FlameWitch

He was once the Martial God of Ten Thousand Realms, a legend who shattered heavens with a single strike. But betrayal sealed his divine soul into the frail body of Lin Feng—a scorned, beaten son-in-law of a crumbling clan. Mocked as trash, humiliated by his wife’s family, and cast aside like a broken tool, he endured it all with a smile. Why? Because beneath his ragged exterior burns the heart of a god, waiting to unleash chaos on a world that forgot his name.

Divorced and discarded, Lin Feng walks away from the Lin Clan’s sneers, his steps leading him to the downtrodden Ye Clan—a family of outcasts clinging to survival. They see a wanderer. He sees a canvas. With cunning sharper than any blade and secrets deeper than the abyss, he begins to mold them in the shadows, turning weaklings into warriors, paupers into kings. Every insult fuels his resolve. Every enemy becomes a stepping stone.

But the seal on his power is cracking. Ancient foes sense the tremor of a god’s return. Arrogant young masters, ruthless sects, and even the heavens themselves will tremble when the Shadow Patriarch rises. From a forgotten village to the celestial thrones, Lin Feng—Zhan Tian—will carve his name in blood and fire, proving one truth: those who scorned him will kneel, and those who dared to challenge him will break.

Cultivation? Unmatched. Revenge? Ruthless. Destiny? His to rewrite. The world thought it buried a nobody. It awoke a nightmare.

The Unseen Sovereign: From Trash to Triumph

<p>The Ye Clan estate quaked beneath a twilight sky rent by obsidian jaggedness and fractured fury, the air thick with a grating snap that shattered the fading calm of the Still Eternity's retreat. The courtyard bristled with tension, the fire flickering low as Ye Hua gripped a patched cloak, her gray eyes wide with dread at the rift where a figure in obsidian jaggedness emerged, its qi a boundless edge of infinite power casting waves of discord that cracked the earth into jagged scars. Ye Qing braced his spear at the gate, his grizzled face taut with strain, his voice a rough shout as he waved Ye Jun and Ye Mei behind the barricade, their small forms trembling under the obsidian glare. Ye Chen crouched by the western wall, his ward-stone gripped tight, his twisted leg steady as the ground shuddered with a force of relentless fracture. Ye Ling prowled the gatehouse, her dagger a restless glint, her braid lashing with each fierce step, her breath quick with defiance and unease.</p>

The Fracture’s Edge