At the foot of Blood Dragon Mountain, the void itself seemed to scream.
Bai Shuang’s nine wind-thunder moons spun like sawblades, carving silver scars across the night.
Lei Yushan, one leg gone, demon core already crushed in Mo Fan’s fist, still laughed through a mask of blood.
“Little whore, little toad, come! I am the sky!”
He was not the sky.
He was a dying star, burning the last of his life to blind the dark.
Ghost fog rolled thicker than ink.
Inside the Soul-Devouring Banner’s domain, every sound was a blade, every heartbeat a countdown.
Mo Fan’s voice drifted from nowhere and everywhere.
“Sky?
Your clan stole my Black Wind Mountain, chained my kin, fed them to your thunder pits.
Tonight the bill comes due, with interest.”
A black-gold fist punched straight through Lei Yushan’s spine.
BOOM!
Lower body gone, only a ragged torso remained, ribs flapping like broken wings.
Lei Yushan spun, Lei God Spear shrieking, violet arcs lashing empty mist.
“SHOW YOURSELF!”
“Already here.”
Mo Fan stepped out of a ghost-gate two paces behind, palm open.
A fist-sized demon core floated above his fingers, violet lightning still dancing inside like a trapped storm.
Lei Yushan’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.
“That’s… mine…”
“Was.”
Mo Fan clenched.
CRACK!
The core shattered into a thousand amethyst shards.
Every shard became a needle of lightning that reversed course, drilling back into Lei Yushan’s meridians.
“ARGH!”
Flesh blackened, veins burst.
The once-mighty patriarch convulsed, thunder pouring out of his eyes, mouth, ears.
Bai Shuang hovered above, white robes unstained, nine moons dimming to funeral lanterns.
“Uncle,” she whispered, “you should have stayed home.”
Lei Yushan tried to lift the spear.
His arm fell off at the shoulder, cauterised by its own lightning.
Mo Fan walked forward, boots silent on blood-soaked stone.
“Three breaths,” he said. “One for every clan you burned.”
First breath.
Ghost fog condensed into ten thousand Black Wind wolves, tearing the last of Lei Yushan’s thunder armour to ribbons.
Second breath.
Bai Shuang flicked a finger.
A single wind-thunder needle pierced the patriarch’s brow, freezing his scream into a crystal statue of agony.
Third breath.
Mo Fan placed a palm against the statue’s chest.
“Soul-Devouring Banner, feast.”
Black silk exploded from the banner, wrapping the statue, drinking light, drinking sound, drinking the final spark of a Demon King.
When the fog cleared, nothing remained but a scorched spear and a single purple hair drifting to the ground.
Far off, the mile-long Worm Mother paused, compound eyes blinking, then thought better of dessert and burrowed back into the mountain.
Bai Shuang landed beside Mo Fan, voice soft.
“Lei Yu Zidian will come himself now.”
Mo Fan picked up the Lei God Spear.
It shrank willingly into his palm, recognising a new master.
“Let him,” he said, lightning reflecting in his eyes. “Tonight we only collected interest.
The real debt is carved on Black Wind Mountain, and it’s due at dawn.”
He offered Bai Shuang the severed purple hair.
“Souvenir?”
She took it, tied it around her wrist like a red string of fate.
“Reminder,” she corrected. “Next time, I strike first.”
Mo Fan grinned, all teeth.
“Race you to the peak.”
Two shadows, one white, one black, shot toward the true dragon’s lair, leaving the foot of Blood Dragon Mountain silent except for the wind combing through fresh ash.
