Chapter 8: The Calamity Born of a Boy

The skies above the sect trembled with rage. The ground beneath trembled as well, mirroring the hearts of the cultivators who stood facing a five-year-old boy. That boy, Han Qian, stood expressionless in the center of a battlefield where gods might hesitate to tread.

The Dragon King's voice thundered, "This child must be eradicated! If he walks further, no realm shall remain untouched."

And so, with fury born from fear and arrogance, dragons and sect elders alike launched their mightiest strikes. Searing flames, spatial blades, condensed thunder, ancient talismans—all converged to obliterate the boy who had become a legend before even learning to write his name.

Han Qian raised his head. The ground beneath him hummed as if it too sought to shield the boy. He turned toward Xuanlong and said gently, "Move away. I don't want to hurt you."

Before Xuanlong could speak, Han Qian clenched his tiny fist and slammed it into the ground.

A soundless rupture echoed across the horizon.

BOOM—

The ground didn't merely crack—it was annihilated.

From the epicenter, ten thousand kilometers in every direction, the world was torn apart. Mountains disintegrated. Forests became ash. Rivers evaporated into nothingness. The explosion of raw energy tore through the sky like the roar of a furious god.

Sect members and dragons under Rank 6 were vaporized instantly. Rank 7 cultivators barely clung to life, dragged from the skies as the shockwave overwhelmed their spiritual defenses.

Gasps and screams rang out—some from fear, some from awe.

"He's... a monster."

"We must eradicate him! No matter the cost!"

Their pride wounded, the remaining Rank 9 and 10 elders—the true giants of their realms—launched forward with renewed vengeance.

From the east, the Sect Leader of Sect charged with a burning sword forged from nine phoenix hearts.

From the west, the Dragon King, wreathed in golden flame, clawed through the air with enough force to shred space itself.

This time, Han Qian was caught off guard.

A simultaneous strike from both legends struck him midair.

He flew like a broken arrow, smashing into a sacred mountain behind the sect. The mountain cracked and shattered from the impact, crumbling into clouds of dust.

Xuanlong screamed, but before she could move, Han Qian's small figure emerged again from the rubble—bloody, bruised, but unyielding.

No longer crying. No longer calm.

His crimson eyes glowed brighter than before, and a heavy, suffocating pressure began to pour from his body.

"I won't forgive," Han Qian whispered, walking forward.

He raised one fist.

This time, it was not toward the ground.

It was aimed directly at the Sect Leader.

The punch tore through every formation, every spiritual shield, every years-old protective talisman surrounding the man. It collided with his chest, and the Sect Leader screamed, blood flying from his mouth as he crashed through six mountain peaks behind him.

Coughing blood, he raised his trembling hand. "Ancestor! Help us!"

The heavens grew quiet.

A terrifying aura descended. Time itself seemed to slow as the air thickened, pressing down like a mountain on every soul present.

Then came the voice.

"You shall not exist."

From the depth of the void, a figure cloaked in celestial robes emerged. His presence silenced even the Dragon King.

The Ancestor of the Sect.

A Rank 12 cultivator.

The highest realm in all the lower realms. A being who had once stepped into the true heavens, yet returned to guard his sect inc silence for millennia.

He raised one finger.

The space around Han Qian collapsed. The air turned to blades. The sky darkened with chaotic energy.

Han Qian's breath caught in his chest.

Even he knew—he could not win this. Not yet.

But something stirred deep within him. A force sealed long ago. A memory buried in silence.

His seal cracked.

A single fracture.

But it was enough.

His small body radiated pure chaos. Not energy—**calamity**.

A scream tore from the heavens. The world around him warped, and for a moment, every creature within five realms felt it.

Something had awakened.

The very laws of the world twisted.

The sect's floating islands began to collapse. The surrounding mountains shattered from the pressure. The skies of five nearby realms turned black, storms crackling through them as space itself writhed.

Han Qian gripped his head.

"I can't... stop it..." he whispered.

Xuanlong flew to his side, trying to contain the chaos with her divine dragon aura. But it was like trying to stop a collapsing star with a piece of silk.

The Rank 12 Ancestor stepped back. "What... is he?" he muttered.

The Dragon King's eyes widened. "This child is not a being of balance. He is... a seed of ruin."

Han Qian floated midair now, his body glowing with fractured lines of light. The seal inside him had only cracked slightly, yet its presence was tearing reality apart.

The earth trembled.

The five realms surrounding the lower world began to quake, their skies bleeding streaks of crimson. The cultivators of those realms looked upward, terrified.

"A Calamity is being born," whispered a divine monk in a distant temple.

In the Celestial Mirrors, a forbidden artifact buried in the deepest vault of the Void Heaven Sect, the image of Han Qian appeared.

And the word beneath it changed.

From **Unknown** to **Cataclysm**.

Han Qian's face twisted—not from rage, but from helplessness.

"I didn't want this..." he murmured.

"But I will never forgive those who took her from me."

The Ancestor raised his hand again, but hesitation gleamed in his ancient eyes.

"If I strike again... will it destroy this entire plane?"

Xuanlong whispered, "He can't control it. If you strike, the seal will break completely."

"What do we do?" the Dragon King barked.

"Kill him now, or the upper realms fall next!"

But no one moved.

Even the bravest among them felt it.

This wasn't just a child anymore.

It was a walking apocalypse.

A being whose every heartbeat could topple mountains, whose anger could tear open dimensions.

Han Qian closed his eyes, trembling.

He didn't ask for this.

But now that it had begun, there was no going back.

The world had one breath left before calamity struck.