From the towering altar, a monstrous tide of demonic energy erupted around the idol of the Demon God. The sudden surge shook the ground, and the Shura that had been toying with Fang Han abandoned all pretense—launching a killing strike. His figure blurred, vanishing into streaks of motion. Razor-sharp gusts howled from every direction, twisting into a murderous vortex that sought to shred everything to dust.
The gale screamed in Fang Han's ears, clawed at his eyes—he couldn't see, couldn't hear, his senses drowned in the fury of the storm. The Shura's true speed revealed itself—twice as fast, twice as deadly as before. Clearly, the earlier attacks had been nothing more than cruel amusement.
Now, Fang Han truly felt what it meant to face the strength of thirteen horses merged into one body—overwhelming, thunderous, irresistible. The pressure battered his skin until every nerve screamed. He had no time to think, no direction to dodge.
"This is demonic martial art—the Wind Demon Kill!"
In that instant, Yan, the dragon spirit within him, released a sharp chant that echoed through Fang Han's mind. A flash of brilliance surged within his consciousness like an eternal aurora cutting through darkness. Clarity exploded in his vision. The world slowed. The Shura's claws—once a blur—now crept toward him inch by inch.
Seven-Star Step!
Kui Star Kick!
Fang Han moved like lightning. His body twisted and snapped into motion—hands, legs, shoulders, waist, and back connecting like a constellation. In a single seamless flow, he flashed to the Shura's flank and unleashed a storm of kicks.
The strikes landed—bang, bang, bang! The Shura staggered, but his monstrous strength rebounded through Fang Han's limbs, throwing him hard against the ground.
Rolling into a crouch, Fang Han's spine arched like a bow. He struck the ground with his palm and feet—thump, thump, thump!—rebounding upward like a centipede scaling a wall. His sword shot out, aimed straight for the Shura's eye.
"You actually reacted to that?" The Shura's expression twisted in disbelief. "With your mortal spirit, that's impossible!" He reached out, claws ready to crush the sword.
"Nether True Essence!"
Yan's voice roared through Fang Han's mind. At once, golden-yellow streams of energy burst from the sword—three coiling dragons of light, solid and unyielding. The Shura's claws met them—and were thrown back with a jolt.
That raw power… even steel would crumble beneath those claws, yet the golden aura held firm.
"So this is the power of the flood dragon…"
Fang Han felt the same yellow energy race through his body, wrapping around his muscles like serpents of light, binding and empowering him. His strength surged—five horses became fifteen. His reflexes sharpened; his mind felt blindingly clear.
The Shura froze, eyes widening. "That's… mana! Only cultivators who've stepped into the Divine Ability Realm can wield that power!"
But Fang Han gave no answer. He moved like lightning—his blade tearing through the air so fast it carved a vacuum.
"Nether Web!"
Yan's voice shifted, and the golden energy split into countless filaments, weaving a shimmering net that ensnared the Shura.
The monster roared, thrashing, unable to move. "The Nether Web… who are you? What are you?!"
Fang Han said nothing. His sword thrust forward—straight into the Shura's eye. The blade sank deep, shattering the crimson gem-like orb. The net followed, threading through the wound, draining blood and spirit alike.
Moments later, the Shura's body went limp, his essence sucked dry.
"Well done! His blood energy borders on pure yang—perfect for refining into a Blood Pill!" Yan's gleeful voice echoed as, within the Nether River, a blood-red pearl the size of a bowl condensed, glowing like living jade.
Fang Han stared, chest heaving. "Dead… I killed a Shura…" The thrill of power surged through him. "So this is what it feels like—to command mana."
But Yan's voice cut in coldly. "That was my mana, not yours. Without cultivation into the Divine Ability Realm, your body can't truly contain it. Still… you've stepped closer."
Her tone shifted. "I sense it—your senior sister, Fang Qingxue, is battling the Demon God's avatar. If she falls, we're all doomed!"
Fang Han turned toward the distant plain.
The underground expanse churned with demonic mist, black waves twisting into blades and beasts. Fang Qingxue stood amidst the storm, twin serpents of violet lightning coiling around her like living dragons, their thunder singing through the chaos.
"Impressive," a voice boomed from above. The demonic clouds gathered, condensing into a towering figure—a man in black, tall and elegant, with flowing dark-purple hair and eyes that gleamed with hypnotic malice.
The Demon God's avatar.
The instant he appeared, Fang Han's body buckled. A primal terror crushed his will, driving him to his knees, his instincts screaming to hide, to burrow into the earth.
"Demon God," Fang Qingxue's voice rang clear, icy and defiant. "Your Seven Fiend Gourd is already in my hands. Will you debase yourself further by taking action over a mere trinket?"
The Demon God's avatar laughed, a sound that made the air tremble. "The gourd is nothing. But you—daring to destroy my altar, to defy the coming of the demon legions—have signed your own death warrant! If I let you live, what face would the demonic path have left?"
His words struck like thunder. The ground split apart, chasms ripping through the plain. The shockwave threw Fang Han to the earth, pain tearing through his skull.
Such power… beyond comprehension. He trembled at the thought of his senior sister standing face to face with that force.
And yet, Fang Qingxue's gaze was cold as the polar sky. "Then let me erase that face."
Her robes flared, lightning screaming around her. The twin serpents grew—sprouting antlers, talons, and long whiskers, transforming into divine thunder dragons.
The Demon God's eyes widened slightly. "You've advanced to that level? No wonder Ying Tianqing defied his father, the Heavenly Demon Emperor, and risked death beyond the heavens just to honor your wager."
He laughed again. "Remarkable. Then take my move—Heavenly Demon Devours the Sun!"
He swept his sleeve, and the world vanished into black.
All light died. All sound fled. The universe folded inward, swallowed by darkness.
Within the eternal night, Fang Han heard Fang Qingxue's voice—steady, reciting ancient scripture.
"The pure and the impure, the primal and the fallen—when dragon and serpent rise, heaven and earth turn. Let the six thieves of the heart, the seven wounds of intent—be shattered!"
A crack of lightning tore the void apart. Purple light split the heavens. Fang Qingxue emerged from the darkness, pale and bloodstained, yet unbroken.
"Senior Sister!" Fang Han gasped. Her thunder aura had burned away the shadows, but she stood wounded, each drop of blood blooming scarlet on her snow-white robes.
Still, her spirit was unyielding—sharp enough to pierce the sky.
"I've torn through his darkness," she said, voice low but firm. "We must leave—now!"
She seized Fang Han's arm—and froze. Her eyes fell upon the corpse of the slain Shura.
"You killed him?" she demanded, disbelief flashing in her gaze. "What power did you use?"
Before he could answer, she flicked a finger—shhht!—and the fabric of his robe split apart. His upper body was laid bare beneath the crackling light.