Avert your gaze.
Zhang Xiyu's voice cuts through Yutao's mind and breaks the hypnosis of terror. Yutao drags his eyes away from the impossible sight below and forces himself to focus on the two brothers, who are only just beginning to sense a third presence among them.
As it turns out the terrain wasn't just creaking under their battle. It was also being swallowed by a tremendous force. Rock collapses inward in slow, grinding folds as though an enormous jaw is opening beneath the riverbed.
Bathed in hard sunlight, Ren Jiang radiates power. The cultivation coursing through him is refined to a terrifying degree, but his body has not kept pace. Veins strain dark beneath his skin; breath leaves him unevenly. The energy he channels dulls his sensitivity to everything beyond his immediate target.
"Looks like a mouth…" Liu Xue mutters, staring at the widening crater of darkness.
Whatever remains of the Yangtze answers his summons. Water twists upward in a violent column and fuses with Yutao's ghostfire, forming shrieking blades of ice edged in violet flame. They launch the barrage toward Ren Jiang, who continues fighting as though the world itself were not collapsing at his feet.
Either oblivious or arrogantly certain that nothing here can threaten him.
Then they see Zhang Xiyu.
He hovers above the centre of the abyss. Around him spirals a towering circular wall of battered demons, bodies stacked and suspended midair, clawing and writhing against invisible constraints. The column stretches skyward, and more demons surge upward with every passing crow.
Liu Xue's expression darkens. He glances at Yutao with open accusation, assuming this spectacle must be another calculated deception, the latter answering with a flat look.
Think whatever you wish to. Blame whoever you want to.
He meets Liu Xue's disdainful glare with levelled gaze. You are the ones who angered her. And here we are saving you atrocious assholes.
He refuses to dwell on the fact that none of this would have spiralled so far if he, Zhang Xiyu, and Renhu had intervened earlier. They were long aware of Ren Jiang's scheme. But instead of eradicating the problem at its root, they let it fester.
No, they helped it fester.
They handed over augmentation stones.
They watched cities fall and while innocent lives became demon feed.
But they meant to feel guilty?
"It is not our job to save the world." That's what Zhang Xiyu had said once.
Yutao recalls his sword. It blazes with violet fire just like his thoughts. We are no gods; we are no heroes.
And most of all, we certainly not accountable to anyone. Especially to the gods who had forsaken us long ago.
The price for their survival was their humanity.
Even while coordinating attacks with Liu Xue, Yutao's attention drifts toward his friend. The crows have acclimated back to their original form by the broken riverbank. Renhu stands at a distance silently observing the situation.
It seems that most of the demons have been captured.
Which means—
Zhang Xiyu extends his hand toward the Blessed Sword of Kalaratri. It floats before him, horizontal and waiting. Wind tugs at his black robes and threads through his hair, heavy with the metallic scent of blood. When his fingers close around the leather-wrapped hilt, a tremor runs through him not with fear, but anticipation.
He exhales, exhilaration running through his nerves as the tamasic energy of the ritual takes over him thoroughly. His fingers shudder with increasing adrenaline, his eyes closed with devoted concentration and his lips fluttering with rapid chanting of mantras.
The ritual current thickens the air. His chanting rises, low and continuous, each syllable precise. The suspended demons begin to groan as pressure builds around them. Bones strain and joints dislocate under invisible force as they helplessly hope that it will end soon.
The hand on the leather hilt grasps it tightly. And then his eyes open.
A red sigil burns on his forehead, hidden beneath his fluttering hair. His pupils bearing pure darkness,
Red light pours down his face like water from a cracked vessel. It traces his cheekbones. It fills the hollow of his throat, spreading across his skin in deliberate lines.
Sanskrit letters surface from beneath his skin.
They crawl up his wrists. They coil around his forearms. They climb his neck and carve themselves into his jaw, his temples, the hollow behind his ears.
The markings continue onto the blade as the light travels from his palm into the metal.
The sword responds.
Its surface darkens and pulses as though something within it has awakened. The engraved letters settle along the spine of the blade, steady and alive. Power flows through steel and bone alike until wielder and weapon are indistinguishable in intent.
His lips part and the mantra that seals their fate is incanted.
Zhang Xiyu's voice carries clearly across the battlefield.
"Na va uvetan mriyase na risyasi."
You will not die; you will not perish.
The blessed blade falls heavy in his hands. With a grand sweep to the right, the sword elongates, black fog coiling along its edge.
The time of beheading has come.
Zhang Xiyu taps his foot once, and his figure blurs upward, landing at the highest point of the demon wall.
He manifests at the first cardinal point of the mandala.
The Blessed Sword hums in his grip, its edge extended by a faint arc of black vibration that distorts the air around it. Its first target, a hulking brute with skin of cracked magma, roars as the blade touches its neck.
There is no resistance. The flesh and demonic bone part along a line of absolute, pre-ordained geometry and the head slides free. The demon's final scream, hangs in the air before being swallowed by the maw below.
The body remains upright for a breath, held in place by residual force. Then the energy releases. The corpse tilts away from the wall and descends in a slow turn, reaching the glistening palate of the waiting mouth below.
Zhang Xiyu is already gone.
He appears at the second point in a low, lateral stance. The blade sweeps upward in a crescent. A winged shadow-beast meets the edge mid-screech. Its neck parts cleanly. Blood disperses into a scatter of dark petals that evaporate into sparks before sinking into the abyss.
At the third point, he pivots and slices horizontally through a mass of fused, wailing faces. The cut is identical in precision, yet the dissolution differs: bruised vapor coils outward, carrying the fading chorus of many throats before it, too, is claimed.
The pattern continues.
Each execution is a unique stanza in the same horrific poem. The method was identical in its divine precision, but the offering mutates to the essence of the demon being sacrificed.
Below, the maw responds.
With each offering, the glossy ridges lining its interior tighten and release in slow, rhythmic contractions and a wet gulp echoes.
Zhang Xiyu's figure flickers through the circle with mounting speed, the sword tracing arcs too fast for the eye to follow.
Wails of the dying demons harmonize with the heavy gasps coming from the mouth down below, which swallows the shower of blood and flesh with glee and satisfaction.
By the time he reaches the final point, only one remains, a towering devil thrashing against its restraint. Zhang Xiyu steps forward and severs its head in a single, level stroke.
The slaughter was complete. The altar was fed. And in the silence that followed, heavy with the scent of sacred butchery, the true consequence of such a precise, artistic offering began to stir in the depths.
Silence spreads.
The spears of force that held the demons flicker dimly, and disintegrate into drifting ash.
Zhang Xiyu remains suspended for a moment at the centre of the circle.
The Sanskrit on his skin begins to recede. The red light pulls back from his fingers, his arms, his chest, retreating toward the sigil on his forehead. The letters sink beneath his flesh, one by one, curling inward like dying serpents. The sigil pulses once then seal itself shut.
His eyes—his own eyes, dark and tired, blink.
As their impaled bodies fall in the mouth like a meteor shower, Zhang Xiyu sheathes back the sword with reverence.
The sound was soft like the closing of a shrine at dusk.
He exhales and recites evenly.
"Devyagre nihata yanti pashavah svargamavyayam."
Those slain before the Goddess ascend to the unperishing heaven.
You will not die; you will not perish.
For now, the shakti seems sated. The air steadies and the ground holds.
Then something shifts.
At a distance, Renhu's pupils dilate as he studies the mouth below. "Now what's… that?"
---------------------------------------------------------------
So bright…
Ren Jiang presses his palm against his hazy green eyes, frowning as he props himself up. His head throbs, heavy with dizziness, and he rests it against his bent knee while the world slowly swims into focus.
"…when did I fall… asleep?"
The daylight assaults him as his eyes adjust, wandering over endless grassy fields that stretch toward a horizon where blue sky meets green earth and feels the grass tickle his skin. This landscape doesn't belong in hell.
Places full of life and vigour don't belong there.
And yet, familiarity tugs at him, as if he's stood in this exact spot many times before. He rises drowsily, brushing stray grass from his clothes, and looks around.
Someone should be here. The person who brought him. Where is he?
"Father?" The word escapes before thought can catch it, echoing across empty space. No fear follows the silence, only absolute conviction that his father is near.
Even when he hears no reply, he treads on the grass with confidence. His youthful voice yelling out again. "Father! Where are you?"
"I am right here."
The voice numbs his nape instantly. Dizziness returns, and cold sweat traces paths down his back.
Strange.
He wipes at it with the back of his hand.
Why can't I meet his eyes?
His gaze fixes on his shoes, pupils darting. Am I nervous?
"I am always here."
Ren Jiang forces himself to look up, but the approaching figure brings such encapsulating brightness that he can only make out feet standing impossibly far away. The radiance reaches every corner of this world, consuming everything.
"Father? Are you there?" The distance between them seems infinite. Have they always been this distant?
Before an answer comes, intense heat grips him. Ren Jiang fears that this heat is nothing compared to the hellfires he knows. That this heat may very well burn him and his soul forever.
Stepping back is cowardly and reaching out seems suicidal.
"I am." The sonorous voice responds. "But where are you, son?"
Ren Jiang's brow furrows deeper. "Why, I am right here."
The father stands silently, his presence swelling until it fills the entire sky, becomes omnipresent. But something in that presence feels hostile now. Ren Jiang grits his teeth. "Are you upset with me? Have I done something wrong?"
The father matches his sullen tone.
"You are not my son." Underlying disappointment and sadness permeate every word.
So… bright…
The radiant figure faintly reveals itself. Within the blinding glare, Ren Jiang catches a glance of a golden crown which blends with his golden skin.
So… fucking… bright…
Ah. Understanding strikes his head. This is not home.
His body remembers itself, and the obedience in his eyes curdles into disgust. The warmth and comfort this stolen memory held, are overtaken by the disdain of the invader.
A cocky sneer twists his mouth. "This eyesore of a place does not belong in my Hell."
He knows now. This entity he called father is not Lord Enma.
No, this is the piercing radiance of the Sun God.
And this is Lord Enma's memory.
"Bring him back to me." The impression of the Sun God contains rising fury within his words. They command Ren Jiang's nerves, dantian, and his entire universe.
"Bring him back."
And they must wisely comply.
The time capsule dissolves under cold reality. Before his eyes fully open, a sphere of purple frost crashes toward his face.
BOOM.
The wind beneath his legs crack, hurling his body backward hundreds of feet. His torso curves into a cartwheel, shedding momentum until his feet slide to a halt. His defence had largely failed him.
When did I fall unconscious?
He rubs his palm over his face, but remnants of that dream leave bitter residue. Something else took over me.
He spits out pooling blood, eyes narrowing at the grand curtain of arrows carrying samadhi fire across the dark sky. Their deathly glow reminds him of his encounter with the Sun God.
"Bring him back."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart rings loud in his ears as he struggles to keep control over this titanic power. But his will crushes beneath a god's direct command, his ego crushed like an ant underfoot.
"Bring him back."
"SHUT UP!"
Ren Jiang roars with clawing desperation. But solar power beyond his control—the primal power of the Sun, once a pure gift to its son—no longer bends to its unworthy bearer.
Burning sunlight consumes Ren Jiang's domain of water, disintegrating the barrage of arrows into dust. Orange fire cocoons him as a miniature sun is born.
"Is that…?" Liu Xue's voice trails off.
Torturous shrieks escape Ren Jiang as his untrained body bears a chunk of godly cultivation.
"Bring him back."
This omnipotent power is no longer in control of anyone. It has gone wild and unrestrained under the divine command and move with its resolution.
"Ren Jiang has gone berserk." Yutao supplies the answer to the bewildered ice prince. "The solar energy is consuming him."
"Don't let your guard down." His sword stance lowers. "We must kill him and tear out that stolen core before he burns the mortal world."
Unlike Ren Jiang, Liu Xue devoted his life to training with the fire of revenge. No matter how at odds they are, Yutao considers the third prince the most reliable of the bunch, and as expected, the cold fire in his eyes hasn't faded; it reignites with different vigour.
The earth shakes as Liu Xue summons every liquid drop to his aid, his sword reinforcing into something broader and deadlier.
"The real battle begins only now."
As things went bad to worse in this battle sky, same can be said about the events transpiring below.
Because the mouth has enlarged. A grotesque understatement for what now gapes across the continent.
It has swallowed countless cities in its path, the crater stretching through the lower reaches of China before claiming multiple cities in Vietnam, Laos, and Taiwan. The mortal world itself faces consumption. A giant red tongue sweeps over tall buildings and towers, actively searching to satiate its bloodthirst.
As if the tectonic plates of Earth are made of paper, the land tears down and sink into the cackling gullet below. Nothing withstands, not the once immovable mountains, rivers, and even the seas!
Catastrophes so immense they defy description extinguish millions of settlements in mere hours. And beneath it all lies an even more terrifying consequence.
To understand it, one must think of realms as an hourglass, Hell sits at the bottom while Earth rests at the top.
The realm that sits in the dead centre of the hourglass, with the smallest width, this is where shakti rests. The realm where Zhang Xiyu was trapped in the world of immortal fables lies right there.
And now that point is widening. Which means—
Hell and Earth are at the cusp of merging.
Attracted to each other's gravity, the two realms will crash in the middle with no hope of reversal. If the phenomenon isn't stopped soon, there will be no difference between the dead and living.
Zhang Xiyu and Renhu gaze down at the unspeakable disaster in solemn silence. This was never part of the plan.
He had anticipated damage, but for it to consume countries?
This was not in the fucking plan.
Zhang Xiyu watches in horror, his mind racing through possibilities. Had he not sacrificed those demons, their anger would have consumed the mortal world long ago.
Had he not forced Ren Jiang into his trap for revenge, none of this would be happening.
Had he not made a promise with Lord Enma and killed Ren Jiang back in Hell—
"Sir! Snap out of it!"
Renhu's hand grips his shoulder, shaking violently. "You!" He yells at Zhang Xiyu for the first time, as if reading his thoughts.
"If you hadn't existed, Ren Jiang would still hold the mortal world hostage. He would still bear the divine anger and by now it would have eaten the entire world!"
Renhu catches himself, awkward at the novel expression of surprise on Zhang Xiyu's face. He rubs his nose and looks away. "Anyway, this is not your fault. Your job was to be a stupid ghost and find the next window to reincarnation."
"It's not your job to manage hell or earth, you silly ghost."
First time taking up a casual tone with his creator/father. Today is full of firsts for Renhu. . When silence follows, he nervously turns to him. "I am sorry, I got carried…"
Only to find Zhang Xiyu watching him with a small smile, eyes curved in relaxed amusement.
"…away." Renhu's sentence trails off.
In the stiff silence, Zhang Xiyu speaks lowly. "I'm alright now. Thank you."
"No need to thank me. It creeps me out."
At this, Zhang Xiyu chuckles making Renhu crack a timid smile Together they look down at the smoke and destruction with clouded gazes. Finally, Renhu speaks. "Sir, you know what I must to do."
An arm wraps around Renhu's shoulders. Zhang Xiyu pulls him close while watching the sinking seas. "You don't have to. Say no and return home."
His eyes dart to the battle above. "I'll send him back and the two of you can live together forever."
Renhu cringes at the cheesy future his boss has mapped out for him. But a key detail strikes him more. "Are you not there in this barf-worthy future?"
"No. It's too barf-worthy for me."
"It's the same case for me."
He meets Zhang Xiyu's gaze meaningfully, both stubborn until the latter concedes with a heavy sigh. Zhang Xiyu roughly rubs Renhu's head, deep heaviness settling in his heart. He pulls him closer, meeting his eyes sternly. "Be extremely slow at it. If you need to throw in a few mortals, do it. But wait."
"Wait for me. Until the end."
"Okay." Renhu nods with childlike obedience. "I'll be alright. This won't be the last of me you see, sir."
Zhang Xiyu nods with hesitance and releases him. Renhu bows slightly. "See you later."
The light fades from Zhang Xiyu's eyes as he watches Renhu descend to the brittle earth. His smile curdles into a frown when Renhu stands at the boundary of the breathing mouth. Moments later, his body begins melting. From it emerges the black tartar of countless resentful souls.
Their faces contort in eternal pain, wailing as they march toward final demise. In other words, this is a mass suicide.
Zhang Xiyu had salvaged them from Kaigan's deepest pits, all wronged by Hell's lofty nobles and princes. He gathered them to offer new life. A chance to live again as Renhu.
Now he watches helplessly as they jump back into that Tartarus, beyond salvation.
Zhang Xiyu grits his teeth, forcing emotion down. What matters is that Renhu's sacrifice buys them enough time. He cannot let that go to waste.
"Not Enough."
A familiar voice comes from the mouth, a voice only he can hear.
It is The Blue Lotus.
"She is absolutely enraged with those two brats that have broken the boundaries. She will not rest until she eats them."
Zhang Xiyu's silence doesn't bother him. She would be foolish not to realize by now that the youngling doesn't want to harm Enma's sons. But at what cost?
She too knows how to push his buttons.
"Zhang Xiyu." Her voice sharpens.
"Your stubbornness will have your companions meet their end soon."
The tumultuous sounds of destruction resounding above and below him rage at him. How noisy…
"The princes must be killed. Claw out their cores, and with their blood, save your loved ones."
"Bring him back."
Ren Jiang unconsciously mutters the command ringing in his numb ears. His body functions as a puppet for Enma's stolen cultivation. Terrifying as it is, this represents only a fragment of its true power.
But how can they counterattack the authoritarian might of Enma with their makeshift elements?
They stand against it, barely holding. But if this continues, all three will fall into the infinite pit below.
Their cultivation whittles away, kneeling before Enma's mighty austerity. The sun engulfing Ren Jiang bursts with fluctuating waves like living lava, moving toward them with intent to burn. No matter how much distance they create, how much energy they pour into bursting that sphere, the domain controlling Ren Jiang remains indestructible.
Until—
"Zhang Xiyu!" Yutao's eyes widen, shock undercut with fear.
While the two princes maintained safe distance from the burning ball, Zhang Xiyu stands directly before it, his sword plunged deep into its heart. Decaying darkness laced with blue petals leaks from the blade, rushing to corrupt this symbol of purity. Enma's domain poisons under caustic, overwhelming qi that pours endlessly inward.
The stolen core's control over Ren Jiang breaks for a faint moment—just long enough for him to witness the grand phenomenon of darkness reaching toward him before his eyes cloud over again.
To counterattack Enma's authoritarian power, one must stand above it. Just as Zhang Xiyu previously negated his summons of the Sanzu River, his cultivation now expends every resource to bend Enma's will.
Both have become incomplete manifestations of omnipotent gods, scraping and burning through everything to kill each other. As Enma's cultivation consumes Ren Jiang, Zhang Xiyu allows himself to be consumed by her hibernating power.
Between this turbulent sky and crumbling earth, he and the Blue Lotus are becoming one.