The sky split open.
Xu Zian stood beneath a ruined sky, knees in the dirt, blood in his mouth, and betrayal carved into his bones. His robes, once white like clouds, were soaked red and black. The Azure Heaven Sect's banners still flapped overhead, but they no longer belonged to him. He had been cast out, branded a heretic, for refusing to kill an innocent child to complete the Divine Ascension Ritual.
He spat to the side—dirt, blood, and disappointment.
"You should've killed them all, you know," a voice said, smooth and clear, echoing in his head.
Xu Zian didn't flinch.
The voice wasn't new. It had been there since the ritual—since the moment he defied the Sect Master and saw his brothers-in-arms draw their blades without hesitation. The voice was like smoke curling behind his eyes, like fire resting beneath his skin.
"You're early," Zian murmured aloud.
The wind howled in response, but the voice inside chuckled. "No, you're late. You've been swallowing lies for too long."
Xu Zian closed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"A better question," the voice said with amusement, "is what part of you am I? I am every time you bit your tongue. Every time you bowed to a hypocrite. Every time you forgave a knife in the back. I am the part of you that said—enough."
A gust of wind scattered the petals from the Sect's courtyard plum trees, and Zian's spiritual sea cracked open. In that vast inner world of his soul, a figure appeared.
Golden eyes. Dark robes laced with ember threads. Calm, noble. Dangerous.
The figure smiled.
"I am Yan Luo," it said. "Your inner demon. And your only true friend."
Zian should've resisted. Any righteous cultivator would have. But he didn't. He met the figure's gaze without fear.
"I'm done being a puppet."
A sudden, violent pulse rippled through his meridians as Yan Luo stepped forward in the soul space, placing a single hand against his chest.
Then came pain. Then power. The two became one.
The heavens screamed.
From the clouds above, golden lightning surged downward—Heaven's judgment. A Heavenly Tribulation meant to obliterate those who dared break fate.
Xu Zian raised his arms, and for the first time, he didn't pray. He didn't plead. He smiled.
"Let it come," he whispered. "Let me burn."
The lightning struck. The mountain shattered. The heavens dimmed.
And when the smoke cleared, Xu Zian was still standing—black flames swirling at his feet, golden lightning dancing in his eyes. Behind him, the symbols of the Azure Heaven Sect lay in ashes.
He had been reborn.
Not as a hero.
Not as a demon.
But something else entirely.