The air around the sect was heavy with the smell of scorched stone and broken soil. The war had not yet arrived, but its shadow already stretched across Malakar like a stain that would not wash away. The survivors of the recent chaos were busy at work, hauling debris, repairing walls, and tending to the wounded. Voices carried faintly in the distance, their grunts, orders, cries of exhaustion. Yet through all of it, Kirin ignored them.He sat alone at the highest peak overlooking the sect, his legs crossed, his body perfectly still. His obsidian black hair was loose, whipping slightly against the wind. His eyes were shut, but his focus was not on the noise of rebuilding, nor on the hum of human activity below. Instead, it was inward, deep into the chaos essence that swirled within his veins.For hours, he stayed unmoving. His breathing slowed, steady, disciplined. The qi within his dantian circulated, colliding with the stubborn fragments of chaos essence that refused to blend neatly.

A few days had passed since Kirin's meeting with the men who stood on the clouds and delibated the futures of the cultivators of the Hollow Gate Sect, so naturally they had been sent out in patrol to keep the surroundings areas and villages around the sect safe as well...Trouble was never too far from Kirin.The earth beneath Malakar trembled before the first screams reached his ears. Kirin had been meditating atop a ridge near the forest, the remnants of chaos essence still scorching his veins from the last wave of attacks. He had thought the Hollow Gate’s recovery was fragile, but manageable. Now, the ground itself seemed to shake with an unnatural pulse, thrumming like the heartbeat of something ancient and malicious.He jumped to his feet, chaos energy flaring around him instinctively, brushing the edges of his awareness. The trees shivered violently as if recoiling from an invisible predator. A sharp, metallic scent filled the air, the smell of ozone mixed with something far fou

The night was unusually still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, as if the world itself were listening. Kirin lay on the stone floor of his chamber, eyes closed, muscles tense despite the exhaustion that weighed him down like chains. Sleep, when it came, was not rest. It was a return, a return to a place he never wanted to revisit.The underworld.The prison cell. The chains. The red door.It appeared first as a sensation, a faint tug at the edge of his mind, a whisper that crawled along the spine like smoke. Then the vision sharpened. He was there again, standing in that cell, the iron bars cutting into his palms, the cold stone pressing against his back. The air smelled of sulfur and decay, and the oppressive silence hummed with unspoken malice.And the red door… it pulsed.Not with light, not with warmth, but with a vibration that seemed to shake the very air. It shivered as if aware of his gaze. Chains rattled somewhere deep behind it, echoing through the void. And then he

The valley of Blackwater stretched like a wound across the earth, dark waters reflecting the blood red sky as though the land itself had been torn from the heavens. Smoke rose in ribbons from shattered villages, and the screams of the dying echoed across the mountains. The first wave of the invasion had already left its mark, smoldering ruins, corpses scattered like broken dolls, and rivers of ichor cutting through the soil.Kirin arrived just as the second wave struck. From the jagged cliffs above, he watched the battlefield unfold. Thousands of demons poured into the valley, clawed, winged, and scaled creatures that moved with a predatory coordination unlike anything he had faced before. Their numbers were overwhelming, and Malakar’s armies, though brave and disciplined, were clearly unprepared for the scale of this assault.He did not hesitate.Launching himself down the cliffs, he landed amid the fray with a force that sent soldiers stumbling back. His black blade sang through the

The air smelled of sulfur and smoke, thick enough that it clung to Kirin’s lungs like a living thing. Every breath tasted of ash, every exhale a bitter reminder of the world teetering on the edge of annihilation. The portals were spreading faster than he could count, bleeding through the sky like jagged wounds in the heavens.Reports reached him constantly. One village destroyed, two more overrun, dozens of soldiers lost. Even the armies of Malakar were stretched thin, unable to contain the chaos. Every messenger that stumbled into the sect carried the same terrified message: the cracks were multiplying, and nothing seemed able to hold them back.Kirin moved through the chaos, his boots crunching on scorched earth, his black cloak whipping around him like shadows in motion. Villagers ran past him, screaming, clutching children or whatever possessions they could carry. He guided them through paths that still remained safe, warding off smaller demons that leaped out of portals, tearing