The sky above the Forgotten Lands had been grey for as long as anyone could remember. It was the grey of dead things, the grey of ash and dust and the memory of fire. It was the grey of a world that had given up on colour, that had settled into the dull monochrome of decay.
That sky shattered.
A sound tore through the clouds, a sound that was not thunder but something older and more terrible. It was the cry of a beast that had not been born but made, a creature of lightning and rage that had been bred for one purpose: to kill. The clouds parted, and the creature descended.
It was a lightning roc, a massive bird of prey whose feathers crackled with purple electricity. Its beak was a curved blade of bone, its talons long and sharp enough to pierce steel. Its eyes were pits of white fire, and they were fixed on the white-haired man standing in the centre of the bone field.
On its back, a man sat astride a saddle of black iron. He was tall and broad, with a face that had been carved from granite and a beard that reached down to his chest. He wore armour of gold, polished to a mirror shine, and in his hand, he carried a long war lance that hummed with barely contained power.
This was the Might Star. The tenth of the Heavenly Stars. The one who had been sent to finish what the others had started.
The refugees scattered, pressing themselves against the rocks, their faces pale with terror. They had seen cultivators before. They had seen what cultivators could do. But this was different. This was something that had been sent to destroy them all.
"Gu Yao," the man's voice boomed across the plain, amplified by the power of his lance. "You have killed my brothers. You have humiliated my sect. You have defied the will of the heavens. And now you will pay."
Gu Yao did not move. He stood in the centre of the bone field, his hammer raised, his eyes fixed on the descending figure. The hammer was warm in his hands, warmer than it had ever been, and he could feel something stirring inside it—something that had been waiting for this moment.
"You're the tenth," he said. "The Might Star. They sent you to kill me."
"I was sent to end you," the Might Star said. "The others were tests. I am the executioner."
The lightning roc descended, its massive wings stirring the white dust into swirling clouds. It landed on the plain a hundred yards from Gu Yao, its talons gouging deep furrows in the earth. The Might Star dismounted, his armoured boots crunching against the bone-white ground.
"I've heard of you," Gu Yao said. "You're the one who killed the Spine-Breaker Battalion. You're the one who finished what the others started."
"I am the one who ended them," the Might Star said. "And I will end you."
He lunged. The lance came forward in a straight thrust, aimed at Gu Yao's chest. It was a simple attack, direct and brutal, the kind of attack that did not waste energy on subtlety. It was the attack of a man who knew that he could not be stopped.
Gu Yao did not try to block it. He stepped aside, his stone leg scraping against the ground, and brought the hammer up in a short, brutal arc. The iron head caught the lance's shaft, and the impact sent a shockwave through both their arms.
The Might Star staggered. He had expected the hammer to be heavy, but he had not expected it to be this heavy. He had not expected it to hit like a mountain.
"What are you?" he asked. His voice was tight with strain.
"Just a blacksmith," Gu Yao said. "Just a man with a hammer and a dream."
The Might Star recovered. He lunged again, this time with a series of quick, precise thrusts that were meant to overwhelm Gu Yao's defences. But Gu Yao was not where he was supposed to be. He was not trying to block. He was not trying to dodge. He was trying to get close enough to strike.
Stolen story; please report.
The hammer came up in a horizontal arc, aimed at the Might Star's midsection. The blow connected, and the armoured man staggered back, his face pale, his breath ragged.
"You're not as strong as you think you are," Gu Yao said.
The Might Star's face twisted into a mask of rage. He lunged forward, his lance blazing with golden light, and drove it straight at Gu Yao's heart.
Gu Yao did not move. He stood his ground, his hammer raised, and waited.
The lance struck his chest. The impact was shattering, a blow that should have killed him instantly, that should have pulverised his ribs and pierced his heart. But it did not. The lance stopped, its point resting against the skin of his chest, unable to penetrate.
The Might Star stared, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What are you?"
But Gu Yao was not paying attention. He was looking at the hammer in his hands, watching the way the iron head had begun to glow. It was a deep, dark red, the colour of a dying ember, and it pulsed with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.
The third nail—the Ling-Xu Nail, the lock on his perception—had shattered in the canyon. But there was something else inside him now, something that had been waiting for this moment. He could feel it stirring, rising, demanding to be unleashed.
The dead were still with him. He could feel their presence, their weight, their memory. They were not angry. They were not vengeful. They were simply here, standing beside him in the silent rows, waiting for him to give them a reason to fight.
"Are you ready?" he asked. His voice was low, barely a whisper.
They did not answer. They could not. But he felt their response in the sudden weight of the hammer, in the surge of power that flooded through his body.
The Might Star lunged. The lance came forward in another straight thrust, aimed at Gu Yao's heart.
This time, Gu Yao did not try to block it. He stepped into the attack, letting the lance pass within a finger's width of his body, and brought the hammer up in a short, brutal arc. The blow caught the Might Star in the ribs, and the armoured man staggered back, his face pale, his breath ragged.
"You're not going to win," the Might Star said. "You're broken. You're weak. You're nothing."
"Maybe," Gu Yao said. "But I'm still standing."
He lunged. The hammer came forward in a straight thrust, aimed at the Might Star's chest. The blow connected, and the armoured man was lifted off his feet, thrown backwards by the force of the impact. He landed heavily on the ground, his armour cracked, his body broken.
The Might Star tried to rise. He tried to lift himself to his feet, but his body would not obey. His legs were broken. His ribs were shattered. He had been crushed by the weight of the hammer, the weight of the years, the weight of the dead.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," the Might Star said. His voice was barely a whisper. "It wasn't supposed to end like this."
"It always ends like this," Gu Yao said. "It always ends with someone falling."
He raised the hammer for the final blow, but before he could strike, a light appeared in the sky. It was not the grey light of the dead land. It was white, pure, blinding. It descended from the clouds like a column of fire, and in its centre, a figure stood.
The sky above the Forgotten Lands had been grey for as long as anyone could remember. But when the white light descended, the grey was replaced by something else, something that was not a colour but an absence of colour—the pure, blinding white of divinity.
Gu Yao looked up. He knew this light. He had seen it before, a long time ago, on the Ascension Platform, when the world had been young and he had still believed in the Sects.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
The figure did not answer. It simply stood there, a silhouette against the white light, its face hidden in shadow.
"I don't know why you're here," Gu Yao said. "I don't know what you want. But I know that you're not welcome."
The figure stepped forward, and the white light dimmed slightly, revealing the face beneath. It was an old face, lined and weathered, with eyes that had seen everything and forgotten nothing.
"Gu Yao," the figure said. Its voice was soft, almost gentle. "You have fought long enough. You have suffered long enough. It is time to rest."
"I don't need to rest," Gu Yao said. "I need to fight."
"You are not the only one who has suffered," the figure said. "You are not the only one who has lost. The world has been broken for a long time, and it will not be healed by more violence. It will not be healed by more death."
"Then how will it be healed?" Gu Yao asked. "How will the world be healed if we don't fight?"
"By remembering," the figure said. "By remembering what we were before the Sects, before the cultivation, before the hunger. By remembering the parts of ourselves that we have lost."
"I don't know how to do that," Gu Yao said. "I don't know how to remember who I was before."
"You have already begun," the figure said. "You have remembered the dead. You have remembered the fallen. You have remembered that you are not alone."