Chapter 7: "The Hand That Burns the Sky"
The sky had never been so quiet.
After the collapse of the Vestibule of Genesis, the five remaining cultivators returned to the mortal realm, only to find it altered. Not broken. Not destroyed. But shifted. Entire mountain ranges had moved. Oceans hovered mid-air before crashing back down. Spirit veins had tangled into knots, and the sun no longer rose from the east. Reality had been unstitched and rethreaded by the war against the divine.
And yet, an eye still watched them.
Hovering like a silent god, it hung above the northern sky, unmoving, a golden iris larger than planets. No god name had been given. No voice. No declaration of war.
Only a gaze.
And the cultivators felt it. Each breath was heavier. Each cultivation attempt required three times the focus. Even Frostveil, with her Destruction Dao ignited, could barely meditate without her soul shivering.
Shi Ruan, half-blind and haunted by Solthros's entropy, stood on the cliffs above the new spirit rift. "It's watching us. Not just one god. Not just one eye. It's... all of them. One presence pretending to be still."
Lan Kuang clenched his storm-forged fists. "Then let it watch. I'll carve lightning across its pupil."
Jian remained quiet. He had been silent for days.
Until a flame appeared in the sky.
---
The fire did not fall. It walked.
A humanoid figure of molten core and ash descended from the upper sky. With each step, clouds caught fire. The earth cracked. Forests wilted. Cities far away felt their rivers evaporate.
"Another god?" Frostveil asked, already drawing her blade.
"No," Jian whispered. "Something worse. A Herald."
The figure stopped above the shattered lands where the Sect of Dawnlight once stood. It raised its hand, and the air ignited in patterns. Not fire—authority.
"I am Therion, Flame of the Celestial Court," the being announced, its voice molten thunder. "The Court has convened. Your blasphemy is recorded. Your punishment will be final."
Jian stepped forward. "We do not kneel."
Therion smiled. "Then burn standing."
He clapped once.
The sky split.
---
A rift opened. Not like Tian Shen's gravitational tear, nor Malek'tor's worship flood.
This was the Skyforge. The divine crucible from which stars were born.
From it emerged spears of flame, dragons made of solar storms, and constructs built from celestial brass. The world—all of it—shook. Cultivators from all regions felt their Daos flicker. Some exploded from within, unable to bear the pressure.
Therion raised his hand, and with it, the Solar Mandate appeared—a circular array of divine commandments written in flame. It would not strike a target. It would strike existence.
Frostveil reacted first.
She tapped into her Destruction Dao, the concept that all things decay, that even stars end.
"Fall with me," she said.
Her aura turned black.
A vortex of ruin wrapped around her blade, and with a scream, she launched herself at the Herald.
Jian, Lan Kuang, and Shi Ruan followed.
---
The battle was not a clash.
It was a cataclysm.
Therion's flame did not burn flesh. It incinerated destiny. It sought to erase not just their bodies, but their fates, their potential, their legacy. But Frostveil stood in the center of it all, unraveling each fiery law with a swing of Destruction. Her blade, now glowing red with entropy, met the Solar Mandate.
It cracked.
Lan Kuang summoned storm spirits to wrap the burning dragons in ice lightning. Shi Ruan redirected firestorms back at themselves, creating exploding halos of divine heat.
But Jian... changed.
Mid-battle, he sheathed his blade.
He stepped into the fire.
His skin burned. His soul writhed. But within the center of the crucible, he saw it: the true path of his Dao. Not just Sword. Not just Severance.
Transcendence.
He drew his blade again. Not to kill.
To ascend.
With one motion, he cut through the Solar Mandate and the sky behind it. The rift cracked. The Skyforge destabilized. Stars twisted out of orbit.
Therion turned in shock. For the first time, a god's voice broke.
"Impossible."
Jian replied, voice calm:
"Your fire was forged. My will is not."
He sliced.
Therion screamed.
The Herald exploded into embers that rained across the sky.
---
The battle ended.
But no one cheered.
Because above them, the golden eye had closed.
And thousands more opened.
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To be continued.