The survivors of the Azure Sky Sect battalion—barely a hundred now—tightened their formation as the figure on the altar rose. His wings unfurled, casting jagged shadows across the ruined temple. His eyes gleamed with molten gold and crimson, reflecting every trembling breath of those who stood before him.
Elder Jian Mu stepped forward, forcing steel into his voice.
"Form ranks! We strike together. Remember the sect's honor—"
A voice cut him off. Deep. Cold. Amused.
"Honor?" Aezrael's laughter slithered like smoke through their ears. "Your honor has already been swallowed by these ruins. You walk on the bones of the forgotten, yet still pretend to matter."
The scythe appeared in his grip as if born from shadow. Its edge hummed with a hunger that the ruins themselves seemed to echo. He did not attack. Instead, he stepped down from the altar with deliberate slowness, each taloned footstep echoing like a drumbeat of doom.
The battalion braced. But nothing came.
Then—screams.
One of the rear disciples suddenly convulsed. His body twisted, blood leaking from his eyes, before his head was severed by a phantom slash that no one saw. His corpse hit the floor, but his shadow remained, writhing like it still lived.
"Stay together!" Lei Guang bellowed, spinning with his flaming halberd. "It's an illusion—!"
But it wasn't. Another disciple vanished mid-step, dragged screaming into the ground by shadows that gnashed like teeth. Only his severed arm remained.
Aezrael tilted his head, smiling faintly as panic spread.
"Run. Hide. Struggle. I want to hear the music of your despair."
He disappeared.
The battlefield erupted into chaos. Elders shouted orders, but the formation crumbled as disciples began vanishing one by one. Sometimes it was a scythe slicing through the dark, sometimes a hand dragging them into cracks in the stone. The ruins and Aezrael worked in unison, turning the hunt into a grotesque theater.
An elder, Qi Monarch realm, finally caught sight of him.
"There! Behind—!"
The words ended in a choke as his throat opened under a whispering blade. Aezrael didn't kill him instantly—he let the elder stagger, clutching his neck, until the man's eyes glazed over.
One down. Too many to go.
The battalion tried to rally, casting brilliant techniques. Flames, lightning, sword-light—blasting shadows apart. But Aezrael emerged from within their own ranks, talons piercing spines, scythe cleaving through multiple bodies in one stroke.
And still, he disappeared before a counterattack could land.
Every death was drawn out. Every scream echoed.
By the time the slaughter slowed, only three dozen remained, huddled together in the center of the ruin, faces pale and eyes bloodshot. Their robes dripped with the blood of their comrades. They were no longer soldiers of the Azure Sky Sect—they were prey, herded into a corner.
Aezrael landed before them, wings stretching wide. His shadow engulfed theirs completely.
"Now… tell me. Who shall sing last?"
He raised his scythe, and the massacre began anew.
Hours passed.
The ruins that had once been silent, ancient, and forgotten were now drowned in rivers of blood. The once-proud battalion of the Azure Sky Sect, their elites, their hand-picked force of elders and disciples, were no more. Their bodies lay broken, scattered, drained into the altar's veins.
All but one.
A single young disciple, barely older than twenty, staggered backward through the carnage. His blade was broken, his robes torn, his face pale as ash. He tripped over corpses, scrambling desperately away as Aezrael stalked toward him.
The boy fell to his knees, trembling, tears streaming.
"P-please… don't… don't kill me… I—I don't want to die…"
Aezrael's scythe hovered above his head, dripping crimson. For a long moment, silence reigned. The boy sobbed, waiting for the final blow.
Then the blade lowered.
Aezrael leaned close, whispering into his ear, his voice like ice.
"Live. Carry my name back to your sect. Tell them what you saw here. Tell them what comes for them."
The boy's eyes widened, terror drowning every thought. He nodded frantically, bowing again and again before stumbling away, tripping over corpses as he fled. His screams of madness echoed until they faded into the distance.
Aezrael stood among the dead, the lone sovereign of this blood-soaked ground.
Then, in the silence, the voice of the System descended.
> [Sign-In Complete: The Bloodied Grounds]
Reward: "Blood-Feeding Scythe" Evolution Unlocked.
Your weapon shall drink blood to grow stronger. Its hunger shall mirror yours.
Aezrael's scythe pulsed in his hand, alive, trembling with desire. Veins of red light crawled along its edge, and a low hum like a heartbeat echoed from the weapon itself. It yearned, it throbbed, it whispered for more.
But it was not yet complete.
> [Note: Evolution in Progress. Estimated completion: 1 Month.]
[During this time, the Scythe will slumber, feeding silently on the remnants of the Bloodied Grounds.]
Aezrael gazed at his weapon, then at the carnage around him. Corpses lay piled, blood still streaming into the cracks of the altar, seeping into the earth. The ruins had been remade into something new—a place that would forever reek of death, fear, and him.
He lifted the scythe, holding it aloft.
"Drink. Grow. We have only begun."
The weapon pulsed again, as if in answer.
For one month, he would remain here, letting the scythe feast, letting its transformation finish. For one month, the Bloodied Grounds would echo with whispers, shadows, and the restless dead.
And when the month ended… the Azure Sky Sect would know despair unlike anything they had imagined.