The skies were burning.
Heaven and earth trembled beneath the clash of titanic forces as thunderclouds blotted out the sun. Lightning split the heavens into shattered fragments. Mountains collapsed into dust. Rivers boiled and turned to steam.
And above the ruined valley floated a solitary man — black robes tattered, long hair matted with blood, his expression calm as a dying god.
Fang Xi. The Heavenly Demon.
Before him stood a coalition of monsters: grandmasters of the righteous path, patriarchs of ancient clans, hidden ancestors from the demonic abyss — each one a legend. More than a dozen peak experts, realms beyond mortal comprehension, stood united.
All to kill one man.
"You should be dead already, Fang Xi," spat the Grand Daoist of the Clear Sky Temple, his azure sword humming with divine thunder. "Heaven has rejected you. Even the demonic path despises you now."
Fang Xi's lips curled.
"I spit on Heaven."
He raised one hand. The air twisted. Behind him, nine dark moons spun into existence — an impossible phenomenon, the ultimate manifestation of his Heaven-Devouring Demon Dao.
The sky itself recoiled.
"Enough!" roared the Sect Lord of the Blood Lotus Hall. "He's stalling for time. Activate the Great Suppression Formation!"
The air shimmered. Runes of ancient origin blazed across the sky, woven by dozens of masters in secret for this moment. Golden chains of law and karma locked into place, descending like a cage upon Fang Xi's soul.
He did not resist.
Instead, he closed his eyes.
"So this is the end."
He had known it might come. Power so great it defied fate would never go unpunished. He had murdered saints, razed cities, enslaved spirits, stolen forbidden knowledge that even ancient immortals had buried.
And yet…
"They all followed the Dao like cattle. I alone chose my path."
"Now they gather to punish me for succeeding."
His body trembled. Blood leaked from his ears. The nine moons behind him flickered, then shattered into light. The formation crushed down — not on his body, but on his soul.
From the heavens came a final stroke — Heavenly Tribulation Lightning, not golden, but violet-black. Divine wrath. Not punishment for evil, but for defying the natural order.
It struck him.
Pain lanced through his being. His soul screamed.
His body disintegrated.
And yet — even as death closed in, a thought echoed in the void.
"If I am to die, I will not go to oblivion."
"I will return. I will rebuild everything."
"Let Heaven weep."
He floated in darkness.
No body. No time. Just drifting awareness.
Then—something cracked.
A pulse of light. A heartbeat.
And suddenly—
Pain.
Agonizing, mortal, fragile pain.
Flesh again. Limbs. Breathing. Weak lungs, trembling muscles, cold skin.
And a scream — not his — from outside:
"Fang Xi! Are you still meditating like an idiot? Get up! You'll be late for chores again!"
He opened his eyes.
A rotting ceiling of damp wood. A leaking roof. The stench of wet cloth and mold.
He looked at his own hand. Thin. Scarred. The hand of a youth — not his old one, not the hand that once crushed Nascent Soul cultivators to death in fist-sized bursts of blood.
He whispered, "I… live?"
And slowly, a smile curved his lips.
"So this is my second life."
"A new beginning."
"You tried to erase me, but I've returned."
Outside, Broken Soul Mountain lay shrouded in morning mist, unaware that the world's most feared cultivator had been born again.