Chapter 23: The Cracks in Illusion
The Illusory Arena pulsed with intangible power—an ever-shifting world of phantom memories, desires, and fears. Though invisible to most eyes, the spirit screens flickering outside the arena offered the audience glimpses of the competitors' silent struggles. Colors bled and danced across the ethereal surfaces, a tapestry of spiritual turbulence and inner war. And amid it all, one screen—the Grand Elder's—remained uniquely distinct, revealing clarity where others showed only chaos.
The Grand Elder sat motionless, his gaze fixed on a single section of the arena where the storm had begun to still.
Li Shen.
---
The world around Li Shen shifted again.
A vision of his old village. Fire. Screams. The heavy tread of armored boots. The oppressive presence of the Heaven Will Judgment Clan.
He stood at the center of the devastation—again. Always again.
But something had changed.
Li Shen narrowed his eyes. The cries of his mother, the pleading of his younger self—they echoed like hollow wind through a cave. Familiar, but not real. He pressed two fingers together. The Blade Intent: Stage 3 surged to life, his very will sharpening into a blade finer than any steel.
"False."
One clean arc of invisible force severed the illusion. The flames dispersed like mist. The screams turned to silence.
The illusion reformed—this time it was his trial within the Asura Tomb, where rivers of blood and mountains of corpses sought to bury him beneath their weight. But again, he stood unmoved. Each figment, each oppressive sensation, cracked under the pressure of his clarity.
He wasn't resisting the illusions anymore. He was cutting them.
The Heaven's Spiral pulsed around him. In the spirit realm, it was as if a section of the Arena had stabilized—no longer shifting or lashing out, but centered, calm, cut free.
The Grand Elder's eyes glinted.
"The first breakout…" he murmured. "And he does not resist. He conquers."
---
All around the Illusory Arena, others contended with their own torments.
Gao Lei (Foundation Establishment 2nd Realm) stood in a realm of endless judgment—his father, his sect elders, his own mirror-self all criticizing, condemning. His Dao Heart, honed through years of unwavering service to the Imperial Sect, flared like an unyielding sun. He passed the first breakout swiftly, face cold, spine straight.
Ling Xia danced through her illusions, her movement serene as flowing water. Where others might have faltered under emotional weight, she dissolved her fears with grace and gentle certainty, stepping past the first illusionary gate with the elegance of a crane crossing mist.
But not all fared so well.
Wei Han screamed. The illusions around him were beasts of rage, memories of his father's downfall, the shame of failure, the mockery of peers. His fists lashed out, raw brute force pounding phantoms into mist—but each strike carried a hint of desperation. He stumbled, roared again, and pushed through. Not with elegance, not with precision, but with violent, relentless will.
Others fell.
A Qi Condensation youth crumpled, convulsing on the physical arena platform outside. Spiritual backlash seized him like a vice. The medics rushed forward. He was disqualified.
In the arena, Xue Jin (Qi9) faced endless hallways filled with locked doors, each leading to a version of himself—cowardly, weak, forgotten. He smiled.
And picked the lock.
With each clever bypass, he rewrote the illusion's rules. Ran Qiu (Qi9) met a forest of doubt and walked with eyes closed, relying on senses deeper than the illusion. Both were still standing by the time the first ripple of stabilization echoed through the arena.
They had earned their place. Dark horses.
--
But for Li Shen, the illusions shifted again. Darker now. Deeper.
He stood at the edge of a crater—a battlefield where demons he had slain rose again, not to fight, but to question.
"You killed us all, and still you are hollow."
"You seek vengeance, but what comes after?"
"What if the Heaven Will Judgment Clan dies and your purpose dies with them?"
He did not swing his blade.
He stood silent, letting the voices crawl around him.
They twisted again.
This time he was in front of a mirror—his face, warped, monstrous. A horned being with burning eyes and a body radiating ancient malice.
The Heaven Asura Destruction Body.
"A curse," the illusion whispered. "A demon's bloodline. Your ancestors were monsters, and you will follow."
"No," he said quietly.
They tried to show him a future. He kills 1,000 demons, but… nothing. No awakening. No power. Just emptiness. Despair.
The illusion screamed: "You are nothing without your vengeance!"
He closed his eyes.
And he saw his master. He saw the nameless blade in the Asura Tomb that had bowed before him. He saw the first time he'd sworn not to be a slave to revenge—but to become worthy of wielding it.
"I am Li Shen," he whispered. "The power in me is mine. I choose what it becomes."
A red glow pulsed from deep within his chest. His Heaven Asura Destruction Body resonated. Not in destruction—but in defiance. The illusions cracked. His Blade Intent surged again, not to cut the illusion, but to reject its authority.
With a single breath, the world around him shattered.
On the Grand Elder's screen, a ripple burst outward from Li Shen's section—jagged lines across the illusion realm, as if the very space had fractured and reformed around him.
"The second breakout…" the Grand Elder said softly. "His will is... terrifying."
---
Now, everything was quiet.
Li Shen stood in a void, with only a slow drip of blood echoing around him. Then, before him, floated a massive stone tally—each etched mark a demon kill.
997.
998.
He stared. With each heartbeat, the tally shifted.
999.
Then the illusions came again—only these were truths twisted.
Visions of him reaching 1,000—only to be consumed by uncontrollable power. Flames engulfed cities. Innocents died by his hand. His eyes—his monstrous form—his soul lost.
"You do not control this power," the illusion whispered. "It controls you. Stop now. One more kill, and you become the devil."
His breath trembled.
Then he laughed.
Quiet. Cold. Free.
"My power is not an accident. It's a blade. What you fear is not me—but the one who refuses to bow."
The tally flashed.
1,000.
And the illusion collapsed.
The void ignited in red-gold light. His spirit screen outside flared blindingly, a blinding brightness that swallowed the surrounding chaos. The audience gasped. Even the Grand Elder sat upright.
The entire arena reverberated.
Li Shen had achieved the third breakout.
---
As if pulled by a force beyond comprehension, the Illusory Arena began to dissolve. Phantasmal structures faded. Lights dimmed. Slowly, one by one, the remaining competitors emerged back onto the physical platform.
Some stumbled. Wei Han collapsed to one knee, breathing ragged. Gao Lei's usually pristine robes were stained with spiritual sweat. Ling Xia's eyes shimmered, as if she had seen something too profound for words.
And then came Li Shen.
He stepped forward—not proud, not triumphant—but grounded. His eyes burned with calm fire, and his presence seemed to still the air around him.
The Grand Elder rose.
"You have all endured the trials of the Heaven's Spiral, and the Arena has judged you. The three breakouts represent not just strength—but spiritual clarity. The ability to wield your power without falling to it."
A golden scroll unfurled behind him.
"The following have passed all three breakouts and are thus qualified as Semi-Finalists."
He read the names:
Li Shen
Gao Lei
Ling Xia
Wei Han
Four remained.
The rest—the fallen, the broken—were quietly escorted away. Some wept. Some stared ahead blankly. The price of failure in the Heaven's Spiral was not death—but the revelation of one's limits.
"For the Semi-Finals," the Grand Elder declared, "no illusions await. No second chances. Only battle."
The air crackled.
"Matchups will be announced tomorrow. For now—rest. Regain yourselves. You have walked through illusion, and emerged unchained."
And as the sun set behind the coliseum, Li Shen stood still, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
Behind his eyes, there were no more phantoms.
Only purpose.