Ashes To The Peak

The Heavenly Judgement Summit had never been so crowded, not once since the very day of its foundation.

Thousands upon thousands of disciples filled the ascending stone terraces, packed shoulder to shoulder like a endless sea of silent, eager spectators.

Below them lay the vast, ominous drop of the precipice, while above and along the razor-sharp edges of the summit, dark, swirling clouds churned endlessly.

Every few moments, sheet lightning crackled across the purple-tinged sky, sending low, thunderous reverberations through the stone below.

It was as though the heavens themselves had descended, brooding and watchful, to witness the spectacle of absolute doom.

Even the surrounding mountain peaks, jagged fingers of rock piercing through the sea of mist, were crowded to capacity. Cultivators from distant regions had arrived days in advance, enduring freezing winds and treacherous ascents, utterly unwilling to miss a single moment of this historic moment.

High above the execution platform, magnificent flying ships, adorned with gilded crests and glowing arrays, floated motionlessly among the heavy clouds.

Within their opulent cabins and open decks sat distinguished guests from clans, powerful rival sects, and esteemed families.

From these soaring vessels, thousands of cold, indifferent gazes fell upon the central platform below, viewing the tragedy as nothing more than grand entertainment.

For the Heavenly Ember Sect, today was far more than a mere day of execution. It was a cold, ironclad declaration to the entire world that no one was above the sect's unyielding laws, not even their brightest genius.

It was a public cleansing, a violent spectacle designed to wash away any lingering stains that threatened to tarnish their glorious prestige.

Then... the silence was shattered.

The heavy thrum of war drums echoed across the expanse of the summit, instantly silencing the restless murmurings of the crowd.

Boom!!! Boom!!! Boom!!!

The Nine Rend-Heaven War Drums of the Heavenly Ember Sect sounded in rhythmic, bone-rattling unison. Their heavy beats vibrated across the vast mountain range, striking into the very chest cavity of every person present.

Even the cultivators on the distant peaks, who had been conversing in hushed tones, were instantly paralyzed by the oppressive aura of the drums, their gazes violently drawn toward the central summit.

The sky itself seemed to recoil; dark clouds trembled violently at the sound, and thousands of startled birds burst from the darkened canopy, scattering into the stormy heavens in frantic clouds of feathers.

Slowly, the enormous bronze gates at the northern edge of the summit began to part. The agonizing screech of metal grinding against metal reverberated over the mountain, followed immediately by the harsh, rhythmic scraping of heavy iron chains against raw stone.

At that exact moment, all noise ceased. The sea of people held their breath.

The condemned had arrived.

A lone young man in torn, tattered robes stepped barefoot onto the cold, black stone. Heavy, black-iron chains bound his bloodied wrists, his ankles, and his neck, their massive links dragging across the floor with a terrifying, rhythmic clatter.

Behind him walked two imposing execution officers, their hands resting ominously on the hilts of their sheathed blades, eyes fixed on his back.

With every single step the young man took, dark crimson blood dripped onto the stone, leaving a trail of suffering behind him.

His once-pristine, white robes, a symbol of his supreme status, were now shredded and stained deep red with dried and fresh gore alike.

Long, matted black hair fell forward, concealing much of his sunken face, yet even under the crushing weight of the iron and the shame, nothing could extinguish the quiet, unyielding dignity in his posture.

He was utterly battered. It was terrifyingly evident that he had been subjected to brutal, unrelenting torture over many days; in several places across his shoulders and torso, raw, mangled flesh hung loosely from his broken frame.

As he dragged his broken body forward, a wave of revulsion swept through the crowd.

Thousands upon thousands of watching disciples began spitting violently onto the stone where they stood or sat, their faces twisted in absolute disgust.

Then, a tide of venomous murmurs erupted across the terraces.

"That is him... the one who was said to be favored by the heavens themselves."

"The Holy Son of the Heavenly Ember Sect!"

"I can't believe he really cultivated a demonic art... no wonder he was vastly stronger than even his peers."

"They say he drained over a dozen of his junior sisters after inviting them into his chambers under the guise of guidance."

"My cousin served under him, and he told me a lot of things about him! Who could have ever thought he was such a monster?"

"It is said he slaughtered an entire village of innocents in the west without blinking an eye!"

"It suits him to be in that pathetic state! He deserves it... he deserves far worse!"

Yet, among the tens of thousands of screaming, hateful faces, one disciple stood motionless in the crowd.

Lowering his head in deep sorrow, a single tear escaped his eye and rained down his cheek. He gripped his robes tightly, muttering beneath his heavy, trembling breath, "No... that's... that's not true..."

Unhearing, the young man continued forward until he reached the center of the execution platform.

Surrounding the central altar were nine massive stone statues, coiling several heights into the air. At their peaks, carved dragon heads gaped wide, their gaping jaws spouting thick, black-iron chains that trailed down to the platform floor.

The guards seized the chains bound to the young man's body and attached them directly to the heavy links hanging from the dragon statues.

Scrap!!!!!!

With a terrifying, wrench, the statues activated.

The chains snapped taut, violently hoisting the former Holy Son off his feet.

He was suspended high in the air for all to see.

The iron collar around his neck was expertly measured, not tight enough to strangle or suffocate him, but firm enough to hold his weight suspended above the black stone.

As he hung helpless in the sky, blood began to drip continuously from his head, trickling down his pale face, trailing down his torn robes to his bare toes, and splashing rhythmically onto the platform below.

A flash of bright, golden light illuminated the elevated balcony above.

The Sect Master arrived, taking his throne upon the highest dais. Beside him sat the grand elders, the venerable judges, the Execution Elder, and numerous other powerful figures of the Heavenly Ember Sect.

At that moment, the suspended young man slowly lifted his heavy, blood-soaked head.

His hollow, bloodshot gaze swept across the elevated platform, meeting the eyes of the very people he had once trusted implicitly, the people he would have willingly laid down his life to protect.

His desperate eyes drifted from his Master to his senior brother, then to his junior brothers, his beautiful fiancée, and his closest aides and friends.

Yet, not a single one of them met his gaze. One by one, they turned their eyes away, their expressions hardened into icy walls of absolute disdain and cold indifference.

Without wasting a single moment, the Execution Elder stepped forward, his voice infused with powerful energy that echoed across the vast mountains like thunder.

"Holy Son Belmoth Cross... No, former Holy Son Belmoth Cross!" the elder bellowed.

"You have been found guilty of the following heinous crimes: treason against the Heavenly Ember Sect; secret cultivation of vile demonic arts, thus colluding with those of the demonic path; murdering fellow disciples and the innocent people of several peaceful villages; draining the sacred essence of your junior sisters; and the theft of sacred archives of this sect to deliver them into the hands of demonic fiends!"

At the hearing of his name and the monstrous lies, fresh tears welled in Belmoth's bloodshot eyes, rolling down his bruised face and mixing with the crimson trails on his skin.

The crowd below erupted into a frenzy.

They howled with rage, spitting, cursing, and throwing whatever rocks or objects they could pry from the ground toward the suspended figure, their voices merging into a deafening roar of hatred.

High above the ground, Belmoth’s cracked, bloody lips parted slightly. A whisper escaped his throat, so soft it was not even audible to those standing just feet away.

"Have... have any of you... ever asked for the truth?"

The Execution Elder paid his silent whisper no mind.

Instead, he turned his head slightly toward the elevated dais, looking to the Sect Master to see if the leader wished to utter any final words before the sentence was carried out.

The Sect Master did not even look up from his teacup. His voice was cold, laced with utter disgust.

"I don't have a single word to spare for that filth who stained the proud reputation of my sect after everything we did for him. Go ahead with it already, for even staring at his face is an eyesore."

"So be it," the Execution Elder declared.

Rising into the air, the elder hovered a few meters away from the suspended Belmoth, his dark robes fluttering in the rising wind.

"And for all your unforgivable crimes," the elder called out to the heavens, his voice ringing with absolute finality, "you will not merely die. Your soul will never receive any peace, for you shall perish by the Nine Heavenly Karma Flames until nothing of your body or spirit remains!"

More tears rained down Belmoth's face.

With the last remnants of his fading strength, he raised his head slightly higher, locking his gaze upon his senior and junior brothers.

His senior brother’s face remained stone-cold and unreadable, while his junior brothers wore triumphant, mocking smirks.

Beside them, his fiancée stared at him with unbridled disdain, while his former Master refused to spare him even a passing glance.

The Execution Elder raised his right hand high into the air.

Below, the two guards who had escorted Belmoth stepped toward the bases of the giant dragon statues. They thrust their arms deep into the control mechanisms carved into the stone.

ROAR!

The statues seemed to awaken, emitting a deep, terrifying rumble as the heavy chains snapped brutally tight, locking Belmoth into a star-shaped posture in mid-air.

In the very next instant, from the gaping maws of the nine dragon statues, silhouettes of ethereal, crimson fire crawled forth.

The flames rushed down the iron links, turning the heavy chains white-hot and deep crimson in a fraction of a second.

The moment the crimson flames made contact with Belmoth's skin, his flesh began to scorch and pop violently.

A blood-curdling scream of agony torn from Belmoth’s throat echoed across the entire mountain range.

The chains began to move as one with the fiery silhouettes, coiling and writhing around his suspended body like living snakes.

His tattered robes instantly scorched, ignited, and turned to ash. Everything began to burn.

Silhouettes of flaming, ethereal dragons danced wildly around the summit, illuminating the dark sky in horrific shades of violent red. Screams of unbearable torment echoed continuously through the heavens as his flesh, bone, and meridians burned away.

Above, the dark clouds roared with violent thunder, matching the horrific agony below. The crowd below erupted into fanatical joy and roaring curses, cheering at the gruesome sight. Because of the cruel nature of the Nine Heavenly Karma Flames, his mind was forcibly locked in absolute awareness; he was never allowed to pass out from the agony, nor was his soul permitted to die quickly.

He was forced to feel every excruciating second of his flesh burning, his bones splintering, and his soul dissolving, experiencing the full severity of the torture until the very last moment, until nothing of Belmoth Cross remained in the world.