The once-proud Life City had become a graveyard. Countless soldiers lay buried beneath shattered walls and scorched earth, their blood soaking into the soil that had once brimmed with life. The cries of battle were gone—only silence remained, a silence heavy enough to crush the heart.
But the tragedy did not end there.
High in the air floated a thin, beautiful figure. Blood poured from her delicate body like a river, staining the heavens crimson. She trembled in the merciless grip of an old, ruthless chief of the Tred clan. His aura was vast and ancient, pressing down like the weight of an entire world.
And below—something unthinkable.
Asthough, the Life Emperor, the woman whose might was said to rival gods, was kneeling before hundreds of Tred clan Emperors. Her long hair spilled across the broken stones, her life-essentia dimmed yet unyielding.
The sight was one no mortal dared to imagine: the Empress of Life brought low.
The old geezer's voice cracked the air, cold and cruel.
"Do you see now, Asthough? Do you see how I killed Waren, your beloved husband?"
Asthough's body shuddered, her eyes burning with blood-red fury. She threw back her head and screamed, her voice tearing through the heavens like thunder—
The old geezer's hand moved forward, releasing a crushing gravitational force upon Aaya's battered body. Her blood fell like droplets of scarlet rain. His voice dripped with cruelty.
"This… this is how I tortured Waren before he died. Do you see, Asthough? The power you boast is not even enough to stop me. Forget about me—forget about Lord Tred II, the first person to ever enter the state of Conflux. What can you protect now? Look around you. Your arrogance has killed your people."
In his hand appeared a curved weapon—the Death Sickle. Black aura poured from its blade, chilling the battlefield to silence. With this very weapon, Waren, the mighty Emperor of Life, had fallen.
"Now," the chief sneered, his eyes flashing cold. "Watch her die."
The sickle cleaved downward, its essence of death swallowing the air around it, reaching for Aaya's frail body.
But before it could land—
A glint flashed.
A blinding golden light erupted, shattering the darkness. The deathly aura of the sickle wavered, dimmed, and then—
cracked.
The sickle splintered into shards of black light, scattering into nothingness.
Every eye turned upward.
A figure descended, wreathed in divine radiance. His robes were white, threaded with golden light, and on his chest blazed a glowing dragon seal. His long golden hair flowed in the wind, his gray eyes carrying the calm weight of heaven and earth.
Though his cultivation stood at Essence Refinement, the aura radiating from him was something else entirely—an emperor's presence, unmeasurable, divine.
Behind him, three colossal dragon phantoms—each twenty feet tall—emerged, roaring in unison, shaking the sky itself.
Azren's voice thundered, each word piercing through the battlefield like a judgment from the heavens.
"How dare you… touch her."
In that instant, his soul image erupted forth. A hundred-foot figure of Azren himself loomed behind him, eyes blazing, hands clenched into fists of wrath.
The colossal image raised its arm and struck.
The heavens quaked. The earth split. The old Tred chief, who had mocked gods and slain Emperors, was struck down violently, his body shattering under the overwhelming blow. Blood spewed as he was hurled across the battlefield, his aura flickering weakly.
Azren landed beside Aaya. Her life force was faint, slipping away with every breath.
He bent forward, his golden aura surrounding her like a protective cocoon. His lips touched hers in a desperate, burning kiss.
The dragon seal blazed once more, its light spilling into her. A faint mark appeared on Aaya's delicate hand—a dragon's seal, shimmering with life.
Her ragged breathing steadied. Her color returned. Consciousness flickered back into her eyes.
Weakly, she looked up at him, tears glistening as her voice whispered:
"Don't… leave me again."
The battlefield that had become a graveyard of Life City shook once again. The Tred clan's emperors, humiliated and injured, erupted in a collective roar.
"Destroy them all! Wipe the Life Country from Arka!"
The sky darkened under their killing intent, their combined emperor auras rolling like a storm that threatened to drown everything.
But—before the tide could sweep over Life City, other auras surged forth.
A river of flame cut through the darkness, followed by a piercing brilliance of pure light.
From the southern skies descended Flame Emperor Aoro, his aura blazing with the strength of a mid-stage Emperor. Alongside him, the serene yet oppressive presence of Light Emperor Karen spread out, illuminating the battlefield. Behind them followed their own emperor retinues, each one emanating power that could split mountains.
Their arrival shook the battlefield to silence.
Now, emperors stood on both sides, the balance shifting. Without the direct presence of their supreme clan head, even the Tred clan's overwhelming numbers faltered.
The chief of the Tred clan, blood dripping from his lips, steadied himself. His gaze burned with wrath and hatred as he stared at the young figure cloaked in golden light.
Meanwhile, Azren's aura continued to surge. The golden brilliance flowing from him spread outward, washing over the battered field. Where it touched, the wounded found relief. Life Emperor Asthough's injuries mended, her bloodied form stabilized under his radiance. Even the wounded soldiers felt their despair ease, a spark of strength returning to their eyes.
Azren looked down at Aaya, who lay weakly in his arms. He pressed his forehead against hers, whispering in a steady voice:
"Hold yourself for some time. I'll be back as soon as possible."
He placed her gently behind him. At his gesture, the three heavenly dragons coiled outward from his soul sea. Each one towered with divine might, their scales glittering like starlight. They encircled Aaya, forming an impenetrable barrier. Their killing aura was so fierce that even a true Emperor would hesitate to step forward.
The battlefield stilled.
Azren rose, his figure glowing brighter, his golden hair flowing in the storm of essence. His gaze lifted toward the countless Tred clan emperors pressing in from every direction.
The emperors, one by one, hesitated. They took involuntary steps back.
This boy… no, this man—this heaven's chosen—stood like an unshakable wall before them.
With measured steps, Azren's figure lifted into the sky, his overwhelming aura sweeping across the field like a tide. His eyes fixed on the distant horizon, where the shadow of a darker battlefield awaited.
"The Ancient Riftlands…"
There, the fate of Arka would be decided.
And with a single step, Azren led the way.
The armies of Life and Tred stood at the fractured grounds of the Riftlands. Space itself twisted and tore, glowing fissures snaking through the sky.
Asthough's gaze swept over the battlefield, her voice cold as steel.
"You will not leave this land alive. The Riftlands will become your grave."
But the elder chief of the Tred clan only sneered.
"There is no need for us to retreat… for he is already here."
The words had barely left his lips when the Riftlands trembled.
Crack—
The sky split apart as a ripple of power surged outward. Air collapsed, mountains quaked, and space shattered under the weight of a single step.
From the rift walked a figure draped in flowing blue robes, his long green hair shining with an unnatural luster. He looked young—too young—but the ancient pressure rolling off him made the world itself bend.
Every emperor present felt their knees weaken.
"Lord… Tred II…" the Tred chief whispered in reverence.
Zenin—head of the Tred clan, the first cultivator of Arka to step into the Conflux State. A man who had vanished into seclusion for a thousand years.
His gaze swept casually across the battlefield, dismissing emperors like ants—until it froze on Azren.
Silence.
Then a laugh, low and venomous, echoed from Zenin's lips.
"Hahahaha… so the bloodline of the Heavenly Dragons still lingers. I never thought I'd see this day."
Azren's heart pounded under the crushing weight of Zenin's presence. The man's eyes pierced through him, peeling away every secret layer of his soul.
Zenin's smile twisted.
"And within you… oh, how amusing. The dark spiritual root of the Tred clan. More refined than even my own. A seed more dangerous than your foolish parents could ever control."
He raised his arms, voice booming across the Riftlands.
"You are the last survivor of the Heavenly Dragon line, yet you carry our root. You are both curse and key."
Asthough stepped forward, her aura blazing, blood trickling down her lips.
"Zenin… don't you dare touch him!"
Zenin turned his gaze on her and chuckled darkly.
"Ah, the Life Emperor herself. We meet at last. Still clinging to your wounded pride? Do you think your battered body can stand before me?"
Asthough's aura flared, shaking the ground.
"Even if it costs me my life—I'll stop you here!"
Zenin ignored her and focused once again on Azren. His voice deepened, dripping with temptation and threat.
"Boy… you stand at a crossroads. If you choose me, I'll grant you unimaginable power. If you refuse, then you'll follow your father's path—locked away for eternity, or die screaming as he did."
He laughed, lifting a single hand.
"Choose me or not—I can help you in both ways."
The sky trembled as dark essentia condensed above, forming a storm of destruction large enough to annihilate the entire Riftlands.
Azren's fists trembled, his jaw clenched. His soul roared back against the suffocating pressure.
"I don't care about fate… or your choices. I'll protect the ones important to me, even if it costs everything!"
The golden dragon seal on his chest ignited, light scattering through the Riftlands and forcing even emperors to shield their eyes.
Zenin's smirk faltered. "So… the Heavenly Dragon inheritance awakens again. Very well. Let me see if your light can withstand my darkness."
The Riftlands shuddered as two titanic forces prepared to collide—Heaven and Darkness.
Zenin raised a single hand, his voice cutting through the trembling skies:
"Azren… you are not in the Heavens to wield your bloodline to its limit. This is Arka—and here, only essentia is power."
BOOM!
A wave of dark essentia erupted, a strike so condensed it cut through space itself. Azren tried to hold, but the force smashed into him, hurling his body across the broken land. He coughed blood, his vision blurring.
Zenin floated above, his figure vast and untouchable, draped in shadows. His green hair whipped like a storm as his gaze swept down on all present.
"To me," he declared coldly, "all of you are nothing but ants. Anyone who dares to oppose me… will live and die as my slaves."
The Riftlands fell into suffocating silence. Even emperors trembled as the shadow of the Tred Clan's true master loomed over them.