The Eclipse of Malice
The ground trembled.
A storm of dust rolled over the barren plain, and within it the roar of a hundred war-cries collided into one thunderous wave. Five sect banners whipped in the wind — crimson, indigo, gold, jade, and white — each representing a power that, alone, could dominate a province. Together, they marched to erase a single man.
Xiao Chen stood at the heart of the plain, his blade resting against his shoulder, his robe already smeared with blood that was not his own. The silence around him was almost insulting; it was the kind of quiet that precedes catastrophe.
When the first of them charged, he moved.
No flourish, no wasted motion — only speed and precision. Steel whispered, and a man's face split in two before his scream could escape. Another came from behind; Xiao Chen twisted, stepping through the gap in the strike, his sword finding the hollow between ribs. Blood spattered the dirt in rhythmic pulses.
He advanced. Every swing of the blade was a sentence, every kill a syllable in a poem written in red.
Bodies piled up in silence, and by the time the first hundred fell, even the wind dared not breathe too loud.
Then the sky lit up with sigils.
The elders of the five sects appeared above the battlefield, their combined aura pressing down like an invisible mountain. Circles of light began to form on the ground — suppression formations powered by the weaker disciples who knelt, bleeding, to feed their life-force into the pattern.
"Suppress his energy!" one of the commanders shouted. "Bind him with the chains of light!"
The air shimmered. Spiritual restraints lanced out, wrapping around Xiao Chen's limbs. The ground beneath his feet cracked under the weight of the array.
Then came the flames — sacred offshoots of Heavenly Fire, conjured by the sects' most prized wielders. The pale blue tongues of flame hissed as they touched the air, burning away the shadows around them. The heat scalded even the sky.
For the first time, Xiao Chen's brow furrowed.
"So that's your answer," he murmured. His voice carried despite the roaring blaze. "To fight me with heavenly flames…"
He lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with the reflection of the sacred flames. "heh.. Losers still licking the shit of an enfair heaven."
The ground quaked as the black-red aura around him thickened. The restraints cracked.
A pulse of energy burst outward, and with it came the monstrous apparition — the Shakra Avatar. A towering figure with one head, two arms, and hair like threads of lightning, its halo spun behind it in a wheel of fury. The air itself screamed as it emerged, each breath of the phantom shaking the formation apart. Yellow lightning danced as the demon unleashed his power.
The weaker cultivators were vaporized instantly; those who lived fell to their knees, vomiting blood.
"Now!" roared the great elders.
Runes flared. And the elders burned their blood. Others burned the bodies and blood of nearby men. The sky erupted in spears of light as the Hall of Souls' hidden envoys joined in, feeding the bombardment with their own life-force. Each strike tore at the Shakra Avatar, gouging holes into its burning chest, ripping limbs that mended only to be torn again.
One elder, veins bursting from the strain, screamed, "Fall under the resentment of a hundred dead souls, monster!"
Xiao Chen's laughter rolled through the smoke. "If the world resents me," he said, voice cold and terrible, "then let it resent its own failure."
The Shakra Avatar lifted its head — and split apart.
From its chest emerged another phantom, vaster and darker, its aura swallowing the light itself. Four arms rose, two clasping swords of darkness, two forming blades of blood-red light.
"Sentient Realm…" Xiao Chen whispered. "True Realm of Mahākāla."
The earth darkened as if the sun had been devoured. Above, a pale red moon slid across the heavens, cloaking the battlefield in eclipse. The storm of malice that followed was tangible — every cultivator felt it brush their skin, a cold hand tracing the line of their mortality.
Cries turned to silence. The formations shattered.
When dawn came, the plain was gone — only scorched earth and a crater miles wide remained.
---
The next day, far away in Jia Nan Academy, Xiao Yan paused mid-lecture as the news reached him. A messenger burst into the hall, trembling, breathless.
"Five sects… annihilated," he stammered. "They say… it was him."
The parchment fell from Xiao Yan's fingers. Around him, students whispered the name like a curse.
"Xiao Chen."