"What a blinding radiance!"
"What on earth is that?!"
"Has something caught fire?"
"Nonsense—no blaze could shine so fiercely, and Cangnan boasts no tower that tall!"
"Quick, record it—post it to your feed!"
…
The sky-piercing shaft of light was so dazzling that half the city paused in its tracks, citizens craning their necks and trading fevered guesses. Some claimed an explosion, others a scientific experiment, still others a miracle… yet only a scant few understood its true import.
Two minutes earlier, in the Old Quarter.
On an empty street, space rippled as though a corner of the cityscape had been peeled back. From the shimmering rent stepped five figures in black-and-crimson cloaks. One surveyed the surroundings, stooped, and folded a roadside sign that read Road Closed Ahead. The instant the placard vanished, the hushed Old Quarter shattered like a soap bubble, revealing its grim reality within.
Congealed blood had dyed the worn cobbles scarlet; grotesque severed limbs lay strewn about. Had Lin Qiye been present, he would have recognized these hacked-apart remains as the grinning fiends he had just confronted—no fewer than thirty-four of them.
"Sector Null secured," the man with the placard said coolly. "Call in the clean-up crew."
"Where's Old Zhao?"
"Pursuing the two that escaped."
"…We were negligent," the wounded woman murmured, clutching her right shoulder.
"Don't blame yourself, Hong-ying. None of us foresaw a Ghost-face King hiding among the rabble," the man beside her consoled.
"The captain can handle it alone, yes?"
"Of course. He's a third-realm Chuan master—he'll be fine. I only pray those fugitives don't slaughter civilians…"
His words had scarcely fled when a blistering pillar of light erupted elsewhere, bathing half the sky in gold. All five turned as one, eyes wide.
"A fissure… and the energy is monstrous!"
"At least fifth-realm Wuliang—perhaps even sixth-realm Klein… How could such power descend upon humble Cangnan?"
"No," the man frowned, "it feels unlike any human domain."
Hong-ying stiffened. "You mean…?"
"A divine domain—a god-rift."
The word god drew a collective breath.
"Which deity?"
"Scalding, sacred, primordial… a creative aura. If I'm right," he fixed upon the waning light and spoke each word like a verdict, "Designation 003—the Seraphic King, Michael."
—
Lin Qiye suffered immensely.
Suspended at the heart of the golden beam, his body obeyed no command; inexhaustible power poured from his eyes. He seemed once more to stand, as ten years before, beneath an unfathomable cosmos, facing that gaze beyond the moon—only now the exalted presence surged not from the lunar surface but from within his own sight.
Seraphic fire and divine might raged from his pupils like twin blazing suns, threatening to melt all into nothingness. A decade ago, Michael had met his eyes from the lunar plain; now the residual seraphic force dormant in those eyes exploded.
Mercifully, the remnant was small. After seven or eight seconds the column dwindled; Lin Qiye dropped, staggering as he found his footing. The brilliant gold in his gaze faded to a faint aureate halo—no longer a sun, merely a candle-flame. The earlier radiance had never been his; the dim afterglow he now commanded was.
A fragile trace of seraphic power.
Drawing a long breath, he lifted his head. Midnight sky, crumbling lanes, macabre beasts, pools of blood—an unlovely tableau, yet he laughed, hearty and unrestrained. Ten years had passed since his eyes last beheld the world.
In that moment even the gore-drenched monsters appeared almost endearing.
Crushed by the divine aura, the two creatures had been pinned flat, nearly pulped. When the light expired they regained themselves, blinked about in confusion, then fixed anew on Lin Qiye, bloodlust rekindling.
"Screee—!"
One shrieked and hurtled at him. This time Lin Qiye was calm; the instant it twitched he divined its path and flung himself aside. Though slower than the beast, his reflexes were preternatural—his awakened senses now spanned twenty metres, twice their former reach, and within that circle his dynamic vision tripled a mortal's, granting near-prescience in close combat.
The creature streaked past, smashing a wall, rebounding in a blur toward him. Lin Qiye rolled clear, snatched the broken white cane that had fallen earlier, and rose into a crouch, eyes locked on the hurtling shadow, knuckles whitening on the half-staff.
Wind whipped his hair as the monster leapt. This time he did not dodge. He tightened his grip and stared into its feral eyes.
"Screee—!"
Claws slashed for his throat—yet in that heartbeat his pupils flared, the pale halo flaring into twin furnaces. A filament of divinity surged through the stare and pierced the beast, and to its vision Lin Qiye became a six-winged sovereign radiating dread majesty. Paralysis seized it.
Within that frozen instant the broken cane arced high—
—and drove unerringly into the creature's right eye.