Heaven Trampling Severance

Upon the muddy ground, whose acrid stench gnawed into the very marrow of existence, the body of a young man lay powerless, shrouded in a flickering silver and black light that dimmed with every ragged breath. Blood from his myriad wounds had mingled with the rancid soil, forming a crimson pool that seeped into the thirsty earth, slowly devoured by the encroaching tendrils of grey mist. In that desolate place — where time seemed to refuse its natural flow, its currents stagnating, and the heavens feigned a cold, deliberate blindness — Chen Tian, the nameless child of an insignificant village at the withered edge of the Mortal Realm, had drawn his final, agonizing breath. His lungs, once struggling for air, had collapsed, and the stubborn ember of life within him had flickered out, leaving behind only the cold emptiness of death.

Those who once mocked him, sneered at him as mere filth, had long since abandoned the scene, their footsteps fading into the soggy earth without so much as a prayer, without a sliver of pity. They moved as if the death of the worthless did not merit memory, nor burial, nor tears. All traces of his fleeting existence were drowned within the withered wind and the decayed mist clinging to the air, wrapping the young corpse in an eternal, suffocating silence. How could the world weep for a life even death itself was too disgusted to claim, a soul too insignificant to be dragged into the underworld? He was a void in the grand tapestry of fate, a shadow even shadows refused to acknowledge.

Yet, in the wreckage of his soul, amidst shattered fragments of fading consciousness and a thickening, suffocating gloom, a single ember lingered. Faint, its light barely perceptible, nearly extinguished by the brutal assault of fate and man — yet unyielding. It quivered softly, a tiny, defiant spark, refusing to bow entirely to the cruel, relentless will of existence that had sought to crush him. For even filth, when cast into hell, could, by sheer force of will, learn to deny the all-consuming flames, to resist the very essence of annihilation. It was the stubborn, primal will to be, even if only as a whisper against the roaring storm.

In the midst of that profound emptiness, a voice rumbled. Cold, ancient — like the creak of rusted dimensional chains grinding against one another, echoing from nowhere and everywhere, as though born from the very marrow of time itself. It was a voice that carried the weight of eons, the sound of worlds collapsing and rising, a symphony of cosmic despair and indomitable will.

"Hoh… so the cursed ember in your rotting flesh hasn't gone out after all." The voice was laced with a dry, almost mocking amusement, tinged with a deeper, unreadable interest.

From the depths of the encroaching darkness, a tall, imposing figure emerged, draped in thick, shifting black mist that swirled like a mini-void. Crimson hair, long and untamed, spilled down his back, flowing like a waterfall of dried blood against the obsidian shroud. His eyes, the windows to a boundless abyss, were ablaze with a terrifying light — the left, a deep violet spiral that seemed to devour all light, pulling it into its fathomless depths; the right, a golden orb adorned with six intricate mandalas, slowly revolving in eternal stillness, hinting at cycles of rebirth and destruction. Hei Xuan — the Sky Demon Emperor, a name once spoken only in hushed, trembling whispers of fear across the upper realms, a name synonymous with cosmic devastation — now stood, a colossal presence, before that fragile, tenacious ember that was Chen Tian's will.

He sneered, a flicker of ancient hatred and boundless arrogance burning behind those mismatched, terrifying eyes. Behind him, dimly, almost like a ghostly echo, a Darkness Night Phoenix roared, its eight legendary wings unfurled, though scarred and ethereal. That ancient Martial Soul, an embodiment of primordial darkness, yet clung to existence, shackled to a soul too stubborn, too filled with defiance, to simply fade into the cosmic dust.

"Heh… even death finds you too foul to drag away, boy." Hei Xuan's voice was a low chuckle, devoid of warmth, echoing the desolation of the void.

The ember of Chen Tian's consciousness trembled. Within it, a frail whisper stirred — a voice nearly lost to the encroaching shadows, yet clutching tight to an ancient, primal instinct. It was the raw, unrefined desire to simply exist, to persist against all odds.

"I… am not… finished."

The words were ragged, barely audible, a desperate plea for something that transcended survival.

Hei Xuan's gaze narrowed, his violet eye swirling faster. A low, mirthless laugh, dry as bone, slipped past his lips, a sound that seemed to mock the very concept of hope.

"Good… seems you're cut from the bloodline of defiance. A rare trait in this miserable dust heap."

He raised a hand, his gesture effortless, yet carrying the weight of infinite realms. His golden eye pulsed with a blinding light. The six mandalas within it whirled faster, then spiraled outward, forming a colossal dimensional vortex that began to encircle Chen Tian's ember of consciousness, drawing it into its boundless depths.

"Listen well, wretched child. This world is a rotten field, and I — the Sky Demon Emperor — am the hand that harvests death. You are nothing but a spoiled seed in a pit of mud, destined to be crushed underfoot. But if the laws insist on this grotesque connection, if fate wishes to play its cruel game, then I can make thorns bloom from carrion. Survive alongside me… or be scattered into ash, swept away by the merciless River of Time itself."

His voice was a cold, absolute decree, leaving no room for argument or negotiation.

The ember, though frail, flared brighter in response, its defiance burning against the immense pressure of Hei Xuan's will. A weak, yet resolute voice, no longer a mere whisper but a desperate declaration, rose once more, defying the very entity that offered it a second chance.

"I… live… not to kneel. I live… to defy my own heavens."

Silence. The void itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting. Then, Hei Xuan laughed, a sound that began as a low rumble and escalated into a booming, thunderous roar that split the absolute stillness, echoing through the empty dimensions.

"Hahaha… insolent brat! Once, I too made that vow… a million kalpas ago, before I burned the heavens to cinders and wrote my name in blood upon the bones of ancient gods! You and I, it seems, are more alike than I care to admit, little worm."

In that instant, the six mandalas fused into a blinding flash of golden light. The ember was violently drawn into the dimensional vortex, slamming into Chen Tian's lifeless body, forcing spirit back into inert flesh. Chen Tian's eyelids fluttered open, slowly, painfully. What flickered within those newly opened eyes was no longer human light, nor the innocent gaze of a mere village boy. It was the eternal void, ancient and terrifying, pulsing within his pupils. The left spun a dizzying violet spiral, deep as the cosmic abyss, while the right gleamed with an unnerving gold, six faint mandalas orbiting within its depths, now imprinted upon his very being.

"Hmph." A deep, guttural sound slipped from his lips, raspy and unfamiliar. Yet it was not Chen Tian's voice. It was the echo of a grudge once held by the Sky Demon Emperor, a testament to the unyielding will that had once set the heavens ablaze and defied the dimensions themselves. It was the first breath of a new, terrifying existence.

The blood on his hand was still warm, sticky, and familiar. The muddy earth, cold and damp, recorded his movements with sickening precision. The children who once jeered, who once revelled in his demise, now lay lifeless, scattered nearby, their expressions frozen in terror. They were unable to grasp that an ancient calamity, a force that had once torn worlds asunder, had just drawn its first breath once more through the eyes of a resurrected "trash."

Hei Xuan moved. Not Chen Tian. The air quaked, reality distorting around the newly reanimated form. Violet mist danced around his body, swirling with an ancient menace. There was no need for complex techniques, no need for intricate spells. Only the eternal will that shattered mortal limits, the sheer, overwhelming power of a being that defied all understanding. In the span of a single breath, the bodies of those who had bullied him collapsed into grotesque heaps, blood spraying into the muck, souls mercilessly torn from their flesh, consumed by an unseen force. They were not just killed; they were erased, their existence nullified.

At the edge of the village, an old tavern stood — its crooked walls leaning precariously, its roof leaking streams of grey water. But it was enough to ward off the biting cold of the mortal world, a dim beacon in the oppressive gloom. Chen Tian — or rather, Hei Xuan within him, guiding his newfound, clumsy movements — pushed open the warped wooden door. The tavern fell silent with a sudden, unnerving abruptness. A handful of young men, still drunk on cheap wine and petty arrogance, froze mid-sip, wine jugs trembling precariously in their hands. Their faces, once sneering, now twisted into masks of bewildered horror.

"W-wasn't he… dead just now?" one stammered, his voice barely a squeak.

"Those eyes… shit… what the hell is that?!"

Another hissed, his face draining of color as he stared into the swirling abyss within Chen Tian's pupils.

Without a word, Hei Xuan seized a jug from a table, his grip surprisingly firm for a body so recently dead. There was no question of price, no thought to pay. Such mortal concerns were beneath a Sky Demon Emperor.

Glug… glug… glug…

The cheap liquor, thick and burning, flowed down his throat. Bitter, vile — a concoction of fermented despair. But to Hei Xuan, who had once drunk the blood of eternal dragons and the poison mists of the void, this mortal liquor was nothing more than a sip of filthy nostalgia, a ghostly echo of a world long gone.

"Hmph… your liquor tastes no better than a dying dragon's piss… but ah… mortal nostalgia always stinks this way."

The words, though spoken through Chen Tian's new voice, carried the immense weight of Hei Xuan's ancient disdain.

The room held its breath, frozen in terror. No one dared speak, no one dared move. For they all knew — this was no longer the Chen Tian they had mocked, the pathetic worm they had so gleefully crushed. This was something else. Something terrifying.

His steps light, imbued with an effortless grace that belied his battered body, he left the decrepit tavern, leaving behind a profound, petrified silence. Beneath an ancient, gnarled tree just beyond the village limits, Hei Xuan sat against a root that twisted like a suffering limb, the jug still in hand, his mismatched eyes fixed on the cracked, grey sky.

"Mortal Realm… rotten, as always. No matter how many kalpas pass, its stench remains."

As he went for another drink, a faint, almost imperceptible sound whispered within his soul, a chime so delicate it could have been merely the wind. Tiiinngg… The shattered remnant of the Dark Moon Sword Martial Soul still clung to a wisp of black mist within Chen Tian's consciousness, refusing to completely dissipate. Hei Xuan scoffed, a sound of utter contempt. Raising a finger, he formed a demonic seal, violet-black light blooming at his fingertip, consuming the very air around it. From an ancient dimensional ring, seemingly woven into the fabric of his ethereal form, thick, swirling mist poured forth, taking the magnificent shape of a three-eyed wolf, its aura radiating the immense power of a Soul Sky Grade.

"Your old Martial Soul? Filth, unworthy. It is an insult to my presence. Brace yourself, boy. This will be… enlightening."

The wolf, a creature of pure spiritual energy, surged forward, its phantom claws tearing through the air, merging with the lingering mist of Chen Tian's former, pathetic soul fragment. A soul-piercing scream trembled through the dimension, tearing through the confines of Chen Tian's mind. Blood, fresh and hot, spilled from the boy's lips, staining the mud anew. But Hei Xuan, a flicker of ancient cruelty in his eyes, merely grinned.

"If you die, you're carrion. If you perish now, you are nothing. But if you survive… if you hold on to that stubborn ember… get ready. Old Hei's gonna slap your skull 'til you remember whose body this is. You will learn to wield my power, or you will break."

Within Chen Tian's shattered frame, a new Martial Soul began to take shape — a Three-Eyed Moon Wolf, its phantom fur half-white, half-black, three spiraled eyes gleaming with a mixture of predatory instinct and ancient wisdom. A powerful Soul Sky Grade aura burst faintly from it, rippling through the stagnant air of the Mortal Realm, a ripple that would soon become a tsunami.

Hei Xuan gazed up at the cracking, unfeeling sky, a defiant challenge in his gaze.

"Listen well, Chen Tian. If the cursed ember in your soul hasn't yet faded, if you truly cling to that pathetic spark of life, then from this moment — this world is your hell. And I… I am the demon who'll tear it open for you. I am the one who will forge you in the fires of suffering until you are worthy of my very breath."

He drifted effortlessly from Chen Tian's body, his ethereal form now distinct yet shimmering. Mist cloaked him, an aura of void pulsing, ancient fog swirling, creating a barrier that defied mortal perception. His voice, now a booming echo, pierced the dimensional layers, striking the crumbling consciousness that still clung to life deep within Chen Tian.

"In this world, there is no father. No mother. No gods. No fate. There is only strength — and whose hand chokes the throat of heaven first."

The ember, that tiny, indomitable spark, flared. Once. Twice. A shallow breath. Not the breath of man. Not the breath of soul. But the breath of an existence that refused to be claimed by the world, a primal refusal to simply cease.

Hei Xuan grinned, a terrifying, predatory smile. The glowing intensity in his mismatched eyes deepened, promising untold suffering and unimaginable power.

"Get up, you little bastard. You are no one. You will be no one. But from now on… I decide if you live or die. And I have plans for you, plans that will make the heavens tremble."

He snapped his fingers. The air quivered. The earth cracked. Black mist, thick and oppressive, coiled around Chen Tian's body, seeping into his pores, strengthening his newly acquired Martial Soul. The new Martial Soul, the Three-Eyed Moon Wolf, howled, a primal sound that tore through the fabric of the mortal plane, dark fog flooding the land. The sky shuddered, as if in recognition of a terrible awakening. The wind halted, frozen in place. Time staggered, its relentless march faltering.

And… in the next instant, those eyelids opened fully. Chen Tian rose, his body trembling, dried blood cracking on his skin, the movement stiff and unnatural. Violet and golden eyes faintly burned, reflecting the dim light of the grey sky, now tinged with a new, terrifying cosmic energy.

"Where… is this…?" A whisper, frail, yet no longer a mortal boy's voice. It was the voice of a creature freshly torn from the abyss, a soul stretched and reshaped by the touch of a demon emperor.

Chen Tian turned his head, his gaze sweeping across the desolate, muddy field. Atop the ancient tree branch, a misty figure sat, barely visible, a crimson cascade of hair flowing down, mismatched eyes radiating void, observing him with an unnerving intensity.

"Who… are you? Some wretched ghost… or a god of carrion…?" Chen Tian's voice was raspy, laced with confusion and a nascent defiance.

The grey sky gave no answer, remaining an impassive witness. But Hei Xuan, with a crooked grin and a thousand lifetimes of hatred burning behind his ancient eyes, merely chuckled, a sound that resonated deep within Chen Tian's soul.

"In this little hell, boy. But worry not… Old Hei's come bearing liquor, and a single, spiteful curse. A curse that will make you stronger than any god in this pathetic realm."

Upon the muddy earth, whose stench still gnawed into the marrow, the body of a young man stirred, slowly, awkwardly. His fingers twitched, groping the cold, viscous mud that wrapped his body like a shroud. Grey mist hung heavy, oppressive, the world seemingly drained of all color, all hope.

Chen Tian's gaze lingered on the strange figure in the tree, a sense of unreality washing over him. The world around him felt… heavier, colder, the very air thick with an unspoken menace. The mocking laughter, the jeering voices, the triumphant footsteps of his tormentors had long since vanished, leaving behind only an unsettling silence. All that remained was his own congealed blood, the wet, pungent earth, and a mist too stubborn to lift, clinging like a shroud.

"I… am not dead?" he whispered, the words alien on his tongue. He clutched his chest, his fingers digging into his ribs. His heart still beat, though sluggishly, a weak, hesitant thump. His wounds… closing, rapidly, impossibly, yet a deep, residual pain still gnawed at him, a phantom ache that spoke of unimaginable trauma.

"Hoh… so that cursed ember in your rotting flesh truly hasn't died," Hei Xuan's voice rumbled, closer now, echoing in the very core of Chen Tian's being.

Chen Tian shivered at that voice, a tremor that ran deeper than physical cold. The world itself felt alien, warped, as if he had awoken in a nightmare. He grabbed a fistful of mud, desperately clinging to something tangible amidst the swirling chaos of his mind, trying to ground himself.

"Is this… hell?" he asked, his voice barely a breath.

His gaze returned to the figure above. Something unfamiliar swelled within him — not mere fear, but a primal instinct shrieking that this thing… this being… was beyond mortal logic, beyond anything he had ever known or could comprehend. It was pure, unadulterated power, terrifying in its scope.

Unable to bear the overwhelming pressure and the gnawing ache in his chest, Chen Tian snatched a small, sharp stone nearby, his hand moving with a sudden, desperate energy, and hurled it at the misty figure with all his remaining strength.

"Quit screwing with me, you damned ghost!" he screamed, his voice cracking.

The stone shot forth, a pathetic projectile against an immortal being. With barely a flicker of movement, the misty figure snatched it from the air, its movements impossibly fluid, a ghost dancing in the wind.

"Tch… fire's decent, brat. But that? You think a stone can touch a sky demon like me?" Hei Xuan's voice was a low growl, laced with amusement and contempt.

Chen Tian grit his teeth, a wave of frustrated fury washing over him. His left hand trembled, reacting instinctively. In that instant, he tried calling forth his Martial Soul — though he knew it had long since shattered, reduced to nothingness.

"Come forth… Dark Moon Sword…" he muttered, the invocation a desperate habit.

But instead of the familiar, flimsy dark blue blade, a burst of black-violet mist erupted from the back of his hand. There was no sword. No worn blade. Instead, the swirling mist condensed into a black-and-white wolf, sleek and predatory, its three spiral eyes gleaming dimly, a power he had never possessed.

Chen Tian froze, his breath caught in his throat, his mind reeling.

"What… is this?"

The new Martial Soul, the Three-Eyed Moon Wolf, stared back, its three spiraled eyes pulsing with an ancient, silent call, beckoning him. The faint aura of Soul Sky Grade quaked the air around them, a power that made the very ground tremble.

Chen Tian suddenly felt that this world was no longer the one he'd known, no longer the same stagnant pit of despair. His head throbbed with a pain that was both physical and spiritual, a searing agony as his consciousness struggled to integrate the alien presence within him. His body staggered, swaying like a drunken man. His gaze, now tinged with violet and gold,locked onto the crimson-haired man, a silent accusation.

"What did you… do to my body…?"

The misty figure grinned, a chilling, triumphant expression.

"Your old Martial Soul? Trash. Worthless. Gone. I discarded it. This… this is a taste of true power. The power you will wield."

Chen Tian clenched his chest against the alien, overwhelming sensation, the terrifying newness of his very being. That heavy voice, now more present, more resonant, rumbled once more, asserting its dominance.

"Listen, brat. This world's no place for the weak. You died. Your flesh rotten. Your soul a flickering ember. But the laws demanded that ember linger. And you know what that means?"

Chen Tian was silent, his mind reeling, struggling to process the impossible.

"From now on, I'm here. In your body. In your blood. In your soul. I am — Hei Xuan, the Sky Demon Emperor. And you, you little bastard… are merely the vessel for my will. You are the instrument of my return."

Chen Tian clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching in his cheek. In his eyes — once dulled by despair and resignation — a faint, stubborn ember flickered anew, a spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished.

"I… don't need your pity. I don't need your salvation."

A thin, cold smile spread across Hei Xuan's misty features.

"Good. I never intended to give it. You will not receive pity from me, only the unyielding will to survive. Now, rise. Your journey in this hell begins."

The grey wind curled around them, a silent witness to a new genesis. The Three-Eyed Moon Wolf howled, a sound that pierced the dimensions, black mist cloaking Chen Tian's frame, intertwining with his very essence. The sky shuddered, the wind halted, and time staggered once more, as if the cosmos itself held its breath.