From DEMON to TRASH: The rise of Demonic Emperor Zhiyun

——— CHAPTER 1 ———

A great disturbance erupted outside, with fatal screams and thunderous explosions piercing through the thick castle walls. The cacophony made everyone inside the grand hall freeze, their faces pale with dread. Their anxious gazes turned toward the tall, domineering figure seated on what appeared to be a throne carved from the bones of a mythical dragon.

He sat there, unmoving, his eyes closed, exuding an air of absolute authority. His presence was so commanding that even the chaos outside seemed to hesitate, as if unsure whether it dared to intrude upon his domain.

Suddenly, the enormous black-and-blue marble doors swung open with a frantic crash, revealing a man in his thirties. His long, dark brown hair was disheveled, likely from the commotion outside, and sweat dripped down his face in rivulets. His shirt was tattered and smeared with dirt and blood, the visible cuts on his body evidence of the battles he had fought to reach this point.

His pale green eyes darted across the room, searching desperately, before locking onto the imposing figure seated on the throne.

"Master!" he called out, his voice a mix of urgency and exhaustion, trembling with desperation as he directed his gaze toward the man who held their fate in his hands.

"There's a big commotion outside! The—"

"I know Yuzhe," the man on the throne interrupted, his deep, resonant voice cutting through the room like a blade. It echoed coldly, carrying an authority that made the air grow heavy. Slowly, he opened his eyes, revealing a pair of cold silver orbs that glinted like the moon. But unlike the serene and majestic lunar glow, his eyes bore no warmth, no kindness—only a chaotic abyss of darkness and destruction waiting to be unleashed.

As his eyes glowed faintly, the room seemed to shiver under his gaze. Suddenly, a sharp, jarring sound cut through the air—a high-pitched whine of something hurtling toward them at impossible speed.

"Here it comes," he muttered, his lips curling into a menacing grin. His teeth clenched as his glowing eyes shifted from silver to an ominous red-purple, pulsating with deadly energy. The sight sent a wave of cold terror through the room, the oppressive aura driving home the grim truth: whatever was coming next would mean death for someone—if not everyone.

He raised his long, dark crimson sword, its surface pulsing faintly with an eerie glow, and positioned it before him in a calculated defensive stance. His movements were deliberate, exuding an unshakable confidence, as if he had already foreseen the impending strike.

Within moments, a deafening crack tore through the air, and the entire castle quaked violently. Then, with an almost imperceptible flash, an invisible force cleaved the fortress in half. The horizontal slice cut through the mighty structure, beheading and dismembering countless disciples in its path, their bodies crumpling like fragile leaves caught in a storm.

Agonizing screams erupted in the wake of the destruction—shouts of terror, cries of pain, and frantic pleas for salvation. The ground ran red with blood as the castle's remains groaned under the weight of its collapse, crumbling further into ruin. The survivors, too stunned to react, could only look on in horror as the once-mighty sanctuary became a scarlet graveyard.

"AGHHHHHHHHHH"

"MY ARMSSSSSSS! MY ARMSSSSS!

"B-BROTHER WAKE UP!"

"HELPPPP UGGGGHHHHH"

"M-MASTER SAVE USSSS!"

Cries of fallen disciples and soldiers echoed through the air, a chorus of despair as the once-proud fortress crumbled into desolation. Its majestic halls, once a testament to power and dominance, were now drenched in scarlet, stained with the blood of its own people. The chilling wails of the injured and dying filled the ruins, a haunting symphony of hopelessness.

Amid the chaos and growing panic, a soft, rippling sound cut through the noise, immediately drawing everyone's attention. Suspended 20 meters above the ground, a glowing green scroll appeared, its ethereal light shifting between hues of light green and blue. Its radiance bathed the ruins, casting a serene glow over the carnage below.

As the scroll's light intensified, a miraculous wave of energy swept across the battlefield, enveloping every wounded disciple and soldier. Cuts mended, broken bones knit themselves back together, and pain melted away as their bodies were restored to full health. Yet the scroll's divine mercy extended only to the living—the dead remained motionless, their lifeless forms untouched by the restorative glow.

The survivors, overwhelmed by relief and gratitude, collapsed to their knees, tears streaming down their faces. One by one, they bowed deeply, pressing their foreheads to the blood-soaked ground as they chanted in reverence.

"THE EMPEROR IS BENEVOLENT! HE USED ONE OF HIS TREASURED ITEMS TO HEAL US!"

"DEMONIC EMPEROR ZHIYUN, I'LL FOLLOW YOU FOREVER!"

"ALL HAIL DEMONIC EMPEROR ZHIYUN!"

"ALL HAIL DEMONIC EMPEROR ZHIYUN!"

Their voices grew louder, merging into a chorus of praise and devotion. The echoes of their cries reverberated through the crumbled remains of the fortress, their blind adoration masking the horrors of what had just occurred.

Zhiyun, perched regally upon his throne of dragon bones, observed them with a faint smirk playing on his lips. His silver eyes glinted with a cold amusement as he watched his disciples grovel before him, utterly unaware of his true intentions.

He casually scanned the scene, noting the number of dead among the ruins. His smirk widened into a twisted, maniacal grin as he tallied the fallen.

"Fools," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but dripping with dark amusement. The cries of devotion echoed around him, but all he could see was opportunity in the aftermath of destruction. To him, the dead were not a loss—they were merely another resource waiting to be claimed.

"It appears that 10% of my disciples died in that attack," Zhiyun mused coldly, his silver eyes watching as the faint wisps of soul energy escaped from the bodies of his fallen followers. The ethereal, ghostly figures drifted upwards, their cries of anguish a soft but chilling sound in the air.

He allowed himself a dark, satisfied smile as the realization dawned on him: the death of his followers was not a loss—it was an opportunity, a gift of nourishment. "It will be pitiful to see such nourishment go to waste," he murmured, his voice laced with malicious delight.

With a fluid, almost casual motion, Zhiyun raised his right arm and opened his palm wide. In an instant, a powerful surge of dark energy gathered in his hand, a swirling mass of malevolent force. The air thickened with an oppressive heaviness as the cries of the trapped souls grew louder, their desperation palpable. Every onlooker felt the chill of fear crawl up their spine as they realized what was happening.

The dark energy pulsed in his palm, an ominous sphere growing in size, its sinister aura casting an eerie glow across the battlefield. The screams and wails of the souls trapped within it echoed, their pleas for mercy drowned out by the rising power of their tormentor.

As the ball of energy swelled to a terrifying size, its mere presence sent a wave of terror through the remaining disciples. They understood—if they didn't survive this moment, their souls would be the next to be consumed. The very thought sent shivers down their spines as they fought to remain composed, knowing that any sign of weakness might make them the next victims of their lord's insatiable hunger.

How ridiculous!" The large, burly figure of Wung Cheng, a man in his forties, shouted as he descended from the sky with an explosive force. His tanned skin glowed with the power emanating from him, while his bright blond hair, reminiscent of the sun itself, flared around his head like a halo of fiery light. As his feet made contact with the ground, the earth trembled violently, and the shockwave from his arrival shattered everything in its path, leaving devastation in its wake.

The disciples within a 10,000-foot radius were thrown back, coughing up blood as the oppressive energy surged outward from Wung Cheng's body. It was a raw, unstoppable force, the kind that could crush mountains and break wills. A deep silence fell over the remaining witnesses as they struggled to comprehend the overwhelming power of the demi-god.

Zhiyun, unmoved by the show of strength, shifted his cold gaze toward the intruder. His silver eyes glinted with a dangerous interest as he took in Wung Cheng's defiant stance. A small, eerie chuckle escaped from his lips, sending a shiver down the spines of those nearby.

"That's funny," Zhiyun said with a mocking tone, his voice smooth like silk but edged with venom. "Demi-God Wung Cheng, coming from someone who just killed 10% of my disciples for no reason… are you sure you have a say here?"

"I may not be as righteous or honest as your sect," Zhiyun bellowed, his voice echoing with unrestrained power, "but we demonic cultivators have our own principles and pride! The weak have no place here—only the strong are worthy of our teachings. The fact that they died only proves they were not strong enough to survive this ruthless world!" His words rang through the room, dark and commanding, as the cold air around him seemed to pulse with malicious energy.

The disciples gathered around him, their faces twisted in fervent devotion, broke into loud approval. Their voices filled the air, a chorus of unwavering loyalty to their Demon King.

"That's right, Demon Lord! Weaklings deserve their fate!" one of them shouted, his voice thick with fervor.

"If they didn't die today, they would have just died tomorrow—there's no difference," another disciple growled, his eyes burning with conviction.

"They have no right to judge us!" a third added, sneering in the direction of the celestial forces. "The righteous sect can't understand the strength and truth of our ways!"

The room buzzed with the support of Zhiyun's loyal followers, all echoing the same sentiments—weakness has no place in the Demonic Sect. The law of the strong ruled here, where the only true crime was failing to grow stronger. Zhiyun's gaze swept across the room, savoring the admiration in the eyes of his disciples, the conviction of their beliefs feeding his own sense of power. He stood above them all, the embodiment of his sect's ideals—ruthless, cold, and unstoppable.

"The righteous sect may claim their superiority, but they are blind to the truth," Zhiyun said, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, "This world belongs to those who can seize it, not those who cower behind false virtue."

Zhiyun's lips curled into a dark smile as the lethal blue aura of the sword energy came toward him, cutting through the air with a chilling whistling sound. With a flick of his crimson blade, he effortlessly deflected the surprise attack, redirecting the moonlit blades toward the nearest valley. The swords tore through the mountain range like paper, splitting the earth in two, sending rocks and dust into the sky.

He let out a low chuckle, eyes gleaming with amusement. "What a pleasant surprise," he taunted, his voice oozing mockery as he gave a graceful bow, his eyes never leaving the beautiful woman before him. "The Heavenly Tranquil Moon Celestial Sect Edifice, gracing us with her incomparable beauty. Truly, I am honored."

The woman's piercing dark blue eyes narrowed with cold fury as she stepped forward, her voice dripping with venom. "The only pleasant thing in this shitty place," she spat, "is me beheading your damn head."

She was a vision of lethal elegance, her curly teal-green hair flowing behind her like a storm, a sharp contrast to the venomous resolve in her gaze. Her presence radiated a fierce intensity, one that promised death to anyone who dared to stand in her way. Her aura, strong and controlled, contrasted the chaos around them. The other celestial beings, standing nearby, could sense her immense power—yet it was not her raw strength that made her truly dangerous. It was the absolute focus in her eyes, the unwavering determination to end Zhiyun's reign of terror.

Zhiyun's smile deepened, though there was no warmth in it, only a cruel amusement. "Such fire," he purred. "But fire is no match for darkness."

Behind her stood two more celestial figures: one was a man in his 80s, his gentle expression betraying the vast wisdom accrued over countless millennia; the other, a striking figure with long, dark red hair and piercing green eyes, adorned in white robes trimmed with gold and silver. Five mysterious swords hovered beside him, an intimidating presence.

Zhiyun let out a light chuckle, his voice laced with mockery. "Ah, to think four of you would come just to see me. It seems the celestial Edifices must have too much time on their hands. How long has it been since we were all in the same room? Ten millennia, perhaps?"

As he spoke, his eyes scanned each of them with precision, silently weighing his options and calculating his next move. Two Celestial Kings are manageable, he thought, but the addition of the Heavenly Radiant Celestial King and the leader of the Celestial Blade Society could cost me half my cultivation.

A dark, calculating smile spread across his face as he mentally prepared for what was to come.

Wars of this magnitude are rare. Fifty millennia ago, the Heavenly Celestial Realm and the Demonic Celestial Realm were forced to cease their conflict when an unprecedented threat emerged—an entity known only as the Deviants, mysterious defenders of the cosmos. The Deviants, having created a new planet, warned both realms that their ongoing war would lead to the annihilation of the universe. Faced with this devastating possibility, the two sects reluctantly agreed to a curse-bound covenant, vowing not to destroy the cosmos in their battle. This truce ended the war, though the animosity between the realms simmered, waiting for the day when the fragile peace might break.

Sensing the approach of a powerful presence, the young brunette who had greeted him just fifteen minutes earlier appeared at his side, wielding a massive sword.

"Master, I have brought your sword," the young man said, descending gracefully as he presented a large silver blade radiating a dark aura. The sheer power of the sword was undeniable, and everyone in the room could feel the oppressive energy it emitted, a pure manifestation of dark force.

The tall, handsome man from the Celestial Blade Society observed the weapon, his gaze narrowing in recognition. "Just by glancing at the blade, I can tell it's one of the Ten Demonic Treasures passed down to the Demon Kings," he remarked.

With a smirk on his face, Zhiyun looked at the man from the Celestial Blade Society. "Celestial King Wei An is quite well-versed in swords. Now that you know what it is, feel free to back out," he said, his tone dripping with mockery.

The young king, his eyes flashing with confidence, responded, "I believe my family's holy sword is no less impressive than yours." He then reached out, taking two of the five floating swords by his side, their blades gleaming with divine power.

The elderly man, his expression resolute, flew toward Zhiyun, his voice filled with authority. "Demon King Zhiyun, let's settle this peacefully. Surrender the Book of Arcane, and this will all be over."

Zhiyun's gaze darkened as he took in their words. Only his seven generals were privy to the true nature of the Book of Arcane. Coincidentally, six of them were away—either on missions or in the midst of breakthroughs. The timing couldn't have been worse.

A dark smirk curled on Zhiyun's lips as he thought to himself, There are traitors among my men.

A bloodlust radiated from him, his eyes glowing ominously as he addressed the celestial kings. "Celestial King Yang Tao, I don't know what you're talking about. I've been in seclusion for three millennia, deep within my castle. What makes you think I have the Book of Arcane? And even if I do, why would I surrender it? We are free to keep the treasures we've found. Would you surrender your sect's Golden Lotus if I asked for it?" he said with a coy, mocking smirk.

Zhiyun's gaze hardened as he continued. These so-called righteous fools—he thought—Their hearts are darker than the demons they claim to oppose. They disguise their greed with a façade of virtue, justifying every action as for the "betterment of the world."

The old man's eyes blazed with fury as he addressed Zhiyun.

"Demon King Zhiyun, this is unlike any other celestial treasure we possess!" he declared, his voice sharp with anger. "The Book of Arcane is an ancient artifact that belongs to the first deviant, the one who emerged in our world, granting power to humanity and marking the dawn of the Murim era! All knowledge of the past and future of this world is written within it. Allowing a demon like you to possess it would tilt the balance of the world! Worse, if you destroy it, we cannot let that happen!"

The old man formed a series of intricate hand signs, and a five-dimensional array materialized in the sky. A massive golden hand emerged from it, sending a wave of dread through the remaining disciples of the Demonic Sect, who gasped in awe and despair.

Within moments, the overwhelming power of the golden hand crushed down upon them. In just ten seconds, the demonic sect's ranks were decimated, with the number of surviving disciples dropping from 90% to 70%. The once-proud castle, already ruined, and the three surrounding mountains were torn apart, leaving the survivors staring numbly at the devastation of their fallen brothers and sisters.

Zhiyun stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the remains of his fallen disciples. A deep silence surrounded him as he began to gather their lingering souls, just as he had done before.

With deliberate precision, he formed a series of intricate hand signs. His sword floated before him, its blade steady and horizontal in the still air. Taking a sharp breath, Zhiyun made a small incision in his right palm, letting his blood drip onto the sword.

An ominous aura swallowed the battlefield, the air growing heavy as the sky above twisted into a bloody red canvas. The atmosphere crackled with dread, and a suffocating power radiated from Zhiyun, commanding both fear and reverence.

The celestial leaders, standing on the edge of the chaos, felt the overwhelming force emanating from the sword in Zhiyun's grasp. Its sinister energy surged like a tide, a palpable threat that no mortal—or weapon—dared to approach. The ground beneath them quaked as the Demon King's aura expanded, rendering the very air around him dangerous to breathe.

Zhiyun's voice cut through the oppressive silence like a blade, sharp and unyielding. "The blood spilled here today will be repaid tenfold. You, your sects, your legacies—all will crumble beneath me." His gaze locked onto Yang Tao, his target, and with a burst of speed, he charged forward, his sword gleaming with malevolent intent.

Yang Tao, an elder wielding a jade staff of immense power, moved to intercept the attack. With practiced precision, he raised the staff, channeling its protective energy. But as Zhiyun's blade collided with the staff, the difference in strength became brutally clear. Cracks webbed across the artifact's surface, spreading rapidly until the staff splintered like a fragile twig under an immense weight.

"Impossible!" Yang Tao gasped, his voice laced with disbelief. "This staff is forged from the fallen trunk of the World Tree and tempered with the essence of a dead star. How can a mere demonic weapon—" His words caught in his throat as the remnants of his staff shattered completely, leaving him defenseless.

Desperate, the old man reached into his robes, producing a high-grade protection talisman. Activating it in the nick of time, the talisman formed a glowing barrier that clashed violently with Zhiyun's sword. The resulting impact unleashed a shockwave so powerful that it hurled Yang Tao backward, his body disappearing into the horizon as he smashed through three mountains before finally coming to a stop.

Zhiyun stood unmoving, the eye on his sword glowing brighter, feeding off the destruction. "Your relics and titles mean nothing against me," he said coldly, his voice echoing across the desolate battlefield.

Zhiyun let out a maniacal laugh that echoed across the battlefield, his blood-streaked sword glinting ominously. Without a moment's hesitation, he charged toward the old man, his movements fueled by an insatiable thirst for vengeance.

Before his blade could strike, the heavens above turned pitch-black. A deafening rumble shook the air as thousands of ethereal swords emerged from the void, descending toward Zhiyun like a relentless storm.

With a snarl, Zhiyun reacted instantly. His hands moved in a blur, forming the Seven Palm Array. A barrier of glowing sigils materialized around him, deflecting the incoming onslaught. The swords clashed against the array with a deafening cacophony, sparks flying as the barrier strained but held firm.

Zhiyun pushed forward, undeterred. Each step shattered the earth beneath him as he advanced toward the source of the attack—a cloaked figure already braced for his wrath.

"Do you think your tricks can stop me?" Zhiyun growled, his voice laced with disdain.

Their swords met in a collision of raw power, the impact unleashing a blinding explosion of clashing energies. The darkness of Zhiyun's demonic aura surged against the radiant light of his opponent's celestial force. The resulting shockwave obliterated the surrounding mountains, reducing them to mere dust. Trees withered, rivers evaporated, and every trace of life within miles of the battleground was extinguished in an instant.

Amid the chaos, Zhiyun's laughter rang out once more, unyielding and filled with madness. "Even the heavens tremble before me!" he roared, his sword pressing harder against his opponent's.

The cloaked figure gritted their teeth, their arms shaking under the immense pressure. "You will pay for your arrogance, Zhiyun," they spat, summoning another wave of radiant energy to push him back.

Zhiyun sneered as he caught sight of an opening in his opponent's defenses. "Sword King, I expected better from you," he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn. Seizing the opportunity, he unleashed a devastating kick that sent the man hurtling through the air. The impact echoed like thunder as the Sword King crashed through five distant mountains, leaving trails of debris in his wake.

Zhiyun lowered his blood-soaked sword, turning his gaze toward the figure who had just spoken. Wung Cheng, standing fifty meters away, gripped a massive mace with both hands. His face was grim, but determination burned in his eyes.

"You are as dangerous as they say, Demon King Zhiyun," Wung Cheng said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "That's why this preparation was necessary."

With a sharp motion, Wung Cheng stamped his mace into the ground. A shockwave rippled outward, and glowing runes snaked across the earth like living flames. They surged toward Zhiyun with terrifying speed, wrapping around his right foot before spiraling up his torso.

The runes burned fiercely, their golden light searing through fabric and flesh alike. Zhiyun gritted his teeth, a low growl escaping his throat as the runes continued to carve into his body. More appeared, etching across his arms, legs, and neck, twisting in every direction like molten brands. The pain was unbearable, but he didn't flinch. Smoke spiraled from his skin as the runes' heat deepened, scorching through his demonic armor.

Zhiyun's silver eyes flickered dangerously, his smirk fading as the oppressive weight of the 14 Tigram Decimating God Array closed around him. The searing runes carved into his flesh burned with divine energy, immobilizing even his formidable strength.

"There is no mistake," Zhiyun muttered, his voice as cold and sharp as a blade's edge. "This… is the Decimating God Array." His eyes narrowed, his expression twisting with disdain as the weight of realization settled over him. "You dared to prepare this… for me?"

The words dripped with venom, his loathsome thoughts swirling like a storm.

The Decimating God Array—one of the three forbidden spells—was a creation born of desperation and genius. It was the ultimate collaboration between the first ruler of the Celestial Sect and the first Demonic Emperor, Zhiyun's father himself. Designed to counter the deviants of the world, it was a spell so potent it could seal their immense powers and annihilate them entirely with unrelenting destructive force.

The preparation for the array was monumental. It could not be completed in mere days, requiring immense planning, resources, and cooperation. At its core, the array drew power from the Ten Heavenly Weapons and the Five Great Treasures, sacred artifacts bestowed upon the sects by the first deviants themselves. The array's activation meant one thing—it wasn't just a battle. It was a declaration of extermination.

The realization hit him like a thunderclap, jolting him to his core. His piercing gaze swept across the battlefield, cutting through the chaos with ruthless precision. Amid the destruction, his calculating eyes locked onto a familiar face—a face that had stood beside him through countless wars and struggles.

His breath hitched, his chest heaving with a mix of fury and disbelief. "You…" he hissed, his voice low and deadly cold.

Yuhze stood among the others, his green eyes glowing with malice as the runes of the array shimmered across the ground beneath his feet. His presence was no accident—it was a betrayal long in the making. Yuhze's smirk widened as he felt Zhiyun's gaze fall upon him, savoring the realization that had dawned in his master's eyes.

"Did you really think I'd follow you forever?" Yuhze said, his tone mocking and laced with venom. "You, who clings to the past like it's a lifeline? You were blind to see the truth, Master. This is your end."

Zhiyun's grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles turned white, the metal trembling as his aura flared. "You… betrayed me," he growled, his voice rising in fury. The shadows around him surged, twisting into serpentine tendrils of power that lashed at the air.

"And you taught me everything I needed to make it happen," Yuhze replied coldly, stepping closer to the array's center. The glow of the runes intensified, feeding off his energy. "This is where the Demon King falls, and I rise."

Zhiyun's lips curled into a smile—not one of humor, but of chilling, vengeful promise. "I should have known," he murmured, his voice low and venomous. "You were always the one most capable of driving the knife deepest."

Yuhze's lips curled into a cold, humorless smile as he regarded his former master. There was no remorse in his gaze—only disdain and a cruel satisfaction. "Look at you," he sneered, his voice a razor slicing through the tension. "The great Demon King, reduced to a shadow of what you once were. Pathetic."

Zhiyun's laughter faltered, his grin tightening into a snarl. "Yuhze," he growled, his voice dripping with venom. "You dare stand against me? After everything I've given you? Everything I've taught you?"

"Everything?!" Yuhze snarled, his voice trembling with rage. "Master, you gave me nothing! I may have been your disciple, but you never intended to entrust the Demonic Sect to me!" His green eyes burned with an unholy glow, sharp and cutting.

Zhiyun's expression darkened, but a faint smirk lingered on his lips. He raised his sword slightly, the blade humming with restrained power. "Yuhze," he said, his tone cold and laced with contempt. "You have always been an impatient child. Talented, yes—but reckless. You lack the wisdom, the control, the vision to lead the Demonic Sect. At your level, you would become nothing more than a laughingstock."

His smirk widened as he took a slow step forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet. "And look at you now," he continued, his voice dripping with scorn. "You've allowed yourself to be manipulated by these old fools, their poison dripping into your mind, making you nothing more than a pawn in their schemes. Pathetic."

Yuhze's grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles turning white. "You think I'm weak? A pawn?" he spat, his voice rising with venom. "No, Master. I'm the one who sees clearly. Your time is over! handover the book of Arcane and your soul will be spared!"

Zhiyun looked at his disciple, his mind swirling with emotions he hadn't felt in centuries. What went wrong?

He had cared for Yuzhe before the boy had even opened his eyes, raising him like his own son. He had imparted all his knowledge, teaching him the cultivation techniques he had honed over millennia. For years, he had nurtured and groomed Yuzhe to one day succeed him, laying the foundation for the path that would lead him to the throne.

Originally, Zhiyun had planned to decipher the ancient cultivation text alongside his disciple. But the treasures it contained were dangerous. One mistake in understanding or practice could shatter a person's cultivation and reduce them to nothing but a mortal. To protect Yuzhe, Zhiyun had taken it upon himself to cultivate the book's secrets first, intending to share its knowledge with his beloved disciple once the risks were gone.

And yet, here they were.

Zhiyun's hand tightened into a fist, his sharp nails digging into his palm. Blood began to drip down, but he ignored the pain. His emotions twisted within him—a volatile mix of betrayal, disappointment, and sadness. Yuzhe had thrown everything away. Everything Zhiyun had built for him.

He stared at his disciple, his eyes cold but heavy with unspoken hurt. Yuzhe's betrayal clutched at Zhiyun's heart like a vice, the weight of it so suffocating he couldn't suppress it any longer. A cough racked his body, and blood spilled from his lips, staining the floor.

Still, he held his gaze steady, locking onto Yuzhe with eyes that burned with more than just anger. There was sadness there, buried deep beneath the fury, sadness that Yuzhe would never see.

"Yuzhe," Zhiyun said quietly, his voice like a storm threatening to break, "All you need to do is wait for a few more weeks. After everything I've done to prepare you, after all the sacrifices I made to ensure your success… Why would you ruin it? Why destroy something you were meant to inherit?"

His grip tightened further.

Finally, Zhiyun's lips curled into a bitter smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. His gaze pierced through Yuzhe, not just with anger but with deep, unrelenting disappointment.

'This is the last time' he thought to himself.

The tension in the room crackled as Zhiyun's bloodlust surged, undeterred even as the array tightened its grip. His laughter rang out, dark and foreboding. "No" he said answering to Yuzhe.

"Zhiyun, you'd best surrender," Yang Tao commanded, his voice steady yet charged with authority. He stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the restrained Demon King.

"With the Killing Array restricting your movements and devouring your cultivation, you stand no chance against us."

The other four followed in step, forming a circle around Zhiyun, their auras flaring as they prepared to deliver the final blow.

Yang Tao's eyes gleamed with cold triumph as he continued, "Your cultivation has dropped hundred folds. Even your own disciple could defeat you now. Hand over the Arcane, and I'll grant you a peaceful death."

The green-haired beauty stepped forward, her elegant form and delicate features betraying the venom in her words. "Listen to him, Zhiyun," she said mockingly, her voice dripping with contempt. She leaned in close, her fingers brushing lightly against his chin. "Give us the Arcane, and perhaps we'll spare you the humiliation of dragging this out."

Zhiyun's expression remained blank, his silver eyes dull and unamused as he stared at her without a word. For a moment, it seemed as though he might yield.

Then his lips curled into a dark, wicked smile.

Without warning, Zhiyun spat a mouthful of dark blood directly into the woman's face. The liquid sizzled as it made contact with her flawless skin, hissing like molten acid. Her confident smirk evaporated in an instant, replaced by a piercing scream of agony

The blood burned its way down her forehead, carving a grotesque path from her right eye to her neck. The scent of scorched flesh filled the air as the once-delicate beauty clutched at her face, her cries echoing across the battlefield.

"You wretched beast!" she shrieked, her voice cracking as the unbearable pain twisted her expression into one of fury and hatred. Lifting her trembling right hand, her emerald eyes burned with a deadly light, the rage within her boiling over into a terrifying display of power.

Above Zhiyun, multiple layers of glowing blue and orange spells materialized, crackling with an overwhelming spiritual force. The intricate symbols within the spell spiraled and pulsed, their combined energy warping the air and casting an eerie glow across the battlefield.

"Min Gaia, stop! Theres something wrong!" Wei An shouted, his voice sharp with alarm, but the words were swallowed by the roar of power gathering above Zhiyun. It was too late.

The arrays unleashed a devastating wave of spiritual energy, a force so immense it could fell legendary beasts and obliterate even the most fortified of strongholds. The focused energy descended upon Zhiyun like a cataclysm, its destructive intent undeniable.

"Die, you demon!" she screamed, her voice raw and filled with unrelenting hatred. Yellow aura leaked from her body, coiling around her like flames feeding her fury. Her form trembled under the strain of controlling the immense power, but she refused to relent.

The ground beneath Zhiyun cracked and splintered as the pressure intensified, yet his expression remained eerily calm. His silver eyes gleamed in a dark red faintly, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smirk. The dark aura around him flickered and twisted, refusing to be snuffed out by the overwhelming force.

"You think this will end me?" Zhiyun muttered, his voice low and dripping with disdain. "Foolish." He utter letting out a dark chuckle as the blinding force of light caused by the attack envelope the demon kings body.

In an instant, everyone believed Zhiyun was finished. Wung Cheng stormed over to Min Gaia, grabbing the front of her tattered robe and lifting her off the ground. Her ongoing spell, unstable and glowing faintly, showed no signs of stopping.

"Why did you kill him?! Have you forgotten why we came here today?" he roared, his grip tightening as veins bulged on the side of his forehead, his fury shaking the air around them.

"Wung Cheng, that's enough," Yang Tao intervened, placing a calming hand on the giant's shoulder. His voice was steady, though the tension between the celestial beings was palpable. "We can always recover his body and retrieve the boo—"

Before he could finish, an overwhelming force rippled through the battlefield, cutting him off. The air grew thick with a suffocating pressure emanating from Zhiyun's direction, snapping everyone's focus to the source.

"The… the spell… it's being absorbed…" Yuzhe murmured, his voice trembling as fear etched itself onto his face. The light of Min Gaia's spell, once wild and chaotic, was now spiraling into the center of the disturbance like a vortex being devoured.

The impossible sight silenced even Wung Cheng. A growing, ominous power emerged from the epicenter of the collapse.

Soon the spell die down and in the center of that chaos is Zhiyun with his mouth open as if eating out all the spells energy.

The runes are still attached to his body restricting his moves but the smile plastered in his face shows they are in utter danger.

The runes still clung to Zhiyun's body, each glowing with an eerie, oppressive power that bound him in place, but his smile—twisted, cruel, and full of malice—betrayed the enormity of the danger unfolding. The very air seemed to thicken around him, as if the cosmos itself held its breath in anticipation of what he was about to do.

"I'm not going down alone," he hissed through gritted teeth, his chest heaving with the raw, chaotic energy surging inside him. A violent, searing red and orange glow erupted from his core, growing more intense with every passing heartbeat, casting a deathly light across the battlefield.

"What… what's happening?" Yuzhe asked, his voice cracking with rising dread as he watched in horror.

"He's self-destructing!" Wei An shouted, his calm demeanor shattering as panic seized him. His eyes—usually so composed—were wide with terror, the magnitude of the situation sinking in.

"Then we have to get out!" Yuzhe screamed, his heart hammering in his chest as his instincts screamed at him to run, to escape the madness that was about to unfold.

"It's too late!" Yang Tao roared, his face grim with the knowledge of the impossible odds before them. "We have no choice! Defend yourselves—NOW!"

As Zhiyun's energy flared, the sky itself seemed to tremble. The entire air around him began to crackle with raw power, warping and distorting, as though the very fabric of reality was buckling under the force of his rage.

The four celestial kings, their faces now etched with fear and determination, summoned their strongest treasures. Golden sigils flashed into existence, shimmering barriers of light shielded them, and the ancient roots of their celestial power writhed in the air, desperate to fortify them against the coming onslaught. But even they knew—it was too much.

Zhiyun's laugh, dark and maniacal, echoed through the chaos, carrying with it the weight of doom. "All beings beneath me," he snarled, his voice a terrifying growl that vibrated through the earth, "no one can take my head, not even the heavens themselves!"

With an earth-shaking roar, Zhiyun released every ounce of energy he had gathered, along with the stolen essence from the celestial spell, into his core. The intensity of the explosion that followed could only be described as apocalyptic—an unholy, cataclysmic force that threatened to tear apart not just the world, but the fabric of existence itself.

The blast tore through the battlefield like a ravenous beast, its shockwaves annihilating everything in its path. The earth cracked and split apart, mountains crumbled to dust, and the very air seemed to catch fire as it was burned away by the sheer force of Zhiyun's wrath. The explosion reverberated through the heavens and the cosmos, a blinding, searing light that obliterated everything it touched.

The celestial kings were thrown back, their bodies shaken to the core as their barriers strained under the pressure of the blast. The force of the explosion was so violent, so overwhelming, that even their powerful defenses seemed to falter, and the very skies above them were torn asunder.

Time itself seemed to stretch and warp as the explosion continued to expand, swallowing everything in its path. The world was reduced to chaos—fire, ash, and ruin. And amid the devastation, Zhiyun's laugh could still be heard, echoing through the carnage, a chilling reminder of the demon king's final, defiant act.

In the aftermath, nothing remained but silence—the kind of silence that only follows the most devastating of storms. The air was heavy with destruction, the ground scorched and broken, and the remnants of the cosmos quivered as if it had narrowly survived the wrath of a vengeful god.