Clash.
Steel rang against steel. Blood sprayed the air like mist in a hurricane. Thunder cracked with every strike of Li Shenhai's blade.
He fought himself—an older, colder version, forged from the worst of his potential. This phantom had no mercy, no hesitation, only the ruthless efficiency of a killer who had let pain become purpose.
They moved across the battlefield of memory. Corpses underfoot, burning homes behind them, screams echoing through the dark. Illusions, yes—but the pain, the fear, the rage—they were all real.
The dark Shenhai lunged, spinning his blade in a downward arc. Shenhai blocked, barely, the impact rattling his bones. The phantom grinned.
"You hesitate. I don't. That's why you lose."
Shenhai grit his teeth, sparks flying as their blades locked. "You're not me."
"No?" the phantom hissed. "I am every moment you dreamed of vengeance. Every time you hated the heavens for taking your family. Every time you wished you could end someone, instead of forgiving them."
The phantom kicked off the lock and vanished into smoke, reappearing above with blade poised like falling lightning.
Shenhai rolled, leapt to his feet, slashed upward—but the phantom caught it mid-air and twisted, dragging Shenhai's blade from his grip.
He hit the ground hard. Blood in his mouth. Wind knocked from his chest.
The phantom stepped forward, dragging the point of his sword across the ground. Sparks trailed behind it.
"You're still a boy pretending to be a storm."
"Then you're just thunder with no rain."
The phantom roared and raised his blade.
And Shenhai closed his eyes.
He reached inward.
Into the pain. Into the memory. Into the storm.
The roar of battle fell away, and in its place came the whisper of wind… the scent of saltwater… the soft voice of his grandmother telling him not to fear the storm, for it was his birthright.
"The blade doesn't make the storm, Shenhai. You do."
His fingers curled into a fist.
His dantian ignited.
Lightning surged through his body.
He rose in one smooth motion, barehanded, and caught the phantom's blade between his palms. Qi exploded in a radiant shockwave that split the phantom in two.
But the phantom didn't fall.
Instead, it spoke one final time.
"You have chosen the harder path. Mercy. Justice. Balance. Know this—someday, it will break you."
Shenhai replied, calm and clear:
"Then I'll break with it. But I will not become you."
The phantom smiled faintly—and dissolved into ash, carried by an unseen wind.
The blood-sea began to recede.
The battlefield faded.
And Shenhai found himself back in the chamber beneath the gate—kneeling before the statue of his father, the Blood Scroll unfurled before him, its energy now quiet and still.
The silver-eyed woman watched from the shadows.
"He chose well," she said to no one. "Let's see if he survives the next."
The blackened heart on the altar beat once more, but now… it echoed louder, deeper, as if something far older was answering the call.