Chapter 1 – Only my family matters
Vaibhav's knuckles hurt, and so did his pride. Six seniors of K High University circled him like wolves, their smirks filled with malice. The university—an elite academy blending high school and university-level instruction—was notorious for testing not just intelligence but resilience.
"Look at you, Vaibhav," sneered Riken Takahashi, the tallest of the group, his black hair falling over eyes that glimmered with cruelty. "So close to Alicia, yet completely useless. No Shinosuke today, huh? Who's gonna save you now?"
Vaibhav clenched his fists, He remembered his master's words. Do not fight unless necessary. Control your power, or you'll destroy more than yourself.
"These idiots think I'm a loser," he thought, jaw tightening. "Let them talk. They'll regret it."
A voice pierced the tension. Alicia, a girl whose charm and innocence drew attention wherever she went, stepped forward. "Stop it. Leave him alone."
Riken's expression darkened, a lustful gleam overtaking his face. "Alicia… I asked you yesterday, and you rejected me for this loser?" He reached out to touch her shoulder.
Vaibhav moved. Faster than anyone expected, his eyes pitch black faintly glowing white, he surged forward, his fist connecting squarely with Riken's jaw. A faint white aura flared around his eyes as Riken stumbled backward.
The other seniors barely had time to react. One by one, they crumpled under Vaibhav's onslaught—each strike precise, devastating, his movements fluid, controlled, deadly.
By the time the chaos ended, the courtyard was silent. The air smelled of sweat and blood. Vaibhav's chest heaved, his body emitting a mysterious aura, which almost felt like it wasn't him.
Parents began arriving to take their children home. Among them, a luxurious black car pulled up, the engine's hum reverberating like a warning. A man and woman stepped out. The man's face went pale at the sight of Vaibhav.
"Vaibhi… what happened here?" he asked, voice trembling.
Vaibhav shook his head. "Leave it, Big Brother. Let's go home."
Another man, tall, imposing, with eyes black and faintly glowing white, stepped forward. "Prabhat! Enough talk. Let's go," he said, his tone carrying quiet authority.
At home, the trio convened in the living room. Vaibhav remained silent as Alicia recounted the incident.
The black-eyed man nodded, face calm but resolute. "Let's go," he said to Prabhat.
In the garage, weapons were laid out: katanas, axes, even modified screwdrivers, sharpened for combat. Prabhat chose a katana; the other man, an aura of lethal calm surrounding him, picked up an axe.
The streets blurred past as they drove toward the 18th Clan of among the top 20 in United Earth—a family notorious across the world for their cruelty and power: The Nethyra Clan.
Clan Leader: Seraphine Nethyra, a 119-year-old woman of the Nethyra Soulforge Mythic stage. Graceful yet deadly, she bore the confidence of one who controlled life and death with a thought.
Clan Members: Average cultivators at Venarae stage, elites at Urn'thar. Trained in both combat and intrigue, few dared oppose the clan.
The black car sped through the streets, engine humming like a predator stalking its prey. A second vehicle followed, its lights glinting ominously in the evening sun. Inside the lead car, Prabhat gripped the katana, eyes scanning the horizon, while The man's hand rested lightly on the axe's handle. An aura of deadly calm radiated from him; even the faint glow from his black eyes seemed to distort the air around him.
The Nethyra Clan mansion came into view, perched atop a hill and surrounded by high walls etched with the clan's emblem—a stylized silver phoenix entwined with a crimson crescent.
Inside, a young woman paced the grand hall, face red with fury. Elara Nethyra, a 19-year-old prodigy of the clan, stomped her foot and scolded the senior students, her voice sharp as a blade.
"You… you were beaten up by that loser?" she hissed, her eyes flashing. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Riken and the others shrank under her glare, sweat running down their temples, their bravado evaporating.
Outside, the cars slowed near the mansion gates. The air thrummed with an unnatural weight, as if the world itself held its breath. Prabhat's grip tightened on the katana, his knuckles pale, his eyes glinting with a hunger that bordered on feral. Beside him, Lin Xuan's presence was a void—his black eyes, faintly glowing white, seemed to drink the light around them, warping the air with a cold, oppressive aura.
With a flick of his wrist, The man hurled the axe from the window. It spun, a silver crescent catching the dying sunlight, and met the first guard's neck with a wet crunch. The head rolled, eyes still wide with shock, blood fountaining in a grotesque arc. The body slumped, twitching, as the axe embedded itself in the gatepost with a dull thud, splintering wood and bone alike.
Prabhat leapt from the car, katana flashing like a shard of moonlight. The male guards barely registered his movement before steel met flesh. A slash severed a throat, blood spraying in a crimson mist. Another strike cleaved through a chest, ribs cracking like dry twigs. His movements were not just precise but cruelly deliberate, each cut designed to maim, to prolong suffering. One guard, still alive, clutched his spilling entrails, his screams choked by blood bubbling in his throat.
The man, however, was a force of annihilation. His aura pulsed, a living shadow that seemed to writhe and coil around him. He moved through the courtyard like a specter, his hands bare yet deadlier than any blade. A female guard raised her spear, only for The Man's hand to lash out, crushing her windpipe with a sickening pop. She collapsed, gasping, her face purpling as she clawed at her throat. Another guard—a boy, barely eighteen—tried to flee. The man's aura surged, and the boy's body twisted unnaturally, bones snapping like brittle glass as he crumpled into a lifeless heap.
The mansion's grand hall was a slaughterhouse by the time they breached it. Elara Nethyra stood frozen, her prodigy's arrogance shattered as she stared at the carnage. Bodies littered the floor—servants, guards, even a child who'd hidden behind a velvet curtain, now slumped in a pool of red, eyes glassy. The air reeked of iron and fear. Riken and the other seniors cowered behind her, their bravado reduced to whimpers.
Seraphine Nethyra emerged from the inner chamber, her robes pristine but her face a mask of dread. Her voice trembled, yet carried defiance. "You… Professor Lin Xuan? The rumors… Were true... You really are an evil monster!"
Lin Xuan's gaze was a void, unyielding, cold as the abyss. His voice was soft, almost tender, yet it cut deeper than any blade. "You touched my family. That was your mistake. The world can call me what it wants. For me only my family matters."
With a gesture, his aura erupted, a tidal wave of black energy that shook the hall's foundations. The chandelier above shattered, raining crystal shards that glittered like falling stars amidst the blood. Elara screamed as Lin Xuan's hand closed around her arm, twisting it until the bone snapped with a sound like a breaking branch. She fell, sobbing, her prodigy's pride reduced to a broken doll's wail.
Prabhat moved like a demon, his katana a blur. He carved through the seniors with methodical savagery. Riken's arm fell, severed at the shoulder, his scream cut short as Prabhat's blade opened his throat. Another senior tried to crawl away, dragging a leg half-severed at the knee, only for Prabhat to step on his spine, pinning him. The katana plunged down, piercing through his back and into the marble floor, pinning him like an insect on display.
Lin Xuan turned to Seraphine, who raised her hands, summoning a shimmering phoenix of crimson energy—her Nethyra Soulforge. It roared, its heat scorching the air. Lin Xuan didn't flinch. His aura lashed out, a black serpent that coiled around the phoenix, crushing it into wisps of fading light. Seraphine staggered, blood trickling from her nose, her mythic-stage power crumbling before him. He stepped forward, his hand closing around her throat. Her eyes bulged, veins pulsing under her skin as he lifted her off the ground.
"You thought your clan is untouchable," he whispered, his voice a venomous caress. "Now you're nothing." With a flick of his wrist, her neck snapped, her body going limp. He dropped her, her corpse hitting the floor with a dull thud, her silver hair fanning out in a pool of her own blood.
Manager Park stepped forward, his own aura a quiet storm as he bound the surviving seniors, their faces pale with terror. Vaibhav, watching from the threshold, felt his chest tighten. The faint glow in his own eyes flickered, reflecting the horror and awe of what he'd witnessed. This wasn't just power—it was a declaration, a warning carved in blood and ruin.
The Nethyra Clan's mansion was a tomb. Smoke curled from shattered windows, mingling with the stench of death. The silver phoenix emblem on the walls was smeared with blood, its crimson crescent now a mockery of the clan's pride. Prabhat wiped his katana clean, his face unreadable. Lin Xuan stood amidst the carnage, his black eyes scanning the devastation as if it were a canvas he'd painted.
"The world will remember today," he said softly, almost to himself, before turning to Vaibhav and Prabhat. "Let's go home."