"Syaoran!" Zhihao's voice ripped through the air, thunder booming across the sky, laced with impotent rage and a chilling fury.
Syaoran roared loudly, a majestic, ancient sound that tore through the very fabric of the air, echoing across the ravaged landscape. His immense, pure white wings spread wide, feathers shimmering, already flapping, ready to take flight. The three swords, imbued with his power, floated and circled around their master, humming with anticipation.
Syaoran's powerful roar stirred up a devastating sound wave that shook the ground around the Northern Fortress, causing debris to crumble. He then shot a pulsating ball of raw energy directly into the gaping dark hole of the Demon Gate, and the demon creatures within shrieked in excruciating pain, their cries abruptly cut short. With a swift, commanding gesture, he raised his hands. The scattered, broken stone pieces on the ground rapidly floated up, obeying his will, fixing themselves together with a grinding sound, and seamlessly sealed the dark hole. The restored Demon Gate shuddered, then completely shut tight once again, imprisoning the horrors within.
Far away, Guo Baiyu and Zhao Renshu watched, their faces pale with disbelief. Zhao Renshu, a raw cry of anguish tearing from his throat, angrily crushed the annihilation talisman in his right palm, its power wasted and ran desperately towards the towering figure of Syaoran.
"Ping'an!" Guo Baiyu choked out, his voice filled with despair, shaking his head in silent agony.
The two men had tried their absolute best to prevent her from becoming Syaoran, but in the end, they couldn't stop her destiny. They stood on the blood-soaked ground, helpless witnesses, watching Syaoran, magnificent in his pristine white robe, spread his vast, luminous wings against the grim sky.
Syaoran took off, soaring high into the air, a beacon of white against the dark, smoke-filled sky. He then made a fist with his right hand, clenched tight with radiating power, and fell quickly, plummeting towards the battlefield. His powerful, descending fist slammed into the ground with a resounding impact. A thousand blinding brilliance radiated outwards from his clenched fist across the devastated battlefield. All the dead Horsemen soldiers, fairies, and hunters, their eyes glowing with an eerie white light, slowly rose up, reanimated by his power. Syaoran landed gracefully in front of King Shammek and the remaining Horsemen soldiers. The living and the resurrected dead soldiers, now a unified, unstoppable force, surged forward, attacking the demon creatures with renewed, terrifying ferocity.
Syaoran, a force of vengeance, went straight for Zhihao. Two massive, winged beasts, their eyes burning with demonic malice, screeched as they flew towards him, attempting to intercept.
Syaoran smirked, a chilling, triumphant curve of his lips. "Scream of ten thousand pains," he murmured, and his three swords, a blur of silver, quickly multiplied into hundreds of shimmering blades that stabbed relentlessly at the flying beasts. The strong, once-terrifying creatures shrieked, falling heavily onto the battlefield in the blink of an eye, lifeless husks.
Zhihao, his face contorted in a snarl, touched the ground, and hundreds of jagged dirt spikes, sharp as blades, rose from the earth, shooting violently into the sky to impede Syaoran. But Syaoran continued his relentless flight towards Zhihao, his swords a silver whirlwind, effortlessly cutting through all the spikes that stood in his way. Zhihao, desperate, then summoned thousands of soil thorns, a lethal barrage, and sent them directly at Syaoran.
Syaoran smiled triumphantly, a flash of white, as the deadly dirt spikes rushed towards him. He raised his right hand to make a fist, and with a silent command, the deadly dirt spikes that were aiming for his life, moments from impaling him, transformed instantly into delicate, shimmering rose petals, scattering gracefully across the evening sky, a breathtaking, impossible display of power. One of Syaoran's swords flew back into his right hand, a perfect fit, and he charged straight to Zhihao, an unstoppable force.
Zhihao's eyes widened in dawning horror. He knew, with a sudden, cold clarity, that without the help of his six royal comrades, he would irrevocably lose this battle. Right now, the only ones left with their original bodies were himself and Qingyu, who was nowhere to be found, a critical absence.
Syaoran raised both of his palms down, and two intricate magic circles, glowing with ethereal light, appeared on his palms. He bellowed, "Earth Vines!"
Twenty thick, powerful vines, shimmering with ancient energy, erupted from the ground and wrapped themselves tightly around Zhihao, constricting him. Zhihao screamed in rage and pain, struggling to break free from the powerful, binding vines, and with a surge of dark energy, he tore himself loose.
Syaoran was faster. He directly shot a crackling energy thunder ball at Zhihao. The thunder ball hit Zhihao directly on the chest with a concussive force, and the blow sent Zhihao crashing violently onto the side of the mountain, leaving a deep crater. Syaoran flew fast as lightning, a white streak across the sky, straight to Zhihao, and grabbed Zhihao by the neck with his left hand, holding him suspended, helpless.
Syaoran's voice was low, furious, trembling with ancient fury. "I told you that if you do evil again," he snarled, tightening his grip, "I will destroy your body and bring your soul back to the Soul Collector Realm!"
Zhihao choked, gasping for air, his eyes defiant. "I won't lose to you!" he rasped.
Syaoran smirked, a cruel, mocking smile. "It seems that you are not winning either. You lost a thousand years ago, and you still lose a thousand years later. How many times you resurrect yourself, you will lose again and again, until you are nothing but just the word 'sin'."
Syaoran threw Zhihao to the ground forcefully, his body hitting the rock with a sickening thud. His sword, as if guided by an unseen will, chased behind Zhihao, swiftly stabbed him, and pressed him to the ground, pinning him. His sword then multiplied itself, hundreds of glowing blades appearing instantly, surrounding Zhihao just as Zhihao's body exploded into a burst of dark energy. A single, dark orb floated gently onto Syaoran's right palm. He looked down on the ground, his gaze distant, and saw Jiutian Xuannü, the celestial goddess, walking calmly toward him. Syaoran landed gracefully on his feet, his wings slowly retracting.
Jiutian Xuannü's voice was serene, ethereal. "Syaoran," she said, her eyes filled with ancient wisdom, "it's been five hundred years, have you accepted your fate?"
Syaoran sneered, a flicker of old resentment in his eyes. "Five hundred years have passed, and you still ask the same question, when you already know the answer."
"You haven't changed at all, Syaoran," Jiutian Xuannü replied, a faint, melancholic smile on her lips. "Good luck guarding the Northern Fortress for eternity." The dark orb floated from Syaoran's hand onto Jiutian Xuannü's hand, and the goddess, with a whisper of light, disappeared, her task complete.
Syaoran smiled bitterly, a profound sadness in his eyes, and shook his head slowly. "I didn't beg you at the time, and I won't beg you now," he whispered, his voice filled with ancient defiance and unyielding resolve.
The pungent smell of blood filled the air, a grim reminder of the battle. The corpses that had been resurrected by Syaoran, their eerie white eyes now dim, returned to being truly dead, collapsing back onto the ground. The Demon Gate was completely closed, sealed, a heavy silence falling over it.
Guo Baiyu and Zhao Renshu, their faces etched with a desperate hope, made their way to where Syaoran was last seen, surrounded by the centaur soldiers. The Horsemen soldiers, their faces filled with awe and reverence, were divided into two orderly rows, each with their right hands placed respectfully on their left chests.
When Syaoran walked down the aisle they formed, his two magnificent white wings spread wide on his back, and his sword following silently behind him, the Horsemen soldiers knelt down on their right knees one by one, paying high respects to their ancient, newly returned guardian.
Guo Baiyu and Zhao Renshu, their hearts pounding with a mixture of terror and overwhelming relief, walked past the kneeling Horsemen soldiers, their gaze fixed on the approaching figure. Syaoran made his way directly to the two men, his every step radiating power. Syaoran walked towards them with a bright, gentle smile on his face, a smile that was both familiar and utterly alien.
Guo Baiyu and Zhao Renshu finally faced their maker, Syaoran. The handsome, six-foot-two figure, with his flawless white face, piercing light blue eyes, pure white hair, and fair skin, smiled down at the two of them. The person that stood in front of them was completely different from their beloved wife Ping'an. Yet, Syaoran walked up to the two of them and hugged them in the exact same position that Ping'an normally hugged them, their bodies fitting together in a painfully familiar embrace. The touch and feeling were precisely the same, the warmth and love unmistakable, but the appearance, the very essence, was heartbreakingly different.
Syaoran's voice, sweet and soft, yet resonant with a deeper power, flowed over them. "I'm glad you two are okay," he murmured, his gaze filled with what felt like Ping'an's love. He kissed them gently on the cheeks, a tender gesture that brought tears to their eyes. Syaoran stroked their faces with both hands, his touch lingering, then slowly, agonizingly, his form began to shift. He turned back, the transformation reversing, reverting to Ping'an. After Syaoran returned to be Ping'an, her lifeless body, now fragile and pale, was forcefully dragged away by the immense, unstoppable power of the Northern Fortress.
"Ping'an!" Guo Baiyu and Zhao Renshu screamed, their voices raw with fresh anguish, chasing desperately after her.
The ancient magic of the Northern Fortress, an invisible, inexorable force, dragged her back to where she was meant to be, her two hands placed back onto the two glowing orbs, facing the now-sealed Demon Gate. Her body quickly began to turn into clay, the transformation starting from her head and slowly consuming her, solidifying her into an eternal statue.
When Guo Baiyu and Zhao Renshu finally reached Ping'an, she had completely turned into a clay sculpture, her familiar face frozen in eternal vigil. The two men looked at each other, their minds reeling, not understanding what devastating event had just transpired.
Zhao Renshu collapsed to his knees in front of her, his voice breaking with unbearable grief. "Ping'an, let me turn into dirt! Let me switch places with you!" he pleaded, reaching out a trembling hand, desperate to reverse the irreversible.