High above the jagged peaks near the Demonic Lotus Sect, the twilight sky was a bruised canopy of swirling violet and dull charcoal clouds.
The bitter, sulfuric mist rising from the vast marshlands below curled in wisps around the high-altitude air currents, reeking of ancient decay, poisonous miasma, and sweet, fermented lotus pollen.
Shen Haoran stood there on the sky using a flying silver sword, observing the massive gothic style city of the Demonic Lotus Sect.
The silver blade beneath his feet hummed with a quiet, sharp vibration.
It hovered perfectly stationary amidst the howling upper gales, anchored by the subtle, effortless gravity of his supreme cultivation.
Draped in his sweeping, midnight-black robes embroidered with nine-clawed golden dragons that seemed to slumber beneath the silk, Haoran looked down upon the sprawling metropolis with cold, calculating detachment.
