Chapter 27
The strange phenomenon continued to permeate the entire land.
Creatures that had never been able to cultivate suddenly awakened. Beasts and humans who had been trapped at bottlenecks for countless years broke through into new realms. Strength across the world rose at a terrifying pace.
Even objects changed.
Some gained gentle souls.
Some awakened twisted, unnatural spirits.
Others birthed outright devilish consciousness.
Yet this was not the greatest effect of the crimson cloud.
The true horror lay deeper.
The crimson cloud was rewriting the laws that governed the realm itself.
Primal energy absorption did not slow. Not even slightly. Instead, it intensified, pushing the world closer and closer to collapse.
The realm trembled at the brink of destruction.
Then, just before everything tipped over, the crimson hue that had been blazing across the sky dimmed slightly.
Not gone.
Just restrained.
A figure lay atop a bamboo tree, one leg draped lazily over a branch. Cloth covered his hair and face, yet even from his posture alone he looked too perfect, too composed.
While the world descended into chaos, some growing stronger, some facing death, others gambling everything on desperate breakthroughs, this figure had not moved at all.
A small wooden leaf rested on his tongue as his eyes followed the crimson cloud.
Its glow faded ever so slightly.
He sighed, then smiled.
"Well," he muttered, "good things never last."
"It's ending."
Elsewhere, within another powerful faction, several grandmasters pushing desperately toward the next realm felt it.
The density of qi and mana in the air dropped slightly.
Not enough to weaken them. The energy was still far denser than it had ever been before.
But they felt it.
Another drop, and they would break through.
As if answering their thoughts, the clouds above them began to shift.
They gathered.
They churned.
A tribulation was forming.
The cultivators prepared themselves instantly.
They had calculated everything. How many lightning bolts they could endure. How much energy their artifacts could release. With the dense energy saturating the air, their defensive treasures could be unleashed without restraint.
Nothing should be able to wound them.
They were confident.
And under normal circumstances, they would have been right.
But the strange phenomenon had already interfered with the laws of the realm.
The first bolt descended.
It was not white.
It was not blue.
It was crimson.
And it fell like judgment.
The lightning crashed down with terrifying speed, and the destructive force carried within it was beyond anything they had imagined.
The grandmasters who had grown too comfortable felt death rush toward them instantly.
They could not react in time.
Their defenses shattered on impact.
The first elders died without even understanding what had happened.
Those farther back, more disciplined, with superior defensive techniques and artifacts, barely managed to survive.
Gravely injured.
Bloodied.
Shaken to the core.
But that was only the first lightning bolt.
The surviving elders, now standing in the shadow of annihilation, lifted their heads.
Their faces drained of color as they stared at the crimson sky.
More lightning was gathering.
The elders who survived, now standing on the edge of annihilation, stared at the crimson sky in horror as more lightning gathered above.
Just hours ago, they had looked up at that sky as a divine message.
Now, it looked like the wrath of gods mixed with the savagery of devils.
"Activate your barriers, save the elders!" a junior cultivator shouted as he rushed forward, trying to intercept the descending lightning.
The elders wanted to scream at them to run.
To save themselves.
But it was already too late.
The second bolt descended.
The cultivators were erased.
Not struck. Not injured.
Erased, as if they were nothing more than insignificant dust.
More lightning rained down.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The elders could only watch as their heavenly tribulation twisted into a hellish one.
Within mere minutes, an entire powerful sect was wiped from the surface of the realm.
And they were not the only ones.
Several other sects vanished under the hell lightning tribulation. Some managed to survive, but their foundations were shattered forever. They would never return to what they once were.
Yet not all outcomes were disastrous.
Those who were prepared, those with powerful techniques, fortified environments, deep experience, and unyielding willpower endured the hell tribulation.
And in doing so, they broke through into entirely new realms.
Cultivators were dying in staggering numbers.
At the same time, new monsters were being born.
Across the world, rulers and hidden powers shared a single thought.
How can we seize power from the chaos of the crimson night?
The world was changing too fast, too violently.
And no one knew what was causing it.
Yet another major event was unfolding deep within a vast forest.
A powerful clan was stationed there.
This clan rarely showed their faces. They preferred to move in shadows, safeguarding the world from behind the veil. Because of this, few knew their names, or even knew they existed.
The land was usually filled with laughter. Cultivators training. Families living in peace.
But tonight, terror descended.
A massive explosion rocked the smallest building in the medium settlement.
The city was devastated.
Corpses littered the ground.
Cultivators and mundane humans alike lay slaughtered without exception.
From afar, the sounds of battle echoed again and again.
Then, silence.
A massive door creaked open.
A hooded figure stepped out, dressed entirely in black.
He did not bother to look at the destruction behind him.
Instead, he lifted his head, eyes fixed on the crimson night sky as it slowly retreated, the strange color fading away.
A faint smile curved his lips.
Whatever caused that anomaly, he would find it.
It was the push he needed to finally begin his plan.
The timing was earlier than expected.
But that did not matter.
Once the execution was complete, perfection was inevitable.
And it was all thanks to the crimson night.
Without a word, without leaving a trace, the figure vanished.
Moments later, another figure appeared.
His entire body was wrapped in cloth like a mummy, concealing every inch of skin.
Others would know him as Guardian Knut.
He stared at the devastation brought upon the Nura Clan.
His fist clenched tightly.
He was too late.
But he did not dwell on it.
Instead, he searched for the horror that had killed them.
The more he investigated, the more confused his gaze became. Until shock finally struck him.
There were clear signs of slaughter. Clean cuts. Deep wounds. Sharp swords had done this.
Yet there was nothing else.
No residual energy.
No lingering intent.
Not even the faintest trace of death.
That was impossible.
Even if the massacre had happened years ago, he should have been able to follow a solid trail with his innate skill.
But there was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Knut's eyes tightened. His fist trembled.
He lifted his gaze to the crimson night sky, anger burning behind his eyes.
Just what kind of abomination did the crimson sky release? He thought.
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Finally, it seemed as if the crimson night was fading.
But the truth was far different.
The crimson was not disappearing.
It was retreating.
Shrinking. Compressing. Gathering.
All of it converging toward a single location.
Somewhere deep within the Heart Continent.
The crimson clouds condensed, folding into themselves, until they formed a second moon.
A crimson moon.
It hung beside the pale white one, staining the heavens with dread.
King Jallon stood at the balcony of his castle, staring at it.
His hands trembled.
Something terrible was happening.
And it was happening soon.
Whatever it was, he had to stop it.
He had to act fast.
Meanwhile, far away in the Rugraiy Kingdom, inside one of the many local labor rooms, a woman groaned in agony as she struggled to give birth.
Those assisting her stayed close, panic etched into their faces.
Blood kept flowing.
More and more.
And still, the child did not come.
The head healer in charge stared in disbelief.
This was the most difficult delivery she had ever seen.
Hours had passed since labor began, yet there was no sign of completion.
What terrified her most was the amount of blood the woman had lost.
And yet, she was still alive.
The woman did not scream.
She did not beg.
She clenched her teeth and endured, focusing on one thing only.
Delivering her child safely.
Her sheer willpower, combined with the impossible fact that she had not yet died, pushed the healers forward.
They could not give up.
As they continued the delivery, the mundane humans in the room felt something heavy descend.
Dense world energy flooded the space.
Not qi.
Not mana.
This was condensed primal energy.
It filled the room, coiling through the air.
Ironically, they survived only because they were not cultivators.
Had they been, their bodies would have ruptured under the overwhelming pressure.
The energy surged, flowing into the woman's body.
Then, she let out a heart-shattering cry.
And the child finally burst forth.
The nurse caught the tiny body before it could hit the floor, quickly cleaning him before placing him onto a leather-covered bed.
The others rushed to check the mother.
Her pulse was faint.
Dangerously weak.
Outside, the crimson moon shone brightly.
Its light bathed the newborn's face.
The baby opened his eyes.
For a brief moment, they glowed with a hellish red.
Then they closed once more as he fell into deep slumber.
Vastro Trasle had been reborn.
The strongest slayer.
The most powerful usurper.
The Hellbound had entered the mortal realm.
The being who caused countless anomalies in a single night had finally arrived.
And the realm that welcomed him was about to undergo changes unlike anything it had ever known.
To be continued....
Author's Note:
This is not a hero story.
Vastro does not seek justice, redemption, or salvation.
He seeks perfection.
Chapter 28 begins his consciousness awakening.