"Xue Mo, stop resisting! Surrender the Blood Deity Art, and we might grant you a painless death, sparing you further suffering for the countless lives you've destroyed."
"Your insatiable greed has caused the death of millions; your sins are so vast that no redemption can undo the damage you've wrought. Surrendering the Blood Deity Art is your only path to silence our vengeance."
"Xue Mo, 800 years ago, you massacred my family and destroyed my sect. You severed my arm and took everything from me. Today, I will make you suffer tenfold!"
Voices rang out across the crumbling peaks, thick with venom sharpened by years of unbridled hatred. Around the heavily surrounded Xue Mo, some warriors roared, others sneered. Some held onto their wounds while looking on with fear.
Xue Mo stood at the center of it all, his blood-soaked red robes tattered and fluttering weakly in the cold mountain breeze. His once-pristine long hair was disheveled, clinging to his sweat-drenched face. Deep wounds marred his body, crimson blood dripping onto the ground below, pooling around his feet. His sword lay discarded by his side, its once-bright blade dulled and cracked, unable to withstand the relentless clashes it had endured.
He glanced at his opponents—sect masters, elders, and lone cultivators, each exuding immense power. Their very presence warped the air around them, their auras suffocating.
At the forefront stood five figures. A towering man clad in golden armor raised a blade that hummed with golden lightning. Beside him, a woman in crimson robes summoned an orb of fire so hot it warped the air around her. The remaining three, wielding a sword, a spear, and an axe respectively, radiated immense killing intent. These were Saint Realm powerhouses—figures who rarely left seclusion, yet they had all gathered to kill him.
Behind them stood dozens of elite cultivators, all at the Half-Saint Realm. Below that, would have no use here.
Xue Mo's gaze swept over them, his expression eerily calm. His jet-black eyes were like an abyss. This was not resignation—it was the composure of a man who had lived for thousands of years and experienced too much..
For seven days, the standoff persisted. The setting sun bathed the bloodstained mountain in hues of red and orange, its light casting long shadows across the battlefield. The tension was suffocating, a silent storm waiting to erupt.
Then, Xue Mo moved.
It was a subtle shift—he slowly raised his head, his bloodied robes fluttering in the breeze. His pale lips curled into a faint smile, and his calm voice broke the silence.
"So all of this for a technique that none of you righteous faction people would cultivate? Or would you?"
His words were like a spark to dry tinder.
"Shut your mouth, demon!" an elder from the Heavenly Radiance Sect roared, stepping forward as his aura exploded outward. The sky above trembled, cracks forming in the air as his spiritual energy surged. "Your reign of terror ends today!"
Xue Mo chuckled softly, his voice laced with disdain. "Sit down, old man. This isn't a place for fodder to speak." He swept his gaze over the assembled forces, taking a deep breath. "Now then... where were we?"
"Boooom!"
A deafening roar split the air as Xue Mo's body erupted with a bloody aura. His wounds stopped bleeding as an eerie crimson glow enveloped his form. The blood pooled at his feet rose into the air, swirling around him like serpents.
"He's using his blood domain!" a sect master shouted. "Everyone, attack now! Don't let him recover!"
The five Saint Realm powerhouses moved in unison, their energy condensing into devastating techniques.
One summoned a massive golden sword, its blade crackling with divine lightning. As it descended, the mountain below trembled, fissures spreading like spiderwebs.
Another formed a gigantic crimson palm, its fiery surface radiating destructive heat. It slammed toward Xue Mo with the force to vaporize everything in its path.
As the third cultivator unleashed a torrent of azure water, sharp droplets slicing through the air, the surge was not merely an attack; it was an attempt to ensure Xue Mo could not muster any of his dark powers in the chaos that followed."
Two others unleashed spatial techniques, tearing rifts in the fabric of reality itself. Blades of spatial energy sliced through the air, aiming to sever Xue Mo's very existence.
The combined assault of five Saint Realm powerhouses was apocalyptic. The mountain crumbled under the pressure, boulders the size of houses tumbling into the abyss below. The sky darkened as the heavens seemed to mourn the destruction unleashed upon the world.
But Xue Mo did not falter.
The blood aura around him surged, condensing into a demonic figure—a towering being made of blood. The figure raised its hand, catching the golden sword mid-descent. Lightning exploded outward, but the being held firm.
The fiery palm collided with Xue Mo's aura, causing a massive explosion. Flames and blood intertwined, forming a fiery storm that consumed everything in its path.
The wave of azure water struck next, but the blood aura absorbed it, turning the water crimson before dispersing it.
The spatial blades sliced into the blood deity, carving deep gashes, but the wounds closed almost instantly, the blood regenerating faster than it could be destroyed.
Suddenly—
An unfathomable pressure descended upon the battlefield.
"Ripples of invisible energy spread out from a single point, distorting reality as space itself seemed to bend under the sheer presence of the being who had arrived."
The sky darkened further, as if the heavens themselves recoiled. The fighting froze. Everyone felt it—a terrifying, boundless aura, suffocating beyond belief.
"Cultivators who had been brimming with righteous fury moments ago suddenly found their bodies unsteady. Their souls shivered instinctively, primal fear gripping their hearts as an unseen force pressed upon them."
"Saint King!" The saint in golden armor bit his lips in defiance. He knew in his heart the newcomer's intention.
All the Saint Realm powerhouses stiffened, their faces paling. They turned their gazes to the distant void, where an unseen presence loomed.
"He came…," one of them muttered, fear creeping into his voice.
Whoosh!
The sound of air being torn could be heard as a golden light tore through the sky and quickly flew straight to his chest.
As the golden light tore through the sky, Xue Mo prepared to retaliate. The light formed the shape of a sword, aiming directly for him, and in that crucial moment, he gathered the remnants of his blood energy, coalescing it in a desperate bid for strength. It was a futile buy he was not going to die without at least giving his best.
The brilliant blade pierced his blood energy and continued unhindered and pierced his chest, leaving a gaping wound that sapped his strength momentarily. Pain shot through him, sharp and unyielding, momentarily blinding him to everything else. He gasped, feeling his vitality draining, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of defeat pressed down upon him like a collapsing mountain.
In that dire moment, something flickered deep within him, an unrecognized instinct buried beneath his thirst for power. Was this it? Was it truly the end?
The Saint King descended from the void, an imposing figure bathed in a holy aura that exuded fear and reverence. Crimson robes, embroidered with a golden dragon, billowed around him, shifting with an almost life-like quality. His gaze traversed the chaos, locking onto where Xue Mo lay—this was the prize he had sought.
He raised his hand, prepared to seize the legendary Blood Deity Art. Yet, in that critical moment, a ripple of shock flashed through his eyes. He realized it was gone, vanishing as if it had never existed.
Xue Mo lay there, the weight of his impending doom crashing over him, yet within the shadows danced thoughts of reclaiming what he had lost. He would not let this end his ambition.
The shock of the nearly fatal blow coursed through him, and in that haze, he felt something shift—an ancient power awakening within him. He had no idea what it was, just a murmur of energy responding to the perilous situation, a nascent instinct urging him to rise again.
The Saint King's hand clenched tightly, his expression darkening, but he spoke not a word. The air thrummed with tension as he slowly surveyed the battlefield, looking at all the remaining powerhouses.
With one last glance at the ruins around him, he vanished, leaving behind the remnants of a battle that had been fought in vain.
The mountain crumbled, reduced to dust and scattered debris. Silence enveloped the remaining cultivators, and they stared at the destruction wrought upon the land.
"The Blood Deity Art… is gone?" The golden-armored man's voice was laced with disbelief.
He surveyed his fellow cultivators, noting the looks of frustration and confusion etched across their faces.
"Then all of this… was for nothing?" another voice offered, equally bewildered.
The silence stretched, heavy with unfulfilled ambition and uncertainty. The powerful figures met each other's gazes, understanding dawning as they processed the implications of their failure. A sense of futility pervaded the atmosphere, each of them questioning the lengths they'd gone to only to yield an empty victory.
The mountain was no more. The whole area for thousands of kilometers was a wasteland. Silence remained.
"Despite our defeat in this battle, we can at least find solace in Xue Mo's apparent demise. It's a moment of justice against the being who has harmed countless souls."
One of the younger Half Saint Realm expert tried to cheer up the crowd but the surviving cultivators looked at him then looked away not a word being uttered.
Xue Mo was dead.
Or so they believed.