From deep beneath the shattered desert floor, something stirs.
Sand trembles.
Air warps.
Then—
a black dragon-shaped torrent of energy erupts upward, roaring with murderous will.
On instinct alone, the dragon-energy lunges—its fanged maw swallowing one of the remaining heavenly weapons whole.
The cultivators watching freeze.
The tribulation cloud flickers.
And the crater bursts.
Demon Merin rises into the sky once more—his aura restored, darker and sharper than before. The wounds that shattered his body are gone; only faint crimson lines remain.
Devouring the Dragon Spear has restored everything he lost—and more.
Inside his spiritual sea, his Dao churns violently.
Though he absorbed less than one per cent of the Dragon Supreme's Dao pattern, the refinement inside his devouring Dao feels monumental—like a door has creaked open.
Not the budding stage yet.
But close.
Dangerously close.
"If I devour two more…" he murmurs, eyes glowing with crimson madness, "I can push my Dao to budding."
As he analyses the Dao of the trapped weapon inside him, the remaining four Supreme projections descend to kill him.
This time, the battlefield changes.
He meets them head-on—not defending, but contesting.
Though still bloodied and strained, his movement is no longer desperate—his footing firm, reactions sharp.
While exchanging blows, inspiration flashes, and his energy twists into a new form.
His demon intent surges—and condenses—
Into a massive dragon claw.
It lashes out, tearing space as it collides with the Killing Moon Blade.
A prototype Saint-grade technique.
Dragon Claw.
The Killing Moon Blade trembles—then shatters into pure rule essence.
Demon Merin devours it with one breath.
Power floods his veins.
Next—the Thunder God Halberd falls.
He catches it with Dragon Claw and crushing intent—then consumes it as thunder screams through his body.
His Dao stirs violently—taking shape, taking structure, becoming alive.
The final three projections tremble.
They strike desperately—
But it no longer matters.
Demon Merin devours them one by one, his aura growing colder, hungrier, more controlled with every swallow.
---
Around the battlefield, the cultivators who moments ago planned to strike now… stare.
Hope fades from their expressions.
Some step back.
Others turn pale.
A few prepare escape talismans.
Because if he survived this—
No formation, no holy weapon, no number of cultivators could kill him.
But before fear turns to panic—
The sky roars again.
The tribulation cloud does not fade.
It darkens further, rumbling with fury—not done, not satisfied.
A cold realisation spreads through the crowd.
"…The tribulation hasn't ended."
Heaven still rejects him.
Then—
Lightning gathers.
Condenses.
Shapes.
Until a humanoid figure of pure thunder descends—standing motionless above Demon Merin like a judge sent by the heavens.
Someone from the Dragon Supreme lineage gasps sharply.
"That form… that's—"
"—the projection of the Dragon Supreme."
"When he was a young Saint."
The crowd cheers—not in joy, but in desperate relief.
"With that projection, the demon is finished!"
"Not even a peak Saint could survive that!"
"Now—Heaven will end him!"
---
The thunder projection moves.
Its first attack is silent—yet the world shakes as if struck by mountains.
Demon Merin raises his arm to block—
—and is sent flying like a broken spear through the air and sand.
He crashes into the earth.
Blood sprays.
The projection continues the assault, appearing above him instantly, striking again and again with simple, efficient, crushing attacks—no wasted motion, no emotion, just overwhelming perfection.
From the first exchange, there is no suspense:
Demon Merin is being beaten.
Demon Merin tries to counter.
He forms a hand seal—one he derived from observing the Mountain Seal projection earlier.
A massive rune-carved seal manifests above him, radiating crushing earth intent.
But before it can descend—
Bang.
The Dragon projection punches through it, shattering it like brittle glass.
The same punch slams into Demon Merin's chest and sends him flying backwards, tearing through sand, stone, and desert crust.
He forces himself upright—but the projection is already there.
Lightning condenses into the shape of a spear.
It fires.
Pchi! Pchi! Pchi!
Spears pierce his body—again and again—destroying organs, ripping bone, breaking his saint-level body apart.
He devours origin energy desperately to regenerate, but every recovery remains incomplete before the next strike lands.
His defences crumble.
The assault is relentless.
Hopeless.
Yet through the chaos, through the breaking of flesh and spirit—
Demon Merin notices something.
A flicker.
A pause—not even a full heartbeat.
The projection slows.
A fraction of a second—but noticeable.
Another strike comes—and it is slightly weaker.
Demon Merin's eyes narrow.
A thought surfaces:
*It's only a projection—
and it cannot recover.*
*It is consuming its stored energy.
When it runs out—
It disappears.*
"So I just need to outlast it…"
His voice trembles—not from fear, but from fierce, cold excitement.
But the distance to victory feels endless.
He is being torn apart faster than he can rebuild.
His origin reserves are nearly dry.
Then—his gaze shifts.
To the cultivators still watching.
To their hatred.
Their fear.
Their resentment.
An answer.
Without hesitation, he forms a mudra.
Demon Sound.
A pulse ripples outward—not audible, not visible—just felt.
Dozens of cultivators stiffen.
Their suppressed hatred erupts.
Their anger becomes madness.
And they rush him—eyes bloodshot, hearts consumed by a single impulse:
Kill the demon.
But this time, Demon Merin does not retreat.
He lifts his hand.
A seal forms—cold, ancient, merciless.
Devouring Seal of the Abyss Supreme.
Though different from his own Dao, both share the root of the Devouring Law.
Space bends.
Time trembles.
Gravity warps.
Before the maddened cultivators can reach him, the seal crushes their bodies—erasing form, thought, and existence.
Then the seal collapses inward—
becoming a black hole.
It devours everything.
Hatred.
Souls.
Bodies.
Energy.
Demon Merin drinks the influx—restoring himself, even as the projection continues attacking.
---
Panic spreads.
The survivors flee.
But Demon Merin moves.
In meaningless mercy or simple instinct—he hunts.
One by one, fleeing figures vanish, consumed to fuel his regeneration.
Meanwhile, every exchange with the projection refines him.
His techniques evolve.
Insights sharpen.
And slowly, through battle and survival instinct—
The Devouring Seal transforms.
It no longer feels like borrowed power.
It becomes his.
A new Saint-tier technique:
Devouring Sphere.
When he unleashes it against the Dragon projection, the effect is immediate.
The sphere locks onto the projection's structure—analysing the lightning essence and the Dao pattern embedded within.
Piece by piece, the projection weakens.
And then—
It breaks.
Not shattered—
self-destructed.
Its energy disperses into countless motes of lightning.
The tribulation cloud finally acknowledges completion.
Lightning retreats.
Clouds dissolve.
Peace descends.
And from heaven and earth, origin power flows downward—gentle, pure, vast.
It enters Demon Merin:
Refining body.
Strengthening the soul.
Advancing Dao.
His soul sharpens—his true spirit awakens fully.
His Dao stabilises.
His body solidifies.
His cultivation surges—
Until it stops.
Saint Realm.
A true one.
Silence dominates the desert.
Then Demon Merin looks toward the horizon.
The remaining cultivators flee like startled insects—none daring to look back.
He does not chase.
He turns instead toward the depths of the desert—expression unreadable—and flies away.
The sand shifts behind him.
The desert swallows the blood.
And the world changes quietly.
-----
Summer heat bakes the land, but Gu Silan shivers as she kneels beside the river, hands raw and red as she scrubs wet clothes against stone.
The water numbs her fingers.
Her body trembles—not from cold, but from exhaustion.
Behind her, footsteps crunch against dry earth.
A woman appears, a basket piled high with dirty clothes balanced in her arms. She drops it beside Gu Silan with a careless thud.
"Gu Silan," she snaps, "wash these too. If they aren't done by tonight, you don't eat."
Gu Silan lowers her head.
"…Yes."
She continues scrubbing.
---
Night falls.
Inside the house, laughter echoes—warm voices, clinking bowls, the smell of steaming food filling the air.
Outside, beside the mud wall, Gu Silan crouches in the dark.
Her bowl holds scraps barely fit for dogs.
She eats silently, surrounded by whining strays who receive the same treatment she does.
When the meal ends, she washes every dish, her hands swollen and cracked.
Then, when everyone sleeps, she retreats to a broken shack—her so-called room—its roof full of holes, its floor bare dirt.
This becomes her life.
Day after day.
Task after unreasonable task.
Punishment without reason.
Silence without kindness.
---
One evening, guests arrive.
Men with wine-flushed faces and arrogant eyes.
Later, as Gu Silan sleeps in her shack, one of them forces the door open and steps inside.
His hand grabs her wrist.
His breath reeks.
His intent is clear.
She fights—panic, desperation, instinct.
Her nails cut deeply into his skin, and she breaks free, fleeing into the night.
The next morning, the man lies smoothly.
"She tried to seduce me," he says with righteous fury.
"When I refused, she attacked me."
Gu Silan tries to speak, shaking.
"He's lying—"
But no one listens.
Her family believes him without hesitation.
Whips lash across her back, again and again, tearing skin, tearing spirit.
The next day, she is ordered to work as if nothing had happened.
No rest.
No medicine.
No kindness.
Only commands.
Only cruelty.
---
Hopelessness closes around her like a cage.
That night, under an empty sky, Gu Silan walks to the river.
No tears remain.
Only silence.
She steps into the water.
The current pulls her instantly—dragging her down, spinning her, slamming her into hidden rock.
Pain flashes.
Then darkness.
---
She wakes in pitch black.
Her body screams with agony.
The sound of rushing water echoes around her—meaning she is somewhere underground, carried into a cavern.
She tries to move.
She cannot.
She sobs—not loudly, not wildly—just a small, broken sound.
"Why…" she whispers to no one.
"Why can't I even die…?"
Tears slide down her face as consciousness begins to slip away.
Then—
A voice rises from the darkness.
Deep.
Cold.
Unhurried.
"Do you wish to die?"
She flinches.
Through pain and despair, she gathers her voice and screams:
"Yes. Kill me."
Silence follows.
Then the voice speaks again.
"No. That is too simple."
A pause.
Then:
"Tell me instead—
Do you want revenge?"
Her breath halts.
Memories flash—
Every insult, every lash, every lie, every humiliation.
Something dark inside her finally opens.
Her voice trembles—not weak this time, but sharp and venomous.
"…I want revenge."
The cavern seems to breathe in answer.
A technique—foreign yet familiar—blooms inside her mind:
Resentment Battle Body.
Information floods her consciousness.
Too much.
Too fast.
She collapses, unconscious.
---
Minutes later, footsteps echo from the entrance of the cavern.
A young man and woman appear, lantern light flickering across the darkness.
The woman sighs.
"She's alive."
The man kneels beside Gu Silan.
"Help her. Then we'll ask Master if we can bring her back to the sect."
The woman nods.
Her hand shifts—fingers lengthening, nails sharpening into delicate, scaled claws. Emerald patterns glow across her skin.
Soft green light shines onto Gu Silan.
Bones realign.
Bruises fade.
Breath steadies.
When the healing completes, the young man lifts her gently, and the two disappear toward the surface.
Their steps fade.
Silence returns.
From the depth of the cavern, hidden in shadow, a figure becomes visible—
Red eyes are faintly glowing.
A quiet, satisfied smirk curled across his lips.
Demon Merin watches them leave.