The skies of the Divine Continent split apart.
Black cracks of void energy bled across the heavens as if the world itself recoiled.
In the center of that broken sky, one man stood drenched in blood. His long black hair, once proud and flowing, now hung heavy, matted with gore. His eyes burned like suns—unyielding, furious. This was the man who had been hailed as Godslayer. The cultivator who had clawed his way to the Eternal Sovereign Realm, the one the heavens themselves feared.
Around him floated eight figures, each radiant with divine aura. Their robes shimmered with celestial patterns, their weapons pulsing with law-forged power. And yet, what cut deeper than any blade was not their strength but the sigils of his own clan stitched proudly upon their chests.
"Father. Brothers. Sisters." His voice was hoarse, ragged from endless battle. "You stand against me? You, who I raised to the heavens with my own blood?"
The eldest, a tall man with golden eyes, sneered. His spear glowed with Dao light as he leveled it at the Godslayer.
"You've grown too strong. Too defiant. Did you truly think the heavens would allow one man to stand above all gods? Your path ends here, brother."
At his side, a woman in white raised her jade flute, her expression cold. "Hand over the child. Spare him the suffering you've invited."
A soft cry answered her.
Behind the Godslayer, his wife cradled their newborn, shielding him beneath her tattered cloak. She was pale, wounded, yet her back remained unbent.
"You will not touch him." Her voice, though weakened, rang like steel. "He carries his father's blood. And with that blood, he will burn you all to ash."
The circle tightened.
Eight auras pressed down like collapsing heavens, suffocating the air itself. Even in his peak realm, the Godslayer's shoulders bent beneath the combined suppression.
Yet his lips curled in a bloodstained smile.
"Come then," he spat, raising his sword—a jagged, black blade that hummed with the echoes of slain gods. "If heaven itself fears me, then let heaven bleed."