The Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame awoke with a wrath that defied comprehension—a primal force unbound, its golden heart pulsing with the fury of a long-dead god reborn in fire and ruin. In a searing heartbeat, it erupted, a maelstrom of fiery tongues unfurling like the jagged maw of a ravenous beast, intent on swallowing Qin Ting whole.
The blaze roared with a voice older than time, a cacophony of crackling embers and howling winds that drowned out reason or mercy. Its heat was a living entity, clawing at the world with molten talons, leaving only desolation in its wake.
The catalyst was Ye Qiu's teal fire petal strike—a delicate yet lethal bloom of energy that pierced the Strange Flame's core like a barbed thorn plunged into flesh. The strike shattered its fragile equilibrium, a violation of its ancient sanctity that unleashed a torrent of retribution.
The underground palace quaked as the inferno surged, its ferocity so intense that the air seemed to scream, warping under unbearable pressure. Ancient stone, etched with the wisdom of forgotten epochs, melted into rivulets of glowing slag that pooled across the cracked floor, steaming as it congealed into grotesque shapes.
Above the chaos, the treasure pagoda's protective aura flickered—a radiant array of white light that had once stood as a divine bastion. Now, it strained under the relentless onslaught, its lattice buckling.
For a fleeting moment, it held—a fragile defiance against the tide of destruction—but then it shattered, its sacred glow devoured by the insatiable golden blaze that surged upward with boundless hunger.
To the onlookers huddled at the chamber's edges, their breaths stolen by terror, it seemed the fire had consumed both man and treasure in its merciless embrace. Qin Ting's silhouette—once a figure of unyielding arrogance and power—vanished into the heart of the golden storm, swallowed by its churning depths.
No cry rose above the inferno's deafening roar, no sign of struggle; only silence lingered where his presence had dominated, a void as profound as the grave.
The secret chamber trembled under the assault, its walls groaning like a wounded beast in its final throes. The air grew thick with molten metal's scent, a blistering shockwave tearing through with a sulfuric bite that seared the lungs.
Debris swirled in a chaotic dance, illuminated by the flickering flames, casting eerie shadows that writhed like specters.
Then came the detonation—a thunderous boom that split the silence like a cannon's retort, its force rending reality itself. From the epicenter rose a pillar of golden flame, wild and untamed, piercing the heavens in a blinding surge that illuminated the subterranean depths with unholy brilliance.
The towering blaze vaporized stone and steel, reducing centuries-old architecture to ash and vapor. The sky above shattered under its fury, shards of blackened rubble raining down like the tears of a broken god, hissing as they struck the ground, trails of smoke curling upward like departing spirits.
The blast's reverberation shook the firmament, its tremors rippling outward to rattle the ancient foundations of the Lian Yun Mountain Range—a sprawling expanse of jagged peaks and shadowed valleys whispered to cradle the bones of the Earth Emperor himself.
He was a sovereign of legend, whose flames had forged empires from raw chaos, only to reduce them to nothing when his wrath turned inward. The mountains bore the scars of his reign, their crags and fissures a testament to a power that shaped the land and then abandoned it to silence—until now.
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Hundreds of miles away, Backridge City quaked as though stirred by a titan's careless hand. Its jade-tiled towers—elegant spires piercing the sky—swayed precariously, their bells tolling a discordant dirge that drowned out the cries of the city's inhabitants.
Dust cascaded from fractured rooftops, cloaking the streets in a choking haze as the ground shuddered beneath an unseen force.
"What's happening?!" a merchant shouted from the crowded streets, his voice sharp with panic as he shielded his eyes from falling debris. His cart of spirit herbs rattled violently, jars clinking and shattering as the tremors intensified.
The air buzzed with murmurs of fear, a rising tide of confusion sweeping through the throng like wildfire.
"An earthquake?" a young woman gasped, her voice trembling as she clutched a splintering railing on a balcony. Cracks spread through the cobblestones below, jagged lines racing outward as though the earth sought to tear free.
"No—look!" An elder in crimson robes shot skyward, his ascent swift, propelled by a surge of qi that shimmered around him like a crimson halo.
A dozen others joined him, their forms hovering like startled cranes against the chaotic heavens. Their gazes locked on the distant horizon, where the underground palace had become a hellish void—a relentless sea of fire devouring all, its glow painting the clouds with streaks of amber and violet, a palette of destruction defying nature.
"How… how could this be?" one whispered, his voice a fragile thread nearly lost to the inferno's guttural howl. His gnarled hands trembled as he gripped his staff, its tip glowing faintly with protective runes flickering against such overwhelming power.
His weathered face, etched with countless years, paled as he stared into the abyss of flame, his mind racing to comprehend the cataclysm.
"The Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame… has it really come into being?!" he murmured, his voice barely audible, swallowed by the wind. "This is no natural disaster! The legends foretold its awakening only under a master's will—or its destruction beneath a fool's arrogance."
His eyes narrowed, sharp and searching, scanning the distant blaze for any hint of the power stirring within, any clue to the fate of those caught in its grasp.
Far away, in a crooked tower on the city's edge, a grizzled alchemist peered through a cracked spyglass, its lens fogged with age.
His breath hitched, a ragged sound escaping as he muttered, "This phenomenon… it rivals the Earth Emperor's passing, when the skies wept ash for a hundred days and the land mourned in silence."
His fingers tightened around the spyglass, knuckles whitening as memories flooded back—tales from dusty tomes lining his cluttered shelves, stories of the Earth Emperor, whose flame could forge mountains or reduce them to ash with a single breath.
That power, untamed since his reign faded eons ago, now seemed to pulse once more, alive and wrathful.
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Within the underground palace's collapsing heart, chaos reigned. The walls groaned under the strain, their ancient runes—carved by hands long turned to dust—flaring briefly with defiant light before melting into slag. Their secrets vanished forever to the fire's insatiable hunger, leaving only the echo of their once-potent magic.
Desperate to protect himself and his ally, Ye Qiu drew upon the last of his spiritual energy, his body trembling with effort. With a strained gasp rasping against his parched throat, he summoned the Eternal Song Mysterious Flame—a fire as teal as twilight's bloom, its flickering tongues coiling with ethereal grace.
Under his faltering command, it wove a radiant, shimmering barrier, a wall of flame dividing the chamber. One half shielded the battlefield where Nie You, Elder Liu, and Jiang Zhongbai clashed in their furious melee; the other contained the Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame, its golden fury tearing apart Qin Ting's corner of the hall with unrelenting force.
The air thickened with the bitter shroud of charred spirit essence, a stinging miasma that clung to the lungs and blurred vision.
Ye Qiu's laughter erupted suddenly, wild and jagged, ricocheting off the fractured walls like shattering mirrors. "Hahahaha! Qin Ting's finished! Scorched to cinders—reduced to ash and nothing more! Gone at last, that wretched snake—hahaha!" His voice splintered with raw, manic exhilaration, trembling under the weight of a loathing finally unleashed.
His blood-streaked face burned with feverish ecstasy, twisted into a grin that bared his teeth like a predator savoring its prey's death throes. His eyes blazed with the savage thrill of vengeance fulfilled, every fiber thrumming with dark, intoxicating joy—the best he'd felt in months, a euphoric release as the man he despised met his end by Ye Qiu's hand.
He staggered forward, kicking a smoldering chunk of debris aside with a disdainful sneer. His plain white robes, once a symbol of purity, hung in tattered rags, their edges scorched and curling with ash.
"Did you see it, Zhongbai? The mighty Qin Ting—obliterated in an instant! My Buddha's Wrathful Lotus was perfect!" His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his voice drenched in exultation as he basked in triumph, oblivious to the tremor in his hands.
Beside him, Jiang Zhongbai stood motionless, a cold, serpentine smirk curving his lips. His shoulders relaxed, the burden of years slipping away like a discarded skin—he was free at last, unshackled from the shadow of his waning influence.
"Indeed," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress laced with quiet malice, "a fitting end for such an arrogant bastard." With a deliberate flick, he swept ash from his shoulder, as though erasing Qin Ting's existence. His dark eyes glittered, satisfaction curling through them like smoke, an artist savoring the final stroke of his masterpiece.
Elder Liu lay sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with agony from Jiang Zhongbai's relentless onslaught. His robes were shredded, much like his battered form. Fractures laced his bones, internal bleeding sapped his strength, burns marred his skin, and deep gashes oozed crimson.
He was no match for a Divine Platform Realm expert, being a full realm lower. Even with Nie You's support, Jiang Zhongbai had proven insurmountable, armed with countless hidden trump cards.
Yet, as pain gnawed at his broken body, Elder Liu's thoughts were far from his injuries. His eyes fixed on the raging golden inferno where Qin Ting had stood. Dread slithered into his gut like a leaden serpent, constricting with every moment.
'Is Nephew Qin… gone? No, it cannot be!' The words echoed through his mind, disbelief mingling with a rising tide of terror, each thought a storm pounding his resolve.
Even if Qin Ting had escaped, the Xuantian Sect's wrath would be unrelenting. To fail in safeguarding the young master and the Strange Flame was to invite a grim reckoning—banishment to the lightless mines of the Black Hollow, where men withered into husks, crushed by eternal night, their spirits consumed by ceaseless dark.
Or a swift blade might find his throat, his blood spilled as penance for the Qin Family's dishonor. His jaw clenched, his resolve trembling like a dying ember in the ashes of fear.
Nie You's mind shattered the moment he saw his young master's silhouette vanish, swallowed by the roaring inferno of golden flames. It happened on his watch, the weight of failure clawing at his sanity until it snapped.
"You deserve death! Every last one of you—I'll tear you to pieces with my bare hands!" His voice erupted, a guttural bellow forged in grief and unbridled fury. Each word dripped with rancor, his wrath a living thing threatening to consume all.
He hurled himself forward, abandoning restraint, shadows coiling around his fists as they lashed out in a storm of reckless vengeance. Each blow landed like a shadow burst, cloaked in tendrils of darkness that shook the ground, his black robes billowing—torn and singed—as ribbons of inky void trailed behind.
He charged Ye Qiu like a beast unchained, the air thickening with an oppressive, light-devouring gloom.
Elder Liu bared his teeth, leaping into the fray with a feral snarl. 'If I'm to die, I'll carve my name into their corpses first!' His blade slashed through the air, a crescent of silver light born of defiance that burned brighter than the flames licking the chamber's walls.
The strike collided with a teal energy palm Ye Qiu hurled, metal clashing against qi in a crescendo of screeching sparks. The chamber reverberated with the violent impact. Yet, despite Ye Qiu's faltering strength, Elder Liu was no match.
The clash ended inevitably as the energy shattered his defense, sending him flying. His fingers, battered by the devastating force, splintered as pain shot through his frail frame.
Jiang Zhongbai's smirk widened, a glint of cruel delight sparking in his eyes. Qin Ting's death was a blessing—a flawless shroud to conceal his treachery.
His eyes darted to Nie You and Elder Liu, his mind spinning their downfall. 'With Qin Ting gone, silencing these two will secure my victory. And Ye Qiu? A loose end better cut away, now that his usefulness has run its course…'
His sneer deepened into something predatory as he stepped back, fingers tracing the hilt of a concealed dagger—its blade etched with runes of binding and death, a tool honed for silent ends.