The sky above the Long Imperial Clan's volcanic estate was perpetually bruised—a mix of sulfurous orange and the charcoal gray of falling ash. In the Southern Realm, the volcano was not just a landmark; it was the pulse of the clan. Today, that pulse was erratic. It was the Day of Awakening, the moment when the lineage of the Great Fire was tested.
In the center of the obsidian plaza, a massive crystal pillar, known as the Stellar Monolith, pulsed with a rhythmic, heartbeat-like light. Thousands of clan members watched from the tiered balconies, their eyes fixed on the children below. For these children, the next few minutes would determine whether they were destined to be masters of the elements or servants in the kitchens.
Long Yanchen, the Patriarch of the clan and a former volcano war commander, stood on the highest terrace. Beside him stood his children: the eldest son, Long Haoran, calm and calculating; the third son, Long Yanfeng, whose eyes already flickered with the reckless heat of a firestorm; and the first daughter, Long Yanxue, who carried the rare aura of fire-snow dual cultivation. They were the pride of the Long lineage. But Yanchen's gaze was not on them. It was fixed on the small, pale boy sitting in a wooden wheelchair at the base of the Monolith.
The High Elder's voice boomed: "First candidate! Yan Bingxue of the Yanes Imperial Clan, step forward!"
The crowd went silent. Though she was a guest from the Ice Mountains, her talent was legendary. As she moved toward the pillar, the temperature in the plaza plummeted. The falling ash turned to frost before it hit the ground. When her palm touched the crystal, a violent blue light erupted. One, two... ten distinct, blinding stars ignited within the crystal's depths.
The crowd gasped in a collective roar: "Ten stars! A perfect Ice Core! The Yan Clan has produced a monster!"
Yan Bingxue retracted her hand, her expression as frozen as her element. She turned, her gaze sweeping past the cheering nobles and landing on the boy in the wheelchair. There was no mockery in her eyes—only a cold, piercing curiosity.
The High Elder cleared his throat, his voice echoing with a slight tremor: "Next... Long Xiaoyan."
The cheers died instantly, replaced by the sharp stabs of whispers. Xiaoyan pushed the wheels of his chair forward, the wood creaking against the obsidian stone. Every rotation felt like a mile. He could feel the weight of his father's disappointment pressing down like a mountain.
"The Zero-Star Ghost," someone hissed from the shadows of the balcony. "The son of a War Commander, and he can't even stand on his own two feet, let alone ignite a spark."
Xiaoyan reached the pillar. His hand was trembling, but his jaw was set with a stubbornness that had kept him alive through nine years of illness. He placed his palm against the cold surface of the Monolith.
One second. Five. Ten.
The crystal remained dark. Not a flicker. Not a star. To the world, the boy was a hollow vessel, devoid of the spiritual shards that fueled the universe.
The High Elder sighed, his voice echoing with pity: "Long Xiaoyan. Zero stars. No elemental affinity. Status: Null."
The laughter broke like a dam. It was a cruel, jagged sound. Xiaoyan didn't look up. He didn't cry. He simply turned his chair around and began the slow, agonizing trek toward the outer gardens.
In the silence of his mind, a voice spoke—deep, ancient, and resonant like a bell struck in a void. It was Cang Yaochen, the spirit of the Last Azura God, bound to Xiaoyan's soul.
"Patience, little spark," the voice whispered. "The world looks for stars in a rock, but they are blind to the three suns sleeping in your blood. Your path is not theirs."
Xiaoyan thought back, his grip tightening on the wheels: [They call me trash, Ancestor. My father won't even look at me. How can a ghost fight the sun?]
"A ghost does not fight the sun," Cang Yaochen replied. "A ghost haunts it until the light fades. Your time is coming."
The "time" came sooner than anyone expected.
The orange sky didn't just turn gray; it turned a bruised, sickly violet. A piercing shriek tore through the air, a sound so high it shattered the glass windows of the surrounding pagodas. From the rift in the sky, a massive shadow descended.
A guard's voice cracked in terror: "DEMON BREACH! High-level transit! It's... it's a Demon Commander!"
A pillar of purple, corruptive fire slammed into the center of the plaza, vaporizing the stone. From the smoke emerged a creature of nightmare—eight feet tall, skin like cracked obsidian, and eyes that burned with the malevolent light of the Abyss. It was Chi Yan, a subordinate of the 9th Demon God, and he had come to feast.
The plaza turned into a slaughterhouse. The Long clan warriors, caught off guard, were tossed aside like autumn leaves. Xiaoyan was thrown from his wheelchair by a shockwave, tumbling across the soot-covered ground.
"Mother!" he gasped, his lungs burning.
He saw her. Long Meilin, his mother and the clan's merchant matriarch, was frantically trying to reach him. She wasn't a warrior; she was a healer and a trader. She saw the Demon Commander looming over her son, its jagged blade of shadow raised high.
"Xiaoyan, run!" she screamed.
The Demon Commander laughed—a sound like grinding teeth. "A cripple and a woman. A fine appetizer before I burn this mountain."
The shadow blade descended.
Time fractured. Xiaoyan watched in agonizing slow motion as his mother threw herself across his body. He felt the warmth of her blood as it splattered across his face. He saw the light in her eyes flicker and go out, like a candle caught in a gale.
In that moment, the "Null" status in Xiaoyan's chest didn't just break—it detonated.
The world went silent. The screams of the dying, the roar of the fire, the laughter of the demon—all of it vanished. A searing heat erupted from his heart (the Fire Core). A terrifying chill surged from his spine (the Ice Core). And at the center of his forehead, a vertical slit tore open, revealing an eye that glowed with the cold, calculating light of the heavens (the Third Eye of Truth).
Cang Yaochen's voice roared with the power of a thousand storms: "THE NINE VEINS ARE OPEN! UNSEAL THE BLOOD! RISE, AZURA SOVEREIGN!"
Xiaoyan stood.
His legs, which had been withered and useless for nine years, were suddenly flooded with a violet-gold energy. He didn't just stand; he rose with a grace that defied gravity. Spiraling flames of gold and frost-blue wreathed his arms.
The Demon Commander froze, its eyes widening in confusion. "What... what are you? You were a cripple!"
Xiaoyan's voice was no longer that of a boy. It was a low, distorted growl that vibrated the very air. "I am the one who will see you erased."
Behind Xiaoyan, the air began to warp. Three spectral rings began to form. They weren't the pale blue of a Rank 1 Novice. They were a deep, terrifying, and forbidden Crimson—the mark of a Rank 7 Demon Soul.
"Impossible!" the High Elder screamed from the balcony. "Absorbing a Crimson Ring at Realm 1? His soul should be incinerated!"
But Xiaoyan wasn't incinerating. He was hungry.
The Nine Demon Veins on his arms pulsed with a dark light as he reached out toward the Demon Commander. The air around him began to distort as he activated the Vein 1: Body Forge.
"My mother's life," Xiaoyan whispered, his Third Eye locking onto the demon's core. "That is a debt you can only pay with your soul."
As the demon lunged, Xiaoyan didn't flinch. He moved like a streak of lightning, his hand plunging directly into the demon's chest. The golden fire burned the obsidian skin, while the blue ice froze the demon's internal ichor.
With a brutal wrench, Xiaoyan tore the Demon Reminder Pill—the essence of the Commander—straight from its ribcage.
The demon disintegrated into ash, leaving Xiaoyan standing in the center of the ruins. The crimson rings settled around him, humming with a power that shook the entire estate.
He turned his gaze toward the palace, where his father and siblings stood in stunned silence. His Third Eye remained open, glowing with a light that saw through their secrets, their fears, and their weaknesses.
"The ghost is gone," Xiaoyan said, the blood of his mother still wet on his cheek. "From this day on, there are no Zero-Stars. There is only the Sovereign."
He looked at the sky, where the purple rift was still pulsing.
"One down," he whispered. "Ninety-nine Demon Gods to go."