Zhenwu moved like a storm through the vaulted halls—ruthless, efficient, his hunger for loot a physical thing that drove his hands. He smashed locks as if breaking old bones, pried away seals, and shoved treasures into his ring with a practised, unfeeling haste. Prisons of chained beasts and men lined several galleries; the chains ran in lines of cold metal and rune-etched bronze that hummed faintly in the inheritance's breath. Zhenwu glanced at them as he passed—beasts, prisoners, manuscripts bound in formations—and a dark light flickered in his eyes. He understood the danger that freeing them would bring. Chained things are chained for a reason. He let them be. Each step forward left a dead sentry behind, a fallen construct, a carving of lightning scorched into the floor. He could take everything; he would leave the chaos where it would not take him alive.
Far ahead, Zhennan ran like a man possessed. The Phoenix's words hammered in his skull and the memory of He Ruying's final look burned his blood. The inheritance's whispers had pointed the way, and the path narrowed into pace—blood, sacraments, and machines humming with old binding-magic. When he reached the great door the Phoenix had described, he did not hesitate. With the single swift motion of a man who had learned how to sacrifice for a single purpose, he slit his palm and pressed his blooded, blue-marked hand to the sigiled stone.
The metal drank his blood and the mark sang. Mechanisms creaked, seals screamed, and the great door opened with a sound like a lung exhaling after a long illness. Inside the chamber the core burned and breathed: a complex lattice of aether-cores and space-formations, blue veins of light stitched with older, darker runes. Zhennan staggered forward, the inheritance's voices pouring into him—how the pathways fit, where the anchor points were, which lines linked to which gates. He felt his mind stretch and tear under the pressure of a hundred centuries of instruction. It was cleansing and it was torment; the place asked for payment in understanding, and he spilled blood and will to buy it.
He found what the Phoenix had promised: the master linkage to the inheritance's space-architecture—the network of formation nodes and anchor stones that connected this subspace to the outer world. With trembling fingers he used the knowledge the inheritance had poured into him. He could sever these nodes; he could rebuild them at will; he could direct where the broken paths spat their fragments. Delirium and fury braided together when the memory of He Ruying's head rolled through his vision. His voice fell into a soundless chant as he pressed his blood-marked hand to a brazen core, and the world answered.
The formation-throbs shuddered. A thousand mechanical locks stuttered and a ring of monoliths around the core dimmed as Zhennan ordered the inheritance to cut its external links: to close the corridors, to collapse the tunnels that led out to the world. The structures obeyed with the indifferent punctuality of the living architecture—gears ground, seals clicked shut, a sound like a thousand shutters falling. Zhennan staggered back, eyes rolling, knees weak; he had bought the door shut. He had trapped the place from the outside. He had chosen to sever the inheritance's outward arteries. He breathed once—hard, ragged—and turned, hatred gushing through him like new blood. He would find his father. He would make him bleed for every theft of life.
Elsewhere, the scene where Shandian tore at Lieyan was a raw rage made manifest. Stone and feather and bone fell like rain as the gryphon went mercilessly at the Phoenix. Lieyan—wounded, wingless, one eye shattered—screamed and tore in return, but the air between them was a war-torn scrap. Shandian's claws found flesh and shredded; blood and fire and the scent of charred feathers filled the pocket of space where they fought. He spat venomous triumphs at the Phoenix as he worked the wound into ruin.
"SO YOU DID INDEED GIVE HIM THE KEY TO THE INHERITANCE," Shandian roared between bites, his voice a grinding thunder. "BUT I TOLD YOU, LIEYAN— I CAN ALWAYS LEAVE LATER. AS FOR NOW NOTHING MATTERS TO ME MORE THEN YOUR CRIES."
Lieyan's flailing cry answered him; she tried to summon the old teleport protections tucked in the inheritance's arcanum, but Shandian's savage fury tore at the bindings. He ripped and ground as if to break reality itself. At first it seemed to work: the Phoenix's shimmering form wavered, then—without warning—Lieyan blinked, and the Phoenix vanished from the throat of the chamber. Shandian grunted with frustrated triumph; for a breath he had thought the Phoenix trapped. The Phoenix's disappearance left a raw silence that smelled of burned feathers and torn space—an absence heavy as winter.
Shandian did not wait. Months—years—centuries of plotted sabotage and secret undermining in the inheritance had finally crested into this moment. He had spent tireless time cutting at the formation's unseen supports, feeding them small, poisonous fractures that widened only with the right hand at the right time. He had compressed his hatred into a single hammerstroke. Now he began to break the pocket of space he found himself in: claws struck the stone, and anywhere the stone split a thin, screaming line of light bled out. The space around him groaned as if an old thing waking from a long slumber had been pried and prodded wrong.
Back in the core-chamber, Zhennan's hands were raw and shaking. The inheritance complied: anchor lines snapped like brittle cords, and the subspace contracted, folding the tunnels into themselves. He watched as corridors he had run through collapsed into sigiled dust and heard the far-off echoes of things being severed. He had cut the world's leash to this place.
Ash fell like sorrow from the from the Phoenix as Lieyan crawled across the shattered floor. Her once-blazing feathers dimmed to ember, and her breath came ragged with the weight of centuries.
"I cannot stop Shandian," she whispered, her voice trembling like a dying flame. "Breaking the space formations will only delay him. He'll rebuild them… as will the one who freed him."
Her talons trembled as she dragged herself forward. "I must kill them now and seal this inheritance later. One of those men bore the imperial mark, and the others carried the crests of sects from my time. The empire still stands… and the world remains bound to the same powers. I must keep them away."
Her wings smoldered, and from her feathers, ash and fire blossomed into a lotus. Light exploded outward — a rebirth. Lieyan rose from the ruin, wings vast and whole once more, her body renewed in brilliant flame.
With a single beat of her wings, she ascended into the air, leaving a trail of molten feathers behind her. The storm howled as she pierced through the veil of snow and fire, racing toward the second trial ground.
Far below, a giant white beast watched her ascend — its ruby eyes dull and unfeeling.
Lieyan's voice echoed across the blizzard.
"Coward! You are a traitor to what we believed to what we chose to do— you are a coward, Wenrou! My master and those who believed in you would be disappointed by what you've become."
The beast did not respond. It simply turned its head away, the storm reflecting off its fur like shards of glass.
Lieyan continued onward, unable to teleport anymore. Her strength was waning. She tore through the sky, manually opening each hidden gateway that linked the trials together. Behind her, the mountains groaned beneath the weight of awakening power.
Then, the sky darkened.
Bolts of lightning carved the sky apart as Shandian emerged — vast and terrible — his wings stirring hurricanes of thunder.
From above, his voice rolled like an ocean storm:
"I'll have my fun with you later, you cowardly bastard! Just wait and watch — after all, that's all you ever do."
He soared past the frozen giant, a streak of living lightning vanishing into the clouds.
Wenrou, the white beast, simply stared into the blizzard — saying nothing, moving not at all.
---
Within the collapsing inheritance, Zhennan commanded its armies. The beasts, the golems, the traps — all obeyed his will. He controlled them from afar, directing his wrath toward one man: Han Zhenwu.
Zhenwu, meanwhile, stood in the deepest vault of the treasury — his laughter echoing in the hollow chambers as he pillaged everything in sight.
Rows of glittering aether shards, ancient scrolls, and relics of power filled his eyes with greed.
"This might even rival the Imperial Vault itself," he murmured, filling his tenth spatial ring. Each ring could hold a cubic space of fifty meters — and every inch of it overflowed with priceless treasures.
He tore through golems and beasts alike, his blade a blur, his aura burning black and wild. Finally, he reached a sealed chamber — a vast room holding only ten relics.
At its center, a sword floated in a crystalline casing. Beside it, a shifting orb, its surface in constant flux between solid and liquid — ever-changing colors rippling across it.
Zhenwu's breath caught. "Those two… they're beyond Emberwake."
He struck the barrier again and again, but the formation would not break.
"Damn it," he hissed, stepping back. "Greed drives a man, but greed also buries him alive."
Reluctantly, he turned away, deciding he'd taken enough. Survival came first.
He knelt beside the unconscious Han Lei, the infant son of his own bloodline — though to him, nothing more than a tool.
"Your role comes now," he said coldly. "You'll serve as my key to leave this place. I'd rather create my own exit than rely on chance."
---
As Zhenwu carved runes into the floor, he sensed a surge of qi approaching — several Emberwake-ranked beasts, roaring as they charged.
He sighed, drawing his double-edged sword. "Still not over, huh?"
He destroyed the entrance with a single swing, but the door held strong — the enchantments too ancient for him to shatter in time.
On the other side, Zhennan's commands echoed through the inheritance. Beasts and golems charged at Zhenwu from every direction.
Zhenwu fought like a cornered god, but for every creature he cut down, three more took its place. He could not rest — not for a heartbeat.
Zhennan watched from afar through the inheritance's vision, his eyes bloodshot, his hands trembling.
He saw Han Lei still lying in the vault, untouched. A plan began to form.
If Zhenwu needed the child to escape, then taking the boy would trap his father forever.
He sent wave after wave of beasts to drive Zhenwu away from the child. The old man fought ferociously but had to use both arms to defend himself — he couldn't carry the baby and battle at once.
Zhennan sprinted toward the vault, every muscle screaming, every heartbeat roaring in his ears. When he saw his father pushed back far enough, he ordered the beasts to throw themselves at Zhenwu, not caring if they survived.
Zhenwu sensed another presence approaching. His eyes flicked toward the intruder, and a faint smirk crossed his face.
Zhennan ran faster — his son's tiny body just ahead — but then Zhenwu broke through the beasts like a demon reborn.
Black veins pulsed across his skin. His power surged, his aura twisted. Muscles bulged, eyes flared with madness.
Before Zhennan could react, a blade tore through his abdomen, flinging him across the room.
He hit the wall hard, blood spraying across the stone. The beasts turned on him next, and he fought desperately, his breath ragged, his vision blurred.
He looked toward his father through the chaos — and wondered when it had all gone wrong.
When had his father decided his own son was nothing more than livestock for slaughter?
Had he always been this way?
Had every kind word, every lesson, every proud look — all been lies?
Lieyan flew deeper into the collapsing inheritance.
Ancient halls trembled as she descended through corridors that hadn't been touched since her master's death.
"I am truly sorry, Master," she whispered, her voice soft as flickering flame. "For what I am about to do."
Her wings spread, glowing crimson and gold, illuminating a stairway that spiraled downward for miles. She descended without hesitation — through traps and runes, through ancient air thick with dust and power — until she reached a sealed chamber.
Inside stood a single coffin, enormous and ominous, surrounded by a ring of giant golems. Their eyes glowed with dormant power, awaiting her command.
Lieyan landed before the door. The aura coming from within was familiar — sacred. Dangerous.
She turned toward the golems and gave her command. The titans moved, tearing open the gate that held the coffin.
She didn't have long. Shandian's aura was already drawing near — violent, immense, unstoppable.
Then, the ceiling above shattered, and the sky itself broke open.
From the storm descended Shandian, wrapped in a tempest of lightning, his wings blotting out the heavens. He crashed down like a living meteor, laughing with manic delight.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The ground split under his landing. Lightning fields spread across the chamber, electrifying the air.
Lieyan barely managed to shield herself before being thrown back. Electricity tore through her body, her feathers burned, and her light dimmed.
Shandian pushed aside the golems like toys, his talons tearing through enchanted stone. With a single swipe, he seized Lieyan by the throat, lifting her into the air.
"You've run enough," he hissed, his voice sharp as thunder.
She clawed at his grip, her wings thrashing — but she couldn't break free. Her body screamed with pain as his talons pierced her throat, her fire flickering.
Even then, she turned her gaze to the coffin. With the last of her power, she summoned a sphere of divine flame and hurled it.
It struck the coffin, cracking its surface, the seal breaking in a shower of embers.
Shandian's eyes widened for a heartbeat — then narrowed.
"I don't know what you're planning, Lieyan," he said coldly, lightning forming in his beak, "but you were always too sentimental for your own good."
He unleashed a torrent of lightning — a river of pure destruction that shattered the coffin completely.
"You were too slow, Lieyan!" he roared.
The Phoenix screamed in agony as his talons tore through her wings, ripping them apart. Her healing was exhausted; she had used the last of her vitality earlier to mend herself.
But as the light faded from her eyes, she saw movement — from within the shattered coffin.
And for the first time in eons, she smiled.
"Master…" she whispered.
Chains of lightning erupted around Shandian. They coiled around his limbs, his wings, his neck. He howled, thrashing violently, tearing through one — only for ten more to form.
Each chain burned him with divine force, searing through his feathers and flesh.
"WHAT IS THIS!?" he bellowed, struggling as the floor glowed beneath him.
From a smaller, sealed chamber nearby, a puppet emerged — small, unassuming, the size of a mortal man. Yet every step it took made the entire space tremble.
It walked slowly toward Shandian, its body radiating the aura of the inheritance's true master.
Shandian thrashed harder, lightning exploding from his body.
"Damn it! If I'm going to be sealed again, then I'll take all of you with me!"
His wings flared open, releasing torrents of energy that condensed into chains of his own lightning, striking toward Lieyan and the broken coffin.
Lieyan tried to resist, but the chains wrapped around her, pinning her to the ground. The air filled with her screams as her light dimmed.
The puppet raised its hand, summoning more chains that crashed down on Shandian, burying him under a storm of light and thunder.
---
Far away, in the deepest vault, Zhenwu froze as the air around him shifted.
The fortified artifacts sealed behind divine casings began to flicker — and then vanish for an instant.
His eyes widened. "Now's my chance."
He dashed forward, reaching through the fading barrier to snatch a single manuscript. The moment he withdrew it, the casing reformed — the window gone.
"Good enough," he muttered, satisfied. He turned toward the beasts still surrounding him and cut them down with precision.
But then, a voice echoed in his mind — familiar and dreadful.
"Zhenwu…"
His blood ran cold. That tone — it could only be Shandian.
He frowned deeply. "Did that bastard plant something on me? How the hell is he able to speak in my head?"
The voice grew louder, crackling with fury.
"Zhenwu, I need you to stay here. Do not escape. I have been sealed again, but the one who trapped me cannot hold me for long. I need you to kill them and set me free!"
Zhenwu continued preparing his formation, pretending to obey. "Of course… Shandian."
But in his mind, his thoughts were sharp and defiant.
You think I'd stay to die for you, beast?
Shandian's voice boomed in his mind, violent now.
"Do not dare test me! I can feel your intent! If you try to run, I will make your death an eternity of agony!"
Zhenwu only smiled — cold, quiet, deliberate — as he glanced toward Zhennan, who was crawling towards Han Lei, begging.
"Don't do this, Father. Please — don't—"
Zhenwu ignored him, focusing on his formation.
Then Shandian screamed in his mind.
"You leave me no choice!"
Blue marks flared on Zhenwu's left arm, burning like molten steel.
"AAAHHHHHHHH!"
The pain was unbearable — searing through his veins like acid. He fell to one knee, clutching his arm.
"That damned beast— he placed a control mark on me! But how!? You can't force one without— DAMN IT!"
Shandian's voice came again, cold and cruel.
"Don't make me destroy you, Zhenwu. We can both win here. Be smart. Know your next move."
Zhenwu gasped, trembling — then grinned through the agony.
"I am no slave to you, Shandian. I am no slave to anyone."
He raised his sword high. Shandian's roar split his skull with pain, but Zhenwu swung downward — severing his own arm.
His left arm, the one covered in blue marks, hit the floor with a dull thud.
Blood poured from the wound, but Zhenwu's eyes blazed with triumph.
"You damned bastard," Shandian roared.
Zhenwu gritted his teeth, stopping the bleeding. His body trembled, every muscle burning from the backlash. His demonic form faded, the black veins retreating as exhaustion consumed him.
Zhennan, across the chamber, held his son tightly, summoning beasts to shield them. Zhenwu, now weakened — his power collapsed back to that of a mere Rank Two — watched them flee.
He met Zhennan's gaze one last time, and with a twisted smile, mouthed the words:
"You'll meet your wife eventually."
Zhennan froze, fury rising like a storm, but he bit his lip until blood spilled — forcing himself to keep moving.
Zhenwu chuckled weakly. "I guess i taught how to control your emotions a little too well."
He turned toward his ritual circle, lifted his severed hand, and threw it into the formation. A black portal flickered — then died out.
Nothing.
He cursed, realizing the truth.
"They broke the space formations. Damn it. That means I'll have to alter it manually but without the original formations the place I'll be teleported to will be random. I don't have time to rebuild everything."
He began reworking the runes, his blood staining the stone, as the inheritance shook and screamed around him.
[TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE]