In the dark Abyss...
A massive tree stood tall—dark, eerie. Its twisted vines looked like they could swallow light itself. The leaves were stained red, like dried blood. A thick, choking mist wrapped around its trunk.
Yet... something unusual lay at its roots.
A human-shaped soul. Ethereal, faintly glowing. But with a clearly human form, lying still on the cold ground.
"Ahh... what happened? Where... am I?"
The soul stirred. Confusion gripped him. He tried to remember—anything—but the moment he did, his head throbbed.
Like a thousand needles piercing deep into his brain.
"AHHHHH—!"
He screamed. Body trembling.
Then, slowly... a twisted smile stretched across his face. A devil's smile. Yet even behind that grin, guilt flickered.
A memory flashed—
A ten-year-old boy. Eyes blank. No emotion. Coldly staring at a lifeless body sprawled on the floor, blood smeared across the ground. A soft, unnatural smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Han Zheng, what did you do?!"
A woman rushed over, panic in her voice. She knelt beside the bloodied boy who lay still, barely breathing. His eyes stared up at Han Zheng—full of silent hope.
She checked for a pulse.
"He's dead... Han Zheng, what did you do?!"
Han Zheng's face shifted.
"No, Mom. It wasn't my fault. I told him to give me back my knife. He refused. He lost balance… fell down the stairs."
The woman's expression was cold. Too cold.
But she didn't argue.
"Go to your room," she said, voice flat.
Han Zheng turned, face filled with fear. He walked slowly to his room... but as soon as the door shut behind him—
He grinned.
"Are you happy now?" he whispered.
Then something strange happened.
His soul was suddenly pulled into a different space. A strange world. In the middle of it, a smaller version of that same dark tree grew from the ground. On it hung a single fruit. Blood-red patterns twisted across its skin.
A voice echoed in his mind.
"Your first kill in this life. Karma has taken root. Your first fruit—"
Desire Fruit — everything you desire can be obtained.
Han Zheng didn't understand what it meant. But he felt it was something good.
He grabbed the fruit. Took a bite. Thick, red liquid oozed down his chin.
Scene shift.
Inside the police station, a middle-aged couple argued with the officer.
"You're not investigating seriously! Give us the real report!"
"We're truly sorry," the officer said. "But your son... he really did fall down the stairs. Here's the report."
He handed over the file.
Their hands trembled. Eyes full of despair. They took it silently.
Then a woman stood up from a nearby chair—Han Zheng's mother.
She approached the couple and gave a small bow.
"We're sorry this happened in our area."
That was all she said. Her face emotionless. Anyone watching closely could tell—there was no sympathy in her eyes. She turned and walked away without another word.
The couple stood frozen. No strength left to speak. The mother collapsed to her knees. Her husband tried to hold her, but the tears wouldn't stop.
Later that night...
Han Zheng's mother pulled into their driveway. Quiet. Unreadable.
She stepped inside, sat on the living room sofa, and called out,
"Han Zheng, come down."
He appeared, nervous. But something in his eyes had changed.
"What's wrong, Mom?" he asked, pretending to be scared.
She stared at him with a cold, expressionless face. The room felt colder too. Like the air itself was freezing.
"You know what you did," she said softly.
Han Zheng hesitated, then nodded. "I know… I won't do it again."
"Oh? So now you're guilty?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
She began questioning him—subtle, sharp questions. As a renowned psychiatrist, she knew exactly where to press. He tried to hide his true emotions, but his mother read every reaction.
By the end, Han Zheng was visibly shaking.
He really was scared.
Seeing him like that, her heart softened—just a little.
"From now on," she said, "no more playing with knives. You'll focus on studying. And you'll come to my clinic for treatment."
He nodded quickly.
"It's late. Go to your room and sleep. You know the consequences if you don't listen."
Han Zheng flinched.
"Y-Yes, Mom…"
He turned and walked away—but as soon as he reached the top of the stairs...
A grin crept across his face.
After that, Han Zheng's life changed.
Under his mother's treatment, he learned how to control his expressions. Mask his feelings. Hide in plain sight.
He turned out to be a genius in medicine.
He began experimenting—first on rats. Then bigger things. His results were extraordinary. The government fast-tracked him, skipping basic education, giving him access to advanced research.
By nineteen, Han Zheng was a licensed brain surgeon. Famous. Feared. Respected.
His mother—a world-renowned psychiatrist. His father—a legendary heart surgeon who owned multiple hospitals, but rarely came home. Han Zheng had only seen him a handful of times, usually on TV.
Money? Never an issue.
From the outside, their family looked perfect.
But inside... darkness festered.
---
Han Zheng was known in the underworld as the Whitecoat Murderer.
Human experiments. Illegal trials. Chemicals. Insects. Parasites.
Connected to the dark web.
He had to do it. To feed the tree. It demanded blood.
Sometimes it rewarded him. The fruits gave him abilities no normal human should have. He began figuring out how it worked. Patterns. Cycles. Offerings.
He kept everything hidden. Covered by his godlike surgical record.
Many of his patients didn't survive. But the failure rate was believable. He was still called a miracle doctor by the media.
But one day... it all fell apart.
He was caught during an experiment.
The police tried to arrest him.
Han Zheng pulled a pistol from his coat and shot two officers on the spot. The bullets were coated with a rare venom—fast, brutal, incurable.
In the end, they shot him down.
---
Scene shifts back.
"Ahh... so that's what happened," Han Zheng muttered in the abyss.
No regret. Not even a trace.
He yawned.
"So now I'm dead. And what? I'll be trapped here forever?"
He looked toward the tree.
A deep, ancient voice echoed:
"Karma has already taken root. You cannot leave. Karma... will eventually settle."
Han Zheng expected that. The tree always spoke in riddles.
He recalled the rules.
Whenever he killed someone, a fruit might appear. But not always. Only those with powerful souls—"worthy" ones—could become fruit.
And when he consumed a fruit, he inherited their experiences. Emotions. Memories. Skills.
But it came with a cost.
The process was painful. Some emotions hit too hard. Sometimes, he couldn't separate himself from the people he consumed. It nearly broke him.
Still, it wasn't just about killing. Even the dead—if strong enough—could become fruit.
A double-edged sword.
Suddenly he shouted,
"Wait—where are my previous fruits?!"
Silence.
Then, all at once, his eyes grew heavy.
His vision blurred. He fought it.
"No—what's happening?!"
His soul felt like it was being pulled away. Like something was sucking him down into the dark.
---
Time passed…
Darkness. Not a single ray of light.
Water dripped from somewhere above. Cold. Echoing.
A boy's body lay motionless on the ground.
All around him were skeletal remains—some human, some beast. Twisted trees grew in impossible shapes. The cave air was thick with decay. Wind howled in whispers.
The boy's eyes opened.
"AHHHHH—!"
He screamed.
Pain exploded in his head again. Worse than before. Like thousands of burning needles digging into his brain.
He bit down hard on his tongue. Trying to stay conscious.
Moments passed.
"Hah… hah…"
He gasped for breath, chest rising and falling rapidly.
He sat up, slowly.
But he didn't see the danger behind him.
A giant snake, scales like steel, eyes glowing green, rose silently from the shadows.
Its mouth opened wide.
It was ready to strike.