The Gathering Before the Storm
Mi-An woke before dawn.
The sky hung pale and still, as if even the heavens feared what was coming. She sat on the edge of her cot, the weight of Xiao Yan's absence pressing down like stone. The emptiness beside her seemed to mock her grief, yet she forced herself to rise. There was no time for sorrow—not now.
She moved quietly through the Sect, summoning the disciples. One by one, they arrived, expressions etched with centuries of cultivation, yet marred by unease. Soon, the Saints followed, faces stoic but their eyes betraying concern. They formed a loose circle around her, the silence thick with anticipation.
"There will be a war soon," Mi-An said, her voice calm, precise, but sharp enough to cut through the tension.
A low murmur spread among the crowd.
"But… the Ansha is dead already," one disciple said hesitantly. "The demons are no match for us now."
Saint LuQi stepped forward, his gaze heavy with warning. "Do not underestimate them. Chaos strengthens the demons. Their power grows when the world falters."
Mi-An lifted her chin, her eyes hardening. "The evil god is with them."
The murmurs erupted into panic. Faces drained of color. Some clenched their fists, others stepped back instinctively, the weight of impending war pressing down upon them all.
"If only Xiao Yan were here…" murmured a Saint of XiWu Sect, voice trembling.
Mi-An's chest tightened. Her vision blurred briefly as memories of loss, betrayal, and pain flooded her mind—but she steadied herself. Drawing a slow, deliberate breath, she turned to face them fully.
Raising her hand, her voice rang with authority that demanded both respect and obedience: "Follow me."
The disciples and Saints straightened, their unease mingling with renewed determination. The air hummed with tension, each heartbeat echoing the calm before the storm—a storm that would either end them or define the fate of the world.
The Obsidian River
They arrived at the Obsidian River—a place that time itself seemed to avoid.
The river did not flow. Its surface was black as obsidian, smooth and absolute, like a wound carved into the world. Legends whispered that even immortality meant nothing here: stumble once, and even gods could not return.
The disciples and Saints stationed themselves along the banks, weapons drawn, formations forming instinctively. Every breath carried tension, every heartbeat a drum of war.
Then—the sky tore open in crimson light.
Black, violent energy churned above like a storm born of hatred itself. From the horizon, shadows advanced—demons and devils, ranks upon ranks, their forms writhing and inhuman, yet disciplined.
Mi-An stepped forward, her gaze unwavering.
"Nem… Evil god," she called, her voice slicing through the dread, "you caused unrest a thousand years ago. The Ansha is not here today—but we will not fail."
The evil god laughed, a sound that shook the air and made the very ground tremble.
"With the Ansha dead, the world will be mine," he declared.
Nem appeared beside him, a cold smile on his face.
"When I heard the prophecy—that Xiao Yan would kill the Ansha—I saw hope. Nature chose me. Why would I refuse?"
A ripple of cruel laughter rolled through their army, echoing like a chorus of death.
"Attack," the evil god commanded.
Hell surged forward.
Mi-An raised her voice, commanding yet desperate.
"Fight! The peace of the world rests in your hands!"
Steel clashed with flesh. Cries pierced the air. Blood splattered across the black shore.
Minutes passed in chaos. Disciples fell, their screams swallowed by the roaring clash.
Mi-An's eyes widened in horror.
"What did you do to them?!" she cried.
Nem's grin widened, cruel and unfeeling.
"I gave them my blood. Now they fight like rabid dogs," he said.
Rage consumed her. She surged forward, a storm of fury and power.
"You knave!" she screamed.
Nem moved with lethal precision, dodging her assault, and a single kick sent her sprawling. She crashed to the ground, blood spilling from her lips.
Saint LuQi was struck down, the gleam of his blade extinguished in a flash of darkness.
The Saint of YiWu Sect followed, his fall quick and merciless.
One Saint lost footing on the slick, black shore—
—and tumbled into the Obsidian River.
Mi-An screamed, a raw, piercing cry that echoed across the battlefield, carrying both fury and despair.
The river of shadows claimed the first wave. The battle had begun—and already, it devoured the brave.