The Tribulation of Lightning — The Birth of a God
The sky tore itself apart.
A blinding flash split the heavens, jagged lightning ripping through the clouds as though the world itself stood accused before a higher judgment. Thunder followed immediately, violent and deafening, rolling endlessly as if the sky had lost all restraint. The air grew heavy, charged with an overwhelming force that pressed down on every soul beneath it.
Every disciple instinctively looked up.
Gasps rippled through the sect like a wave.
High above the ground, Xiao Yan hovered mid-air, his body lifted and restrained by an unseen power beyond mortal understanding. His arms rose instinctively, fingers trembling as arcs of lightning wrapped around him like living chains. Each strike slammed into his body with merciless precision, sending violent tremors through his limbs.
Pain exploded through him.
He clenched his teeth, a hoarse groan tearing from his throat as his body convulsed under the force. Blue sparks raced wildly across his skin, crawling along his arms, his chest, his neck. For brief moments between the thunderclaps, the world below seemed distant, muted—reduced to shadows and silence beneath the overwhelming roar of the heavens.
"What's this…?" a disciple whispered, his voice shaking.
"It's a tribulation," Saint Lu Qi said.
His gaze never left Xiao Yan. His voice was calm, steady—but beneath it lay unmistakable awe.
Lightning struck again.
Xiao Yan cried out, his body arching as another bolt tore through him. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, evaporating instantly in the heat of the lightning. His aura flickered violently, unstable, surging and collapsing like a stormcloud on the verge of breaking.
"Xiao Yan!" Mi-An screamed.
Her voice cracked with raw fear as she rushed forward, abandoning all composure. She reached out instinctively—but the moment she touched the space surrounding him, an invisible wall of energy repelled her violently. She staggered back, eyes wide, helpless.
"No… no…" she whispered.
Nem surged forward as well, his hands crackling with protective energy, teeth clenched as he attempted to force his way through the lightning barrier. The energy snapped back at him mercilessly, forcing him to retreat. Even he—powerful as he was—could not interfere.
"A tribulation…" Saint Gil U murmured.
His eyes gleamed as lightning reflected within them, awe and envy flickering unmistakably across his face.
"A heavenly tribulation."
The words carried weight.
Shock spread among the Saints.
"How can that be?" the Saint of Zi Wu Sect asked, disbelief evident in his tone.
Mi-An turned sharply toward them, fear tightening her chest. "Xiao Yan is undergoing a heavenly tribulation… what does that mean?"
"He is going to be a god," Saint Lu Qi replied sharply.
For the first time, a proud smile broke through his normally stoic expression.
The courtyard erupted into murmurs.
Some disciples trembled, overwhelmed by fear. Others stared upward, eyes wide with reverence, witnessing something spoken of only in ancient legends. Mi-An's fingers curled tightly into her robe as she struggled to steady her breathing.
"When will it stop?" she asked, her voice barely holding together.
"Only after he receives ninety-nine strokes," the Saint of Yi Wu Sect answered gravely. "He has only received eighteen."
Mi-An's heart twisted painfully.
"If he doesn't survive…" the Saint of Xi Wu Sect continued, his voice heavy, "…he will die."
The words struck her like a blade.
Her fists clenched as her chest tightened, breath hitching uncontrollably. She had only just allowed herself to feel—only just discovered what it meant to love. The thought of losing him now, torn apart by the heavens themselves, was unbearable.
Above them, lightning continued to fall.
Each strike was merciless.
Xiao Yan screamed, his voice raw, hoarse, tearing apart with every impact. Sweat streamed down his face, mixing with dirt and blood left behind from the trials. His body shook violently, muscles tearing, bones screaming under the divine punishment—but still, he refused to fall.
He endured.
By the time the ninetieth strike descended, the sky finally paused.
The lightning withdrew momentarily, leaving behind an eerie, suffocating silence. Xiao Yan hung motionless in the air, his breathing shallow and ragged, his body scorched and trembling.
Saint Lu Qi stepped forward slowly.
His voice, when he spoke, was quiet—but filled with reverence.
"We are witnessing a rare sight," he said. "The last nine strokes will be the most dreadful."
His gaze remained locked on Xiao Yan's battered form.
"Let us hope he survives… and ascends fully."
Above them, the clouds churned once more.
The heavens were not finished.