The man stood upon the jagged peak of the island's highest mountain, where the clouds themselves seemed to bow before his presence. The ancient land trembled faintly beneath his feet, as though the earth recognized the weight of his existence. Waves from the endless ocean far below crashed violently against the cliffs, yet their thunder was nothing compared to the silent pressure he exuded.
His white hair flowed like moonlight in the wind, glowing faintly, giving the illusion of timelessness. Though his face carried the smoothness of youth, his eyes contained the depth of endless eras eyes that had witnessed civilizations rise and crumble. The contrast between his youthful visage and the ancient aura he radiated was enough to unsettle even the bravest of warriors.
He wore garments that spoke of another age white above, red below woven from fabrics that no mortal hand could craft today. At first glance, he appeared simple, perhaps even ordinary, but a second look revealed the subtle perfection of his bearing: every line of his body seemed sculpted with divine precision, his posture both relaxed and commanding.
And yet, his presence was not merely visual. The very air around him bent and twisted; heaven and earth themselves seemed unable to remain in harmony while he stood there. The winds carried whispers, as if the world's laws were debating whether to bow to him or resist him. Birds and beasts miles away had fallen silent, sensing the dominion of a cultivator whose strength could rewrite fate itself.
This was no ordinary man. This was a being who had walked beyond mortality, someone who could shatter the balance of heaven and earth by simply existing.
It is said in the records of time that when the Ancient Demon Emperor subjugated the entire world, he ensured that his legacy would never be erased. He commanded a lone scriptor, whose ink was not mere ink but essence drawn from his own veins, to record the complete knowledge of his conquests and cultivation. That forbidden scripture, long hidden, had fallen into the hands of Xuan Shah, and it was through Xuan Shah's writings that the entire world learned fragments of that unimaginable past.
And now, standing upon the storm-wrapped peak, Xuan Shah reflected on that history. "In five thousand years of my cultivation, I achieved countless things yet when I faced him, the Demon Emperor, I could do no more than wound him. Even now, that single scar burns into my soul." His eyes, deep like endless abysses, flickered with both sorrow and pride. He had lived through countless generations, watched empires turn to dust, but one truth never changed: the heavens would never tolerate an existence that stood above their order.
As these thoughts rippled through his mind, a sudden tremor shook the world. The sky above his mountain throne did not merely darken it cracked. Jagged fissures of divine light tore open reality, and from those rifts poured a radiance that blinded the mortals who dared glance upward. The heavens themselves were descending.
From the breach stepped a vast army of heaven, clad in golden armor, their weapons gleaming with immortal fire. Each soldier carried the weight of divine law, their presence suffocating even across thousands of miles. Yet among that army, five figures stood apart, radiating an aura that eclipsed even the celestial host.
These were not ordinary cultivators. They were the Heaven's Pride, the chosen of fate, the five who had been anointed as leaders by the very will of Heaven. Each one represented a domain of unmatched supremacy:
One bore the aura of absolute flame, the sun's fury condensed into human form.
Another was cloaked in eternal frost, freezing time and space with each breath.
A third carried the power of boundless thunder, arcs of lightning coiling around his form like divine serpents.
The fourth was a master of primordial void, his body half-dissolved into nothingness.
And the last radiated the stillness of heaven's order, every step resonating with the laws that bound creation.
Together, these five cultivators were known as the Five Leaders of the Heavenly Army. Their arrival shook the world, for wherever they walked, the laws of Heaven themselves bent to their will.
The mountain quaked, the sea roared, and even the stars seemed to falter in their light. Against them stood Xuan Shah, white-haired and timeless, his robe fluttering in the chaotic winds. Alone, he faced the heavenly host.
But in his solitude, he seemed taller than mountains, more enduring than oceans. His eyes lifted to the five heavenly leaders and the countless soldiers behind them, and though the world held its breath, his expression carried not fear but an unfathomable calm, as though he had awaited this confrontation for centuries.
Xuan Shan stood at the shattered peak, blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth, staining the red folds of his ancient robe. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, yet his back remained straight, his presence unyielding. When the vast heavenly host appeared before him, when even the most dazzling of the Five Leaders stepped forth, the old demon did not falter. He merely smiled.
The one who burned the brightest among the five leaders his aura like a blazing sun stepped ahead and spoke in a voice that resounded like thunder across the nine heavens:
"Old demon! You have defiled the balance of heaven. You have sacrificed countless innocents for your vile cultivation. You have dared to wound Heaven's pride. Today, your reign ends! Kneel before us and accept your punishment!"
The heavenly army behind him pounded their weapons against their shields in unison, a deafening roar of divine might. Their collective will pressed down like a mountain, suffocating the very air. Mortals thousands of miles away trembled without even knowing why.
But Xuan Shan only spat blood onto the ground blood so potent that even the rocks hissed and cracked upon contact and then, throwing back his head, he laughed. It was not the laugh of a broken man, but the wild laughter of one who mocked fate itself.
"Justice?" he scoffed, his voice rolling like a storm, shaking the sky.
"You dare speak to me of justice? Do you think I don't see through your masks? You have come draped in righteousness, but your eyes burn with greed. You want my death yes but more than that, you want my treasury, my legacies, my forbidden scriptures. To slay me, you have brought the entire heavenly army down upon one man! Tell me then what is this, if not theft dressed in the clothes of justice?"
His laughter grew louder, echoing across heaven and earth. Even the waves below seemed to rise higher with his mockery.
He lifted a trembling hand, wiping the blood from his lips, and his piercing gaze cut through the five leaders. "And yet… even after two thousand years, I see no change in you. You call yourselves Heaven's chosen, Heaven's pride, but in my eyes you are the same insects you were before."
At his words, the heavenly army stiffened, their resolve shaken. Confusion flickered across their disciplined faces. They had expected a cornered beast, a desperate plea, or perhaps resignation. Instead, they were met with defiance so absolute it tore through their conviction.
Xuan Shan's smile widened, his laughter fading into a whisper, sharp as a blade:
"Insects. That is all you have ever been, and all you will ever be before me."
The world itself seemed to shudder at the insult. For the first time, doubt spread through the heavenly host like a poison.
The insult "insects" still hung in the air when the heavens themselves rumbled in rage. The vast army of heaven, countless in number, bristled with fury, their divine weapons raised, their formation glowing with celestial light. The five leaders, usually unshaken, now let killing intent spill from their bodies like floods, their auras alone enough to tear mountains asunder.
The strongest among them, the leader cloaked in blazing sunfire, stepped forward. His voice, infused with the decree of heaven itself, roared:
"Xuan Shan! That scriptor you clutch is not yours. It was always heaven's property! The moment you strayed onto the demonic path, you betrayed the heavens themselves. For five thousand years you have spat upon order today, your existence will be erased!"
At those words, the heavenly army roared in unison, their battle cry shaking the nine skies. Golden light burst from their formation, as though the very sun had descended to crush the lone figure standing on the mountain.
But Xuan Shan did not flinch. His lips curled into a sneer. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand to his mouth and bit down on his own finger. Dark red blood welled forth, thick and heavy, radiating a power that caused even the strongest heavenly soldiers to stagger. That blood was not mere mortal essence it carried the imprint of his cultivation, the crystallization of countless sacrifices, forbidden rituals, and his demonic path.
With his bleeding finger, he began to trace symbols in the air. Each stroke glowed crimson, pulsating with an ancient power that predated the heavens themselves. The skies dimmed; clouds twisted into spirals of chaos; even time seemed to slow as the script of the Demon Emperor began to manifest.
Blood poured from his mouth as well, yet his laughter echoed like thunder:
"If you have come to steal the scriptor… then you shall also taste its power! Let us see if your so-called justice can withstand the truth hidden within these pages!"
Then, with a roar that shook the very void, Xuan Shan slammed his blood-soaked hand against the sky.
"Heaven-Shatter Palm!"
From above, a colossal hand of blood and shadow materialized. It was not formed of qi alone it was forged from sacrifice, resentment, and the demonic scriptures themselves. Its sheer size dwarfed mountains, its fingers blotting out the stars as it descended. The hand's pressure was so immense that heaven's army staggered backward despite themselves, their golden formation faltering. Even the five leaders, paragons of pride, felt their expressions harden with alarm.
As the bloody palm fell, its aura devoured everything in its path. The air ignited. The ocean far below split open, waves soaring like walls toward the horizon. The very fabric of the sky cracked further, unable to endure the blasphemy of this forbidden art.
Then impact.
The Heaven-Shatter Palm smashed into the heavenly army with apocalyptic force. Thousands of soldiers screamed as their golden armor crumbled like paper; divine bodies were crushed, wings torn apart, weapons snapped in half. Blood rained from the heavens, mingling with the crimson storm conjured by Xuan Shan. Entire battalions vanished in a single strike, erased as if they had never existed.
Even the five leaders were forced backward, their divine auras flaring desperately to resist. The leader of sunfire raised his blazing spear to block the falling hand, but the impact drove him to one knee, his arm trembling, sweat breaking across his forehead.
The battlefield fell into stunned silence. What had begun as the proud march of heaven's army now looked like a massacre.
Above the wreckage, amidst the howling winds and raining blood, Xuan Shan stood unmoved, blood still dripping from his lips but his eyes burning with demonic fire. His mocking laughter split the silence once more:
"So this is the pride of heaven? Pathetic. To bring down an army against one man, and yet still tremble before me. You have not come to punish me… you have come to be punished."
The Five Leaders raised their supreme arts in unison, divine radiance flooding the battlefield. Flame, frost, thunder, void, and law collided together, weaving a shield strong enough to hold the weight of worlds. With a heaven-shaking roar, they caught the descent of the Heaven-Shatter Palm.
The colossal bloody hand screeched against their barrier, sparks of divine and demonic power scattering like meteors across the sky. Space cracked, the earth below split into deep canyons, and oceans surged upward as if gravity itself had been broken. For a moment, it seemed the world would collapse entirely.
Finally after an eternity of thunderous struggle the bloody palm shattered into crimson mist.
The heavenly army roared in relief, their formation slowly re-stabilizing. But their triumph was hollow. The five leaders themselves were drenched in sweat, their breathing ragged. Each of them carried injuries cracks in their weapons, torn robes, blood staining their lips.
And before them still stood Xuan Shan. His body was broken, blood streaming down his chest, yet his back remained straight, his white hair fluttering in the storm. His mouth curled into a grin, and suddenly he began to laugh.
It was not laughter born of madness, but of victory. A terrible, chilling victory.
"Even with this broken body, I still make Heaven tremble. This scriptor… you desire it, don't you? But hear me well even if it falls into your hands, you will never unlock its secrets. You will only destroy yourselves by touching its forbidden pages. Only a true demon… only one such as I… can awaken its full power!"
His words struck the heavenly army like a curse. Whispers of doubt rippled through their ranks. Could it be true? Was the very treasure they sought a weapon that would consume them?
But before they could act, Xuan Shan's laughter deepened, becoming darker, more savage. His qi began to twist violently around him, his body swelling with unstable energy. His blood boiled, vaporizing into crimson smoke that spiraled into the skies. His flesh cracked, glowing from within like molten stone.
The realization struck the five leaders simultaneously.
"No… he's"
The most powerful among them, the blazing spear-wielder, shouted, his voice filled with both fury and alarm:
"This attack was nothing but a distraction! In truth, he's destroying himself! This old bastard would rather shatter his own body than leave his power behind! Even at death's door, he clings to his demonic nature!"
The heavenly army froze in horror. Self-destruction was no ordinary technique. It was the ultimate defiance, the final curse of a cultivator who burned his very soul and cultivation base to unleash a cataclysm. And when it came from someone like Xuan Shan, whose power had already scarred the heavens, the devastation would not simply kill it would annihilate.
The mountain beneath him screamed as fissures spread in every direction, magma erupting into the sky. The heavens above tore wider, thunder and divine fire lashing out chaotically as the world itself tried to contain the surging energy.
Xuan Shan's body became a beacon of demonic light, expanding, cracking, shaking with the force of an exploding star. His voice hoarse, ragged, but filled with unshakable pride thundered one last time across heaven and earth:
"Remember this day, insects! To kill Xuan Shan, even Heaven had to bring down its entire army! And still you could not take me alive!"
Then he erupted.
A blinding explosion of blood and demonic qi engulfed the battlefield. The shockwave tore through the heavenly army like a scythe, hurling soldiers across the skies, breaking formations, shattering divine weapons. The ocean boiled, continents cracked, and the heavens themselves dimmed, as if mourning the departure of a being too fierce to ever kneel.
The heavens still raged. The divine army that once blotted out the skies was now reduced to ashes and screams. The earth lay in ruin, mountains collapsed into oceans, oceans boiled into steam, and the sky itself had become a web of cracks that glowed with dying starlight.
And in the center of this apocalypse stood Xuansha bleeding, broken, yet laughing. His laughter was hoarse now, but it carried across the ruined world like a funeral bell.
Inside, his thoughts churned like fire:
"If the scriptor can touch the flow of time… if I can gamble everything on it, I may yet return. Legends say that time is a sea no one can cross but what is a sea to me? I, Xuansha, am willing to drown a thousand times if it means returning to walk my demonic path again. I have no regrets… not then, not now, not ever."
The blood around him rose like mist, the scriptor floating above his hands, glowing with forbidden symbols. Each rune pulsed like the heartbeat of a god. But the more he forced it open, the more his body cracked apart, burning itself as the price of invoking its forbidden power.
He turned his gaze toward the setting sun. Its last light painted his white hair in gold and crimson, making him appear almost divine despite the carnage he had wrought. For a brief moment, there was silence. Then he closed his eyes.
And Xuansha, the Old Demon, began to recite.
I stitched the moon into the hollow of my palm,
and counted centuries like coins that clink and fall.
Blood watered my oaths; the wind learned my name
I forged a crown of ash and called it shame.
Temples bowed their heads; empires hushed their breath,
for I have bartered graves with time and death.
The sea of years is wide, and waves remember me,
they curl like hungry hands toward the shore of what will be.
I drank the echo of a thousand broken dawns,
kept every sin like a lantern that never goes out.
My laughter split the sky; my scars wrote rivers' songs—
each name a stone I cast to bind the route.
Do not dance on my ruin, do not raise your cheer
the tide that buries you will carry me near.
I shall wake where hours begin, where first the day is sewn,
and find you sleeping on the crowns you call your own.
Do not rejoice, insects, at my death, for time is but a tide.
I shall wake in the past… and when I return, I will slaughter you all once more.
It was not a mere chant of power, but a poem, a tapestry of words woven with blood and grief. Each line was a confession, yet also a boast: of five thousand years of cultivation, of the rivers of blood he had spilled, of the countless souls sacrificed for his ascension. His voice carried their screams, their curses, and their unwilling worship.
The heavenly soldiers who still clung to life trembled as they listened. They did not understand all the words, yet they felt the weight of them each syllable was like a nail hammered into the coffin of Heaven's pride.
And then came the final two lines. Xuansha's voice was soft, but it carried louder than thunder:
"Do not rejoice, insects, at my death, for time is but a tide.
I shall wake in the past… and when I return, I will slaughter you all once more."
A shudder passed through heaven and earth. The lines were not just poetry they were a curse, a prophecy, a declaration that his existence could not be bound by death.
The next instant, the world erupted.
A cataclysmic explosion of blood and demonic qi consumed everything. The heavens screamed as their army was obliterated in an instant. The ancient land cracked apart and sank into the sea of fire. Only the Five Leaders, their bodies shielded by their supreme divine arts, managed to survive but even they were hurled thousands of miles away, their armor shattered, their skin torn, their immortal bones trembling under the backlash.
When the light faded, the battlefield was gone. Nothing remained but silence, ruins, and drifting ashes.
The five leaders floated amidst the destruction, their faces pale. The weakest among them coughed blood, whispering with bitterness:
"While dying, that old bastard… dragged all of us into hell with him."
Another added, his voice cracking with disbelief:
"And the scriptor… it slipped away from us in the chaos. His final explosion scattered it. Everything we came for… gone."
But it was the most powerful leader the one of blazing sunfire who broke their despair with chilling words. His eyes, though bloodshot and weary, still burned with certainty.
"No… you fools. He has not died."
The others froze, turning toward him with shock.
"What are you saying? We saw him explode with our own eyes! His body was annihilated, his soul scattered. Even demons cannot return from that."
The leader's expression darkened. His voice lowered, heavy with dread.
"Then perhaps you were not listening. His last two lines… were not merely poetry. They were an oath. Xuansha is not the kind to speak idly. He has cast his soul into the flow of time itself. His body here may be gone, but he will wake again in the past."
A cold silence fell. Even amidst the smoldering ruins of heaven's victory, a shadow darker than death spread across the five leaders' hearts.
For in that moment, they realized:
The battle was not over.
It had only been delayed.