"Xue Mo, stop resisting! Surrender the Blood Deity Art, and we might grant you a painless death, sparing you further suffering for the countless lives you've destroyed!"
"Your insatiable greed has caused the death of millions. Your sins are so vast that no redemption can undo the damage you've wrought. Surrendering the Blood Deity Art is your only path to silence our vengeance!"
"Xue Mo, 800 years ago, you massacred my family and destroyed my sect. You severed my arm and took everything from me. Today, I will make you suffer tenfold!"
Voices rang out across the crumbling peaks, thick with venom sharpened by years of unbridled hatred. Some warriors roared, others sneered, while a few, clawing at their wounds, looked on with fear, haunted by memories of the fallen.
At the center of it all stood Xue Mo, his blood-soaked red robes tattered, fluttering weakly in the cold mountain breeze. His once-pristine long hair hung disheveled, clinging to his sweat-drenched face. Deep wounds marred his body, crimson blood pooling around his feet like a grotesque halo. His sword lay discarded, its once-bright blade dulled and cracked from relentless clashes.
Amid the chaos of his thoughts, Xue Mo's mind drifted to Ling Chen, his personal disciple of over a century—a prodigy unmatched in a millennium. Ling Chen had risen to the Half-Saint Realm under Xue Mo's meticulous guidance, standing just one step from the Saint Realm. Xue Mo had poured his heart into the young man, teaching him the sect's most guarded secrets. Ling Chen was not just a disciple; he was the heir Xue Mo had chosen, a son in all but blood. But now, as he scanned the encircling enemies, a shadow of doubt crept into his heart. Where is Ling Chen now?
He glanced at his opponents: sect masters, elders, and lone cultivators, each exuding immense power. Their very presence warped the air, suffocating. At the forefront stood five figures—a towering man clad in golden armor, a woman in crimson robes summoning an orb of fire, and three others wielding a sword, a spear, and an axe. Their formidable auras screamed death. These were Saint Realm powerhouses, figures who rarely left seclusion, gathered for the express purpose of ending his life.
Behind them stood dozens of elite cultivators, all at the Half-Saint Realm. Below that, anyone weaker would have no place here.
Xue Mo's gaze swept over them, his expression eerily calm. His jet-black eyes seemed like an abyss, consuming everything around them. This was not resignation; it was the demeanor of a man who had lived for thousands of years and faced countless life-and-death situations.
For more than seven days, the standoff persisted. The setting sun bathed the bloodstained mountain in hues of red and orange, casting long shadows across the battlefield. Tension hung thick in the air—a silent storm waiting to erupt, like the calm before the storm.
Then, Xue Mo moved. He slowly raised his head, his bloodied robes fluttering. A faint smile curled his pale lips as his calm voice broke the silence. "So all of this for a technique that none of you righteous faction people would cultivate? Or would you?"
His words ignited outrage among those who heard.
"Shut your mouth, demon!" an elder from the Heavenly Radiance Sect roared, stepping forward as his aura exploded outward in a violent wave. The sky above trembled, cracks forming in the air as his spiritual energy surged. "Your reign of terror ends today!"
Before he could continue, a figure emerged from the righteous ranks, commanding attention despite the weight of countless gazes. Clad in dark, blood-embroidered robes of the Blood Fiend Sect, Ling Chen stood tall. His youthful face, serene yet sharp with ambition, pulsed with the power of a Half-Saint, shimmering like an omen of danger.
"Master," Ling Chen said, his voice smooth and measured. A faint mockery cut deeper than any blade. "Your reign has grown stagnant. The Blood Fiend Sect deserves a leader who can elevate it to true dominance, you are old and it's time for someone new."
Xue Mo's jet-black eyes widened in disbelief. "You… betrayed me?"
Ling Chen's lips curled into a smile, cold calculation glinting in his eyes. "I learned from the best, Master. Your formations? I unraveled them, piece by piece. Your hidden escapes? I mapped them for my friends here. Every move you made, I anticipated and reported." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled cultivators. "The Blood Fiend Sect will rise again—under my rule."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The Saint Realm powerhouses exchanged wary glances, a mix of grudging respect and unease evident on their faces. Ling Chen's betrayal had been the linchpin of their strategy, and his ambition stirred caution even among his temporary allies.
Xue Mo's mind churned, memories flashing as he recognized Ling Chen's true nature—the probing questions, the late-night studies in forbidden archives, the uncanny ability to predict Xue Mo's strategies. How had he been so blind? The disciple he had nurtured had woven a tapestry of deceit so intricate it rivaled Xue Mo's own schemes. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, the sound swallowed by the mountain's wind.
"You think you can control the sect?" Xue Mo said, scorn lacing his voice despite the blood pooling at his feet. "The Blood Fiend Sect is not so easy to control. Ling Chen, you'll be its next meal."
Ling Chen's smile didn't waver. "That's where you're mistaken, Master. They don't need taming when they already bow willingly to strength. And I've given them a reason."
"You taught me to seize power, and I've done so more thoroughly than you ever thought and all that is left is you."
Xue Mo chuckled, disdain echoing in his voice. "You think that you can take me down so easily." He swept his gaze over his disciple and into the assembled forces, drawing a deep breath. "Now then… where were we?"
Boom!
A deafening roar split the air as Xue Mo's body erupted with a bloody aura. The wounds on his body stopped bleeding as an eerie crimson glow enveloped him. Blood pooled at his feet rose into the air, swirling around him like serpents hell-bent on revenge.
"He's using his blood domain!" a sect master shouted. "Everyone, attack now! Don't let him recover!"
The five Saint Realm powerhouses moved in unison, their energy condensing into devastating techniques, ready to obliterate their common foe. One summoned a massive golden sword, its blade crackling with divine lightning. As it descended, the mountain trembled, fissures spreading like spiderwebs, heralding destruction.
Another cultivator formed a gigantic crimson palm, its fiery surface radiating destructive heat, slamming toward Xue Mo with the force to vaporize everything in its path. The third unleashed a torrent of azure water, sharp droplets slicing through the air—an attempt to drown Xue Mo's power in chaos.
Two others unleashed spatial techniques, tearing rifts in reality itself, aiming to sever Xue Mo's very existence. The combined assault was apocalyptic.
Amid the chaos, Ling Chen remained at the periphery, movements precise and calculated. He raised a blood-red jade tablet, its surface etched with pulsing runes of forbidden energy. Xue Mo's eyes flickered with recognition—it was a treasure he had once acquired, capable of amplifying or even suppressing blood techniques. Ling Chen activated it, sending a wave of disruptive energy that weakened Xue Mo's blood domain, causing the demonic figure to flicker.
"You shared every secret of your power," Ling Chen called out, cutting through the chaos. "Did you think I wouldn't turn them against you?"
But Ling Chen's actions were not just aimed at Xue Mo. He turned to the righteous cultivators, voice carrying a subtle threat. "You want the Blood Deity Art, but it's beyond your grasp. The sect, however, is worth claiming. I've secured its loyalty—its resources, its cultivators. Oppose me, and you'll face a war that would deeply cost you. Support me, and I'll ensure the sect never threatens your factions again."
The woman in crimson robes narrowed her eyes, her fiery orb wavering. "You dare bargain with us, traitor?"
Ling Chen's smile was razor-sharp. "I hold the sect, I'm very sure none of you want to fight a meaningless fight that would offer no benefit to you and would instead weaken you further."
The righteous cultivators hesitated, their killing intent tempered by the weight of his words. Ling Chen's strength, so close to the Saint Realm, made him a formidable force—one they couldn't easily dismiss and the sect was not so easy to destroy.
As another wave of attacks converged on Xue Mo, the mountain crumbled under the pressure, turning to gravel. The sky darkened, mourning the unrestrained destruction unleashed upon the world.
But Xue Mo did not falter.
His blood aura surged violently, condensing into a demonic figure—a towering being made entirely of blood. The figure raised its hand, catching the golden sword mid-descent. Crash! Lightning exploded outward, sparks flying as the being held firm, unyielding in its defiance. The fiery palm collided with Xue Mo's aura, creating a massive explosion. Flames and blood intertwined, forming a fiery storm that swept through the battlefield, thickening the air with acrid smoke.
The torrent of azure water struck next, but the blood aura absorbed it, turning the water crimson before it dissipated into nothingness, mocking the attackers. Meanwhile, the spatial blades sliced into the blood deity, carving deep gashes, yet the wounds closed almost instantly, the blood regenerating faster than it could be destroyed—always seeking balance amid the chaos.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, an unfathomable pressure descended upon the battlefield. Ripples of invisible energy spread from a single point, warping reality as space itself seemed to bend under a new, terrifying presence. The sky darkened further, a foreboding omen.
"Saint King!" The saint in golden armor clenched his teeth in defiance, his voice trembling. He knew that the newcomer's intentions were clear—a force unlike any they had ever encountered.
All the Saint Realm powerhouses stiffened, their faces paling as they turned to the distant void, where an unseen presence loomed.
Swoosh!
A golden light tore through the sky, emanating overwhelming energy, flying straight for Xue Mo's chest. As the blade pierced the air, Xue Mo prepared to retaliate, summoning the remnants of his blood energy, coalescing it in a desperate bid for strength. It felt futile yet essential; he would not die without a fight.
The brilliant blade struck true, puncturing his chest and sapping his strength momentarily. Gasp! Pain shot through him, momentarily blinding him to everything else. The weight of defeat pressed down upon him like an avalanche—his heart raced in the face of impending doom.
But deep within him, something flickered—an ancient power awakening. The energy stirred, responding to the perilous situation, urging him to rise once again.
As the Saint King descended, holy aura suffocating the battlefield, he gazed over the ruins, finally pausing on Ling Chen. The young disciple stepped forward, posture confident despite the overwhelming presence.
"Saint King," he began, bowing slightly, "Xue Mo's era has ended, as promised. The Blood Fiend Sect is mine to command—if you choose to align with me."
The Saint King's eyes narrowed, intrigue flickering across his face. "The Blood Deity Art," he rumbled, a low thunder. "It is gone."
Ling Chen kept his expression steady, though worry simmered beneath the surface. "Xue Mo's final act, no doubt. But the sect's strength remains—its cultivators, formations, and hidden vaults. I control them all. Destroy me, and you lose access to that power forever."
Xue Mo clutched his wound, laughter bubbling from his lips, "You think you've won, Ling Chen? You're a snake in a den of dragons. They'll crush you the moment you're no longer useful."
Ling Chen met his master's gaze steadily. "Unlike you, Master, I know my place in the world. The sect is mine, and I'll ensure it thrives, under my rule."
The Saint King studied Ling Chen for a long moment before turning away, his crimson robes billowing as he vanished into the void. The message was clear: Ling Chen's gambit had bought him time, perhaps more. The righteous cultivators remained silent, hand poised on their weapons, their minds reeling as Ling Chen's words settled like lead.
"All this… for nothing?" muttered the woman in crimson robes, her voice heavy with defeat. "The Art is gone, and that traitor walks free."
A younger Half-Saint cultivator spoke up, uncertainty creeping into his tone. "Xue Mo's death is justice, at least. But Ling Chen… he's no mere disciple. What he's done, what he'll do… we'll face the consequences soon enough."
Silence deepened, a blend of unfulfilled vengeance and a new shadow threatening to eclipse them all.
Xue Mo was dead.
Or so they believed.