Chapter 9: The Wrath of the False Buddha

Zhi Long, weary and shamed, returned to the grand hall of the False Buddha. The room was adorned with opulence: gold-plated statues of divine beings, tapestries of silk that depicted tales of grandeur, and incense burning in bronze censers that filled the air with a heavy, suffocating scent. The hall, with its towering pillars and grandiose design, was a mockery of the true teachings of the Buddha. It was less a place of enlightenment and more a shrine to greed and arrogance.

Seated upon an elevated throne, surrounded by guards and sycophants, was the False Buddha—a corpulent figure draped in robes of shimmering gold, his face round and flushed from indulgence. His eyes, small and cunning, gleamed with a constant hunger that went beyond mere gluttony. The guards flanked him like statues, and the mages and warriors stood in silent ranks, each aware of the unpredictable wrath of their leader.

Zhi Long bowed before the throne, his face a mixture of shame and defiance. The False Buddha's eyes narrowed as he stared at his subordinate. "You return, and yet the boy who dares defy me still draws breath," the False Buddha said, his voice thick and disdainful.

Zhi Long met his gaze. "Surya is no ordinary foe. His power is like nothing I have ever encountered. He wields his tongue as sharply as a blade and matches his words with a strength that defies reason. To call him merely a trickster would be to underestimate a force that—"

The False Buddha's face twisted in fury, and he slammed his fist down on the armrest of his throne, sending a jolt through the room. "Are you comparing me, the one destined to surpass Samsara, to a mere child with a sharp tongue and parlor tricks?"

Zhi Long hesitated, but his pride and respect for strength compelled him to speak the truth. "I am merely warning that Surya is—"

"Enough!" roared the False Buddha, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "You dare to elevate this boy above me in my own court?"

With a swift gesture, the False Buddha raised his chubby hand, and a sickly, golden aura enveloped Zhi Long. In an instant, Zhi Long felt his power drain away as if his very soul were being ripped from his body. The magic that once flowed through his veins like a river of thunder was now a dry, empty chasm. Zhi Long collapsed to his knees, gasping as his connection to the elements was severed.

The other mages and warriors looked on in silent terror, their eyes wide with fear. The False Buddha's power was absolute, and his wrath was swift and merciless. He would brook no dissent, no hint of challenge to his self-imposed divinity.

"You are nothing without me," the False Buddha sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Never forget your place, Zhi Long. You serve my vision, not your own ego."

Zhi Long, weakened and humiliated, bowed his head. He could no longer feel the comforting hum of thunder beneath his fingertips. He was now a shadow of his former self, reduced to a mere shell by the man he had once served so faithfully.

The False Buddha leaned back, his rage simmering beneath a mask of forced calm. "Remember, all of you," he said, addressing the room with a sweeping gesture. "Our goal is to surpass Samsara itself. To transcend the endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth that binds lesser souls."

Samsara—the eternal wheel of existence, the cycle that all living beings were bound to, driven by karma and rebirth. To break free from it was to achieve Nirvana, the ultimate liberation, a state of true enlightenment and peace. But the False Buddha's vision of transcendence was not one of wisdom or compassion. It was one of domination, a twisted ambition fueled by his own delusions of grandeur.

He continued, his voice low and menacing, "We will make the Sacred Land bow to my will. I will be the one to break the chains of Samsara and ascend to Nirvana, not through enlightenment but through power. And any who oppose me will be crushed."

As he spoke, the False Buddha's mind wandered to the dark deal he had struck. An unknown entity had approached him in his moments of greed, offering him power beyond mortal comprehension, a promise to elevate him above all others. It was this pact that had given him his abilities, the might to deceive and subjugate, and the audacity to claim the title of Buddha without any true understanding of what it meant.

He glanced around the room, his eyes flickering with the fire of his arrogance. To him, the mages, the warriors, and the countless souls under his rule were nothing but pawns in his grand design. His delusions of greatness knew no bounds, and his every action was fueled by the belief that he was destined for something far beyond the reach of mortal men.

"Surya will be dealt with," the False Buddha said, his voice dripping with disdain. "I will not tolerate any threats to my divine ascension. He is but another obstacle in my path—a path that leads to me surpassing the very gods themselves."

His laughter filled the hall, a sound as empty and hollow as the man himself. Those who heard it shivered, for they knew that the False Buddha's ambition was matched only by his ruthlessness. In his quest to surpass Samsara, there would be no room for compassion, wisdom, or truth—only the relentless pursuit of power.

And Surya, with his sharp tongue and unyielding spirit, had unknowingly set himself against the darkest force the Sacred Land had ever seen.