrace, a chilling realization dawned upon him.

In his hands, he clutched a massive sword, its blade slick with blood. His own clothes were soaked crimson, the stench of iron heavy in the air. And then he noticed the blood staining his mother's garments, which stained when she hugged him.

As if a dam had burst within his mind, the missing fragments of memory surged back.

Ye Yang's eyes widened in disbelief as he recalled the terrifying onslaught – the demonic cultivators, their chilling aura, the screams of his fellow clansmen. He remembered the desperate fight, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the cold steel of his sword slicing through the air.

The memories, once buried deep within the recesses of his mind, now flooded back with agonizing clarity.

The air, thick with the stench of blood and fear, echoed with the screams of his fallen comrades. He saw the demonic cultivators, their eyes burning with Lust and rage, their bodies contorted in grotesque ways, unleashing a torrent of attacks.

He remembered the fear that had gripped him, the icy dread that had threatened to consume him whole.

But then, something within him had snapped. A primal rage, born of desperation and grief, had surged through his veins, igniting a fire in his soul.

He had fought like a caged beast, his movements a blur of motion, his sword a whirlwind of steel.

He had faced down monstrous Demonic cultivators, their swords raking at his skin, He had seen his clan members fall, one by one, their blood staining the earth a gruesome crimson.

But he had not faltered. He had fought on, fuelled by a burning desire for vengeance, for survival. He had faced the demonic leader, a hulking beast of a man, its eyes glowing with malevolent power. The battle had been a brutal dance of death, a clash of wills and strength.

He had felt the raw power of the demonic cultivator leader, a force that threatened to crush him.

But he had met the challenge with unwavering resolve, his spirit refusing to yield. He had fought with a ferocity he never knew he possessed, his every move a desperate gamble, a desperate prayer.

And then, in a moment of blinding fury, he had found an opening. With a roar that echoed through the battlefield, he had unleashed a devastating blow, his sword sinking deep into the demonic leader's chest.

The man had let out a guttural scream, its eyes widening in disbelief before collapsing to the ground, its lifeblood pooling around it.

But the battle was not over. Even as the demonic leader fell, other cultivators descended upon him, their eyes filled with a chilling lust for blood.

He had fought back with renewed vigour, his body aching, his breath ragged, but his spirit unbroken. He had fought until his arms trembled, until his vision blurred, until he could barely stand.

And then, just as he thought he could fight no more, his father's voice, filled with desperate urgency, had pierced through the din of battle.

"Ye Yang! Don't let any of these demonic bastards run away!" he had to scream because of the chaos. "Leave the rest of us! Go and chase the remaining remnants!"

The air was thick with the stench of blood and the cacophony of clashing steel. Ye Yang fought with a desperate, almost animalistic instinct.

He weaved and dodged, his sword a blur of motion, parrying the attacks of the demonic cultivators. He felt the sting of their blades against his skin, the searing pain igniting a fresh wave of adrenaline.

He saw his father, his face pale and drawn, fighting valiantly against a horde of lesser demons. He saw Yu Mei, his mother, her eyes wide with terror, struggling to defend herself against a hulking brute. A wave of protectiveness washed over him, fuelling his rage.

He fought with a renewed ferocity, his movements becoming more fluid, more precise. He found openings, exploiting the weaknesses of his opponents, his sword finding its mark with deadly accuracy.

He felt a strange sense of calm descend upon him, a warrior's trance where the world narrowed down to the fight, to the rhythm of his own breath, the clash of steel, the cries of his enemies.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

One by one, the demonic cultivators fell, their bodies piling up around him like grotesque monuments to his fury. He felt a strange sense of detachment, watching the carnage unfold as if from a distance. He was a weapon, a tool of destruction, his sole purpose to eliminate the enemy.

He fought until his body ached, until his vision blurred, until he could barely stand. He felt the cold sting of exhaustion creeping into his limbs, his movements growing slower, his reflexes dulled.

Just when he thought he could fight no more, a voice, weak and hoarse, called out to him.

"Over my body"

It was his father's voice, barely a whisper. Ye Yang turned to see his father, his body riddled with wounds, struggling to fend off a particularly vicious demon.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through him. He couldn't leave his father to die.

With a final burst of strength, he launched himself at the demon, his sword a flash of silver. The demon, taken aback by the sudden attack, stumbled back, giving Ye Yang the opportunity to strike.

He plunged his sword into the demon's chest, feeling the demonic cultivator's life force drain away. The demon let out a guttural scream and collapsed to the ground.

Ye Yang turned to his father, his heart pounding in his chest. "Father!"

Ye Xuan looked up at him, a weak smile gracing his lips. "Well done, son. You... you fought well."

Ye Yang knelt beside his father; his eyes filled with worry. "you don't seem okay..." blood oozing from Ye Xuan's hands.

"Don't worry about me," Ye Xuan rasped, his voice growing weaker. "You... you saved us all. That's all that matters."

Ye Xuan looked at his son, his eyes brimming with pride. "You have always proven yourself worthy, my son. I am immensely proud of you."

The torrent of memories subsided, leaving Ye Yang gasping for breath. He found himself back in the midst of the jubilant crowd, their praises ringing in his ears.

Yet, something felt amiss. His father's words, "You have always proven yourself worthy," echoed in his mind, triggering a profound realization.