The mountains bled.
It had rained the night before—a rare storm of sleet and thunder—and now the slopes stank of rot. Li Fan stood at the edge of a ravine carved into the bones of the Azure Cloud Continent, eyes scanning the darkness below.
Dead beasts littered the gulch. Profound beasts, some bearing elemental cores.
He crouched, sniffing.
"Cultivators were here."
The scent of profound energy clung to the rocks—fresh, sharp, like burnt silver. Someone had fought here recently. And not just one person. A group.
Their trail led south, down toward the ruins of an ancient sect—long abandoned since the fall of the gods.
Li Fan didn't follow them. He slid into the ravine and made his way among the corpses.
"You don't need to fight the strong," he murmured. "Just feed off their leftovers."
A Half-Step Spirit Profound tiger lay nearby, chest caved in, ribs exposed. The blood hadn't dried yet. He knelt beside it, placed a hand on the gash, and inhaled—deeply.
Not with lungs.
With something else. Something older.
The flesh twitched. The air shimmered faintly. The bones cracked in protest as his fingers pulled the dying echoes of the beast into himself.
He didn't take its qi. He took its essence—its memory, its habits, the way its bones curved to leap, the heat behind its eyes when it hunted.
"Another piece."
He stood, muscles warm, skin subtly thickening. A dull heat rolled across his chest like molten sap.
That made six beasts this week.
But the hunger never truly died.
---
Far away, across a sea and a continent, Yun Che was dying.
Poisoned. Betrayed. Crippled. The Xiao Clan had turned its back. The Burning Heaven Clan hunted him like a dog. On a rooftop in Floating Cloud City, his blood was pooling under the moonlight.
Li Fan felt it—not physically, but in some instinctive corner of his borrowed brain.
"It's starting," he whispered. "The Sky Poison Pearl… Jasmine..."
And still he waited.
To intervene now was suicide. The Heretic God's power was not something to challenge—not yet.
But perhaps he could position himself nearby. Observe. Feed. Wait for the chaos to churn up prey.
---
That Night, in the Shadows of Icewind Ridge
Li Fan climbed higher than usual. The air thinned, the snow turned dry and sharp. Moonlight poured over the cliffs like liquid frost. He found a perch beneath a jutting spire and watched the north.
A glow flickered in the distance. Pale, blue-white. Not fire.
A profound formation.
A convoy of disciples—he counted five—moved through the mountains on flying swords, forming a protective circle around a large crystal urn. Their robes were of pure snow-white, stitched with silver clouds.
"Frozen Cloud Asgard," he murmured.
Not ordinary disciples. The energy was controlled, tightly layered. These were likely mid to high-level Spirit Profound cultivators, maybe even Earth Profound.
They moved with discipline.
But not fast enough.
Suddenly, the air split open.
A black wind screamed down from the high peaks. A shadow fell across the snow. Something enormous landed amid the formation—a storm hawk, talons like scythes, eyes red with madness.
The cultivators scattered.
Two of them went down immediately, caught in the initial strike.
The urn shattered. Something inside screamed—an ice elemental spirit, bound in chains, now wounded and free.
Li Fan didn't move.
He watched as the storm hawk tore through the women like paper. It was no ordinary beast—it was enraged, corrupted. Likely driven mad by a failed summoning.
He licked his lips.
"If I wait... the hawk will kill them. Then I can take what's left."
But his heart beat faster.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
This would be the strongest beast he'd ever tasted.
---
When the battle ended, the snow was red again.
Only one disciple remained alive—barely. The storm hawk limped, one wing torn, but it still moved. It dragged its bleeding talons toward the woman's broken body.
Li Fan stepped from the cliff edge, fell silently, and landed in the snow like a shadow.
He approached the hawk from behind.
It turned—too late.
His hand struck into its chest—not clawing, not punching. Simply entering, sinking into muscle and spirit like water into sponge. The hawk shrieked and twisted, wings flapping in panic.
It wasn't the wound that killed it. It was the drain.
Its thoughts, its instincts, its rage—he took them all.
Its ability to see wind currents. Its sharpened hearing. Its natural affinity for lightning. He devoured everything except its identity.
Because he was still Li Fan.
The hawk collapsed. Dead. Empty.
The girl—barely conscious—moaned.
He approached. She was beautiful, even bloodied. But her life was fading fast.
She looked at him.
"You… saved... me…?"
He said nothing.
She smiled. Her body went still.
He stood over her, then crouched, breath fogging in the air.
"I saved the meal, not the person."
But he didn't eat her.
Not yet.
Instead, he took a lock of her hair, sniffed it, and buried her in the snow.
Frozen Cloud Asgard would search for her.
Better not to leave evidence.
---
Later that night, with the taste of hawk-blood still lingering in his mouth, Li Fan sat beside a fire and watched the stars.
Yun Che was alive again. In a girl's body. Possessing the Sky Poison Pearl. Bound to Jasmine.
"And now the timeline is set."
The real storm was coming.
"But I'll be ready," he whispered to the dark. "When he reaches the Sky Profound Realm, I'll be in the Tyrant Profound. When he slays emperors, I'll be devouring gods."
He smiled.
"Yun Che can have the stage. I'll take the world beneath it."