
Thunder roared, shaking the wooden walls of the rickety shack until they groaned loudly. Zarox huddled in the corner of the room, clutching his knees tightly while his face turned deathly pale. All around him, dozens of cheap paper talismans bought from the black market were haphazardly plastered on the walls, the floor, and even the leaking thatched roof. To him, every heartbeat was a countdown to the death he hated with every fiber of his being.
"Don't take me now," Zarox whispered, his teeth chattering, his eyes darting wildly toward a small hole in the roof where raindrops were beginning to leak through. "I don't have life insurance yet, I haven't gotten my immortality pills, and I haven't even had a chance to taste the best fried chicken in this city! Don't die, Zarox! Don't!" The next crack of thunder boomed even louder, as if the heavens wanted to split the earth right over Zarox's head. The young man flinched, his trembling hand reaching for an old stick of incense wrapped in worn silk, the last inheritance from his great-grandfather who was said to be a mad adventurer. Zarox lit the tip of the incense with a flint striker. A plume of thick purple smoke began to rise, swirling into nonsensical patterns in the air. "If there really is a God up there, or some arrogant cultivator who needs a sacrifice to save, come now!" Zarox screamed at the ceiling, his voice hoarse with panic. "I have talent! I have resolve! And most importantly, I have a very high fear of dying! Take me to a place where I can live forever!" Suddenly, the air inside the shack froze. The incense smoke, which had been moving slowly, was suddenly sucked into a single point in the center of the room. The space in front of Zarox seemed to tear open, revealing a blinding golden rift. From that rift, a figure in white robes with a bone-chilling aura stepped out. The man had long silver hair, eyes as sharp as swords, and radiated a spiritual pressure that sent Zarox crashing to the ground, struggling to breathe. "The Sky-Summoning Incense..." the man's voice sounded heavy, echoing throughout the room. "It has been a hundred years since I last smelled this scent. You are the descendant of the man who saved me when I nearly lost my cultivation, are you not?" Zarox looked up, his mouth agape. "Are... are you a God?" The man snorted, his arrogant aura radiating strongly. "I am Master Vaelin of the Heaven's Peak Sect. Stand up, boy. I am bound by an oath to grant one request to that man's descendant. Name it, and I will take you away from this trash heap of a shack." Zarox's eyes sparkled, even though his body was still shaking violently. "Immortality! Teach me how so that I can't die! No poison, no swords, no lightning, no disease! I want to live forever!" Master Vaelin furrowed his brow, staring at Zarox as if the youth had just asked for the moon to fall into his hands. "Immortality is a long path filled with death. But, very well. Stand upon my sword. We depart for the Heaven's Peak Sect now." Vaelin flicked his hand, and a long sword emitting a blue light floated right in front of them, hovering two meters above the muddy floor. Zarox stared at the sword, then looked at the height outside the shack. His legs immediately turned to jelly. "W-what? Get on that? That's too high! What if I fall? What if this sword stalls out in mid-air? What if I have a heart attack because of the thin air up there? I don't want to! I don't want to die a ridiculous death by falling off a floating object!" Master Vaelin looked at him with a flat, cold gaze. "You are such a coward. Just a moment ago you were screaming for eternal life, and now you are afraid of heights?" "That's different! Immortality is the goal, heights are the risk!" Zarox protested, his voice reaching a high pitch. "Can't we just walk? Or maybe take a steel-plated horse carriage?" "There is no time," Vaelin answered shortly. Without further ado, he grabbed Zarox by the collar. "Wait! I haven't locked my shack door yet! I haven't.... Aaaaaaaaah!" Before Zarox could finish his protest, Vaelin had already hoisted him up with one hand. With a swift and rough movement that made Zarox's stomach feel like it was turning inside out, the Master threw Zarox onto his own back. "Be quiet, or I will drop you into a canyon before we arrive," Vaelin threatened. Zarox squeezed Vaelin's neck as tightly as possible, his legs wrapping around the Master's waist like a terrified octopus. "Please hold on tight! If I die, you will carry the sin forever! I swear I will haunt you until you go to your grave if I fall!" Vaelin ignored Zarox's rambling. With one surge of power, he shot into the sky, bursting through the shack's roof which shattered into pieces. Zarox shut his eyes tight, his face buried in the back of Vaelin's robe, while the wind roared loudly in his ears. Nausea and fear mixed together, but behind his terror, there was a glimmer of hope that made his heart beat fast: Immortality. The journey felt like an eternal torture to Zarox. Every time Vaelin maneuvered between clouds or dived to avoid giant spiritual birds, Zarox screamed as loud as he could, causing chaos along their flight path. Finally, after what felt like hundreds of years under high air pressure, Vaelin landed roughly on a giant stone plaza carved with ancient symbols. Zarox slumped to the ground, his face so pale it was almost transparent. He tried to stand, but his legs shook so violently that he fell back to his knees. In front of him, the giant gates of the Heaven's Peak Sect loomed high, made of white jade shrouded in thick spiritual mist. Master Vaelin walked away without looking back, leaving Zarox there. "Wait here. An attendant will come to collect you. Remember, you are a nobody here. Do not cause trouble, or you will die faster than you can imagine." Zarox didn't hear the threat. His eyes were fixed on the magnificent sect gates. He took a deep breath, inhaling the spiritual energy that felt sweet in his lungs. His fear hadn't vanished, if anything, it had doubled because he was now in a far more dangerous place, but he saw something inside those gates. Something shimmering. Something that promised life. "Finally..." Zarox whispered, his hands gripping the ground tightly. "The place where I can learn how to make sure my heart never stops beating." However, just as he tried to stand up, a large shadow suddenly covered his vision. Someone dressed in sect servant attire with a sour face looked down at him, holding a spiritual broom that looked ready to be used as a weapon. "You're the newcomer? The coward Master Vaelin brought in by carrying him like a sack of rice?" the servant spat to the side, his eyes looking at Zarox with disdain. "Follow me. If you slow down for even a single second, you'll be the first person I beat today before you even get to see the inside of the sect." Zarox swallowed hard, his fear surging back to the surface. He hadn't even stepped inside, yet he already felt that his life as an immortal candidate might begin in a very, very painful way.Latest Chapter
Chapter 114: The Debt-Collector’s Appraisal
The shack didn't just rattle; it groaned under the structural strain of an intrusion that violated the basic laws of hospitality. Through the jagged breach in the wall, a figure stepped in, metallic joints hissing with the pressure of a thousand atmospheres. He stood seven feet tall, clad in armor forged from solidified, tax-stamped bronze.He held a clipboard that looked less like a legal document and more like a serrated executioner’s blade."Tenant Zarox," the entity boomed, his voice sounding like two tectonic plates grinding together. "You have defaulted on your 'Archive-Occupancy' agreement. You have removed the property from the Foundation’s jurisdiction, and worse, you have integrated the data into your own physiology. That is a breach of copyright so severe it constitutes a felony against existence itself."Zarox didn’t look up from his desk. He was busy scribbling, his quill dancing with frantic, fluid elegance. "Grog, he’s standing on the welcome mat. Why hasn’t he been inv
Chapter 113: The Custodian of the Unfinished
The room went silent, save for the dry rustle of paper settling in the corners. The child—no older than seven, with eyes that held the terrifying, milky depth of a nebula—didn't blink. He stood in the doorway of the rickety shack, holding a rusted iron key that seemed to pulse with a low, rhythmic gravity.“I don’t delete the future,” Zarox said, his voice measured, the quill resting steady in his hand. “I organize it. There’s a profound difference between archiving and erasure. One is accounting; the other is vandalism.”Grog shifted his bulk, the floorboards groaning under his weight. “Boss, that kid’s leaking static. Look at his boots. They’re leaving temporal burn marks on the floor.”Harken didn't take his eyes off the intruder, his daggers vibrating with a low-frequency hum. “He’s not a tourist, Zarox. He’s an echo of the Sect’s core. Probably the one that was doing the ‘thud-thud-thud’ in your desk.”The boy stepped further into the room, unbothered by Harken’s blades. He looke
The Architect’s Overdue Resignation
The bridge of golden light pulsed with the rhythm of a dying star. Zarox stood frozen, his breath hitching as he stared at his own face—mirrored, yet eroded. The stranger wore the same tattered robes, but where Zarox’s garments were merely frayed, the other man’s were worn to threadbare stubs, as if he had spent a thousand lifetimes walking this exact bridge.“You’re me,” Zarox whispered, his grip tightening on the singed pages of the Unwritten. “Or a particularly elaborate hallucination brought on by metaphysical shock.”The double offered a thin, tired smile that didn't reach his eyes. He held out the pen—a heavy, obsidian thing that seemed to drink the light around it. “I’m the version of you that stopped filing. I’m the version that realized the ‘Indefinite Administrative Review’ was just a fancy way of saying ‘slow-cooked.’”Harken moved, his daggers appearing in his hands with a flick of his wrists, but the double didn't even blink. He didn't even look at the assassin. “Save the
The Architecture of TreasonðŸ
The parchment in Zarox’s hand began to hum, a low, vibrating frequency that set his very marrow to rattling. It wasn't just paper; it was a structural schematic, and it was currently rewriting itself to depict the internal plumbing of the Sect as a digestive tract."Harken," Zarox said, his voice stripped of its usual theatrical veneer. "Drop the shields. Now.""Drop them?" Harken looked at the ceiling, where the shimmering defensive wards were still trying to hold back the encroaching void. "Zarox, the moment those down, the pressure from the Gray Zone will flatten us like a dry leaf. We’re still technically ‘docked’ to a reality that wants us gone.""The building isn't docked," Zarox snapped, his eyes darting across the ink-bleeding schematic. "It’s feeding. Look at the manifest, you idiot. Every time we take a 'tourist's' stardust, the Sect consumes the reality behind it. We aren't a sanctuary. We’re a parasite that’s finally reached maturity."Grog slammed his massive palm onto th
Chapter 110: The Dimensional Purgatory Tour
The transition was not a movement through space; it was a violent shift in the legal definition of existence. As the iris of the Higher Planes’ ceiling retracted, the Sect didn't just hover; it locked into place, clamped down by massive, ethereal pillars of glowing white contract law.Zarox stood at the center of the rotunda, his coat snapping in the sudden, recycled draft of a corporate climate-control system. Below him, the Sect’s floorboards—previously weathered oak—were now polished to a synthetic, soul-numbing sheen."Boss," Grog rumbled, his axe scraping against the new, frictionless floor. "The walls are turning into glass. I can see the accountants. They’re... they’re staring at us like we’re a petri dish.""Ignore them," Zarox ordered, his voice echoing with calculated detachment. He stepped toward the main gate, which had been reframed into a grand, imposing archway labeled 'EXHIBIT A: THE HAZARD.' "If they want to observe, give them a show. Harken, start the automated narra
Chapter 109: The Void-Filing Protocol
The scratching of the quill was the only sound in the library, rhythmic and sharp, like a heartbeat stuttering in a dead room. The desk—the source of the knocking—vibrated against Zarox’s palms, a dull, insistent thud-thud-thud that seemed to be coming from the wood’s own grain."Grog," Zarox said, his eyes never leaving the desk. "Did we pack the heavy-duty ink? The kind that seals against inter-dimensional breaches?"Grog lumbered over, his massive shadow consuming the desk. He gripped his axe, his knuckles straining. "I think the ink-well spilled when we jumped, Boss. It’s leaking into the floorboards. The wood is starting to scream.""It’s not screaming," Harken muttered, sliding from the rafters to the floor with the silence of a falling leaf. He stared at the red-glowing locks on the shelves. "It’s reciting the manifest of the Auditor we just stranded. Those aren't locks, Zarox. Those are inventory tags. The Higher Planes didn't lose the building. They just updated the address."
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