Chapter 1: The Last Supper of Heaven and Earth
The sky had been split as if a god had struck it with a cleaver.
One half seethed with black clouds heavy as molten iron, streaked with rivers of crimson lightning that dripped sparks onto the earth below. The other half blazed with gold so intense it seemed the sun had been dragged screaming from its rightful place in the heavens and shackled above the battlefield. At the jagged seam where light and darkness clashed, the air howled and warped, twisting the senses. Even the stones shivered beneath the strain.
At the heart of this sundered world stood Hei Yao Zhenren.
The True Lord of Black Obsidian.
Once, he had been draped in finery: robes of shadow-silk, jewels wrung from the marrow of ancient beasts, crowns carved from the bones of saints. Now, his garments were scorched and torn, soaked in the blood of disciples who had thought themselves heroes. His long black hair whipped in the storm-winds, strands plastered against a face as sharp as the edge of a blade. His eyes were deep wells of obsidian, yet within them simmered a terrible glow — a fire not of this world, refusing to die.
Below him sprawled the ruins of his citadel, once a fortress that pierced the clouds. Black spires now lay toppled, their broken points jutting like ribs from a carcass. The valleys around it were carpeted in corpses: righteous disciples in tattered armor, demonic cultivators who had sworn to him with their last breath, beasts summoned from nightmare and reduced to husks of bone. The scent of smoke and charred flesh hung thick, coating the tongue like grease.
And above the ruins, the armies of heaven gathered.
They filled the skies and the mountainsides, a tide of banners and gleaming weapons. Phoenix crests of the Azure Sky Pavilion. Nine-petaled lotuses of the Radiant Dawn Temple. Dragon coils of the Hao Clan. Tiger fangs of the Bai Family. White-robed monks, their chests bare save for brands of burning scripture. Priests in gold, swinging censers that shed sparks like falling stars. They hovered in formation, hundreds of thousands strong, a swarm of so-called righteousness.
A voice thundered from among them, magnified by qi until it struck like a drumbeat across the heavens.
"Hei Yao Zhenren! Your reign of wickedness ends today!"
The declaration ignited a chorus.
"For the disciples you slaughtered—!""For the sects you defiled—!""For the heavens you dared to blaspheme—!""Your soul shall scatter into nothingness, your name erased for eternity!"
The shouts struck the mountains and rolled like thunder, each accusation crashing into the next until it became a single wave of fury.
Hei Yao stood unmoving, letting the sound wash over him. His head tilted slightly, as though listening for some hidden music beneath the roar. When at last the voices faltered, he exhaled. A thin smile curved his lips, cruel and knowing.
"How loudly the dogs bark when they believe their master holds the whip," he said.
His voice was not raised, yet it cut through the storm, reaching every ear with perfect clarity. The words hung like knives in the air.
Disciples bristled. Some raised their weapons, qi flaring. Others shouted curses. But the elders lifted hands, restraining them.
Hei Yao's laugh followed, low and rich, spreading until it rolled across the battlefield like the tolling of a funeral bell.
"Countless disciples slain?" he said, sweeping his gaze across the sects. "Yes, their corpses litter the ground. Do you know why, honored elders? Because they came to my gates with greed burning brighter than their so-called righteousness. They thirsted for treasures, begged for secret arts, demanded what they could not earn. They came with swords drawn, and now they rot."
His finger lifted lazily toward the Radiant Dawn Temple. White-robed cultivators shifted uneasily under his gaze.
"Elder Han," Hei Yao called. His smile sharpened. "Do you recall kneeling before me beneath the Blood Moon Pagoda? Do you recall what you offered for a single vial of Obsidian Flame marrow? How humble you were then."
The elder's face blanched.
Hei Yao turned, his gaze like a spear, pinning another figure in the Azure Sky Pavilion's ranks.
"And Sect Master Liu. Your daughter still wears the veil I gave her, does she not? Woven of demonic silk, a treasure you boasted of at your sect's banquet as though your own hands had wrought it. Tell me—does her dowry still glitter with relics from my vaults?"
Murmurs slashed through the Azure Sky formation. Disciples turned to their master, eyes wide with suspicion. Liu's face twisted in shame, yet he said nothing.
Hei Yao's laughter rose, louder now, shaking loose rubble from the shattered citadel.
"You curse me as a devil, yet every one of you has supped at my table," he roared. "You gorge yourselves on the marrow of my arts, then spit venom at the hand that fed you. Hypocrites! You wear righteousness as a mask, but beneath it—you are hungrier demons than I."
Fury rippled through the coalition. Yet beneath the outrage, silence spread like a crack through glass. His words had found their mark.
A monk stepped forward, crimson-robed, his shaven head gleaming, his eyes burning with holy flame. He raised a staff crowned with golden rings that chimed with each step.
"Devil!" he thundered. "You twist truth with lies! Whatever weak men sought your poison, it does not wash away the rivers of blood you have spilled! You enslaved innocents, devoured souls, mocked the order of heaven itself! For this alone, you shall perish!"
Hei Yao's smile faded. Stillness fell across his face, cold as a tomb.
"Devoured souls," he murmured. His voice was a whisper, yet it carried unnaturally, slithering into every ear. "Yes. I devour. Because only fools waste what heaven discards. I drank where others sipped. I seized where others crawled. And for that, I stood where none dared stand."
His eyes flared, black fire spilling from their depths.
"I am Hei Yao Zhenren, abyss given voice. You call me devil, yet I am only what your scriptures dare not name."
The stones beneath his feet cracked, glowing with molten veins. His robes stirred though no wind touched them. The storm itself seemed to hold its breath.
"Come, then," Hei Yao roared, his voice splitting the heavens. "Let us see if your heaven endures the darkness it fears to name!"
The first blade screamed through the sky.
It was like a star falling, a streak of golden light aimed straight at his chest. Hei Yao raised a hand, fingers curling. Darkness swelled, coiling into a dragon of shadow that snapped its jaws around the strike and crushed it to sparks. Another blade followed, then another — a rain of divine steel. Hei Yao's laughter rose above the storm as he swept his arms wide, and from his back unfurled wings of obsidian flame. Each beat scattered swords like dry leaves.
"Pathetic," he spat, and lunged.
The battlefield exploded.