Darkness pressed in, thick as tar—wet, suffocating, complete. The air was cold and stale, tinged with the acrid scent of burnt oil and ancient dust. Silence ruled, so profound that Li Tian could hear his own blood sluggishly pulsing behind his ears.
Then—light. A searing golden spark burst behind his eyelids, and with a shudder that ran from scalp to toes, his eyes snapped open. The air trembled, so dense it was almost viscous, as if it would resist every breath he took.
For a heartbeat, an ancient golden eye spiraled in his pupils, burning, then gone. The sudden brightness stung, and a raw, coppery taste flooded his tongue—blood, faint but fresh, from somewhere cracked within.
His body felt wrong—limp, bones like brittle sticks, muscles straining to obey simple commands. Pain rippled with every twitch, the sealed meridians in his limbs as cold and unforgiving as iron bands. His dantian, the heart of his spirit, lay shattered, a dull ache pulsing in his gut. Even the draft of air felt sharp, cutting his weak skin, carrying with it the faint, metallic stink of old incense and the waxy tang of guttering oil.
Outside, the wind groaned against warped shutters, and from beyond the hall, the nervous shuffle of slave steps sounded like distant sand sliding down a glass.
Yet Li Tian smiled, lips curling into a cruel edge. The smile's movement stung, but it was a triumphant pain. A lingering ember flickered in the deepest pit of his soul—a whisper, a heat, a pulse. The ancient scripture unraveled, its words resonating through marrow and thought like the chime of a temple bell:
"To defy Heaven… one must devour Heaven."
He inhaled, the very air thick and sweet, heavy with unseen power. He pictured his meridians—frozen rivers beneath his skin, riddled with flaws—each one glittering in his mind's eye, waiting to be cracked open. Softly, the world's ambient qi—sharp and icy, carrying the faint sweetness of distant rain—gathered, swirled. The oil lamps sputtered and winked out with a plaintive hiss, plunging the room back into darkness. Somewhere far off, a servant gasped—a thin, reedy sound that frayed away as if stolen by a chill wind.
Pain seared through his chest. His shackled meridians split, noiselessly at first; then blood exploded from his lips, warm and metallic as it dripped from his chin onto the cold, unyielding floor. Still, his grin widened, teeth catching the wan light.
"Break," he whispered, his voice raw, barely more than a croak.
A thunderous pulse, like the tolling of a funeral bell, boomed within his flesh. Something inside him shattered; warmth, thick and honey-sweet, rushed into the void. His foundation knit itself together anew, each broken piece reforged harder, finer, keener than before. His aura surged—an invisible pressure that pressed against the hall, making the air itself shudder.
Footsteps echoed: sharp, deliberate, and cruelly unhurried.
"Still struggling, cousin?" The voice slid through the dark, slick and mocking. Li Jun stepped into the wavering lamplight. The air around him quivered with disdain; his fine silks rustled, their scent a mix of expensive sandalwood and arrogance. Li Jun's eyes glinted—a predator content with the futility of his prey's struggles.
"Did you think wishing could change fate?"
Li Tian looked up. Light caught his golden gaze, and for a breathless moment, the Heaven's Eye glinted, unseen by all but the spirits watching from the ancestral tablets. In that instant, every thread of Li Jun's cultivation flowed before him—flawed and delicate, a tapestry waiting to be unraveled.
"Fate?" Li Tian chuckled, the sound low and thunderous. "I am fate."
He raised a trembling hand, palm scabbed with drying blood. Black-gold qi—liquid darkness shot through with veins of molten sunlight—boiled forth, spinning the air into a howling vortex. Li Jun's scream shrieked through the hall, ripped raw as his foundation and qi were wrenched away—his body shaking like a puppet until his voice died in a choking gasp. He collapsed, slack and empty, the lingering scent of his soul dissipating into the air like burnt incense.
Warmth, thick and intoxicating, crashed through Li Tian's veins as the devoured power fused with his reborn dantian. His heartbeat hammered, matching the pounding of distant thunder outside, the taste of rain and ozone sharp on his lips.
From above, the heavens roared. Clouds gathered, their bellies swollen gray and purple, thickening the air until every breath tasted of damp metal and coming storm. Lightning split the sky, the crack a violent, teeth-rattling peal.
The first bolt struck. Agony—electric, blinding, almost sweet—ripped down his spine, flesh burning, muscles seizing. Bones cracked, filling his mouth with the chalky tang of pain.
He laughed—harsh, wild, free. "More!"
The second bolt slammed down, sledgehammer-hard, burning his veins and branding his soul. He opened his arms wide. The storm raged—its fury and lightning seared into his meridians, power and pain blending into an indestructible whole.
The third bolt fell—a world of light and sound and impossible, transcendent agony—then silence. Warmth blossomed, deeper than marrow. His skin tingled; his spirit hummed. The storm ebbed, clouds torn apart, air left raw and clean.
He stood, tall, the choking air forced to bend around his new aura—a pressure so fierce the ancient hall's wood creaked in protest. Every beat of his heart pulsed with unimaginable life.
At his feet, Li Jun's corpse stared glassy-eyed into nothing, his final breath already forgotten. Li Tian's smile was cold, unbroken, merciless.
"This is only the beginning."