The Phantasmal Mire, expertly deployed by Li Yao's Grade Two Formation Compass, had bought them the moment they desperately needed. For the briefest time, the demonic leader- an oppressive presence radiating the aura of a Late Stage Foundation Establishment cultivator- stood trapped, his senses ensnared by illusion.
They had no delusions. The illusion would not hold long. But it didn't need to.
"Now, Brother Li!" Yan Mu called out, eyes blazing with stormlight. His twin swords crackled with compressed arcs of Qi, his stance taut with killing intent. But he held back, waiting- for Li Yao.
Li Yao gave a silent nod, expression sharpening like a drawn blade. He shifted his stance, grounding his feet as his hand reached for the long-handled axe slung across his back.
In that moment, his awareness retreated inward. Breath slowed. The chaos around him dulled until there was only stillness.
It was the technique his master had taught him- Nature Severance. A rare mental and spiritual state, it required one to discard distraction, attachment, even emotion, and dwell solely in the marrow-deep essence of the self. It was not a cultivation method, but a philosophy. A way of striking not with brute force, but with unerring purpose.
A red glow rose around him— flame.. It gathered in his arms, flowing into the weighty haft of his axe. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it overhead. His body trembled slightly under the strain as he channeled nearly all of his Fire Qi into this one attack.
The axe began to shine with an ominous crimson hue. The air warped around its edge. Sparks danced off its curve, and the faint silhouette of a crescent-shaped cleave shimmered ahead of him—an image of what was to come.
This was no common martial move. It was the perfected crimson cleave technique..
He had theorized it during cultivation, dreamed of it while refining Qi. But this was the first time he would unleash it against an enemy.
Yan Mu stepped forward instinctively, placing himself between Li Yao and the enemy. He knew how vulnerable Li Yao is currently, Li told him during the journey about his trump card 'Crimson cleave' and how he will be left defenseless. His keen senses crackled with tension.
It was a good thing he did.
A sudden movement in the shadows- one of the lesser demonic cultivators, half-dead but filled with fanatical rage, lunged at Li Yao with a wicked, blood-stained dagger.
Yan Mu moved like lightning. "Not on my watch!"
His swords blurred into arcs of silver-white energy, slicing through the demonic cultivator in a heartbeat. The cultist's corpse crumpled in a heap of steaming flesh, the dagger clattering harmlessly to the stone floor.
Yan Mu's breathing remained steady, his eyes flicking immediately back toward the illusion-fraying figure of the cult leader. He could already see cracks forming in the Phantasmal Mire.
The enemy was regaining clarity. Rage was rising. Time was up.
Within the collapsing illusion, the leader's roar echoed like thunder across the chamber. "Insects! You dare stain my ascension?! I will offer your souls to the Abyss!"
Li Yao's eyes opened. They no longer held hesitation.
Only resolve.
With a cry that sounded as if it had been torn from the depths of his soul, he brought his axe down.
The crimson energy exploded from the blade in a sweeping arc, shaped like a monstrous scythe. It roared through the chamber, tearing through the crumbling illusion like fragile glass. The Phantasmal Mire shattered, its fragments scattered into nothingness.
And then the Crimson Cleave struck.
The impact was cataclysmic.
The demonic leader barely had time to react before the energy slammed into him. The shockwave obliterated the altar steps beneath his feet. His black Qi shield cracked with a sound like rending stone, and then gave way completely.
Crimson energy tore into his body, splitting flesh, armor, and bone. Corrosive black blood sprayed into the air, sizzling as it hit the stone.
He screamed—a sound of more than pain. Rage, disbelief, hatred. The agony of a being who considered himself untouchable, now brought low by a junior cultivator.
But though grievously wounded, he did not fall.
He staggered, coughing thick gouts of blood, but the hatred in his eyes only burned brighter. His body quaked with demonic Qi as he summoned the last vestiges of his power.
"You… will… DIE!"
Li Yao, pale and swaying, could not reply. His knees buckled beneath him as the strain of the Crimson Cleave hit him. He had used everything—his Qi, his stamina. His vision dimmed. His body felt hollow.
But he remained kneeling, axe planted in the ground to keep himself upright.
Yan Mu didn't hesitate.
He saw the opportunity. And he seized it.
The enemy was weakened. Exposed. The barrier torn. And Li Yao had carved open the path.
"Then I will finish this," he whispered. And with a shout that reverberated like thunder, he surged forward.
"Lightning Flash Barrage!"
His swords became rivers of light. No longer bound by defense, Yan Mu poured his fury and training into each stroke, his technique honed by years of Swordwind Peak tutelage. The air howled with force. The demonic leader tried to raise a defense, conjuring a barrier of blood and bone, but it was too late.
Yan Mu's strikes tore through his corrupted defenses, sliced through the wounds left by Li Yao's axe, and carved deep into his body.
A final, earsplitting shriek of despair erupted from the demonic leader's throat.
Then silence.
He crumpled, his form flickering with unstable Qi, which erupted in a final pulse before vanishing. His eyes, once brimming with murderous malice, faded into emptiness. His corpse collapsed against the ruined altar.
It was over.
A heavy silence settled over the chamber.
Li Yao let out a slow, shaky breath and sank fully to the floor. His arms trembled, the axe slipping from his fingers and clanging against the stone. His vision was swimming, but he forced himself to stay conscious.
Yan Mu, bloodied but unbroken, rushed to his side.
"Brother Li!" he knelt, gripping Li Yao's shoulder. "Are you—"
"Alive," Li Yao murmured, forcing a weak smile. "And you?"
"Better now," Yan Mu replied with a strained grin. "That technique… Crimson Cleave, was it? You nearly split the chamber in half."
Li Yao's laugh came out as a cough. "Nearly split myself, too."
But as their gazes drifted to the dark altar, the broken runes, and the still, lifeless bodies of the sacrificial victims, the moment soured.
They had won.
But not in time.
The victims—sect disciples, mortals, even a few beast companions—had been consumed to fuel the ritual. Not even bones remained for some. What little they had saved was eclipsed by what was lost.
Yan Mu rose first, walking slowly to the altar. He stood silently for a moment, his head bowed.
"I'll report to Elder Liu. He needs to know we succeeded. And… how much we failed."
Li Yao, still catching his breath, nodded slowly. "The sect will need to see this place. Study the runes. Make sure nothing lingers."
Yan Mu looked down at his lightning-scorched blades. "The path of a cultivator is cruel," he said softly. "But I'm glad we walked it together today."and then looked at him. "Next time, I'll strike first."
Li Yao smirked. "Not if I beat you to it."
As they slowly left the ruined chamber, side by side, the first rays of dawn filtered in through a distant crack in the mountainside.
The light did not banish the darkness.
But it proved they had survived it.