The truth, projected in silent, undeniable images by the Memory Weaver, hung in the council hall like a shroud. The assembled sect leaders stared, their faces a mixture of horror, disbelief, and a dawning, sickening understanding. The serpent they had been hunting was not in the Netherworld; it had been coiled in their own council, whispering poison in their ears.
Elder Feng, exposed and cornered, his face a pale, sweating mask of fury, began to laugh. It was not a sound of humor, but a wild, unhinged cackle that echoed in the sealed chamber.
"Fools!" he screamed, his voice cracking with madness. "You preach of purity and light, but you are weak! You lack the will to do what is necessary to truly cleanse this world!"
Wei Chen, his face ashen, took a step forward, his sword raised. His entire world, his decade of righteous conviction, had been built on this man's lies. "Traitor," he choked out, the word thick with the poison of his own gullibility. "You have betrayed us all."
"I have tried to save you!" Feng shrieked, backing away toward the center of the Void trap array that still pulsed with dark energy. "But you are all too blind to see!"
He knew he was finished. He could not fight his way out. But he would not be taken. With a final, desperate roar, he made his choice.
"If I am to be condemned by this pathetic world," he bellowed, his arms thrown wide, "then I will be reborn in the glory of a new one!"
He thrust his hands into the heart of the Void array, deliberately drawing its full, corrupting, and immense power into his own body. This was his tribulation. A willing damnation.
The transformation was an agonizing, horrific spectacle. A piercing scream was torn from Feng's throat as his righteous golden core, the spiritual heart of a cultivator, shattered under the strain. The Void energy, a devouring anti force, rushed into the vacuum, followed by a torrent of raw, chaotic demonic qi drawn from the latent fear and hatred in the city itself. His skin cracked and reformed, taking on a pallid, grey hue. Black, jagged lines spread across his face like shattered porcelain, and his eyes, once the eyes of a wise elder, now burned with a soulless, black light.
He had forcibly induced a catastrophic qi deviation, shattering his own soul and remaking himself into something new. Something monstrous. He was no longer a righteous cultivator. He was a demon of the Void.
The Void trap array, its energy now fueling him, collapsed. The monstrous, transformed Feng threw his head back and laughed, a sound that was no longer human. He swatted a hand through the air, and an arc of black energy sent Wei Chen flying, crashing into a pillar and slumping to the ground, wounded.
"If I am to be a demon," he snarled, his gaze fixing on the one who had caused his downfall, "then I will begin my reign by slaughtering a saint!"
He lunged for Lan Yue.
The collapsing council hall erupted into chaos. It was now a desperate battle for survival. The remaining sect leaders, their own energy drained by the array, scrambled to defend themselves against the unholy power of the new Feng.
It was Lan Yue who took command. "Hold the line!" she bellowed, her voice ringing with a celestial authority that cut through the panic. She met Feng's charge head on, Nightfall Crescent a brilliant silver comet against his encroaching darkness.
They were all trapped, fighting for their lives in a crumbling tomb. The other sect leaders, men who hours ago would have gladly condemned her, now had to rally behind her to stay alive. Wei Chen, clutching a bleeding shoulder, staggered back to his feet and rejoined the fray, his face a mask of agonized atonement as he fought to protect the very people he had been ready to betray.
They were barely holding their own. The demonic Feng was a whirlwind of Void laced power, his attacks both brutally strong and unnervingly ethereal.
And then, the world outside joined their private hell.
A deep, resonant, world shattering roar echoed from the sky, a sound so powerful it shook the very foundations of the mountain fortress. The great, domed roof of the council hall cracked, spiderwebbing under an immense, unseen pressure. With a final, deafening crash, the entire ceiling imploded.
Dust and debris rained down. The fighting stopped. Every soul in the room saint, traitor, and demon alike looked up in pure, unadulterated terror.
Framed against the stormy, dark sky, a head larger than a house descended into the ruined hall. Its scales were the color of a starless void, its eyes burned with a cold, hungry anti light, and from its colossal, serpentine maw, a low, rumbling growl promised the unmaking of all things.
The Bakunawa had arrived. And they were all trapped in its cage.