The sky did not open gently this time.
It ripped.
Like a wound tearing across the heavens, jagged and bleeding. A crack that bled not darkness, but light—an unearthly brilliance that scorched the eye and burned through every shadow. It spread across the broken firmament like veins of fire carving open flesh.
And through it, another world pressed itself onto ours.
Not an illusion. Not a dream. Something real enough to crush.
Mountains with spines like serrated blades jutted through the light, their ridges slicing into the bleeding clouds. Forests swayed although no wind touched them, their leaves shimmering as if every branch hummed with an inner rhythm. Rivers wound down valleys like molten-gold serpents, glowing and alive.
But above all—balanced on a cliff as though defying gravity—was a fortress. Its towers were angled, like sword hilts jutting toward the sky. Its walls shimmered faintly, the aura of steel in stone. The fortress wasn't built for defense. It was built for dominance.
And when its shadow fell across us, it was like standing in the path of a falling blade.
✦
The forgotten survivors froze where they stood. Some gasped, others whimpered. Most simply clutched each other as if contact alone could keep them from being erased.
The boy on his crutch stammered, "That… that's not possible…" His voice cracked into panic.
The old man trembled, his lips dry and pale. When he spoke, it was not explanation but prayer.
"Murim."
The word carried a weight that silenced even the sobbing.
No one knew its meaning. Not the girl clutching her crowbar, not the mother who shielded her child, not Dev with his fists clenched.
But their bodies knew. Their blood knew. Their bones shivered with memory they could not name.
The world itself recognized that word, and it trembled.
✦
The system's glow burst alive.
[ Dimensional Drift: Murim Realm Convergence. ][ New Scenario Condition: Endure the arrival of the martial sects. ][ Survival Reward: Unknown. ]
Unknown.
Not even the gods dared to script an ending this time.
Dev cursed, shoulders tense. "Reed… this isn't just another test, is it?"
"No." My voice was flat. "It's an invasion."
And the system hadn't come to guide. It had come to watch.
✦
The rift widened. The light sharpened into shapes—silhouettes that stepped through, first blurred, then clear.
The first figure was barefoot, his stride soundless. His robe was frayed and weathered, but the way he carried himself erased any thought of weakness. His posture was regal, unbent, his back straighter than a blade.
His hair was silver—not the dull gray of age, but the gleaming silver of steel drawn under moonlight. It was tied back with a single crimson thread.
When his foot touched the broken plaza stone, the air itself bent, warping with the weight of his presence.
Behind him came more.
Men and women in robes of the same cut, though less worn. Their steps were synchronized without effort. Their blades gleamed faintly at their sides. Dozens emerged. Then hundreds. Each breath they drew thickened the air, pressing it heavier against the lungs.
The plaza filled not with men, but with discipline.
The forgotten gasped. Some dropped to their knees, their instincts folding them in submission. The mother clutched her son so tightly his breath hitched. The boy on his crutch struggled to stand, his knuckles white.
Only the girl with the crowbar raised her weapon—though the sight of it against their steel looked like a child waving a stick at lightning.
The old man's knees buckled, but he forced the word through his lips.
"Heaven-Splitting Sword Sect…"
The survivors didn't know the name. But his tone—half reverence, half terror—told them enough.
✦
The elder's silver eyes swept the ruins. His gaze slid past the survivors without pause. They were dust, insects, nothing worthy of notice.
Then his eyes landed on me.
And lingered.
When he spoke, his voice was soft. Yet it cracked across the air like thunder splitting stone.
"You do not belong."
The shadows at my feet rippled as if struck. For an instant, I thought he saw through me—me, the intruder, the Bug.
But then his gaze lifted.
Not at me. At the heavens above.
The disciples murmured among themselves, their voices rippling with unease.
"The heavens are unstable…""The convergence was forced…""This is not Murim's doing.""Some foreign hand interferes."
The elder's eyes snapped back to me, his gaze a sharpened blade.
And I realized—
They thought I was the foreign hand.
✦
Dev stepped forward, muscles tense. "Careful. He's not your enemy."
The elder's expression flickered like a storm crossing his face. His words carried cold finality.
"Not yet."
The disciples shifted instantly, their discipline terrifying. In one breath, hands rested on hilts. In the next, chi rippled across their bodies like faint fire.
The forgotten shrank back, crushed by invisible weight. The boy whimpered. The mother shielded her child's eyes.
The girl stepped forward despite her trembling, planting herself before me.
"He saved us," she said, voice breaking. "Don't you dare—"
The elder's expression softened—for a moment. Almost pity.
Then his hand flicked.
The air itself convulsed.
The crowbar shook violently in the girl's hands, vibrating as though struck by invisible thunder. She staggered, nearly flung backward.
I stepped forward, blade drawn. The shadows surged, curling at my feet like serpents tasting blood.
The elder's eyes sharpened. His lips curved faintly.
"Interesting."
✦
The system pulsed with eerie calm.
[ Warning: Cross-World Conflict Detected. ][ Adjusting Scenario Conditions… ]
The glow shimmered.
[ New Sub-Condition: Survive first contact with Murim sects. ]
Not ally. Not negotiate. Not endure.
Survive.
The gods had written it clear: they wanted blood.
The disciples spread like wolves circling prey. The elder raised his hand.
"Bind the anomaly."
✦
The shadows erupted.
They surged outward like a storm breaking free, tendrils lashing, coiling across the stone. Black serpents of ink rose, striking at the incoming cultivators.
The first disciple moved faster than sight. His sword flashed, glowing faintly with chi. His slash cut not through flesh, but through shadow itself.
The tendril screamed as though alive, scattering into black mist.
Another disciple leapt, palm glowing white-hot. His strike cracked the air like thunder. My shadows splintered, recoiling.
I ground my teeth, forcing more power into the ink. The tendrils split into dozens, then hundreds, striking from every angle.
The plaza became a storm of writhing black against blazing steel.
But these weren't Kael's soldiers. These weren't forgotten survivors clawing to live.
These were cultivators. Born to fight the impossible.
And for the first time, my shadows faltered.
✦
Dev pulled the survivors back, dragging the mother and boy away from the clash. His jaw was clenched, eyes darting between me and the encroaching sect.
"Reed!" he roared. "You can't take them all!"
The old man scrambled away, muttering prayers into his beard. The boy on his crutch froze, terror rooting him like stone.
Only the girl stayed. Trembling, shaking—but her crowbar still raised.
"You can't—" she choked. "You can't fight them all!"
But I didn't answer.
Because the shadows had already answered.
They weren't just lashing anymore.
They were whispering.
"…they fear you…""…they fear the Bug…""…strike now…""…anchor yourself in their blood…"
The voices layered, overlapping, older than language.
And I realized—
For the first time, the shadows weren't just mine.
✦
The elder froze mid-step. His hand trembled faintly, though he hid it well. His eyes locked onto the writhing ink at my feet.
"…I have seen this before."
The disciples halted instantly, their discipline unshaken even in confusion.
The elder's whisper cracked across the silence.
"The Anchor Beyond Time."
The shadows pulsed violently, hissing like serpents in ecstasy.
"…anchor… anchor… anchor…"
The girl's eyes went wide. She turned to me, voice breaking.
"What… what does that mean?"
I had no answer.
Only the weight of realization burning in my gut:
The sects weren't strangers.
They knew me.
No—worse.
They knew something the gods had buried.
Something older than their scripts.
And if they had come here, it wasn't just to invade.
It was to take me.