Tunde's walk through the ruined city alongside Rui and Zhu revealed the full scale of devastation wrought by the vice sect leader. Smoldering stones blackened from destructive techniques marked every turn. Yet, the absence of bodies felt unsettling to Tunde, whose naginata remained firmly gripped in his right hand.

  His Ethra Sight unveiled the thick ash and fire Ethra saturating the air, obscuring all other traces. Zhu sniffed the air, his jade-scaled skin shimmering. "I smell something," the Ethralite said, his voice low and cautious.

  Tunde frowned. "Something?"

  Zhu nodded, his claws extending as his glowing jade eyes scanned their surroundings. "Something unnatural. Something that shouldn’t exist."

  Tunde tightened his grip on his weapon, Ethra flowing along its length. Carefully, he stepped through the rubble, the crunch of soot-covered debris beneath their feet unnervingly loud.

  "You survived a blow from a master," Rui said softly, her voice breaking the silence. "How?"

  Tunde kept his gaze forward, suppressing a sigh. He had anticipated the question, though he still struggled to understand how he’d survived. The blow had completely obliterated his cycling technique, shattered his imbuement like brittle glass, and sent him careening through stone. It was a miracle his core hadn’t been destroyed—a miracle owed to the Crucible that had shielded him from the worst of the damage.

  "This hardly seems the time for that," he replied, his aura brushing outward. He noted the faint shiver from Rui as it passed her.

  He often wondered how his aura felt to others. Most cultivators couldn’t sense it—not because it wasn’t there, but because of its peculiar nature. His Ethra was a power both of this world and beyond, a remnant of something erased from history.

  Rui persisted, her voice trembling slightly. "I see no better time—to take my mind off the destruction my mother has brought upon our home."

  Tunde winced, unsure how to respond. Zhu, however, spoke up, his tone measured. "If it’s any consolation, my... predecessor was a madman. A tyrant who sought to rule this world entirely."

  Tunde froze, his mind racing. Zhu knew? The Ethralite remembered?

  The beast caught his look and chuckled dryly. "I am literally a fragment of that tyrant’s existence, honored brother. Of course, I remember. But I am my own being now," Zhu reassured, his clawed hand briefly patting Rui’s shoulder. She seemed unsure whether his words were meant for her or Tunde.

  Tunde decided to have a longer conversation with Zhu later—if they survived. He resisted the urge to crush the medallion in his pocket, Varis’s promised "help" still an uncertain proposition.

  "I’m... resilient," Tunde finally said, offering Rui a faint smile. "Hard to kill, I suppose."

  They pressed on, navigating the ashen haze and endless wreckage. It was hard to say which district they were in; everything had been reduced to ruin. Smoke choked the air, blinding and suffocating.

  "My mother wasn’t always like this," Rui murmured, breaking the heavy silence. "She wasn’t warm or kind, but she tried, in her own way, to ensure I had what little she could give... even in this wretched place."

  Zhu’s head perked up, his weapon now coated in Ethra. Tunde noted his tension.

  "And now, I carry the blood of a monster," Rui continued bitterly, her voice trembling with emotion. "A monster so callous that she condemned thousands to death for power."

  The killing intent came suddenly, washing over them like a wave. Tunde moved first, launching out of their hiding spot as void-forged fire erupted around him. He landed on steady feet, naginata poised, just as a grotesque creature lumbered into view.

  The abomination defied description. Standing taller than Tunde, its warped form was a patchwork of arms, eyes, and faces—each mouth frozen in silent screams of agony. The realization struck him cold: the people of Ashhaven. Those who hadn’t escaped to the mountain—or had been taken afterward—were fused into this nightmare.

  Shouts rang out from Zhu and Rui as more creatures emerged. "Flesh puppets!" Rui called out, her voice a mix of revulsion and shock.

  "What are they?" Tunde demanded, his weapon glowing with void Ethra.

  "Revenants make them," Rui explained, parrying an attack. "Undead things... grunts for their armies—or so my father told me."

  "Maybe," Tunde said grimly, slicing through one creature. "But these things are alive. The people—they’re still alive."

  The creatures attacked relentlessly, their twisted bodies exuding tainted life aura. Zhu roared, striking with raw power, severing limbs and breaking bones. Tunde moved fluidly, void sparks exploding against the abominations as he struck. One collapsed in front of him, a gaping void-infused wound in its torso.

  But for every creature they felled, more emerged. Dark runes glowed faintly on their forms, dimming only after death. Tunde gritted his teeth as the horde pressed in, an endless tide.

  "We won’t reach the mountain in time," he hissed, his knuckles white around his weapon.

  "That’s why you need to go ahead," Rui said, as Tunde whipped his head toward her, surprise evident on his features.

  "We can’t leave you behind," he said, his voice firm.

  Zhu frowned. "She’s right. The Vice Sect Leader hopes to stall us here. Besides, our friends are in danger," the Ethralite added.

  "She can’t face them alone, not without us," Tunde countered, looking to Zhu, who nodded.

  "Which is why I’ll stay with her. We’ll take their attention off you and give you the chance to make for the mountain itself," Zhu answered calmly.

  There was a certain tranquility in the Ethralite’s demeanor—not pride, but certainty in his actions. They stared at each other for a brief moment before Tunde nodded.

  "Be safe," he simply said to Zhu, who smiled.

  "You too, brother," the Ethralite replied, before Tunde turned his gaze to Rui.

  "You do know this could mean her death, right?" he asked her.

  The pale-faced girl gave a sad smile. "She’s a master now. Doubt even you could bring her down," she said quietly.

  Tunde gave a soft, sad smile in return, Rui nodding. "I’ve learned well not to doubt you. But if you could…" she said, pausing as her throat tightened, the words heavy on her lips.

  "Make it quick. Let her know that I still love her and I forgive her," she finished, turning away to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.

  "Tunde," Zhu said, drawing his attention back to their surroundings.

  Tunde shot forward in a burst of speed as one of the creatures suddenly appeared in his path, his naginata slicing it cleanly in two. Zhu launched into the air with a screech of power, his aura radiating the sheer force of a peak Lord and then some, drawing the attention of the creatures. They wailed mournfully as they rushed toward him.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Tunde moved through them, flying at full speed toward the mountain. The once-grand metal gates had been torn off their hinges, crumpled in a corner near the lifeless body of a sect member. He landed, already feeling the tremors of powerful techniques being unleashed inside.

  What had once been the banquet hall was now a battlefield—a grotesque scene of bodies, with cultivators and flesh puppets locked in savage combat. To one side, what was left of the Ashen Flame Sect, surrounded and besieged atop makeshift rocky barricades, fought valiantly alongside his friends and the sect's remnants.

  It was a losing battle. Tunde’s eyes caught Sera, her blood techniques now alight with curious red flames that incinerated the creatures into ash rather than the usual blackened liquid.

  Nearby, talismans rotated around Daiki as his golden staff glowed, deflecting and pushing back the creatures. Zehra, a force unto herself, wielded ice blades and pikes, which tore through the horde, slowing them down enough for the sect members to fight back.

  Yet the very walls of the mountain seemed alive. Not with the necrotic stench Tunde associated with revenants, but with something equally unnatural. Black and white veins lined the pulsating walls, which inhaled and exhaled, birthing more puppets.

  Every slain cultivator seemed to quicken the mountain's heartbeat. Inscriptions burned themselves onto the fleshy walls, and Tunde’s Ethra sight revealed the veins siphoning the life force of the fallen, channeling it deep underground—toward Mei.

  It had barely been three days—two, perhaps—since their arrival at Ashhaven, and everything had gone to hell. Perhaps it was true what they said about him: chaos and destruction followed wherever he went.

  His Void Realm expanded, unraveling the creatures around him as he forced his mind to maintain his dominion technique. The strain drained his core, but he refused to replenish it by absorbing the tainted Ethra in the air.

  His naginata spun in a deadly arc, his Boundless Asura fighting style taking over. Every movement was precise and deliberate, his essence flames roaring as he felt traces of the Crucible’s residual energy coursing through him. Wrath sang through his veins, but gradually, he found himself emptied of anger.

  There was no need for rage—these creatures were unthinking, pitiable victims. He would release them from their torment and move on.

  His core shivered, and his essence flames reignited with unexpected vigor as his Ethra surged from an unknown source. He barely noticed the creatures swarming him, their attacks coming faster and more vicious.

  Tunde moved instinctively, his strikes an elegant symphony of death. The first creature didn’t even realize it was dead before his naginata cleaved through four more. A flick of his hand sent a void spear tearing through two others.

  His focus wavered only when one of the creatures landed a heavy blow, slamming him into the wall. Dizzy, he felt his core go empty, his flames flickering out as the mysterious power fueling him suddenly cut off.

  Zehra appeared at his side, tossing him an elixir. Wincing at the thought of its side effects, Tunde drank it, feeling power flood his body like lightning, rapidly replenishing his core.

  The last of the creatures were being mopped up. Tunde noticed the looks he was getting from the remnants of the sect, including the forgesmith who had gifted him the now-shattered axe.

  "My apologies, great Forgesmith. I have failed you—the axe is shattered," Tunde whispered.

  The Highlord limped closer, one leg badly injured. "If it has felled as many foes as we witnessed, then I am the one who is grateful," he replied solemnly.

  Sera suddenly appeared in front of Tunde, her sharp eyes scanning him critically. "You’ll live," she said, before her gaze shifted to the puddles of dead puppets. "Been holding back on me, have you?"

  Tunde had no answer. How could he explain what had just happened? It was a question for Ifa, whenever he crossed paths with the elder again. For now, they had more pressing matters.

  "She’s doing something evil beneath the mountain," Daiki said as he approached, his weariness evident as he leaned heavily on his staff.

  “I’m aware, that’s why I’m going down there to stop her,” Tunde replied firmly.

  “Maybe you’re unaware, but the Vice Sect Leader isn’t a Highlady anymore,” Zehra said. The rest stared at him in shock.

  “Yes, I saw what she became,” he answered, already gripping his naginata and heading toward the path leading down to her lair beneath the mountain.

  “If you’re going, then I’m going too,” Sera said, shouldering Slaughter, her blade.

  Tunde shook his head. “Me and you, together, remember?” she hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at him.

  He smiled faintly. “If you all come along, who will protect what’s left of the people of Ashhaven?”

  “Bold of you to assume I’m going down there to face that abomination,” Zehra huffed, folding her arms.

  “They have a Highlord!” Sera snapped angrily, pointing at the Forgesmith, who winced.

  “His specialty lies not in combat. I mean no offense, venerable Forgesmith,” Tunde said, bowing.

  The Highlord raised a hand. “None taken. There’s no shame in accepting what is true.”

  “Besides, I have another plan for you all,” Tunde added, drawing their attention to himself.

  The entrance to the underground chamber was open, and the raw miasmic power flowing from within felt almost like the Rift itself. Tunde’s core was only partly filled, his muscles ached, and even attempting to activate Ethra Sight left him dizzy and clinging to walls for support.

  Sweating and exhausted, he descended into the cool, damp chambers, his footsteps silent on neatly carved stone stairs. Dim light crystals glowed faintly as he descended, the otherworldly luminescence growing stronger below.

  It began as a queasy sensation, but soon felt like something crawling all over his skin. His body recoiled in irritation and disgust, confirming to Tunde that whatever Mei was doing down here was fundamentally wrong. He was relieved he’d sent his friends elsewhere.

  Clutching the medallion Varis had given him tightly, Tunde took solace in its presence. If it truly could transport him out of Ashhaven to safety, he wanted no part of it. He wouldn’t abandon his friends to the abomination Mei had become—he was the reason they were in this mess.

  Steeling himself, he pressed further down the stairs. The glow intensified until he reached the cavern’s entrance, crouching as he moved silently inside, his revulsion growing with every step.

  The scene before him was nightmarish. The walls pulsed with rich, glowing red flesh, black veins running through them, filled with the viscous liquid dripping from above. Massive pipes of coiling flesh fed all the energy toward a central point.

  He nearly gagged as his eyes settled on the pedestal at the center of the cavern, also made of flesh, where all the miasmic power converged.

  “This was not the agreement, Lady Mei,” a deep voice said suddenly.

  Tunde froze, plastering himself against the wall as two figures emerged from behind the pedestal, unaware of his presence.

  He recognized Mei instantly. Her pale skin, white hair, and inky black eyes sent a shudder through him. The other figure was unfamiliar: an elderly man in the black robes of the Phantoms, exuding shadow affinity.

  “Oh? Calling me by my name now, are we?” Mei replied, her voice as icy as ever.

  The Phantom was a Highlord, but if he was disturbed by Mei’s grotesque transformation, he hid it well. Only his wary tone betrayed his unease.

  “What is this you have become? This abomination of existence?” he hissed.

  Tunde doubted the Phantom realized Mei’s true nature. She certainly wasn’t about to enlighten him.

  “You were to be the gift of the shadows—the heir to reunite us with the rightful ruler of the Realm of Shadows!” the Phantom continued, oblivious to the danger he was courting.

  Tunde’s curiosity piqued at the mention of the Realm of Shadows.

  Mei turned slightly, her head tilting as she chuckled. “Glad you could make it here, acolyte of the Talahan Clan,” she said, addressing Tunde.

  Realizing she had noticed him, he stood and stepped into the open as the Phantom hissed, drawing a long black blade from his robes.

  “I’d be careful with that one, Elder,” Mei said nonchalantly, her attention fixed on the fleshy pedestal.

  Atop it sat a grotesque seed-like object, black veins running through it as it absorbed the miasma and goo.

  “Varis trained him well. I’ve seen him bring down Highlords like they were nothing,” Mei continued. “Besides, I want him to see what’s about to happen.”

  “And what would that be?” the Phantom asked, his eyes flicking between Tunde and Mei.

  “The coming of my benefactor, of course,” Mei replied with a purr.

  The Phantom scoffed. “You think the Elders would come here to witness the filth you’ve become? Laughable.”

  “Besides, you were ordered to kill the acolyte of Varis. Why is he still alive?” he demanded.

  “All in good time, Elder, all in good time,” Mei replied dismissively.

  Turning fully to Tunde, she spread her arms, her black talons gleaming. “I knew you’d make it here. Those puppets couldn’t bring down a cultivator of your abilities.”

  “All this—was it worth the death of all those people?” Tunde asked bitterly.

  “Oh, yes!” Mei answered enthusiastically. “Not only did they serve my apotheosis, but honestly? They deserved it—filthy weaklings.”

  Anger flared within Tunde, but Mei continued, unfazed. “You’ve drawn the attention and ire of the Phantoms, impressive for a Lord-ranked cultivator.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked warily.

  “Their plan to return the Shadai Clan was going well until you stole the true Shadow Ethra Crystal and fed it to your little companion, Miria, was it?” Mei said with a grin.

  Tunde’s eyes widened. Miria was alive! But the mention of the Shadai Clan chilled him further. The Whispering Phantom Sect sought to resurrect them?

  “Mei!” the Phantom barked angrily, but she ignored him.

  “The Veiled Shadows, as they called themselves. A bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Mei said with a laugh.

  The Phantom whirled on her in rage, only for Mei to punch through his chest, ripping out his heart.

  Blood spewed as the Phantom gurgled, gripping her arm even as his life ebbed away. Mei yanked her hand back with a sickening squelch, tossing the organ aside as she placed her bloody hand on her hip, smiling at Tunde.