Demas_Richardson

Beneath a crimson moon’s silent glow,
A river murmurs secrets long ago.
A boy with sword and scroll in hand,
Born to walk a shadowed land.

Fate’s threads unravel, tight and thin—
Will he break free, or be drawn in?
From whispered legends, storms will rise,
An empire’s fall beneath dark skies.

Step softly now, the tale begins—
Where broken swords cut deepest sins.

Li Shenhai and the Eternal Empire

The skies above the Wailing Stone Plateau were torn apart by thunder.

Lightning danced like serpents across blackened clouds, striking the earth in blinding bursts. Winds screamed through the shattered peaks, bending ancient trees like saplings. Amid the chaos stood a man, alone—robes tattered, blood staining his blade and brow.

Li Zhen, the Stormblade, stood at the eye of the maelstrom.

Before him surged an army—disciples of the Crimson Moon Sect, numbering in the thousands, their eyes glowing with the madness of blood-pacts and forbidden cultivation. They marched like a tide of shadow and flame, their war cries shaking the heavens.

Behind Li Zhen lay the broken remnants of the Heaven-Piercing Alliance, his allies slaughtered, the few survivors fleeing into the mountains with what little strength remained.

At his side, his blade—Wuji, the Endless Storm—whispered to the clouds. With every breath, thunder gathered at its edge.

"Come then!" Li Zhen roared, his voice like a crack of thunder. "Let the heavens bear witness! I'll carve your heresy into the stone with steel and storm!"

A wall of fire surged ahead of them—searing waves conjured by elder cultivators whose blood arts twisted the sky red. But before it could touch him, Li Zhen raised his sword and struck the sky.

Not from the heavens—but from his blade.

The bolt cleaved the firestorm in half, incinerating the front ranks in a burst of white-blue fury. Smoke and scorched ash rained across the plateau. Still, they came—fifty, then a hundred at once.

He became wind incarnate, flashing through the crowd like a tempest with form. For every stroke of his blade, five men fell. His qi exploded in crackling arcs that tore the ground apart. Each time he touched down, stone crumbled underfoot.

Five Grandmasters descended from the sky, robes flowing, hands swirling with crimson seals that pulsed like bleeding suns.

"Li Zhen!" one called. "Surrender the scroll and your bloodline. You cannot stand alone against the Crimson Moon!"

Li Zhen wiped blood from his eyes, smiling like a man who had long since accepted death.

"You're right," he said. "I'm not alone."

He raised his hand—and thunder answered.

The sky split open, and from the clouds descended a dragon of lightning, coiled around his body like a guardian of old. His blade glowed with searing blue light, and his dantian burned like a second sun.

"I carry the hopes of the fallen. The voice of the storm. And the will of the heavens."

The final clash shook the mountain range.

Blade met blood arts, lightning met flame. Qi storms spiraled outwards, tearing peaks from the earth. The five elders struck together, but Li Zhen matched them blow for blow. He danced with death, sword arcs leaving trails of lightning across the battlefield.

Finally, with a roar that cracked the sky, Li Zhen drove Wuji into the ground. A thunderclap erupted that leveled the plateau. Everything within three li was obliterated.

When the dust settled, only Li Zhen remained standing—barely.

His robes were torn, his body broken. Wuji had shattered into a rusted hilt and a shard of steel. But he still breathed. And in his hands, he held a sealed scroll, glowing with a fading crimson light—the heart of the Crimson Moon's secret art, torn from their grasp.

He turned, retreating into the mists.

Behind him, the mountain crumbled. The Crimson Moon Sect was shattered—but not destroyed.

And in the silence that followed, the heavens wept rain over the grave of legends.

Chapter 12 – The Storm that Split Heaven