Dawn broke over the Black Blood Mountains like a slow, deliberate wound.
The storm clouds that had lingered for days finally parted, scattering pale shafts of light across the obsidian spires. The peaks glimmered wetly, as though the mountain itself had bled through the night.
The Heavenly Demon Sect stirred.
From the lowest outer courtyards to the highest restricted zones, disciples rose before the first bell. Every movement carried purpose. Every breath felt heavy with expectation.
Today was no ordinary day.
Today marked one thousand years since the First Heavenly Demon had split the central peak and carved his dominion from the heart of the mountain.
Today, the Demonic Path would remind the Nine Provinces why it endured.
Preparations had begun weeks prior, but the final hours carried a fevered intensity.
Outer disciples swept the grand processional paths with brooms braided from spirit-bound hair, ensuring not a single speck of dust marred the polished black stone. Inner disciples erected banners along the main avenue — black silk embroidered with golden demonic runes that writhed faintly whenever the wind touched them, like living things eager to witness the ceremony. Core disciples tested the demonstration platforms, channeling streams of qi into reinforced barriers until the air hummed with restrained power, vibrating beneath each footstep.
Delegations began to arrive.
The Blood Shadow Sect came first — three hundred warriors clad in scarlet robes, their faces hidden behind bone masks carved with snarling demons. They marched with mechanical precision, led by an elder whose aura pressed against the sect's formations like a blade testing a sheath.
Next, the Ghost Blade Clan arrived, fewer in number but no less formidable. Shadows clung to them unnaturally, blurring outlines and hiding exact numbers. Their leader, a woman whose eyes were sharp as frost, nodded once to the welcoming elders before disappearing into the guest pavilions, leaving whispers of awe in her wake.
More would follow as the day progressed. All under banners of truce. All bearing gifts — rare herbs, demonic beast cores, and forbidden texts. All watching. Waiting.
In the Throne Hall of Eternal Night, final preparations unfolded with ritual precision.
The thirteen obsidian steps leading to the throne had been polished until they reflected the torchlight like black mirrors. Braziers shaped as screaming skulls burned with black flame, giving off no heat but exuding the faint, coppery scent of old blood. The throne itself, forged from fused bone and iron, waited like a predator.
At the center of the hall rested the Thousand-Year Blood Wine. A single golden chalice, ancient and heavy, sealed with nine layers of demonic runes that pulsed faintly crimson. Around it, fresh blood formations throbbed slowly, keeping the wine's potency restrained, contained — for now.
The five great elders oversaw the final checks personally. Baek Cheon-il, his expression unreadable, traced a finger along the chalice's rim. Perfect. Hyeon Mu-geuk reviewed the ritual sequence scroll one last time, scanning for any deviation. Jin Sa-ryung leaned against a pillar, arms folded, eyes flicking over the gathering hall with predatory amusement. The twins moved silently, adjusting formation flags with mechanical precision, shadows flowing like liquid around the edges.
Everything was ready.
The hall began to fill. Core disciples first, twenty of them, each radiating power in a way that made the air seem heavier. Then inner elders, followed by selected inner disciples who had earned this honor through blood and merit. Finally, the delegation leaders were escorted to their designated positions, their auras contained, but restless, like tigers on chains.
The air thickened.
Auras brushed against one another like blades drawn but restrained. Whispers died. Eyes fixed. Hearts tightened.
And then the doors opened.
Cheon Ye-mok entered.
Alone.
No escort. No fanfare. No announcement. Just the sound of long black robes flowing, the faintest whisper against polished obsidian floors.
His crimson eyes swept the hall. Every conversation died instantly. Even the black flames of the braziers seemed to dim in recognition. He ascended the thirteen steps with slow, deliberate grace and seated himself upon the throne.
The ceremony began.
Baek Cheon-il stepped forward, voice carrying across the hall like sharpened steel.
"Today, we gather to honor one thousand years of the Heavenly Demon Sect's dominance. One thousand years since the First Heavenly Demon split the mountain and claimed these lands. One thousand years of unbroken victory. One thousand years under the guidance of our Lord…"
He bowed deeply toward the throne.
"…Cheon Ye-mok, the Heavenly Demon."
The hall erupted in a unified shout:
"Glory to the Heavenly Demon!"
The sound rattled dust from rafters and made torches flicker.
Cheon Ye-mok raised one hand. Silence fell instantly.
The demonstrations began. Core disciples displayed the foundational arts — palms that shattered reinforced barriers, blades that cleaved space itself. Tamed demonic beasts were brought forth: Blood-Winged Lions and Nine-Headed Serpents knelt before the throne without command, their eyes reflecting both awe and fear. Gifts were presented, one by one: rare herbs, cores of extinct beasts, stolen texts, each offered with trembling hands.
Finally, the moment arrived.
Baek Cheon-il lifted the golden chalice. The formations dimmed. The runes flared once before breaking with a low crack like distant thunder. Steam rose from the dark liquid, carrying a metallic tang that made meridians ache with desire. He ascended the steps, knelt, and offered the chalice with both hands.
"Master. The Thousand-Year Blood Wine is ready. Brewed as you commanded. Perfected over a century. This disciple humbly offers it to you on this sacred day."
Cheon Ye-mok's crimson eyes swept the hall once more, then the chalice. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it to his lips and drank.
And in that single motion, the thousand-year legacy of power continued…