The sun had set, leaving the Ruins of the Fallen Saints bathed in an eerie, cold light. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, dancing across shattered stone pillars as if celebrating the chaos to come.
Shen Zong knelt amidst the debris, his body battered, veins burning from overexertion. The phantom lotus behind him throbbed violently, demanding more power, more qi, more life to sustain its growth. Pain clawed at him, yet his mind remained calm, razor-sharp.
Struggle is growth, he reminded himself. Pain is knowledge. Death… is only a lesson I refuse to learn today.
---
Far beyond the mountains, multiple sects had united in secret: the Azure Cloud Sect, the Verdant Peak Sect, and three smaller sects whose elders feared Shen Zong's rising power. They brought their strongest cultivators, including assassins skilled in both qi disruption and demonic containment.
This will be the true test. Shen Zong thought, eyes glinting in the dark. If I survive this, no one in the cultivation world will ever touch me again.
---
The coalition moved as a single, fluid entity, qi rippling across the ruins like a storm. They struck from all directions at once, aiming to overwhelm the boy before he could react.
Shen Zong's eyes narrowed. He rose slowly, letting the lotus bloom fully, petals snapping outward, shadows writhing like living serpents. The obsidian gauntlet and shadow whip responded instantly, tendrils lashing and striking, consuming the qi of lesser cultivators with a violent efficiency.
But there were too many. Even with the relics' powers, Shen Zong was pushed back repeatedly. A sect assassin sliced at him with a blade of violet qi, leaving a deep gash across his torso. Pain shot through him, forcing him to stagger.
So… this is what true opposition feels like, he murmured. Delicious.
The phantom lotus pulsed violently, attempting to siphon life force to stabilize him. Yet the influx of so many opposing qi streams caused backlash. Black veins spread across his body, burning from within. His vision blurred, and for the first time in many battles, Shen Zong felt the sting of genuine vulnerability.
---
He gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of strength. The shadow whip lashed outward, tangling multiple cultivators and pulling them into the ruins' jagged walls. The gauntlet glowed, delivering strikes that shattered bones and disrupted qi flows.
Still, Elder Qingfeng advanced, jade sword striking with precision and force that forced Shen Zong to dodge again and again. Each strike left bruises, each blow drained qi faster than he could absorb.
The lotus… demands more… he thought, pressing his hand to his chest. Dark energy surged violently through him, searing his veins. Pain lanced through every fiber of his body, yet he forced himself to focus.
Control… adapt… survive.
With a surge of dark qi, he merged the powers of the relics and the lotus in perfect synchronization. Shadows coiled around him like a living armor, the whip and gauntlet moving as extensions of his body. With a roar, he broke through the formation, scattering the coalition like leaves in a storm.
But the victory was costly. Shen Zong collapsed to one knee, sweat, blood, and shadow energy mixing on his robes. The lotus pulsed violently, petals glowing like dying stars.
Survival… comes at a price. He whispered softly, pain and satisfaction intertwining.
---
From afar, hidden observers—both mortal and demonic—took note. A single thought rippled through their minds: This boy… is unstoppable… yet fragile.
Shen Zong looked up at the dark sky, chest heaving, yet eyes sharp as ever.
Let them come. He whispered to the night. Every attack… every struggle… every threat… only makes me bloom.
And in the ruins, shadows deepened, the phantom lotus pulsing like a heart of darkness, alive and hungry.
Shen Zong had survived the edge of death.
But the world would not stop coming.