Bai Chen lay sprawled on the blood-soaked floor of the clan hall, veins faintly glowing with dying gold. Around him, elders were nothing more than cooling corpses, and his once-proud brother was now a twitching husk—blind, toothless, broken.
His breath rattled, then stilled. The human body finally gave up.
Darkness.
Then—light.
When Bai Chen opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the ruined hall. His bare feet touched clouds glowing like molten silver. Stars circled him like loyal servants. His body was different now—not weak flesh, but his true form: tall, radiant, majestic, runes spiraling endlessly across his skin. The Heavenly Dao body.
He flexed his fingers. The air bent. Planets trembled. He cracked his neck and smiled faintly.
"Ah… finally. Feels good to stretch."
A cold, familiar voice rang out:
// SYSTEM PRESENCE: GREAT HEAVENLY DAO INTERFACE //
"Host, your human vessel is unconscious. It is healing itself. Estimated recovery: three days. Until then, you remain here."
Bai Chen stretched like a cat on vacation. "So basically… three days of free time?"
"Affirmative. You may use this interval for meditation, cultivation, or karmic review."
He blinked, then grinned. "Or… I could watch something."
The stars flickered, utterly baffled. "…Clarify, host?"
Bai Chen laughed, loud enough to shake constellations. "Show me a movie. Demon Slayer. The Moonlight arc."
The system paused, ancient and unyielding. Then: "Processing… accessing mortal entertainment… loading simulation."
The clouds twisted into a mountain-sized screen. Color exploded. Sound thundered. Demon Slayer began.
A golden throne popped up behind him. He sat lazily, grabbed a drink forged from starlight, and sipped like a drunken emperor. "Perfect. Demon slayers, moon demons… almost feels like home."
"Warning," the system chimed flatly. "Mortal narratives are inefficient for cultivation purposes."
"Shut up," Bai Chen smirked. "Even Heaven deserves a break."
The stars twinkled awkwardly, embarrassed to be dragged into this foolishness. Bai Chen chuckled and glued his eyes to the screen.
Somewhere below, his human body bled quietly.
Meanwhile—
The clan hall was silent. The only sound: torches crackling over rivers of blood.
From the shadows, a boy stepped forward. Black hair. Cold eyes. Bai Chen's son.
He had hidden the whole time, cloaked in a concealment technique taught by the immortal spirit inside his ring. He had seen everything—elders dying, his uncle crippled, his father collapsing.
The boy's shoes splashed in blood as he walked. His gaze finally landed on his uncle: a ruined shell, blind, toothless, trembling.
He knelt. His voice was calm. Too calm for a child.
"You died early, kid. If I were normal, I'd be scared right now. Traumatized."
His lips curled faintly. "But I'm not normal. I am Heaven Destroyer. Three-thousand and forty-five years old."
Torchlight danced on his black hair as he sighed—not pity, just weary decision.
"Sad. But mercy is still mercy."
A faint glow. One strike. The uncle's body slumped, soul freed. Silence claimed the hall again.
The boy turned to his father. Pale. Blood-soaked. But alive.
He pressed his ear to Bai Chen's chest. A heartbeat. Faint. But steady.
A smile cracked his cold face. Quick, small, fragile. "Good. You didn't leave me, Dad."
He tried to lift him. Bai Chen was heavy—a grown man of twenty-five. The boy grunted.
"Tsk. Old man, why do you eat so much meat? You're heavy as a mountain."
Step by step, wobbling like a drunk porter, he dragged his unconscious father through the corpses. The dead seemed to bow in silence as he passed.
Finally, he reached their room and dumped Bai Chen on the bed with a thud. He collapsed onto the floor, panting. Sweat drenched his forehead.
"Carried a white-haired giant with black-haired muscles. I deserve a medal."
He sat beside the bed, watching Bai Chen breathe. For a moment, the Heaven Destroyer wasn't a cold immortal. Just a son guarding his only family.
"Kid."
The voice came from the ring. Deep. Heavy. The old immortal spirit stirred.
"That father of yours is not simple. Even I… cannot see through him. His aura—too strong. Too vast. He shakes me."
Xuan Chen's eyes never left Bai Chen. His voice was calm. "We'll ask later. Right now, there's something more important."
The immortal's phantom appeared—handsome old man, neat black beard, eyes sharp as an eagle. He stared at Bai Chen, then at the boy.
"All the elders are dead. The hall is painted in blood. When word spreads, they'll say your father is a demonic cultivator. The clan will riot. Outsiders will circle."
Xuan Chen rubbed his forehead like an annoyed bureaucrat. "I was about to say that myself, old man. Don't steal my lines."
The immortal chuckled. "You've got a tongue sharp as a blade."
The boy stood. His aura leaked faintly, the weight of centuries hidden in a teenage frame. His lips curved into a cold smile.
"Let me handle it. Same as my immortal faction days. Fear, order… and a little blood."
The immortal clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes. Stabilize the clan now, and the future is yours."
The two shared no more words. The plan had already begun.
And while Bai Chen snored peacefully, watching anime in the Heavenly Realm…
…his son was preparing to play politics with knives and corpses.