Fang Han never expected that the "Fang Qingwei" before him was nothing but an illusion—a Heavenly Demon's transformation. The demonic beings of the outer realms were infinitely cunning, capable of shifting their forms and weaving deceit straight into the weaknesses of the human heart. No wonder cultivators feared them so deeply, even those of the demonic path counted them among their greatest enemies.
A Heavenly Demon was not flesh and blood but a thought—a stream of consciousness, a malicious current of will. Only demon kings could condense a true physical body. Yet even a lesser demon could craft an illusion so perfect that Fang Han could not see through it. Only masters of the Divine Ability Realm, whose minds and spiritual power transcended illusion and reality, could perceive their true forms.
Yan's warning had saved him once again. Though the artifact spirit's own power had waned after its injuries—barely on par with an early Divine Ability cultivator—it was deeply versed in demonic lore and could sense such creatures with ease.
"No wonder so many disciples die in the Heavenly Demon Battlefield," Fang Han thought grimly. "These demons are terrifying."
A chill wind swept over him, carrying eerie whispers and mocking laughter. Fang Han tensed, channeling his inner power. His spirit surged to full alert as he thrust a fist into the gust.
Pop!
A blast of blazing vitality erupted. His punch carried a sharp, righteous intent—pure, killing will that struck at the core of evil. The phantom wind convulsed, shattering apart into drifting wisps that failed to cling to his body.
Fang Han's cultivation had changed fundamentally. His physical strength now fueled his mind, providing immense energy to his spirit. Though he could not yet manifest true magic power, his mental force alone was strong enough to influence others—to make weaker foes tremble or faint beneath his gaze.
This was known as the "Gaze of Presence"—a step closer to the Divine Ability Realm.
With body and spirit united, his punch radiated such pure yang energy that no demon could endure it.
Yet the creature was relentless. Though shattered, its essence swirled back together, whispering in a voice like rusted steel, "Impressive… so strong! But I am formless. You can't kill me. I'll feast on your flesh, and with your blood, I will ascend to Demon Kinghood!"
"How does it know my name?" Fang Han asked sharply.
"Your spirit leaked when you fought," Yan replied. "The demon sensed it."
Understanding dawned, and Fang Han steadied his breath.
The demon reformed once more—this time as a serrated, wicked blade glinting with ghostly light. It howled through the air and came down toward Fang Han's skull.
Fang Han didn't flinch. He ignored the blade's deadly illusion and punched straight at it.
Because if he treated the illusion as real—if he dodged or hesitated—he would have already lost.
As expected, the demon faltered, twisting away rather than clashing head-on. Then, with a sinister hiss, it burst into a cloud of light that scattered into the sky—raining down as a storm of spectral swords.
A thousand razor-sharp blades descended like metallic rain, each drop slicing the air with murderous precision.
"Nice trick," Fang Han sneered. "But I won't fall for your games."
He inhaled sharply, his spirit blazing, and unleashed ten rapid strikes—Raising Fire to Burn the Heavens!
Crack—crash! The violent whirlwinds of his fists tore the air apart. Each spectral sword that struck the currents vanished with a shriek, dissolving into nothingness.
"One star slays demons, two stars bend fate. Three stars forge pure yang, four pierce the heavens. Five stars align, six stars merge to chaos, seven stars move the cosmos—let the stars compete!"
Fang Han's fists became blurs of motion—his Seven Star Fist surging in full force. He leapt, twisted, and struck, every blow echoing like thunder. The air roared; pebbles were hurled from the ground by the sheer pressure.
When he reached the final form—The Stars Compete for Supremacy—the force erupted in full, shaking the ground and distorting the air in all directions.
"AHHHH! I'M DYING!" the demon screamed as the gales shredded its essence into nothingness. Then silence—no trace of demonic energy remained.
"Dead already?" Fang Han frowned. "Didn't you say these demons could be refined into Biluo Great Pills?"
"Wait—watch out!" Yan's warning came too late.
A chilling laugh erupted beside his ear. "You really thought I'd die so easily?"
A human face materialized inches from his own—its eyes hollow, its grin monstrous.
"ROAR!"
Fang Han bellowed, his voice thundering like spring lightning. But the demon darted upward, diving into the crown of his head—straight into his spiritual sea.
Within his mind, it changed shape again—into Fang Qingxue herself, radiant in white, her expression calm and imperious. "Fang Han," she said softly, "I know your heart. Give me your body. You love me, don't you? Will you give yourself for me?"
"Love, my ass. KILL! KILL! KILL!"
Rage flared, but his mind stayed clear. The demon's deceit had gone too far.
With a snarl, Fang Han gathered every drop of blood energy, surging it upward to his head. He invoked the Origin Spirit Art, flooding his mind with pure white brilliance. The radiance blazed like a thousand suns, searing the demon into holes and tatters.
Then, from within that light, a vast phantom emerged—a crowned figure, part god, part devil, whose hand descended like the weight of the heavens themselves.
"Ahhh! Such power! That aura—it's… it's the Demon Emperor's spirit! How—how can a mortal's soul contain that!?"
Under the crushing will of the spectral hand, the Heavenly Demon's essence shattered at last—dispersed completely.
The secret lay within the Nine-Aperture Golden Pill Fang Han had consumed; it contained a trace of the Yellow Springs Emperor's blood, and thus, a lingering echo of an ancient Demon Emperor's might. Ever since Fang Han's spirit had awakened to awareness, he could faintly summon that overwhelming aura—enough to make any who witnessed it believe he was the heir of the demonic path itself.