Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom...
The massive, pulsating cocoons throbbed with life, each pulse radiating a deep, mysterious power. The transformation from a Skyborne Yaksha into an Asura was no simple evolution—it was a leap across an abyss. Fang Han had read about such transformations in The Worlds Beyond and understood the magnitude of this process. It required immense accumulation and endurance—almost as difficult as transcending from the Mortal Body realm into the Mystical Divine realm.
Now, witnessing this metamorphosis firsthand, he dared not blink, fearing he might miss even the slightest detail. Perhaps, within this evolution, he could glimpse the essence of bodily transcendence—knowledge that could one day guide his own breakthrough.
"Earth Demon Asura, Yaksha Kings! By the heavens' will and the might of Biluo Great Pills—transform!"
Yan's cold voice echoed through the Yellow Springs River. Hundreds of Biluo Great Pills floated into the air, thirty-five forming each intricate constellation-like array, dazzling like stars across the void.
Under Yan's command, the pills began to spin, melting into streams of energy. The streams coalesced into a half-human, half-demon visage surrounded by cascading runes that sank into the great cocoons one by one.
The cocoons convulsed violently—
Thump, thump, thump!
Their rhythm quickened tenfold, echoing like war drums on a battlefield. Fang Han's own heartbeat began to match theirs, his blood boiling as though he himself were on the brink of transformation.
"Fusion of ten blades! Spirit array at the core—element unbroken, gold essence dissolving—disperse!"
Yan chanted again, his power flaring like a storm. His words struck the ten suspended flying swords, which trembled violently before their metallic bodies began to melt into streams of golden liquid. Within the molten flow floated tiny, seed-like formations—the heart of the swords, their spiritual cores.
Yan's power could not destroy these cores, but that was not his aim. He embedded each one into the bone spikes of the transforming Asuras. With the fusion complete, the creatures' might would double—their bone spikes now infused with the souls of the blades.
"Good. They're about to hatch."
As soon as he spoke, cracking sounds erupted from the cocoons. With a thunderous shatter, monstrous figures emerged—tall and sinewy, their bodies clad in dark, glistening scales, their faces those of stunning men and women. Demons with angelic faces. From their backs jutted menacing bone spikes, sharp and radiant.
A crimson mist spread from the broken cocoons—not the stench of blood, but a sweet fragrance that lingered in the air.
"The Asuras' birth essence... Crimson Nectar! Fang Han, absorb it! Quickly!"
Even before Yan finished, Fang Han inhaled sharply. His chest expanded like a whale breaching the ocean's surface, pulling the blood mist into himself in great gulps.
The Crimson Nectar was purer than any Blood Pill—it was the lifeblood essence shed during a Yaksha's ascension to Asura, containing the sanctified strength of the demon race. Warriors who absorbed it gained bones like tempered steel and flesh as resilient as the earth itself.
The nectar coursed through Fang Han's veins like molten glue, spreading warmth to every corner of his body. His muscles tightened, his bones hummed with newfound harmony, his tendons became elastic as silk cords soaked in divine resin.
He flexed—and felt his entire body stretch and rebound like forged leather. His endurance surged; his body no longer felt like mere flesh, but a weapon refined by heaven's fire.
"If it's just physical power..." Fang Han clenched his fists, feeling raw might surge through him. "I could crush Ye Nantian with my bare hands. But ranked third on the Mountain and River Roll, he must have his own tricks—probably several spirit weapons. I can't underestimate him."
Yan, meanwhile, ignored Fang Han's musings. His focus was fixed on the ten newly born Asuras. The molten gold from the ten swords engulfed them again, coating their bodies in shining metallic light. The Asuras screamed—agonized, but evolving.
When their cries finally faded, they hovered in midair, transformed. Their once-dark scales now shimmered like polished armor; their bone spikes gleamed with various forms—some swords, some serpents, some spears—each sharp enough to rend reality. Their heads were now shielded by golden helms, reforged from the essence of the flying swords.
"Success!" Yan's voice carried pride—almost artistry. "They're no longer simple Asuras. They are Demon Blade Puppets! Their scales are tougher than flying swords; even their heads are no longer weak points. The core formations from the ten blades are now part of their bone spikes—they can release them like flying swords at will! Even a first or second-layer Mystic Divine expert, if caught off guard, would die instantly."
Yan admired his work like a sculptor beholding his masterpiece.
"How do I command them?" Fang Han asked.
"The usual way—drip your blood and let them consume it. Once they've tasted your essence, they'll form a psychic link with you. They'll obey your will as if they were extensions of your limbs. When you step into the Mystic Divine realm, you can refine them further—let them evolve into Great Asuras, your outer avatars. If your body ever falls, your consciousness can be reborn within them. Ten puppets—ten extra lives. That's the Demon Sect's art of Borrowed Flesh and Substituted Spirit."
Yan's words dripped with ancient, forbidden knowledge.
Fang Han listened but remained calm. "External power is still external," he murmured. "Without my own strength, even the best treasures are worthless."
After feeding them his blood to bind their spirits, he didn't linger. Instead, he left the Yellow Springs Diagram and sat before the great furnace once again, his breathing slow and steady.
"Six hours of rest," he thought. "Then back into the flames."
And so the days passed, one after another, as Fang Han continued his relentless path of forging body and soul.