The Southern Vast Desert had long ceased to resemble anything known to the mortal world. The earth, once scorched and cracked beneath a relentless sun, now shimmered beneath a surreal glow. The sky was a bleeding canvas—patches of crimson streaked with ash-colored clouds. Winds howled with forgotten names, and time itself seemed hesitant to move forward.
At the heart of it all, two figures clashed amidst the wreckage of space and logic.
Dao Wei's silhouette gleamed with divine ruin. What remained of his robes billowed with a will of their own, feeding on the energy around him, dark threads flickering like sentient shadows.
He had become a Reaper of the Mortal World—a manifestation of judgment cloaked in the veil of death, manifesting itself as a man.
His presence twisted reality. Every breath he exhaled seemed to drink the air around it. His chest rose slowly, deliberately, as though each heartbeat rippled across dimensions. His body was bare to the waist, scarred and battered—but those wounds glowed with golden-black light, shimmering like divine runes etched by the abyss itself. His hair, loose and drifting as if underwater, danced with strands of silver and shadow.
And his eyes—They had long lost their warmth.
Cold, gleaming, and endless, they stared into Diteyi with the emptiness of the void. And in his hand—Skyfall, no longer was just a sword, but a judgment rendered in steel and silence.
Diteyi stood wearily opposite him. His body fused with the Hell Serpent Zodiac, he resembled a monster birthed by nightmares, a crown of broken horns upon his head shattered from overuse of the Hell Serpent Zodiac's power. Scales glistened under the infernal light, some cracked, others falling away, revealing raw demonic sinew. His face had twisted, regal fury replaced by savage desperation. Twelve shattered orbs hovered like broken moons around him, fragments of his once unassailable power.
"No…" he muttered, claws trembling on his weapon. "This… this shouldn't be happening."
Diteyi's knees trembled. His grip on his spear faltered. And for the first time in his life, true fear crawled up his spine like a venomous worm.
Dao Wei exhaled.
The earth beneath him bloomed.
In that instant, the desolation turned… beautiful.
The winds stilled. Petals—soft, translucent, and aglow with a gentle inner light—fell from nowhere. Leaves of every color drifted in slow, celestial arcs. The skies lit with a surreal radiance, neither sun nor moon, yet more divine than either. The battlefield, scarred and scorched, had transformed into a blooming spring.
The desert turned into an impossible mirage. Colors bled into the sky as flowers bloomed from nothingness—vibrant, surreal, almost dreamlike. The sands shifted into soft meadows. Petals and leaves floated mid-air, each glimmering with a hue stolen from stardust. Every motion slowed, as though the world had stepped into a divine lullaby.
It was terrifyingly beautiful.
"This... this is Flowing Mirage Sword Art…" Swordswoman Mei murmured, awestruck. But no, this wasn't merely an art—it was law.
A forbidden art. A dream given form. A lie… so beautiful, it hurt.
It was the technique Dao Wei had once grasped during the Sword Kings Coronation. But now, it was not only complete—it was perfect.
He walked through the garden of death like a god beneath cherry blossoms.
"Eleventh Move," his voice came like wind through bone.
"Annihilation Spring."
The entire world held its breath.
Swing!
And the petals moved.
They didn't slash. They didn't explode.
They danced.
Bang!
Diteyi swung his spear, drawing an arc.
A petal touched the tip of his spear.
Shing!
It disintegrated.
"What…?" he stammered.
His next strike came faster, twisting into the shape of a serpent god's maw.
Bang!
Dozens of petals drifted into it.
Poof!
The attack was erased.
"What kind of… what kind of sword technique is this?!"
Dao Wei said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The petals whispered for him. The wind carried his will. The domain itself obeyed his intent.
Wherever they passed, Diteyi's demonic energy flickered and died. His spear melted into shadow, eaten alive by the grace of death. Each leaf floating toward him carried the essence of an era's end.
"What... what is this?" Diteyi staggered backward. He twisted, and lunged, summoning the remaining might of his form.
Boom!
His attacks flew. But they died midair.
The petals devoured them.
No bang. No clash. Just silence. Like watching fire consumed by the wind.
Diteyi was panicking. His every attack vanished before it could reach its mark. The petals, the leaves, the very air—they moved to defend Dao Wei, nullifying even the tiniest ripple of violence.
"This isn't martial skill!" Diteyi roared. "This is sorcery! This is a divine betrayal!"
He was bleeding from his mouth now, the toll of the fusion form collapsing in on him. His scales were cracking. His serpent limbs trembled beneath their weight.
He looked up, desperate. "W-What are you?"
Dao Wei paused.
The petals circled him in slow spirals, a crown of beauty and extinction.
Diteyi growled, fury mixing with terror. He screamed in frustration, unleashing another hellstorm.
"Dark Infernal Spiral!" he roared, his arm erupting in voidfire, his body spinning with savage rage.
Bang! Bang!
But again, the petals rose and the leaves danced.
Dao Wei walked forward, each step bending reality, petals circling him like a divine choir. His gaze—no longer the gaze of a man. No empathy, no malice. Just certainty. Cold and final.
Diteyi fell to his knees.
"This isn't real... You… you're not supposed to be this strong!" he cried. "You… you were always strong, yes! But 'WE' were equals!"
But Dao Wei said nothing.
Diteyi laughed, the sound of his voice cracking. It wasn't joy. It wasn't defiance. It was a man coming undone.
"You judge me—for seeking power through the Demon Sect—and yet look at you!" he screamed. "You're no better! You made a pact! With death itself!"
The petals swirled.
"You hypocrite!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "There's no difference between us!" Diteyi spat. "You gave up your humanity just like I did. What happened to the Divine Prince, huh? The righteous sword bearer?"
Dao Wei tilted his head slightly. His eyes reflected nothing.
And Diteyi… laughed.
A wild, hysterical sound.
"Of all people—you—a monster worse than me!"
He spun and unleashed his final barrage—wild arcs of demonic energy, serpents of voidfire crashing through the Spring Domain.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Petals met each strike followed by an eerie silence.
Dao Wei's eyes lifted.
Two abysses of pure black, with faint crimson rings, stared through Diteyi's soul.
"I don't need to make deals," he said softly.
The air froze.
"I am the Deal!"
Cough! Cough!
Diteyi choked.
"And I never once claimed righteousness," Dao Wei continued, his voice now a calm storm. "—I am judgment."
Boom!
The petals flared.
Diteyi lunged.
Dao Wei moved.
Whoosh!
A single petal touched Diteyi's arm.
And it turned to dust.
"No—no—NO!"
Diteyi collapsed. His body smoked. Energy leaking from every wound. His form cracked, not from Dao Wei's sword, but from the weight of his own despair.
Dao Wei raised Skyfall one last time, still and calm.
From the heavens, all watching—from divine realms, hidden sects, forsaken peaks—felt the shiver of an ending. As if god had spoken.
"It's time to end this…"
The world stilled. Far across mountains, within mirrored realms, in the hidden eyes of gods and demons alike… silence fell. Even the stars seemed to hold their breath.
Diteyi's legs buckled beneath him.
For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to face death.
Not metaphor. Not just fear.
But Death—alive, walking, and looking directly at him. And it bore the name… Dao Wei.
And with those words, the petals surged.
Leaves still floated, suspended like frozen tears in the breeze. Petals danced upon winds that no longer seemed real. It was quiet now—a hush draped over the vast Southern Vast Desert. A stillness that mocked the violence it had just swallowed.
Blood seeped silently into the cracked desert stone. Crimson pools beneath the withered figure of the Demon Childe, whose breath rattled like dry leaves in the wind. The silence screamed louder than any clash of weapons.
A figure clad in black aura descended, unhurried. Each step shook the earth as though the world itself acknowledged the weight of his presence. But he moved gently, reverently, as if walking through the memory of a dream.
He stepped upon the fractured battlefield like death given form—a reaper draped in the serenity of eternal spring. Petals parted around him. Energy bent away from his presence. Even the light dared not touch his skin.
In his hand, a single leaf drifted into his open palm.
Dao Wei examined it, turning it slowly, like a scholar admiring a relic from a bygone era. It glowed faintly—not with light, but with meaning.
"Think you can run now?" he asked, his voice smooth, low—more shadow than sound.
There was no anger in it. No wrath. Only the absolute truth of finality.
Diteyi had barely made it more than a few staggering steps before it struck.
Flick!
The leaf vanished.
BOOM!
A shockwave howled through the silence. For a breathless instant, as if the world was holding its breath.
Crack!
Diteyi screamed as the leaf tore through his spine, shattering his core. The force hurled him forward, limbs sprawled, chest torn open—the leaf exiting from his chest like a judgment passed by heaven itself.
"ARGHH!" he roared. But it was no war cry.
It was the dying howl of a beast who'd finally glimpsed his cage.
Bang!