Jared felt the sun still high but losing its warmth when his inner clock marked three quarters past noon. A tremor shivered up the mountain. Far below, the first ranks of Malevolent Path Hall spilled into view, their banners a dark bruise against the valley floor.
The column thickened until it looked like locusts devouring the land. Wherever the mass rolled, grass browned, saplings folded, and every rabbit-trail went silent, as though life itself hurried out of their path. Rotting breath rose from the army, a swirl of grievance, death, and raw demonic hunger. The fumes smeared the sky into a greasy gray, closing over the peaks like a lid on a coffin.
At the very front drifted the Soul-Devouring Puppet. Its chalk-pale eyes moved without hurry, raking across the range. When the gaze slid over Jared’s ridge, cold pinpricks needled his skin, as if the thing had tasted him already.
Behind the construct, three thousand Soul Hunters locked arms into the Soul-Seizing Grand Array. Gray-white currents surged between them—tides of starved spirits seeking flesh. The chorus of distant wails gnawed at Jared’s ear even this high up.
To the left, Morven lounged inside a black war-chariot dragged by nine horned dragon corpses. Three Ghost Kings and nine Grand Nether Envoys flanked him, while disciples of the Ninefold Nether Palace knotted into the Nether Styx Formation. Each gust from that quarter carried a hundred different screams.
On the right, a ragged coalition pressed forward—sects that had bartered conscience for favor. Among them stalked the Witherbone Demon and Great Elder Bloodsea, plus three other reclusive fiends. Their auras flashed like blades, honed by whatever bounty the Lord of Reincarnation had granted.
Dead center, Malcolm reclined upon a throne of fused bones borne by pallid porters. Nine Elders orbited him like slow moons, their breaths curling in patterns Jared could not quite read yet felt compelled to distrust. Malcolm rolled an ashen bone pearl between his fingers. Each turn of the bead left frost on the air. The man’s eyes glittered, two chips of winter, never once blinking.
“Jared, come out and answer!” The shout cracked off every slope, filled every ravine, until even the smaller birds hiding in stone crevices burst free in panic.
Jared stepped from Gold Peak’s summit and let the wind lift his coat. Gerald, the Vermilion Demon Lord, Blaine, Oswald, and Aurelian fanned out behind him, an uneven crescent that still felt solid under his spine. Two armies faced each other now. The collective intent of thousands pressed upward, a spear aimed straight at the clouds.
Jared’s lungs tasted iron. He projected his voice, not raising it, merely letting it ride the mountain air. “Malcolm, you swayed the weak with lies, fed the Door of Reincarnation with innocent souls. Your ledger overflows. Heaven itself recoils. Today is the day that debt comes due.”
Malcolm threw his head back and laughed. The sound rolled like boulders down a gorge. “Child, you dare lecture me on heaven? The Lord of Reincarnation has granted revelation. Tens of thousands under my banner have broken their shackles. That, boy, is destiny. Stand against it, and you court annihilation.”
His gaze swept the range. “Five-Element Sect, Heavenly Sword Pavilion, Myriad Beast Valley—one last chance. Surrender now, hand over Jared, and the Lord may overlook past errors, may even grant you a taste of eternity. Persist…” He let the threat hang for a breath, then finished, every syllable iced and sharp. “After today, not even your hounds will survive.”
A hush settled, too thick even for wind. Aurelian’s shoulders began to shake. At first Jared thought it fear, then the older man’s laughter broke loose, rough and rising.
“Morven!” Aurelian called across the no-man’s-land, voice booming. “Hear that? Your master wants new pets. Should I beg for a collar, or will you fetch it over personally?”
Morven’s obsidian pupils flashed murder before his face smoothed to granite. “Aurelian, the Lord’s might lies beyond your comprehension. Spend what breath you have left in prayer.”
Aurelian barked a single word back, tasting it like wine. “Might? Come on out, coward behind the door! If you have a spine, face me with real steel!” Heat pooled in Aurelian’s chest as he hurled the words; the sharp taste of iron rode his breath, daring the hidden foe to flinch.
Oswald did not bother to answer. His fingers slid across the worn leather grip, and the muted scrape of metal left his skin prickling. Only three inches of the blade showed, yet a chill wind leapt from it and clawed upward into the sky.
Oswald let out a low laugh. “So that’s your answer. You’re all in a hurry to die.” The promise of combat spread through his veins like hot liquor, steadying his pulse. Malcolm rose with deliberate ease, dust rolling from his cloak. When the man’s gray eyes found Oswald, they gleamed like stones that had never known light. “Then we kill…”
“Kill!” The single word ripped from a hundred throats at once—a pressure wave that slapped the eardrums. The hillside itself seemed to roar back. Metal shrieked, soil burst, and the night cracked open; battle was no longer a threat but a fact.
Blaine moved first because waiting tasted like rust. He flung an arm toward the valley mouth where his beasts seethed behind the tree line. “Disciples of Myriad Beast Valley! Send the tide! Break their vanguard!”
Roar! The answering cry split stone. From the outer gullies of the Five-Element Range came a rising thunder. Nine thousand beasts burst through the treeline like a dam had failed, flooding toward the three thousand Soul Hunters who barred the pass.
Ironback Earth Dragons led the surge, each the size of a cottage and sheathed in plates of living rock. When they charged, the world shook; Soul Hunter ranks folded like paper screens beneath those armored skulls. Gale Wolves spun into cerulean cyclones, weaving between giants. Overhead, Thunderwing Golden Eagles stooped; gold lightning rained like shrapnel, every bolt punching clear through clustered shields.
In heartbeats, the beast tide tore three wounds into the enemy line. Yet the Soul Hunters were chosen for nights like this. Their first panic cooled, formations locked together again, shields overlapping. Three thousand banners snapped forward as one; ghost-white runes flared and a keening note scythed across the field.
Aoo! One of the Earth Dragons shrieked, a child’s cry trapped in a mountain’s throat. Blood filmed the eyes of nearby beasts, confusion curdled into frenzy, and they turned on the closest hides, friend or foe.
Blaine’s jaw tightened. “Lion King!” The Three-Headed Flame Lion King roared back; each maw breathed a different truth—fire, ice, thunder. The forces braided midair into a tri-colored pillar that slammed into the Soul Hunter core.
Boom! Where the pillar passed, dozens of armored figures evaporated, leaving only steaming footprints on blackened soil. The Soul-Devouring Puppet shifted first, a subtle stiffening of its ash-colored frame. Gray-white eyes fixed on the Three-Headed Flame Lion King, and its spear flickered; one heartbeat it trembled in the Puppet’s grip, the next it was a streak aimed dead at the creature’s central brow.
“Your fight is with me!” Blaine launched upward, muscles screaming, and a slab-sized battle-axe of bleached beastbone flooded his grip. He met the incoming spear with a downward cleave.
Clang! The collision rang like iron gods arguing, the shock flinging Blaine backward through brittle rock. He slammed into a cliff face before spitting himself out in a cloud of dust. Pain blazed clear, but he rolled to his feet and spat blood.
“Top Level High Immortal Realm, first grade… Good,” Blaine panted, wiping the red smear from his jaw. Without waiting for the ache in his hands to settle, he hurled himself back at the Puppet, axe sweeping wide.
All around, the beast tide crashed against the Soul Hunters in a roar so constant it felt like the sky had turned to teeth. Across the battlefield’s boiling haze, Oswald rose into open air, his iron sword sliding free of its scabbard with a deliberate hiss.
“Heavenly Sword Pavilion disciples,” his voice cut through thunder, “Form the Nine Heavens Sword Array! Slay the devils!”
“At once!” Nine hundred throats answered as one. Their swords lifted, points tilting toward the storm-shredded clouds like a forest of steel yearning for lightning.
