Chapter 97: The Cliff of Regrets

The Blood Moon rose like a scar across the heavens, staining the night sky in shades of crimson and ashen gold. Clouds parted at its ascent, retreating like frightened beasts. In the heart of the Obsidian Peak, deep within the forbidden grove shrouded by illusion, Han Long stood still.

His breath was slow. Deliberate. Controlled.

The five rings lay before him in a star-shaped formation, each pulsing with their elemental essence: Fire flickering like a sun beneath skin, Water rippling as if alive, Earth grounding the air around it with invisible weight, Wind humming, and Lightning crackling in defiant arcs. Above, the sky throbbed with supernatural tension, the fabric of reality trembling in rhythm with Han's Qi.

The convergence was ready.

Han Long… was opening a portal.

Han raised his hands, drawing the convergence symbol in the air. The rings levitated, forming a rotating sphere of five-colored light above his head. Each one flared in harmony with the others, their resonance echoing like chimes from the depths of the earth.

"Demonic Qi, converge."

The air warped.

A thunderous pulse shook the grove as a rift split open before him—black at its core, ringed in violent red light. The portal to the Void Realm had awakened, its mouth wide, hungry, alive.

Han stepped forward, his face grim, eyes unblinking.

He did not hesitate.

He entered.

The Void Realm struck his senses all at once—colors that had no name, sounds that echoed without source, gravity that shifted with thought. The sky was a shattered tapestry of twilight and starlight, with pieces of moons and dying suns flickering in and out of existence.

Floating landmasses drifted like forgotten islands across the void. Some were lush with impossibly twisted flora, others barren and cracked, bleeding slow rivers of glowing silver ichor. Lightning forked sideways through translucent clouds, and winds whispered secrets in ancient tongues.

The ground beneath Han's feet reformed with every step—obsidian turning to crystal, then to ash, then to blood-hued stone. It was a realm without rules, a canvas of chaos woven by forgotten wills.

And then he saw it—imposing and terrible.

The Cliff of Regrets.

It rose like a black obelisk from the fractured bedrock of the Void Realm, its face carved in flawless vertical lines.

Smooth as obsidian glass, the cliff reflected the light of the fractured sky in ripples of red and silver. Massive sigils, each the size of a palace gate, were embedded in its surface—wards of ancient design that pulsed with divine restraint. The air near it vibrated with power so dense, it seemed to weigh on the soul.

The cliff was both monument and warning. Its base extended into an abyss that had no bottom, and its summit vanished into the haze of an endless void storm. Countless steps spiraled up the sides like veins of iron, leading to the sacred crucible where the worst fate imaginable had been sealed.

And chained to its jagged heart was a god-shaped curse.

The Blood Demon.

He was bound by six great chains of radiant gold, each wrapped in scripture of the divine. They stretched from his limbs, wings, and throat, driven deep into the cliff itself. The very rock around the chains cracked and bled with the effort of holding him.

The demon's body was colossal—twice the height of any man, yet every inch of him suggested compressed power. His skin was deep crimson, marbled with veins of black fire. Across his back, shattered wings of bone and molten shadow flared and twitched, restrained by ethereal barbs of light.

His armor looked forged from war itself—blackened plate bearing marks of destruction. His face, however, was what disturbed Han most: impossibly elegant, twisted by fury and defiance.

The Blood Demon smiled.

"At last…" His voice was thunder in silk, a deep resonance that passed through bone and soul. "I have waited a long time for this moment."

Han's feet slowed, but he didn't falter.

"You're the one calling me."

"I am your inheritance. Your future. Your truth." The demon raised his bound arms, the chains straining. "I am what you were meant to find."

"Why are you chained here?"

The Blood Demon laughed—a sound like rusted bells and crumbling towers. "Because they feared me. Because I devoured the laws they cherished, I am their reckoning."

Han's gaze moved to the chains. They pulsed with power, runes dancing with divine Qi.

"And you want me to free you."

"Yes," the Blood Demon said, with no deception in his tone. "Break these chains. Crush the bindings. Do what no other dared, and become what fate never meant to allow."

Han stepped forward. His eyes were unreadable.

He reached the first chain. It glowed brighter, resonating with his presence.

"You hesitate," the demon said, his voice softer now. "Why?"

Han's hand hovered above the chain, the runes swirling with light and song.

"Because power that begs to be taken," Han replied, "is never freely given."

The Blood Demon chuckled, deep and approving. "Clever. You've survived what would have broken most."

Han narrowed his eyes. "You manipulated me."

"Not manipulated," the demon corrected. "Guided, I have merely given you an opportunity."

He gestured with his chin toward the chains. "Break them, and I will show you why they feared me. Why they shall fear you."

Han's hand moved closer. The air thickened.

The Blood Demon's voice dipped into seduction. "Break these cursed chains."

Han closed his eyes.

A whisper of wind stirred the cliff edge.

Time stood still.

His hand inched forward—