The bruised carmine in the sky deepened, casting an eerie glow over the summit. Gongsun Lie stepped onto the ceremonial stones, the polished black flags beneath his boots reflecting the malevolent light. Tang Siyue, spear held at a low guard, moved with him, a lethal shadow. Ahead, hundreds of cultivators in their sect robes stood arrayed in staggered ranks, their faces taut with raw tension. On a raised dais, a line of sect seniors, cloaked in deep violet, observed with predatory gazes. Elder Kuang was not among them. His absence was a screaming void. Before the initial welcoming address could even begin, Lie moved. He didn’t run; he simply *was* there, a blur of motion carving a path through the outermost ranks. His opening hit was a contemptuous backhand, not at a novice, but at the face of a bewildered Outer Court Elder named Xue, who had just begun to drone about the ‘sacred trials’. The sound was a wet clap, too loud in the sudden quiet, and Elder Xue’s head snapped sideways, his body following in a limp, boneless rotation before collapsing. Elder Xue's slack face stared blankly at the sky. A collective gasp rippled through the assembled crowd, quickly followed by outraged shouts. This wasn't just violence; it was blasphemy. No one, not even the most unruly Inner Court prodigy, dared to assault an elder, let alone with such casual brutality. “Insolent whelp!” roared Elder Huan, a gaunt man with a neatly trimmed beard, his hand already on the hilt of his ceremonial sword. “You profane the sacred stones!” Lie merely glanced at him, a flicker of disdain in his eyes. “Sacred? This entire farce stinks of a slaughterhouse. You reek of it too, old man.” Before Elder Huan could even draw his blade, Siyue moved. Her spear, the ‘Coiling Serpent’, flashed, a silver streak that seemed to multiply in the shifting light. It didn’t target Elder Huan, but rather the three fighters who had lunged at Lie, their cultivation flaring. The spear tip dipped, weaved, and then snapped, driving precise, jarring thrusts into each of their solar plexuses. They folded, coughing blood, their Qi pathways convulsing in agony as they crumpled to the pavers. “Clear the path, trash,” Siyue snarled, her voice cutting through the stunned silence. “Or get impaled.” The crowd parted. Not out of respect, but out of sheer terror. Lie and Siyue advanced, a two-person vanguard against an entire academy. Ranks previously confident in their numbers and positions hesitated, then broke apart. Those who still tried to block their path were met with swift, overwhelming force. Lie fought with a raw, almost feral power, his fists impacting with sickening thuds, bones crunching, Qi shields exploding. He rarely bothered with flashy techniques, preferring brutal efficiency, a single blow to disable, or break, or simply remove. Siyue was a whirlwind of controlled chaos, her spear a blur of steel and focused intent, deflecting, parrying, and thrusting with merciless precision, her every movement economical and deadly. They reached the foot of the high peak, where the more powerful Inner Court talents, including several who had scoffed at Lie’s initial display, now stood trembling. One, a hulking brute named Kuan Yu, known for his ‘Mountain Slam’ technique, tried to intercept Lie. “You’ll pay for disrespecting the council!” Kuan Yu roared, his fists glowing with earthen Qi. Lie met his charge head-on, no fancy footwork, no elaborate stance. He simply put his hand out. The 'Heaven-Swallowing Dragon Maw' activated, not in its full, devastating glory, but as a focused, sucking vortex at his palm. Kuan Yu's earthen Qi, meant to crush, instead began to funnel, to drain, to vanish into Lie's hand. Kuan Yu's mouth fell open in horror as his power dwindled, his body weakening. “The disrespect is yours,” Lie said, his voice a low growl, then he completed the technique, wrenching the last of Kuan Yu’s Qi from him, leaving the brute a hollowed-out husk. Lie then tossed the now-limp Kuan Yu aside like a discarded sack of rice. Just as the remaining spectators were about to break and flee, a deep, resonant hum vibrated through the stone floor. The dark carmine sky above seemed to pulse, and the colossal arena floor, meticulously carved from black obsidian, began to crack. Not just hairline fractures, but gaping fissures that snaked outward from the base of the peak like dark lightning bolts. A cacophony of screams erupted as the bedrock buckled. Pillars of stone groaned, statues toppled, and then, with a thunderous roar, the entire Zenith Peak arena *collapsed*. Dust and debris billowed, temporarily obscuring everything. When the air cleared, the survivors and remaining councilmen looked down into a cavernous maw that had opened beneath them. At the very bottom, pulsating with a sickly, iridescent light, was an altar. It was massive, fashioned from some dark, unidentifiable material, crisscrossed with intricate, glowing runes that throbbed like a diseased heart. Tendrils of dark energy snaked from its surface, reaching up into the chasm. “The altar…” Siyue breathed, her face grim. From the edge of the chasm, the remaining corrupted seniors, their faces now contorted with fanaticism, began to chant in a guttural, alien tongue. Their violet robes seemed to darken, to drink the malevolent light. One by one, they produced ceremonial daggers, their blades glinting in the unnatural glow, and without hesitation, they drew them across their own throats. Blood, thick and black, streamed from their wounds, not splashing onto the stone, but arcing directly into the hungry maw of the altar below. As the last Elder fell, their sacrifice complete, the altar flared, pulsing violently. A towering pillar of blood-red light erupted from its core, piercing through the chasm, through the shattered arena, and up into the bruised carmine sky. The light solidified, becoming a tangible, oppressive force that slammed down, pinning Gongsun Lie where he stood. A searing pain flared through his chest as his own accursed blood, the very blood that pulsed with Ao Bantian’s reluctant gift, began to boil. From within the pillar of light, a voice, vast and ancient as a collapsing star, boomed, echoing through the cavernous space, shaking the very foundations of the Tiansha Star Pavilion. “Ah, my perfect vessel. You delivered yourself to my doorstep, little dragon.”

The Grand Zenith Bloodbath