Alter leaned back, still smirking, his translucent fingers tapping against the teacup. The dragons above lowered their heads as though waiting for his words.
"All right, brat. The second method," Alter said, his tone calmer now, though his grin hadn't faded. "It's simpler. No merging. No giving yourself up. Instead… I train you. Personally."
Haotian's eyes narrowed. "Train me? In here?"
Alter nodded. His expression sharpened, shedding the teasing tone, becoming deadly serious. "Inside your sea of consciousness. Where time bends differently. Out there, days pass. In here, I can stretch time for you — weeks, months, even years. Long enough to hammer you into the weapon you need to be."
The dragons above roared as if in agreement, golden flames spilling from their wings.
Haotian's chest tightened. "What will you train me in?"
Alter's gaze locked on him, steady, burning. "The martial art I carried through every war. The one that broke demon gods, divine gods, and whole realms. Shura's Eighteen Heavenly Slaughter Strikes. The Demon God Killing Martial Arts."
The words alone seemed to shake the golden sea. Above, the dragons spiraled faster, their roars echoing like drums of war.
Haotian's breath quickened. He had heard fragments of it, whispers of techniques that could tear gods down from their thrones. But to be taught directly — by Alter himself?
Alter leaned forward, voice quiet but sharp as a blade. "It will be hell. Every strike burns you from the inside out. Every movement demands more than mortal flesh was made to hold. You'll cough blood, break bones, burn your marrow. But when you master it…" He smiled faintly. "Not even an Emperor will dare stand before you."
Haotian swallowed hard, his fists tightening. "And the cost?"
Alter's smirk faded into weariness, his light flickering faintly. "The cost is mine. I'm running on scraps after my last tribulation. Training you like this will burn what little strength I have left. I can't guide you forever. At best, I'll be able to stay awake long enough to forge the foundation. After that…" He trailed off, his eyes heavy. "…I may not wake again for a long time."
Haotian's throat tightened. He wanted to argue, but the look in Alter's eyes silenced him.
Alter exhaled, then snapped his fingers. The dragons above shrieked and dove, their golden bodies breaking apart into lines of light that circled the two of them. The sea of consciousness trembled, reshaping into a vast battlefield of stone and flame.
"Enough talking." Alter rose, his translucent form solidifying, his hand extending — and in it appeared a blade that pulsed with endless slaughter intent. His grin returned, sharp and merciless.
"Lesson one. The Fist of Ruin. Let's see if you can even stand after the first strike."
Haotian rose, his spear snapping into his hand. His golden eyes blazed, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest.
"Then show me."
The sea of consciousness thundered. The training had begun.
The golden battlefield stretched endlessly across Haotian's sea of consciousness. Fire split the horizon, shadow coiled beneath the ground, and the air shimmered with crushing intent.
Alter stood at the center, his translucent form solidifying with every breath. A blade of slaughter appeared in his hand, radiating pressure so heavy Haotian's bones ached just from looking at it. His expression was calm, but his eyes burned with ancient fire.
"Watch closely," Alter said. His voice was quiet, but it shook the world. "This is the martial art that slaughtered demon gods. The Shura's Eighteen Heavenly Slaughter Strikes."
He moved.
The first strike — Fist of Ruin — came down like a hammer, the earth cracking for miles. A strike to break armor, bone, and certainty itself.
The second — Heaven-Piercer Step — blurred as Alter vanished, reappearing in midair with a downward kick that split the battlefield sky into shards.
The third — Void Fang Rend — clawed at the very fabric of space, ripping it open into bleeding seams.
Haotian's eyes widened as each strike came, every movement heavier, sharper, faster. His breath quickened, his spear trembling in his grip as though it recognized the sheer violence carved into these techniques.
By the ninth strike, shadows and shockwaves had obliterated the field. By the fifteenth, vortexes of force howled, the air collapsing inward with every twist of Alter's body.
And then —
The Eighteenth Strike.
Alter's body split into a dozen afterimages, each one wielding the same blade. Then a dozen more. Then more still — until the entire battlefield was filled with clones, each moving in perfect sync. They struck not randomly, but in calculated rhythm, the force of every blow spiraling inward.
The battlefield warped. Light and shadow folded into a single blazing point where all the strikes converged. The ground shook, then collapsed inward with a thunderous roar, as though reality itself had been stabbed through the heart.
Haotian staggered, his golden pupils narrowing into slits as the Eyes of the Universe flared. He saw what no ordinary gaze could: the point of convergence. A fragile truth. A strike designed to bypass flesh, armor, even worlds — and tear directly into a core.
If the blow landed on a demon god's core… it would shatter. No rebirth. No resurrection. Only annihilation.
Haotian's breath hitched. His entire body trembled, not with fear but with awe. "This… this would kill anything."
Alter flicked the blade once, dispersing the afterimages, the battlefield settling with a hiss of steam. He turned, his expression calm but his eyes glinting faintly with pride.
"So you saw it."
Haotian's golden gaze burned brighter. "The last strike. The convergence. If it hits the core… the enemy dies. No matter what."
Alter smiled faintly. "Of course. You saw what you were meant to see. I made those eyes for that very reason. To witness what even gods can't see — the truth of the final strike."
Haotian's chest pounded. He clenched his fists tighter around his spear, his voice steady despite the storm in his veins.
"Then teach me."
Alter's grin sharpened, faint and merciless. "I will. But know this — seeing it is one thing. Doing it will break you again and again before you master even the first half. If you survive the training…" He lifted the blade again, its edge burning. "…you'll be the one who decides if gods live or die."
The battlefield rumbled again as the dragons above roared in unison.
The true training had begun.
The battlefield of Haotian's sea of consciousness stretched endlessly, golden dragons circling above, their roars like war drums.
Alter stood at the center — not with blade in hand, but with his body alone. His stance was relaxed, shoulders loose, hands open at his sides. Yet the air rippled around him, every breath radiating a killing intent so sharp it cut the sea of consciousness itself.
"Watch carefully," Alter said, his voice quiet but carrying like thunder. "This is the martial art that devours gods."
He moved.
The first strike — Fist of Ruin — a downward smash of his bare fist. The ground cracked open like glass, shockwaves splitting across the horizon. A blow meant to shatter armor, bone, and spirit in one motion.
The second — Heaven-Piercer Step — a blur of motion. Alter vanished, reappearing in the air with a blazing kick that speared downward, tearing through invisible barriers.
The third — Void Fang Rend — his palm clawed forward, fingers curved like talons, ripping space open into jagged seams. The air screamed as though torn by fangs.
The fourth — Bloodlash Howl — a spin kick that whipped a shockwave in every direction, a storm meant to break armies apart.
On and on he flowed, fists, elbows, knees, shoulders — every strike a weapon, every movement sharper, heavier, more overwhelming. His body moved with terrifying efficiency, each technique escalating beyond the last.
By the ninth, shadows and blood-red chi twisted around him.By the twelfth, his body blurred into streaks of movement, pounding the battlefield into dust.By the fifteenth, vortexes of gravity collapsed inward with every motion, crushing stone and air alike.
And then came the final.
The Eighteenth Strike — Creator's Banishment.
Alter's body split into dozens of afterimages, each one his exact reflection. Fists, palms, and kicks shot out in perfect sync, forming a circle around a single point in space. Every clone struck simultaneously, their force spiraling inward.
The battlefield warped. Light and shadow bent. Reality collapsed into a single blazing convergence where all strikes met.
Haotian's eyes flared — the Eyes of the Universe revealing the truth.
That convergence wasn't just destruction. It was surgical. If aimed at a core — demon god, divine god, or even an emperor's heart — it would collapse inward, shattering it like brittle glass. A fatal point. The end of any being, no matter their realm.
Haotian staggered, chest heaving. His pupils burned golden, his fists trembling. "If that lands on a core… it doesn't matter who it is. They die."
Alter turned, his expression calm, though his translucent form glowed brighter for an instant. "You saw it."
Haotian's voice was firm. "The convergence. The final strike. I could see it clearly."
Alter allowed a faint smile, pride flickering in his gaze. "Of course you did. I created those eyes for this reason. To see the invisible. To trace the truth of the last strike. Without them, the final convergence is chaos. With them… it becomes execution."
Above, the dragons roared, as if heralding the art's return.
Haotian's fists clenched tighter. His blood pounded in his veins. "Then teach me."
Alter's faint smile turned razor-sharp. "I will. But know this — bare hands mean bare soul. The Demon God Killing Martial Arts burns you as the weapon. Bones will snap. Veins will split. You'll taste death in every strike. But if you survive…" His voice dropped, deadly calm. "…you'll be the one who decides who lives, and who dies."
The golden battlefield rippled as Alter snapped his fingers. The dragons circling above descended lower, their roars deepening into a rhythmic pulse — as if keeping time with the beating of a war drum.
"Enough watching," Alter said flatly, folding his arms. "Start. First strike. Fist of Ruin."
Haotian dropped into stance, fists clenched tight, his golden eyes focused. His body remembered countless martial arts, countless dao techniques — but this felt different. This wasn't graceful like the Moon Lotus Codex. It wasn't flowing like the sword arts. This was raw violence.
He exhaled sharply, planting his foot into the ground. "Haaah!"
His fist smashed downward.
The impact shook the ground, but only faint cracks spread out, pitiful compared to the mountain-splitting devastation Alter had shown. Worse, pain exploded up his arm — bone grinding, veins flaring. He staggered, coughing up a mouthful of blood.
"Tch—!" He clutched his wrist, his knuckles already swelling, his arm trembling.
Alter didn't move. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was cold as steel. "Again."
Haotian gritted his teeth, straightened, and lifted his fist. His body screamed in protest. He smashed it down again.
CRACK!
This time his forearm snapped audibly, bone bending under the strain. He fell to one knee, gasping, coughing more blood. The battlefield floor was flecked with crimson.
Still Alter's voice didn't soften. "Again."
Haotian's vision blurred, but his golden eyes burned. His body shook, marrow howling with agony, but he forced himself up. "Haaah!"
He slammed his fist down a third time.
BOOM!
The ground cratered deeper, cracks spreading wider. But his bones gave way too — his arm twisted at a sick angle, blood seeping from split skin where veins had burst. His body convulsed, breath rattling.
He collapsed forward, panting, blood dripping from his mouth.
Alter finally moved, stepping closer, crouching down so his eyes were level with Haotian's. His tone was flat, but his gaze sharp. "Good. You didn't stop."
Haotian's head snapped up, teeth clenched. "Good? I can barely lift my arm!"
Alter's faint smirk returned. "Exactly. That's the point. This art isn't learned by comfort. It's carved into your bones, branded into your flesh, beaten into your soul. If you can't bleed for it, you'll never wield it."
He extended a hand, golden light flashing as Haotian's broken arm knit just enough for him to move again — but the pain didn't fade. The ache remained, a reminder.
"Stand up, brat. Pain is the price. Break again, bleed again, until the strike becomes yours. If you can't even master the first…" Alter's eyes glowed like molten suns. "…you'll never touch the last."
Haotian staggered to his feet, his body trembling, sweat and blood dripping from his jaw. His chest heaved, but his eyes were steady, his voice a rasping growl.
"Again."
The dragons roared approval, their golden bodies spiraling faster above.
And so it began. Strike after strike. Fist after fist. Blood on the ground, bones cracking, marrow burning. Each time Haotian fell, Alter's voice cut through the haze: "Again."
Until the battlefield itself trembled — not from Alter, but from Haotian's fists.
Time flowed differently in the golden battlefield. Days bled into weeks inside Haotian's sea of consciousness, though outside, only hours slipped by.
Fist after fist slammed down, his body breaking and mending, blood seeping into the golden earth. He endured the endless rhythm of Alter's cold commands: "Again. Again. Again."
By the time the months inside had passed, Haotian's body had finally adapted enough to complete the first four strikes. Fist of Ruin, Heaven-Piercer Step, Void Fang Rend, Bloodlash Howl — each one now stamped into his bones, carved into his marrow.
But when he attempted the fifth, his body collapsed. His fists trembled, his chest rattled with every breath. He dropped to one knee, unable to rise again.
Alter let out a long sigh, arms folding as he looked down at him. "That's enough for now, brat. Four strikes in one cycle is already beyond what most could endure. Push more and you'll tear your soul apart."
Haotian panted, sweat and blood dripping from his chin, his golden eyes still blazing. "I… can keep going—"
"No." Alter's tone cut like steel. "Rest. And when you return outside, consume your triple recovery pills. The damage to your real body will be insane. Bones crushed, blood vessels torn, marrow burned. Next time, prepare."
He crouched, his expression softening just enough to be serious instead of harsh. "And don't forget the Undying Dragon Body Sutra. That art is your anchor. Without it, you'll die trying to wield my martial art."
Haotian nodded faintly, his body swaying. Alter sighed again, then flicked his hand. "Go. You've done enough."
Golden light surged — and Haotian was hurled out of the sea of consciousness.
Reality slammed back into him.
Haotian jolted upright in his chamber, but the instant he moved, the pain struck. His entire body screamed as though crushed under a mountain. Bones ground against each other, veins split open, and blood burst from his lips.
"AGHHH!" His roar shook the chamber, a sound of sheer agony tearing out of his chest. He collapsed onto the floor, his robes soaking scarlet.
The crash and scream shook the sect. Within moments, disciples burst into the room.
"Senior Brother!""What happened!?""Look at him, he's bleeding everywhere!"
They rushed forward, some tearing cloth to try and stem the blood, others trembling as they reached out with trembling hands. The sight of their usually unshakable Senior Brother writhing on the ground, blood soaking through his skin, shattered them.
Cries filled the hall. "Senior Brother, please, don't die!"
Others bolted. "Quick, get Elder Sister Yinxue and Ziyue!"
Moments later, Yinxue stormed in, her aura cold as frost, Ziyue following close, her eyes wide with alarm.
Haotian was already fumbling with a vial, his bloody hands spilling a few pills before shoving the rest into his mouth. The glow of triple recovery pills lit his veins, knitting shattered bones just enough to hold together.
"What happened!?" Yinxue demanded, dropping to her knees beside him, her frosty qi trying to steady his body.
Ziyue's hands trembled as she propped him up, her sharp tongue failing her for once. "Idiot… what did you do to yourself!?"
Haotian's bloodied lips curled into a smile, weak but warm, his golden eyes glinting even through the pain.
"…Training."
The sisters froze, their eyes wide, disbelief flooding them. Around them, the disciples sobbed in relief, clinging to each other, their hearts still pounding.
Haotian swallowed the pills, his body glowing faintly as the healing began to take hold. His chest heaved once, then stilled. His smile lingered.
The storm of agony continued inside his flesh, but he had endured the first step.
The training had begun.
The chamber had quieted after the panic. At Yinxue's command, the disciples reluctantly left, many wiping tears as they cast one last look at their bloodied Senior Brother. Only the three sisters remained.
Yinxue closed the door firmly, her frost aura sealing it with a shimmer of cold light. She turned, her eyes narrowing as she approached the bed where Haotian lay. Ziyue supported him carefully, while Shuyue sat anxiously at his side, her small hands clutching his sleeve.
"Enough pretending," Yinxue said flatly as she lowered herself beside the bed. She raised her hand and gave his shoulder a sharp smack — not hard enough to worsen his injuries, but enough to make him wince. "Confess. What training did you do this time to destroy yourself like this?"
Haotian coughed once, blood flecking his lips, but his smile stayed faint and warm. "You'll only scold me if I say."
"Then say it," Yinxue replied coolly, though her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the blanket over him.
Haotian sighed, the glow of the recovery pills slowly working through his veins. His golden eyes softened, though pain still lingered in them. "It was Alter."
All three sisters gasped at once.
"Alter?" Ziyue's sharp voice cut through the chamber, her eyes widening. "You mean— the one in your sea of consciousness? He—he's awake?"
Haotian nodded weakly. "Not fully. He's exhausted. But enough to teach."
Yinxue's brows furrowed, her icy calm cracking for the first time. "Teach… you?"
Haotian's smile tugged wider despite the blood at the corner of his lips. "Yes. He's begun training me in his own martial art. The one he developed to fight demon gods themselves. He calls it the Demon God Killing Martial Arts."
The sisters stared, stunned into silence.
"There are eighteen strikes," Haotian continued, his voice rasping but steady. "Each one stronger than the last. He pushed me through the first four… and left me like this."
Shuyue's lips trembled as she reached for his hand. "And you smiled through it, you fool…"
Haotian chuckled softly, even as his chest heaved from the effort. "Because the strength is undeniable. I saw the final strike with my own eyes. If it lands on a demon god's core… it shatters. No rebirth. No return. Just death."
The sisters froze, their gazes locked on him. The room seemed to tighten with the weight of his words.
"The last strike…" Haotian's golden pupils gleamed faintly, even through exhaustion. "…was made to end gods."