"This—!"

Zi Han's lips parted, then pressed together again. Words rose to her throat only to die there. She wanted to say something—anything—to pull him back, to warn him that this path was reckless even for someone who had touched Non-Existence. But she already knew it was pointless.

Cultivators who had stepped into the Grand Ascension Realm or beyond were no longer swayed by persuasion. Their wills were sharpened by countless life-and-death choices. Once such a person decided on a course of action, even the heavens themselves would struggle to divert them.

In the end, Zi Han could only nod.

Her expression darkened, resignation settling into her eyes like gathering storm clouds. She had done what she could. What followed would be decided by fate—or perhaps by something even more terrifying than fate.

Wang Chen did not look at her even once.

His consciousness had already turned inward, diving deep into his spiritual sea. There, suspended in the endless void of his inner world, floated a single rune of Non-Existence Authority. Its form was abstract and unstable, neither light nor darkness, pulsing faintly as if exhausted. The edges of the rune flickered, betraying the toll its last invocation had taken.

Only one.

Compared to the overwhelming manifestations he had once wielded, this was pitifully little.

He studied it in silence, calculating, weighing cost against outcome. His brows furrowed slightly, then relaxed.

"Hmm… this should be enough," he murmured to himself, voice calm but edged with resolve.

A single mote of Destruction Qi did not require grandeur. It required precision. Even if this rune failed him, he had already made up his mind—he would go tonight regardless of the consequences.

The air shifted.

A cold gust swept across the mountaintop, carrying with it the faint scent of ash and decay—and then Wang Chen was gone, his presence erased as cleanly as ink wiped from parchment.

...

Back at the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo, the situation had deteriorated beyond expectations.

Li Mei clenched her teeth, blood slowly trailing from the corner of her lips as she fought to maintain the suppression. The golden roots of the Litus Tree trembled violently beneath her, their divine glow dimming as demonic corruption surged upward like a living tide.

No matter how vast her experience, no matter how lofty her past life had been, in the face of absolute power, resistance felt painfully fragile.

The demonic energy coiling around the Bodhi Tree had grown exponentially. It devoured spiritual veins, poisoned the earth, and warped the air itself. The ground cracked, blackened lines spreading outward like veins beneath diseased skin.

"Argh—!"

A shrill, agonized scream ripped through the crimson-stained sky, forcing even the heavens to shudder.

"My body! What… what's happening to me?!"

Li Mei's heart skipped. Her gaze snapped toward the source of the scream.

"Young Master Yun!"

Two women in embroidered armor—his personal guards—rushed forward, catching his collapsing body before it struck the ground. The moment they touched him, their faces drained of all color.

Before their eyes, Young Master Yun's hair turned snow-white, strand by strand, as if decades of life were being stripped away in mere seconds. His body convulsed violently, veins bulging beneath his skin as something unseen gnawed at his very essence.

The aura of calamity he had carried so long—suppressed, redirected, delayed—had finally begun to collect its debt.

What had once been a vigorous, well-tempered physique visibly withered before their eyes. Young Master Yun's skin lost its color, his muscles shrank as if time itself were gnawing at him, and the vitality that once radiated from his body drained away in silent horror. Each labored breath sounded heavier than the last, as though his lungs themselves were aging with every inhale.

And he was only the first.

If even a cultivator who had reached the Deity Transformation Stage could decay so catastrophically, no one needed to imagine what awaited those weaker than him. The realization spread like frost through the hearts of everyone present, tightening chests and stealing voices.

Yet amid this unfolding nightmare, something deeply unsettling stood out.

The Fang Sisters, standing only a few steps away, remained completely unaffected.

No decay touched them. No invisible force clawed at their cultivation. Their breathing remained steady, their auras calm, untouched by the corrosive wave sweeping through the dojo.

To those who understood the truth of the Original Demon, the reason was horrifyingly clear.

This was not a random calamity. It was a domain—a corrupted reflection of the world itself, born from absolute evil. Within it, judgment was not delivered by laws or tribunals, but by the heart.

All who harbored sin would be stripped bare.

Cultivation. Lifespan. Youth. Even the intangible sense of self that defined one's existence—everything would be devoured, reduced to nourishment for the demon's awakening.

The Fang Sisters were spared for one simple, terrifying reason.

There was no malice within their hearts.

Had even a trace of darkness taken root in them, their fate would have mirrored Young Master Yun's without mercy.

Then—

Wriggle.

Space itself twisted as if something vast were forcing its way through the fabric of reality. From the heart of the city, a colossal shadow began to rise. Its outline was indistinct at first, but soon enough, the suggestion of three heads and six arms emerged, each movement warping the air around it. The sheer pressure of its presence caused the sky to dim, sunlight bleeding away as though swallowed by an unseen abyss.

The radiant sun-domain that had long protected the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo suddenly contracted, pulling inward like a living organism drawing its final breath. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause—

Then it expanded violently.

A single pulse washed outward, swallowing the entire imperial city.

In that instant, the Demon's Domain fully manifested.

The air grew heavy and stagnant, thick with decay. The ground beneath everyone's feet began to rot, stone and soil alike succumbing to invisible corrosion. Buildings groaned, spiritual formations flickered, and despair seeped into the marrow of all living beings trapped within its reach.

Above the dojo, a vast shadow merged with the heavens themselves. An ancient figure took shape, its presence so immense that it seemed less a creature and more a concept given form. Two pitch-black eyes opened slowly, bottomless and cold, reflecting the fear, regret, and despair of countless souls below.

When it spoke, the sound was not merely heard—it was felt, pressing down like the weight of judgment itself.

"The human heart…"

The voice reverberated through earth and sky alike, ancient and emotionless.

"…is indeed fickle, overflowing with impurity and sin."

Puchi!

Blood burst from Li Mei's lips at the same instant it sprayed from Lin Huang's mouth. The impact of the domain's pressure finally broke through their defenses, slamming into their internal organs like a collapsing mountain. Their bodies were flung backward several steps, feet carving deep grooves into the shattered courtyard stones before they barely managed to stabilize themselves.

Li Mei's vision dimmed. The world tilted, colors bleeding into one another as her knees nearly buckled.

"Junior Sister Yufei—!" Lin Huang shouted hoarsely, his voice tearing from his throat. His clenched fists shook violently, nails biting into his palms until blood ran, yet he didn't even feel the pain. Every second he fought inside this domain carved a cruel truth deeper into his bones.

No matter how hard he struggled.

No matter how sharp his sword intent became.

He was still powerless.

Always a step behind. Always watching others bleed while he could do nothing but endure.

Zhao Yufei staggered where she stood, her slender frame trembling as though caught in an endless winter. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, her vision blurring until the world became a haze of shadow and blood.

"Am I… always destined to die like this?" she whispered, her voice barely audible beneath the roar of the demonic domain. Her fingers clenched desperately at her robes. "I haven't even saved brother… Is this really the end? Is there truly nothing left I can do?"

Her heart screamed in refusal, but reality answered with silence.

Li Mei forced herself upright, gasping as she leaned heavily against the divine roots of the Litus Lotus Tree. The once-brilliant roots flickered weakly now, their glow dimming under the relentless corrosion of demonic energy. Her body convulsed as fine fractures spread across her skin like shattered porcelain, each crack glowing faintly with escaping vitality.

Every breath felt like drawing fire into her lungs.

The fact that she could still stand—still resist—before the rage of the Original Demon, an apex existence birthed from Creation Qi itself, was already nothing short of a miracle.

And yet…

It hadn't even fully manifested.

That realization struck harder than any physical blow.

Her strength was fading. Her divine flames flickered unstably. The roots behind her trembled, groaning as if they too were nearing collapse. Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, swallowing thought and sensation alike.

And in that suffocating moment of despair, a familiar figure surfaced in her mind.

A man reclining lazily, eyes half-lidded, voice calm to the point of infuriation.

A man who always seemed detached from urgency, yet never failed when it mattered.

Her master.

Wang Chen.

A faint, sorrowful smile curved Li Mei's bloodstained lips.

"So this is how it ends…" she thought dully. "No matter how strong you are, Master… even you…"

Her vision wavered, tears mixing with blood as they fell onto the cracked stone below.

"…you shouldn't come back."

Not here.

Not now.

Because if even he returned to face something like this—

Then the world would truly have nothing left to lose.

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