He was Ezikeil of the Jihae Clan, the eldest son of one of the noble lines serving under the Divine Cult of the Heavenly Demon.
A world where strength defined existence, and faith demanded blood. The newborn body trembled as he beheld the ceremonial altar—priests in black robes chanting hymns to the Heavenly Demon.
One of them turned—eyes glowing faintly red beneath his hood—and whispered, "The blood of the Heavenly Line flows within this child."In that instant, Ezikeil felt something awaken in him, a blaze wrapped in chains. Something divine yet corrupted—something that whispered, Grow, or perish.
Seven Years Later
The Divine Cult perched high on Mount Yulha, wrapped in storms eternal. When lightning split the sky, it illuminated countless training grounds below—disciples hammering fists into stone, blades slicing through air thick with spiritual energy.
Ezikeil watched from the mountain steps, silent as usual, his black hair soaked by rain. Each thunder strike throbbed in rhythm with his breathing techniques—the Demonic Heart Cultivation Art. Qi spun through his meridians like molten iron.
With every exhale, heat shattered the falling raindrops."Your son does not smile," said one elder behind him.
"Nor does he speak without purpose," replied his father calmly. "He cultivates as if his life depends on it."The elder said nothing after that. Everyone knew that in the Divine Cult, life did depend on it.
Ezikeil had already beaten every disciple his age—broken bones, torn ligaments, even crippled one who mocked the Heavenly Demon's teachings. The punishment? None. The instructor only told the class, "Those too weak to withstand another's conviction do not belong in the path of the demonic way."Inside, Ezikeil felt nothing.
No guilt. No triumph. Only a growing hunger to ascend.
Twenty-Five Years Later
By now, Ezikeil had long surpassed his peers. The cult's secret grounds trembled every night as he trained. He bled on those stones, fought hundreds of duels in the Demon Arena, and stood over corpses who once swore to kill him.
Whispers spread that the young heir was "born of calamity." Some called him the Heavenly Demon's Shadow. Others said he was cursed. Ezikeil cared for neither.
Each night he prayed before the black idol of the Heavenly Demon, its many-eyed visage leering through the incense smoke. His lips whispered, "Grant me power enough to protect my master. Grant me strength beyond betrayal."He never feared death, but he feared failing the one who taught him—the Grand Cult Master, Chong Ma, a man of terrifying presence and sacred restraint.
When Chong Ma descended the mountain, all bowed. Even the sky seemed to bend under his aura."Your heart," said the master one night as Ezikeil knelt before him, "is cold, and your mind sharp. But compassion, even once forsaken, must always be held by the root."Ezikeil raised his gaze slightly.
"Master… compassion does not survive in a world that devours the weak."Chong Ma smiled faintly. "And yet you stay loyal. Even a cold blade holds its hilt warm for its wielder."
Fifty Years of Cultivation
Years melted into decades. Ezikeil's outer appearance changed little—even as generations rose and fell around him. He had become an unshakable pillar within the cult, his aura deep enough to crush a mountain into dust.
The demonic flame in his core burned blue—a sign of nearing the Divine Realm. Just one step remained between him and transcendence.But no step in the world of demons was freely given.
Within the Hall of the Heavenly Throne, the cult elders knelt before Chong Ma. His voice rolled across them like thunder."The successor of the Heavenly Demon must not be chosen by blood, but by wrath that purifies."When his eyes finally fell upon Ezikeil, the air itself seemed to warp.
The master rose, a black halo of demonic qi behind him, and declared, "From today, Ezikeil is my successor."The hall erupted with murmurs, half in awe, half in envy.Ezikeil bowed deeply. "I will not disappoint you, Master.
"Thirty Years of Tutelage master's training was not mere combat—it was philosophy, the refinement of essence, the dismantling of all human limits. They meditated in caverns where hellfire blazed, sparred above rivers of molten energy, and shattered entire valleys testing techniques that would split the heavens.
Chong Ma's teachings were cruel mercy. "To understand divinity," he said once, "you must first embrace despair."And despair Ezikeil found. He saw comrades die, disciples betray, friends corrupted by the lust for power. He slaughtered those who turned from the cult's creed, his blade silent, his heart colder still.
Yet each strike was guided by devotion to his master's ideals.Until one day, Chong Ma vanished.No trace. No message. Only a single drop of dried blood upon the Heavenly Throne.
The Usurpers and the Rule Without TitleWithout its master, chaos rippled through the Divine Cult. Many proclaimed themselves rightful rulers. Elders who had lived three centuries rose to challenge the younger man.But Ezikeil, bound by his master's order, refused to claim the title Heavenly Demon.
He ruled through will alone—crushing every rebellion, breaking every disloyal sect. Each time another elder laughed at his youth, Ezikeil silenced them with the edge of his qi blade.
For fifty years, he commanded obedience not by name, but through pure domination. None matched his efficiency, none matched his cold resolve.And during those years, he discovered the truth—his master, Chong Ma, had been ambushed and slain by the Five Great Clans of the Central Plains.
Something inside Ezikeil died that moment. And something darker awakened.Ascension and War The night the Heavenly Demon's star burned crimson above the mountain, Ezikeil stepped into the Divine Realm.
The cult trembled as divine energy flooded through him—his body dissolving into light before reforming anew, immortal and radiant in shadow.When he opened his eyes, the idol of the Heavenly Demon cracked.
He declared himself the new Heavenly Demon.And with that crown came wrath.Before hundred thousand cultists, Ezikeil stood upon the altar and spoke in a voice that shook the heavens:"The Five Great Clans murdered our sacred master. They spat on divine law. Today, the heavens shall bleed for their sin."The Divine Cult roared as one—war chants echoing between mountains.
Their armies marched toward the Central Plains like a black tide.The Holy War had begun.
Seventy-Two Years of Blood War tore the Murim world apart. For seventy-two years, the rivers ran red. Half of the Central Plains fell under the cult's black banners. Cities burned in the name of vengeance; temples that once praised the righteous now echoed hymns to the Heavenly Demon.
Ezikeil fought at the front for decades, a specter of war clothed in divine flame. None could match him. Even at a thousand years of accumulated hatred, his heart remained tied only to one oath—Avenge the master.
The Final SiegeIt was winter when fate came for him.
Surrounded in the ruins of Mount Gwanjeong, the Heavenly Demon stood alone against ten thousand cultivators of the Murim Alliance. Poison had already hollowed his veins—the Five Clan Leaders' final treachery.Yet his divine aura still split the clouds.
"You send a thousand against one," he said quietly, his voice like the toll of doom. "And still, none of you will survive me."He laughed once. It was not madness—it was grief turned sacred.When the armies charged, the mountain vanished beneath a sea of demonic qi. The heavens wept fire. For three days and nights, the battle raged. When at last the dust settled, the alliance found only corpses and one kneeling figure—Ezikeil, impaled but unbowed, his hands clasped as if in prayer.He whispered before the end,
"Master, I have avenged you."Then the storm swallowed him, and the Divine Cult's hymns echoed across the heavens.
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*Don't be surprised by the next chapter thinking it is a different story*
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