Atop the Twin Peak Hill, Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine.
The once sacred main hall lood in desolate ruin. Under the flickering glow of shattered spirit lamps, devastation reigned. Cast-iron carved wooden doors and priceless Mpingo wood windows lay in splinters, their fragnts strewn across the floor, while colored glaze tiles gaped like festering wounds in the walls and ceiling. The Hanz Clan’s ancestral tablets, revered for generations, lay scattered and trampled, their jade naplates cracked under careless boots, a desecration that seed to fuel the shrine’s oppressive aura.
Monts ago, a tide of countless resentful wraiths had sward to attack the Dominator Squad, their ghostly forms surging from every angle in the vast two-story hall, their screams a cacophony of vengeful malice. Yet the squad, led by Donovan Valdez, the well known powerful peak Ninth Layer Qi Refinent cultivator of the Abyss Pit Sect, had repelled the assault with ruthless power, obliterating most of the wraiths into ashes, their pitch-black ghost blood spilling like tar across the hall, coating the walls, ceiling, and ground in a viscous, chilling stain. Only a few potent wraiths, radiating near-peak Ninth Layer strength, still writhed and scread.
Donovan, his chiseled fra radiating authority, grasped the neck of a muscular werewolf wraith, its ninth-layer ghost aura shivering in futile resistance, yet his calm expression betrayed no effort, as if appraising a re alchemy ingredient. With a satisfied nod, he cast the Sealing Soul Technique, binding the ghost being into a glowing Dao Fulu that he tucked into his storage pouch.
The Mister First Dominator dusted the ghost aura from his hands, his white robes rippling with latent power, his Ninth Layer aura a beacon of dominance amidst the shrine’s chaos. Surveying the riddled hall, his gaze lingered on the innermost altar, where the pearl curtain hung pristine, its beads untouched by the battle’s fury, an eerie anomaly in the devastation.
"You sure Garrick’s scent ends behind this thing?" he asked a nearby cultivator, who nodded, their face pale with unease. Donovan halted a few paces from the curtain, his eyes narrowing as he studied its unnatural stillness, the crimson pulse in his sclera betraying his bloodthirsty resolve tempered by caution.
"Dominators, recover on the spot," he ordered, his voice a low growl that brooked no dissent. Despite his burning desire to avenge his squad brother, whose trail led to the curtain, Donovan was no reckless fool.
Sitting cross-legged, he replayed the battle in his mind, each martial technique and Dao Fulu his squad had unleashed flashing vividly: the Bone Eroding Fist Art, the Mountain Splitting Fist, the Crimson Dragon Fulu, the Cloud Shatter Palm. Their attacks had battered the hall, striking the bead curtain countless tis, yet it hadn’t swayed, let alone shattered—a resilience that defied mortal craftsmanship and scread of demonic arrays. Such eerie durability in this perilous shrine demanded caution, and Donovan resolved to let his squad restore their strength before probing the curtain’s secrets.
As the Dominator Squad settled to recover, consuming Spirit Restoration Elixirs that glowed with faint azure light, their ridians humming with renewed energy, Zoe Wright, a tattooed female cultivator, froze mid-motion, her eyes flickered as spotting sothing strange.
Stunned for a heartbeat, she rose quickly and approached Donovan, a porcelain vial clutched in her hands. "Captain!" Zoe whispered, her voice urgent, her dark hair framing a face taut with surprise as she handed him the vial.
Donovan’s eyes flicked to it, his fingers unbottling it with a deft motion, and for a fleeting second, his stoic mask cracked—his eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips. "What?! Legendary level Bone Tempering Pills?!" he exclaid, his voice low but laced with disbelief. "Where did you get this?"
Zoe’s gaze steadied, her tone asured. "From Carl Murphy’s storage pouch."
Donovan’s brows furrowed, his mory flashing to the mustached cultivator whose skull he’d shattered with a Bone Eroding Fist, the Thorn Squad mber’s remains now yielding an unexpected treasure.
"Noted," he said, his voice returning to its solemn calm. "Keep them for yourself, Zoe."
Zoe nodded, tucking the vial into her storage pouch as she stepped back, but a soft rustle shattered the mont’s calm.
Behind the Dominator Squad, the pearl curtain parted slowly, its beads glinting like malicious eyes in the gloom, their clinking a chilling lody that sent a shiver through the hall.
——
The underground chamber of the Hanz Clan Martial Arts Arena quaked with apocalyptic fury, its ancient stone walls scarred and crumbling under the relentless clash of titanic forces.
The air thrumd with destructive energy as bone blade t bone chain, each collision erupting in vicious sparks that flared like infernal fireworks, their shockwaves shattering nearby walls and collapsing connected chambers into rubble. The ground trembled, fissures snaking across the arena’s bloodstained floor, as Lordi Payne, a Seventh Layer Qi Refinent cultivator of the Abyss Pit Sect, stood blood-soaked at the center of the maelstrom, his crimson-misted bone blade humming with blood energy.
A coiling blur of dark blood aura wreathed his chiseled fra, his ragged breaths panting through gritted teeth, his long hair billowing in a halo of azure fla that roared like an otherworldly demon, his eyes blazing with the sa unearthly fire, fixed on Rodney Luther like a cornered beast.
Rodney, a Ninth Layer elite of the Thirst Bull Squad, towered opposite, his bone chain whip crackling with malevolent qi, his muscular form radiating dominance. The battle raged unrelenting—neither yielding, neither slowing—each strike reshaping the arena’s terrain, a chaotic symphony of ferocity.
With a tooth-jarring crack of bone against bone, the combatants parted, the air crackling with residual tension as Lordi staggered, his body a map of grievous wounds, his Seventh Layer cultivation pushed beyond limits against Rodney’s Ninth Layer prowess. Deep gashes marred his shoulders and arms, flesh torn to reveal bones gleaming like tempered steel, faintly translucent and veined with jade-like hues, shimring under the arena’s flickering spirit lamps.
The sight stunned Rodney, his rugged face darkening with shock as he gasped, "Perfect Grade Refined Tier Bone?!" Jorge Blue, leader of the Thirst Bull Squad, and his cultivators gaped from the sidelines, their expressions a mix of awe and dread, their weapons still drawn from repelling the arena’s lesser Dao Puppets.
Jorge’s sharp eyes narrowed, his voice a low transmission to Rodney. "Junior Brother! This is Perfect Grade Refined Tier Bone mid-ascension to Jade Tier. No wonder the brat’s so resistant to our blows. Garrick Blackthorn’s absence is suspicious—his Thorn Squad could appear any mont. You’d better end this as soon as possibile!"
Jorge watched from the sidelines, his sharp eyes glinting with urgency as he transmitted to Rodney, warning of Lordi’s unnatural resilience and the looming threat of reinforcents—perhaps Garrick Blackthorn’s Thorn Squad or Shirley Quinn’s remnants.
Rodney’s heart pounded, his Ninth Layer aura flaring as he caught Jorge’s concern: this "filthy invader," as he’d scornfully dubbed Lordi, mastered Perfect Grade Jade Tier Bones, their ascension incomplete but already formidable.
Even at the Seventh Layer, this brat’s skeletal structure—mid-ascension to Jade Tier—was a fortress of impeccable defense, capable of withstanding attacks that would shatter the bones of an average Ninth Layer cultivator. Had the man reached the Ninth Layer, his bones fully ascended to Perfect Grade, even Early Phase Foundation Stage cultivators using Mortal Path Establishnt Techniques would struggle to pierce his defences.
Rodney’s earlier blows had torn the invader’s flesh, exposing the translucent, jade-veined bones, but only because this filthy brat’s ascension was incomplete, its major stage yet to solidify. The realization gnawed at Rodney, his confidence wavering as he recalled Jorge’s warning: a fully ascended Jade Tier Bone would render the man near-invincible, a demon-lion with wings of unyielding might.
The man’s strange blade art only suppressed Rodney’s battle confidence, its ferocity unmatched as the invader’s malice bone blade slashed through the air, each strike a torrent of crimson mist that scread with bloodthirsty intent. The blade, imbued with a demonic sharpness, moved with a murder intent that belied common Seventh Layer cultivation, as if guided by an unseen force. The rapist’s movents were a whirlwind of malice, his azure-flad eyes blazing like an otherworldly predator, his blood-soaked fra radiating a primal ferocity that forced Rodney to shy from eting the blade head-on.
Rodney’s frustration mounted as the rapist’s eerily fast and unpredictable footwork art always allowed him to evade lethal blows by an eyelash’s width, his movents a blur of azure fla and crimson mist that danced just beyond Rodney’s reach. The two had clashed for what felt like an eternity, Rodney’s bone chain whip lashing with devastating force, each strike capable of shattering mountains, yet Lordi’s tenacity stretched the fight into a grueling war of attrition.
Despite Rodney’s dominance, his deeper Ninth Layer spiritual reserves granting him the upper hand, he couldn’t swiftly dispatch this Seventh Layer "nobody".
Rodney’s ashen face twisted with a deeper, personal fury, fueled by a burning grudge that scorched his pride as a peak Ninth Layer cultivator. Monts ago, he’d witnessed his adored junior sister publicly humiliated, groped and even raped by this invader whose brazen actions could spark dirty rumors of sexual assault. The sha and hatred lingered like a poison, amplified by the Abyss Pit Sect’s cutthroat culture.
Now, facing this filthy invader, Rodney’s pride recoiled at his inability to crush this Seventh Layer nobody with a single Bone Shatter Strike at the battle’s outset. To falter against a lower-tier cultivator was a spit in the face, a humiliation that stung worse than any wound.
Yet accepting aid from Jorge Blue, another peak Ninth Layer cultivator, to subdue this rapist would be an even greater disgrace—two elites ganging up on a re Seventh Layer would glorify the motherfucker’s defeat, granting him an honorable death that Rodney’s vengeance could not abide.
Rodney stood torn, pride and vengeance clashing within him as the arena’s shadows lood.
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