The battles raged across the six floating platforms, sword light and flames tearing through the mist. Cheers, curses, and roars of defiance echoed through the valley, until suddenly—
The altar pulsed.
Not the steady rhythm from before, but a deeper thrum that shook the stone pillars to their roots. The runes flared crimson, then black, their glow twisting unnaturally as though the ancient patterns themselves resisted what they were channeling.
The disciples faltered mid-strike. Even the elders stiffened, brows furrowed.
"What was that?" a disciple of the Mist Valley Sect whispered, clutching his sleeve as though the trembling earth might swallow him whole.
Elder Qin's eyes narrowed. He raised his palm, sending a ripple of spiritual water through the mist to stabilize the platform beneath his sect's disciple. But his voice betrayed unease.
"The altar… it draws more than before."
On the third platform, a spear-wielding prodigy from the Iron Sky Sect suddenly staggered. His aura, bright a moment earlier, flickered like a dying flame. His opponent seized the chance, thrusting forward—
—but the spear genius collapsed before the strike even landed. His skin turned ashen, veins bulging dark beneath the flesh. A strangled gasp escaped his throat as his spirit energy drained away in torrents, sucked into the runes beneath his feet.
Gasps spread like wildfire.
"Impossible!"
"The altar rejected him?"
"No… it devoured him!"
The spear genius fell to his knees, coughing blood that sizzled against the glowing symbols. Before horrified eyes, the altar spat his broken body back, hurling him off the platform like discarded prey.
He landed at the base of the pillars with a sickening thud, unconscious, his core shattered beyond repair.
A hush blanketed the valley.
Even the arrogant flame cultivator who had mocked his rival earlier froze mid-attack, his face pale. The disciples glanced at the elders, seeking answers, but the elders themselves exchanged grim looks.
"This… was never recorded," Elder Huo muttered, fire flickering restlessly around his sleeves. "The altar tests, yes. It rejects, yes. But to cripple a genius outright…"
His voice trailed off, drowned in the silence of dread.
From the back of the crowd, Tianyu's lips curved faintly. His eyes, so calm they might have been carved from obsidian, glimmered with a thin thread of void-light.
So… the beast shows its fangs at last.
Where others saw tragedy, he saw confirmation. The altar was no passive relic of the ancients—it was a maw, feeding quietly, biding its time until hunger outweighed subtlety.
The disciples whispered among themselves, their courage shaken. Some shuffled nervously, clearly reconsidering stepping onto the platforms. Others clenched their teeth, pride and ambition warring against fear.
"Cowards," spat the rogue cultivator who had mocked Tianyu earlier. His eyes darted nervously to the wounded prodigy but his mouth refused to admit fear. "So what if one was devoured? The altar weeds out the weak. That's all."
Tianyu turned his head slightly, studying him. His smile did not reach his eyes.
"Weeds out?" His voice was soft, almost gentle. "Then tell me—when the earth itself swallows mountains, do you still call them weeds?"
The rogue cultivator faltered, words dying in his throat. Something in the plain man's tone felt heavier than any elder's authority.
The altar pulsed again, as if echoing Tianyu's words. A low hum crawled beneath the valley floor, vibrating through every bone, every strand of qi.
Mist thickened unnaturally, not the serene white veil from before but a choking gray fog that seemed to seep into lungs and meridians. Disciples coughed, forcing their spirit energy to resist the invasive chill.
From the first platform, the Azure swordsman wavered. His blade, once sharp as moonlight, trembled in his grip. His opponent, the flame cultivator, paused as well, sweat dripping down his temple. Neither struck. For the first time since the trial began, fear dulled the lust for victory.
Elder Qin raised his voice, trying to break the growing panic.
"Steady yourselves! The altar accepts only those with resolve. Do not falter, or you will invite rejection!"
His words steadied a few hearts, but not all. The injured prodigy's broken form remained as a cruel reminder at the base of the pillars.
The crowd murmured, the air tense with uncertainty. Rivalries forgotten, sect arrogance shaken, they were unified only by a single thought:
The altar was hungry.
Tianyu's gaze drifted from the struggling disciples to the runes crawling across the altar's base. He recognized their flow—not the superficial shapes others saw, but the deeper weave beneath. To mortal eyes, they were lines of light. To his void-born sight, they were chains.
Chains woven not to test, but to bind.
And those chains… mirrored the ones coiled around his very soul.
A flicker passed through his eyes. For an instant, the mask of indifference slipped, and the depthless abyss within him stirred.
So that's it. This altar… is a fragment of the prison itself.
His fingers twitched behind his back, but he forced them still. No one noticed—no one could. Not yet.
Around him, elders debated in hushed tones, disciples whispered in fear, and the altar's glow deepened to a sinister hue.
And Tianyu, unseen at the back of it all, allowed himself a thin smile.
The game has shifted.
The altar's glow no longer shimmered with majestic reverence. It pulsed like a heartbeat, heavy and wet, each thrum sending waves of pressure across the valley. The platforms wavered under that force, their floating forms shuddering as though barely leashed by the runes.
Another disciple faltered. This one from the Crimson Flame Sect, his hands alight with fire arts a moment earlier. His flames sputtered, then snuffed out entirely, like candles drowned beneath a tide.
"No… no!" His scream tore the air as his spirit veins bulged grotesquely. He clawed at his chest, but the altar did not wait for pleas. His qi was ripped from him in a torrent, drawn into the runes that pulsed brighter with each stolen breath.
The platform spat him aside. He landed beside the first victim, body trembling in spasms, core cracked.
Panic surged like wildfire through the crowd.
"They're being drained alive!"
"This isn't a trial—it's a slaughter!"
"Elders, stop it! Stop the altar!"
Elder Huo slammed his palm forward, conjuring a torrent of scarlet flame that roared toward the runes. The fire struck the altar with the force of a mountain collapsing—yet the flames were swallowed whole, absorbed like kindling into a black furnace.
The glow darkened further. The altar fed on the attack.
Elder Qin's face blanched. "No… every strike strengthens it."
The sect elders exchanged grave looks. To retreat now meant admitting helplessness before disciples and rivals alike. To attack meant feeding the very beast they feared.
The disciples still locked in combat stared around in growing terror. Rivalries seemed petty now; their weapons wavered as each realized they were no more than fuel.
From the fifth platform, the Core Formation intruder in the conical hat threw his head back and laughed.
"Ha! Now this is a trial worthy of cultivators. The altar only claims the weak!"
His aura flared like a rising storm, oppressive and bright. He charged at the nearest sect heir, a slender woman of the Mist Valley Pavilion. Their blades collided with a screech of metal, sparks showering.
The altar pulsed again, feeding on their clash.
Tianyu's eyes glimmered faintly. He alone saw the truth buried beneath the surface. The altar did not merely devour random disciples. It was selective, drinking deepest from those who resisted with shallow roots. The Core intruder survived not because of strength, but because his instability resonated perfectly with the altar's hunger. His core was a cracked vessel leaking power—easily drained, easily refilled.
Fitting bait.
And these fools take him for proof of worthiness.
A bitter amusement tugged at Tianyu's lips. He shifted slightly, moving a half-step deeper into the crowd, unnoticed. His presence was so plain, so ordinary, that eyes slid past him as though he were no more than air.
The crowd's panic grew. Some disciples whispered of fleeing the valley entirely. Others looked to their elders, but the elders stood rigid, unwilling to abandon pride before rival sects.
"The altar will settle," Elder Qin declared, voice cold, though even he did not believe his own words. "Continue the trial. Show your resolve."
Resolve? Tianyu thought. No, what you want is submission. And submission is exactly what this altar feeds on.
His gaze lingered on the runes. They twisted faintly, like serpents writhing beneath skin, patterns too old for mortal eyes to comprehend. They were not merely chains; they were mouths. Dozens, hundreds of mouths, drinking greedily from the fools above them.
The same mouths… that once gnawed at him in his prison.
A faint shiver coiled down his spine, though his face betrayed nothing. The altar was not a mere fragment—it was a seed. A splinter of that vast, endless hunger that had once bound him.
The thought ignited a quiet fury deep within him.
He clenched his hands behind his back, nails biting into flesh. A thin drop of blood welled, vanishing instantly into void-light.
If this seed awakens fully, not even these sects' combined force will matter.
The mist thickened, rolling outward from the altar like a tide of ash. Disciples coughed, choking on it, their qi flickering. Some collapsed to their knees.
Yet Tianyu's steps were steady. The mist parted for him, subtle and unseen, as though it feared the void coiled around his soul.
None noticed. None ever did.
Only the altar.
For a single breath, the runes flared brighter when his gaze met theirs, as though recognizing him.
Tianyu's eyes narrowed. His voice was a whisper, meant for no ears but the altar's itself.
"Do you remember me?"
The runes pulsed violently, then dimmed, as though retreating.
The crowd stirred nervously. Elders muttered among themselves, unable to explain the fluctuation. Disciples looked on with wide eyes, their fear mounting.
And Tianyu smiled faintly, the abyss glimmering in his gaze.
Yes. You do.
This was no longer merely a trial of sect heirs. The altar had awoken. And Tianyu, once prisoner, now spectator cloaked in mortal flesh, stood watching.
For the first time in a long age, he felt something close to anticipation.
Let's see how many of you it devours… before you realize you've already lost.