Àn lifted his gaze, his fingers hovering just above the Guqin strings. The faint tremor of the wind carried the remnants of his last note — calm before the storm.
From the veil of smoke and sand, a colossal figure emerged — Zhì Fēng in his true beast form. His scaled body coiled with divine majesty, eyes glimmering like twin moons tinted in stormlight.
"Master…" The voice echoed within Àn's mind, deep and resonant, laced with reverence. Zhì Fēng bowed low, the tip of his horn brushing the earth before Àn's feet.
Àn rose, robes trailing in the wind, and with unhurried grace leaned upon one of the beast's towering horns. As Zhì Fēng slithered forward, the ground quaked beneath the weight of his power.
When they descended upon the battlefield, silence fell like a shroud. Rows upon rows of soldiers dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed against the scorched sand, trembling before the sight of their sovereign and his divine beast.
A battalion commander raised his voice, trembling yet fierce, "Long live His Majesty!"
And in unison, the army roared as one:
"Hail the King Wáng"
From the shadows beyond the battlefield, a low growl resonated through the air. Rui Ying had assumed her beast form — a panther cloaked in midnight, her fur glistening faintly beneath the dim light, and eyes like twin emerald flames. Compared to Zhì Fēng, she was but a fraction of his size, yet her aura pulsed with lethal grace.
In the next breath, her form shimmered — the air rippling around her as she shrank, sleek and agile, until she was no larger than a house cat. Leaping lightly, she landed in Àn's arms, curling against his chest.
"Master has finally reached the peak of Transcendence,"
Her voice murmured within his mind, soft and melodic, brimming with pride.
Àn's hand slid gently over her silken fur. A faint sigh escaped his lips.
"How boring it was."
His tone was calm, almost detached — the tone of one who had seen the summit of creation and found no joy at its peak.
Behind them, the third battalion commander stepped forward. With a twist of his palm, the very fabric of reality split open, unveiling a vast rift — a swirling portal of violet mist and golden runes, leading into another realm.
"We have sent the child away, as you instructed, my lord,"
Zhì Fēng rumbled, his voice echoing like thunder across the dunes.
Àn tilted his head slightly, one brow raised.
"Child?"
Rui Ying's tail flicked as her green eyes glimmered.
"Fairy Bai He's child."
Àn's gaze sharpened.
"The child, Xiǎo Lóng?"
"Yes, my lord,"
Zhì Fēng affirmed, lowering his head.
Rui Ying stretched lazily within Àn's arms, her telepathic voice flowing like silk.
"He must have reached the Transcendental Soulshift stage by now."
Zhì Fēng's tail flicked as he replied,
"He is currently at the Nascent Crimson stage."
Àn's expression softened — neither surprise nor approval, only faint remembrance.
"Only a handful reached that stage… two thousand years ago."
As the Legion of Chaos began its march into the portal, the air trembled beneath the rhythm of thousands of armored steps. Sand swirled upward, caught in the pull of the dimensional gate.
Zhì Fēng's massive body moved like lightning, his sinuous form coiling through the rift with a speed that defied the eye.
"There are forty cultivators in the Nascent Crimson stage now,"
He continued, his voice fading into the portal,
"and seven who have stepped into the Crimson Transcendental Realm."
The last note of Àn's Guqin echoed faintly across the barren field — the requiem of a world about to be left behind.
*><*
**
Across the fabric of existence, realms trembled.
From the Lower Realms—the Mortal, the Spirit, and the Abyssal—to the heavens above—the Celestial, Immortal Court, and the tranquil expanse of the Nine-Petal Lotus Lake—and even down to the unreachable domains of the Transcendental Realms—the Primordial, the Devil Realm, and the Illusory Dream Dream—a single phenomenon unfolded.
Day withered.
The sun's radiance dimmed without warning, and one by one, stars vanished into silence. Darkness swallowed the realms whole, as if the heavens themselves had drawn a breath and forgotten to exhale.
Then—light bloomed.
From the endless void, crystalline lotus flowers began to unfurl, weightless and luminous, drifting across the blackened skies like celestial stars reborn. Each petal shimmered with the essence of life and death, their glow gentle yet unyielding, casting a serene, haunting light upon the worlds below.
In the Transcendental Realms, however, the spectacle took a darker turn. Amid the floating lotuses, Nightmare Butterflies emerged—winged creatures of shadow and soul, their wings etched with runes that twisted and pulsed with forbidden power. They fluttered silently, weaving between the lotuses like dreams gone astray.
When the first butterfly landed upon a lotus petal, the air itself quaked. Cultivators across the realms paused their meditations; celestial beasts stirred in unease; the rivers of qi trembled in their flow. Even the ancient seals that guarded forgotten domains flickered faintly, as if sensing the awakening of an old truth.
Whispers spread like wildfire through the realms:
"He has returned."
In the Immortal Court, sages rose from meditation, their immortal flames dimmed.
In the Abyss, demon lords turned their gaze upward, their crimson eyes narrowing.
At the Nine-Petal Lotus Lake, the waters rippled with golden light, forming runes that foretold calamity.
Every being who knew the tales of the old eras—those who had survived the last War of Transcendence—understood the omen.
When the sky darkens, when stars turn to lotus and butterflies of dream descend—
He has returned
War was coming.