The Southern Vast Desert had grown silent. A complete contrast as to moments before when the air had trembled under the weight of chaos and vengeance, now only a soft wind whispered across the sand—carrying with it the fragrance of crushed petals and the lingering scent of blood. The battlefield was still. Diteyi's broken form was now dust in the wind, his soul consumed, his past scattered like ashes upon the earth.
And yet, something remained.
Floating within a sphere of colorless light, bound and writhing, the Hell Serpent Zodiac hissed in agony. Its once-mighty coils, adorned with scales black as the void and burning with crimson sigils, thrashed with diminishing force.
Dao Wei stood before it, his expression unreadable. The winds curled around him like the folds of a ceremonial robe, the last of the mirage spring petals fading into golden embers that melted into the sand.
He raised a hand—not in violence, but in invocation.
Screech!
The orb pulsed and the Zodiac screamed. The sound was not merely auditory—it echoed through the realms of mind and soul. It was a cry born of ancient lineage and celestial command. A death wail of a being that had once sat amongst the stars.
Dao Wei's eyes narrowed. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"You followed the wrong master."
Hum!
Dao Wei devoured it like marshmallows.
The orb shattered with a thunderclap—silent, yet deeper than thunder. The essence of the Zodiac poured into him, a flood of shadow and ancient will, coursing not through his veins, and straight into the very sea of his mind.
Within Dao Wei's Sea of Consciousness, it began as ink.
Dark tendrils seeped into the calm waters reflecting the vast starry sky, turning silver into stormy black. The horizon bent, the stars above flickering like dying embers. Shapes began to form beneath the surface. Whispers swirled in winds that had no source. Dao Wei stood at the heart of it all, his astral form adrift on a platform of lotus petals, Skyfall buried at his side like a planted flag.
And then—she rose.
A pillar of darkness unfurled into the form of a woman. Shadowy, but solid. Fluid, but composed. Her features emerged like a sculpture in the moonlight—striking, timeless, but touched with sorrow. Her hair drifted like smoke, her eyes twin voids framed by a gaze of unnerving depth. She did not shimmer like a spirit nor blaze like a god, but rather... breathed. Real. Grounded in terror, yet achingly human.
"Nyx," Dao Wei said, not asking—but almost knowing.
She looked at him and tilted her head, almost as if she was curious. "You know my name."
"I felt it." Dao Wei shrugged.
She nodded slowly. "Then I suppose the bond is complete."
Dao Wei studied her for a long moment. "Why did you hide your true form from Diteyi?"
"Because he didn't deserve it," she answered coolly. "He fed me false purpose and called it loyalty. You, however… you tore me from that lie. You broke the pact I was bound to."
"You mean like a Zodiac oath or something?"
Nyx stepped forward, and the Sea rippled around her.
"Yes," she said. "We Zodiacs are not demons. Nor are we gods. We are... instruments. Extensions of the balance between chaos and order. Since the age of the Primordials, we've answered to one master alone: the Heavenly Throne."
She lifted her hand, and a constellation formed in the air between them—twelve stars forming a celestial ring. Each star pulsed with ancient power, but one blinked erratically.
"You've broken one of the ancient chains," she said. "My allegiance was to the Heavenly Emperor through Diteyi. But now... I'm bound to you."
Dao Wei looked into the swirling cosmos, then back to her. "What does that mean?"
Nyx smiled, but there was no joy in it.
"It means the Heavenly Throne has acknowledged you."
The stars flared—then cracked. Shards fell like burning snowflakes into the sea.
"You are no longer merely hunted in the Mortal World," Nyx whispered. "You are marked. The moment I was bound to you, Dao Wei, the Heavenly Emperor felt the shift. And so... the Chosen have already been given their orders."
Dao Wei was silent for a moment.
"Kill on sight?"
"Worse," Nyx said. "Kill with finality. No soul rebirth. No realm crossing. You are to be erased."
A long pause followed.
Dao Wei closed his eyes. The ripples around him stilled, though the shadows still roiled beneath the waves. "And yet you're still here."
Nyx stepped closer. "Because I chose to be. Despite being Nightmare, I value truth. And I see in you what they all fear."
"And what's that?"
"That you are not chaos." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You are freedom."
The words struck him harder than any blade. He opened his eyes. "You said the Zodiacs were once bound to the Heavenly Throne."
"Yes." She replied with conviction.
"And now?"
Nyx extended her hand. "Now, I choose to serve you, Dao Wei. Not as a tool... but as a friend. As a guide. And if you'll have me—an ally."
Dao Wei hesitated for a moment. "What will you gain?"
"I want to see how far a mortal can go… when he dares to challenge Heaven," Nyx murmured.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Dao Wei's lips. It wasn't triumph. It wasn't amusement. It was the ghost of defiance—of purpose beginning to crystallize.
He took her hand.
And his Starry Sea of Consciousness thundered.
New veins of energy traced across the sky—pale silver interwoven with midnight black. From the depths below, something ancient and powerful stirred. Chains shattered. A new sigil formed over Dao Wei's astral chest—a crown woven from starlight and shadow.
[New Skill Awakened: Sovereign of the Forgotten Veil]
The ability to create, manipulate, and dissolve nightmares. Dominion over the souls of the restless dead and wandering spirits. The nightmare is no longer a prison—it is a weapon.
Back in the real world, Dao Wei's eyes flicked.
Howl!
The wind howled, and the night grew colder.
But this time, it wasn't just death that followed in his shadow—it was memory, dread, and something even the Heavens had forgotten to fear.
Dao Wei stood alone.
Meanwhile, back at the Central Qingling, the Sword God Sect no longer stood tall.
A place where once majestic spires kissed the heavens and banners fluttered in honor of the Sect's ancient legacy, now only ruin remained. The mountain winds that once sang with the clash of sparring swords now howled through broken pillars and scorched stone, carrying with it the scent of blood, ash, and shattered dreams.
Zhang Ruolan, her robes stained with soot and blood, stood on the fractured steps of the ruined courtyard. Her eyes swept across what had been their home. She didn't cry—her tears had dried the moment the sky split open during the ambush. Her body ached, her Qi was barely holding together, but she was still moving.
"Senior Sister Ruolan… Elder Chen is—she's not waking up again…" a soft voice said behind her.
She turned slowly to the trembling girl clutching onto a half-burnt sect badge. Behind her, a few more disciples stood. All young. All wide-eyed. All broken in ways they couldn't begin to comprehend.
Zhang Ruolan moved to them swiftly. The ground crunched with broken tiles under her boots. She knelt beside the pale elder lying on the stone slab. Elder Chen's breathing was shallow, her chest barely rising, her spiritual veins burned and shattered beyond healing.
"She fought until the last sword fell," Zhang Ruolan whispered. Her voice cracked, not from grief, but reverence. "We owe her our escape."
"But what now?" another disciple asked, voice raw. "Are we the last?"
Zhang Ruolan glanced toward the darkened sky. The sun barely peeked through the clouds, its light dulled as though in mourning. "No. Not the last," she said. "We are what remains."
There was silence. The kind that stretches between broken hearts and stubborn hope.
"Where are we going?" asked one of the younger disciples, a boy no older than fifteen. His blade was still sheathed. Unblooded.
Zhang Ruolan rose. "West. The Western Mountains. The old Sword Pavilion is still there, unused… forgotten. But it's hidden. Protected by the terrain. We'll regroup there."
A murmur spread among them—some hesitance, some fear, but also a small spark of something they hadn't felt in hours: purpose.
"We'll survive?" the boy asked.
"We will endure," Zhang Ruolan replied. "That's what our sect has always done. But this time... we rebuild."
A quiet voice among them suddenly spoke, barely louder than a breath.
"What about the Sword Childe? Is he…?"
"He's fighting," Zhang Ruolan said firmly, without hesitation. "He's still out there. If anyone can survive that kind of battle… it's him."
"Then we wait for him," a disciple said, her eyes resolute.
"No," Zhang Ruolan said. "We prepare for him."
They looked at her, puzzled.
"When Sword Childe returns," she said, stepping forward, "we will not be shattered disciples cowering in the dark. We will be the foundation of something new—stronger, leaner, purer. He fought for us. Now we rise for him."
The youngest among them drew his sword. With trembling fingers, he cut his palm and let the blood drip onto the broken stone.
"I swear… when the Sword Childe returns, I will follow him. I will help him build what was taken from us."
One by one, the others followed. Some with blades, others with bare hands, some too weak to bleed but strong enough to speak. Each vow was like kindling in a dying fire.
"I swear."
"I swear."
"We all swear."
Zhang Ruolan smiled, a grim curve on her lips as she whispered into the breeze, "Dao Wei… the ashes are still warm. Please come back to us."
And far in the distance, as they turned toward the Western Mountains—hope quietly trailing behind them like tattered banners—the wind stirred the debris. The remnants of the Sword God Sect did not weep.
It waited.