The Great Tragedy

he man now donned in golden armor, radiant with a fierce and terrifying energy, moved like a phantom across the inner sanctum. His steps were silent, his presence overwhelming. Elder Yan and Elder Wei, standing as the final bastion of defense for the shattered Thousand Myriad Pavilions, barely had time to react.

Before either could lift a sword, the golden blur moved with ruthless precision. With a single fluid motion, he severed Elder Yan's hands at the wrists. The elder cried out in agony, blood spurting from the stumps as he staggered backward. But there was no time for him to retreat, for the man had already shifted his attention to Elder Wei.

His hand, cloaked in golden energy, shot through Elder Wei's chest with a sickening crack. His fingers wrapped around the elder's heart, the pulse of life briefly felt between his fingers before he squeezed. The heart exploded in his grasp, sending blood spraying in all directions. The force was so great that Elder Wei's body convulsed, his eyes widening in terror and disbelief.

The man in gold withdrew his hand in a brutal motion, ripping it out through Elder Wei's skull, leaving a gaping hole where his head had been. As Elder Wei's lifeless body slumped to the ground, the man turned to the crippled Elder Yan, who was still writhing in pain. With a cruel smile, he stepped forward and, without hesitation, sliced off Elder Yan's head with a swift, clean strike. The elder's decapitated body fell at his feet, blood pooling around the golden boots of their executioner.

The Sect Leader, Yu Tianlong, watched in horror from his weakened position. His eyes, filled with both disbelief and sorrow, locked onto the man in golden armor. "Why...?" he managed to croak, his voice barely audible.

But before he could say more, the man formed a massive sword of shimmering gold. The blade, as long as a mountain peak, gleamed ominously as he brought it down with deadly precision. Yu Tianlong's body was split cleanly in half, the two halves of his once-mighty form falling apart as the ground shook beneath the devastating force of the blow.

The man, now satisfied with the carnage he had wrought, calmly seated himself on a pile of rubble. His golden armor glowed faintly in the dim light, his cold eyes surveying the destruction around him. With a quiet sigh, he turned to Elder Wu, the traitorous elder who stood nearby, trembling in the wake of the massacre.

"Fetch Yu Feng," the man commanded. His voice was calm, yet it held an edge that made Elder Wu snap to attention.

"As you wish, my lord," Elder Wu replied, bowing deeply before rushing off to obey the order.

The man sat silently for a moment, watching the chaos that had unfolded. His mind drifted, and his lips curled into a bitter smile as he began to recite a poem, his voice soft but filled with emotion:

"Chaos and bloodshed, born from the hands of fate,

The world crumbles, consumed by relentless hate.

Yet within this storm, a father's heart may cry,

To shield his child from harm, beneath a broken sky."

His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, contrasting sharply with the death and destruction surrounding him, he let out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, across the sect, the traitorous disciples continued their rampage. Blood flowed like rivers through the shattered courtyards, and screams of terror echoed through the broken pavilions. The remaining loyalists, unable to withstand the overwhelming power of the traitors, were mercilessly slaughtered.

Among the worst atrocities were the Zhang brothers, the direct disciples of Elder Wu. United in their cruelty, they cornered Lin Caiyun, one of the most promising disciples of the Tianlong Sect. Despite her best efforts, her strength was no match for the combined power of the three brothers. They overpowered her, and after defeating her, they took turns violating her in the most heinous act imaginable. Her screams echoed through the mountains, but no one came to her aid.

Elsewhere, Mei Ling ran for her life. Disciples loyal to Elder Wu chased her relentlessly as she fled towards Xing Wuye's pavilion. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she felt the hopelessness of her situation closing in. She prayed for someone, anyone, to come to her rescue, but her prayers were met with only the jeering laughter of her pursuers. They caught her before she could reach safety and, in an act of utter degradation, they began to defile her.

Broken and despondent, Mei Ling's spirit shattered. She felt tainted by their vile actions, her purity stolen. In the midst of the atrocity, she made a final, heartbreaking decision. Summoning the last shred of her strength, she bit down on her own tongue, severing it and ending her life. The blood filled her mouth, and she died silently, her soul departing in sorrow.

At that same moment, inside the pavilion, Xing Wuye came to his senses. The Akashic Record had guided him, allowing him to break through to the Qi Condensation stage. He had glimpsed his Dao, and it was one of joy, but there was a subtle undercurrent of misery. He could not explain it, but something felt wrong.

Looking around, he noticed the interior of his pavilion had cracks in its walls, and the faint echoes of chaos from the outside world began to filter in. His heart sank as a sense of dread overcame him. Without a second thought, he dashed out of the pavilion, his feet moving with a speed fueled by both anxiety and instinct.

What he saw when he stepped outside brought him to a halt.

The sect was in ruins. The five great peaks had been reduced to rubble, the once majestic Thousand Myriad Pavilions lay shattered and broken. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the destruction. And then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed something. Four disciples were gathered around a silhouette—an unsightly act unfolding in the midst of the devastation.

Xing Wuye's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the silhouette. It was Mei Ling.

For what felt like an eternity, he stood there, frozen in disbelief. His mind refused to process the horror before him. But then, rage, sorrow, and despair all hit him at once. With a primal scream of anguish, he dashed forward, decapitating the four disciples with swift, merciless strikes. His cultivation far outstripped theirs, and they fell before him like paper dolls, their lives extinguished in an instant.

He knelt beside Mei Ling's lifeless body, cradling her in his arms. His tears fell onto her pale face as he screamed in pain. His nails dug into the dirt, his heart shattered beyond repair. He was too late. Too late to protect her. Too late to save her.

"Why… why…" he cried, his voice breaking as he scratched at the ground in sorrow, his sobs echoing through the empty, ruined sect.

In the distance, Elder Wu returned, dragging Yu Feng along with him. The man in golden armor barely spared him a glance before raising his hand. With a simple flick of his fingers, Elder Wu's head exploded like a watermelon, spraying blood and brain matter across the rubble.

Yu Feng stood before the man, his face a mask of stoic silence. Though his heart burned with fury and grief, he knew better than to speak. The man's overwhelming power was beyond anything he had ever encountered.

The man regarded Yu Feng with cold, calculating eyes. "This," he said, gesturing to the carnage around them, "is what happens when someone offends me. If not for my daughter pleading on your behalf, I would have ripped out your tendons and drunk your blood."

Yu Feng said nothing, but inwardly, his heart ached. The sect he had been raised in, the one he was destined to lead after Yu Tianlong, was gone. His people, his friends, all destroyed. And he could do nothing but watch.

The man grabbed Yu Feng by the arm and, with a swift motion, lifted him into the sky. As they ascended, the man unleashed a devastating Qi beam into the ruins below, reducing what remained of the sect to dust. Then, without another word, he flew away, leaving nothing but silence and death in his wake.

Zhao Jian, who had already been separated from Lin Caiyun, was caught off guard by the sheer force of the shockwave. The defensive technique he had erected, a sword formation that swirled around him like a cyclone, buckled under the immense pressure of the blast. He gritted his teeth as the energy pierced through his defenses, and his body was hurled backward, crashing into a jagged rock face.

Blood trickled from his mouth as his vision blurred. His internal organs screamed in pain, and he struggled to breathe. But even through the agony, he knew he had no time to stop and heal. Gasping, he pushed himself off the ground and leaned against his sword for support, his entire body shaking.

Lin Caiyun, still reeling from the horrors she had faced, was at the mercy of the Zhang brothers when the shockwave struck. The force of the attack sent them all tumbling across the blood-soaked ground. The blast shattered the area around them, throwing debris and shards of stone into the air. The Zhang brothers, momentarily distracted by the energy explosion, scrambled to shield themselves, giving Lin Caiyun a brief opening.

Bruised and battered, she crawled away, her mind racing with the instinct to survive. Her breath was shallow, her body aching from the abuse and the force of the shockwave. She didn't care how weak she appeared anymore; she just needed to live.

Her fingers dug into the soil as she tried to pull herself to safety. But despite everything—the pain, the humiliation—Lin Caiyun's spirit remained unbroken. She whispered through cracked lips, "This... won't be the end." Her face twisted in determination, even as the memory of this day would haunt her forever.

Li Zhang, already a shadow of his former self with one hand lost, was among the closest to the epicenter of the shockwave. The moment the energy struck, he felt as though his remaining arm was about to be ripped from its socket. His body buckled under the pressure, and he was forced to the ground.

Gritting his teeth, Li Zhang used what little strength he had left to summon his Qi in defense. His one remaining hand glowed faintly as he channeled every ounce of his cultivation to create a barrier. The ground beneath him cracked, and blood poured from his nose and mouth, but he refused to give in to death. His mind was clouded with thoughts of vengeance, pain, and despair.

He had lost everything already—his hand, his dignity—and now, it seemed, the sect itself was crumbling. He gasped for breath, pulling himself upright. "This can't be the end," he muttered bitterly. But even as he spoke, he knew that from this moment on, nothing would be the same again.

Wang He had been engaged in battle when the shockwave struck, and unlike the others, he was prepared. As soon as he sensed the incoming attack, he unleashed a protective Qi shield around himself. The shield shimmered like a transparent dome, absorbing most of the energy from the blast, but the force still sent him skidding across the ground.

His head rang from the impact, and his Qi was depleted far more than he anticipated. Despite surviving, his body was riddled with injuries, and he coughed up blood as he knelt on the ground. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to center himself amidst the chaos.

Zhang Rui was farther away when the attack hit, but the shockwave still reached him. His spear trembled in his hand as the ground beneath him shattered like glass. He spun his spear in an attempt to deflect the incoming energy, but it was a futile effort. The force sent him flying through the air, his body colliding with the remains of a pavilion.

Blood leaked from his lips as he crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. His vision blurred as he fought to remain conscious. He knew many of his fellow disciples wouldn't survive the attack, and the weight of that knowledge pressed heavily on his heart.

Bai Feng, The Raging Dragon, was one of the few who managed to withstand the initial force of the shockwave with relative stability. His natural resilience allowed him to anchor himself into the ground using his Qi, but even he could feel the overwhelming power threatening to tear him apart. His spear cracked in his grip, splintering as it absorbed the brunt of the attack, but it held long enough for him to survive.

His muscles burned, and his body was covered in lacerations from the debris flying around him. But he stood firm, eyes blazing with fury. 

Liu Cheng, having fought tooth and nail to stay alive throughout the battle, had barely survived the shockwave. His body was nearly crushed under the weight of the energy, and it was only by sheer willpower that he managed to avoid being reduced to ash like many others. He crawled from the wreckage, his hands shaking as he surveyed the desolate scene around him.

"This... is hell," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the strain of surviving. His body ached, his mind was shattered, but he was alive. "How did it come to this?"

As the dust began to settle, the survivors of the sect, those who had been hardened by battle, stood amidst the rubble. Their eyes, filled with a mixture of grief, rage, and disbelief, looked out at the once-great sect that was now reduced to ruins. The massacre, the betrayal, the devastation—all of it would come to be known as The Great Tragedy. Where heroes died and devils where born.