Ascending the Demon Realm

Freshmen scattered in panic, desperate to avoid collateral damage. 

The Divine Cultivation seniors hovering mid-air radiated lethal austerity. One suddenly flung a streak of demonic light from his palm. With an earth-shaking BOOM, the attack ripped a light-speed black panther from thin air, its massive form skidding across stone tiles before lying motionless with lolling tongue.

A chubby hamster demon beside me gnawed frantically at its claws. Many lesser demons paled under this display of overwhelming power. How could raw recruits compare to seasoned Divine Cultivation students? This instant annihilation served as brutal reality check for arrogant newcomers.

The cold-eyed senior levitated the panther's mountain-like corpse with a finger flick. Seizing its tail, he dragged the shameful trophy through the air before the trembling crowd. The silence grew suffocating - an invisible hand squeezing every throat.

Defiance died in dozens of rebels. Whimpering freshmen emerged from the crowd: heads bowed, tails tucked, tear-streaked faces following seniors out of Kunlun Hall. 

"Beasts who can't control primal urges?" A silver-haired professor sneered. "Last year's rejects were pathetic, but you've sunk lower." His words cut deeper than any blade, igniting smoldering rage among proud demon youths. 

New tension crackled as an ethereal teacher glided forward, moonbeam smile belying his needle-sharp words: "Romance won't dull your fangs, little predators. Remember - only kings graduate from Eastern Imperial." His benevolent wave dismissed us. "Run along now. Time's precious."

As radiant portals swallowed the ancient faculty, whispers spread: expulsion meant eternal disgrace. Demonic institutions would blacklist failures. Government posts? Corporate glory? Gone. My companion, a fretting rooster demon, plucked stress-induced feathers - clear civil service aspirant. 

Outside, our homeroom teacher awaited beneath floating [Realm Affairs Program] sigils. Competitors sized each other up - only 25 slots for three guaranteed bureaucratic positions. 

The plum blossom demoness spun, azure qipao swirling. "Darlings," purred Professor Mei, tendril-whips sprouting from her fingers, "be good little seedlings. My thorns thirst for naughty souls." 

Five barbed vines lashed the air as whimpers arose. Every demon straightened instinctively.