The sky was split open by the brilliance of a single fruit, blood dripping from it and screams of countless cultivators were echoing through out the heaven and earth, floating effortlessly above the earth. Its light cast shadows over the heavens, eclipsing the very stars themselves. The air trembled with its aura, as if the world had paused in awe. Beneath it stood a blood-soaked figure-a middle-aged man whose laughter rang out with madness and victory. His eyes were fixed on the fruit, a symbol of unimaginable power. With a stretch of his arms, he reached out to claim it as his own.
Around him, massive chains, forged from darkness and despair, trapped countless cultivators. They struggled, but the chains refused to loosen, binding them in place, rendering them powerless. Their attempts to break free were in vain. The blood clothed man, undeterred by their suffering, only laughed harder, the sound chilling the hearts of those around him.
A frail old man stood to one side, his shoulders heavy with the weight of inevitability. A bitter smile curled on his lips as he looked at the unfolding catastrophe. "We failed," he murmured, his voice thick with resignation. "It's over. There's nothing we can do anymore."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and the cultivators surrounding him gritted their teeth, their hearts burning with anger and frustration. But in the midst of this hopelessness, a young voice rang out, filled with fury and defiance.
"Grandfather, are we really going to give up? Are you truly ready to watch him slaughter our world like this?!" The young man's words were laced with desperation, but the old man remained silent. His gaze, lost in thought, remained fixed on the fruit,his eyes filled with a complex mixture of sorrow, regret, and something far darker.
And then it began. One by one, the cultivators wrapped in chains began to wither. Their life force, once vibrant and full of potential, was sucked dry by the chains. Their eyes glazed over in an eerie calm, their bodies falling to dust, consumed by the insatiable hunger of the dark forces at play.
Among them was a young man in blue Taoist robes, struggling against the unrelenting chains that bound him. As his body grew weaker, a voice, deep and filled with sorrow, echoed in his mind.
"Boy, it's too late. There's nothing we can do now." The voice belonged to his master, the one who had taught him everything. "Who would have thought that a world like this would give birth to such a demonic figure? Listen carefully, for I have little time left. I will use the last of my soul power to activate the reincarnation formation. Do not lose in your next life. This is my final gift to you, my disciple."
The young man, Lin Fan, trembled, his heart gripped with panic. "Master! There must be another way! If you use your remaining soul power, you'll die. You'll destroy yourself!" His words were frantic, his eyes pleading, but the silence that followed only deepened his despair. His master's soul was already fading.
Then, an old figure appeared before Lin Fan, his eyes sharp and filled with an eerie calm. He studied the blood-soaked man in the distance, sitting cross-legged, absorbed in the process of merging with the Dao fruit. The old man's voice was low, as if speaking to himself, but it reached Lin Fan's ears clearly.
"He's currently in the process of absorbing the Dao fruit. He cannot move. This is our last chance," the old man stated, his tone resolute.
Before Lin Fan could respond, the old man closed his eyes, sighed deeply, and began to form complex symbols in the air with his fingers. Time seemed to stretch, and then, with a sudden, sinister laugh, he spoke, "Lin Fan, this is the last gift your master can give you."
And then, without waiting for any further response, the old man vanished.
The cultivators, still struggling in their chains, could do nothing but watch in confusion. Suddenly, a river appeared in the vast sky, endless, and filled with an otherworldly light. Two hands, impossibly large and commanding, reached down from the heavens, snatching both the blood-clothed man and Lin Fan from their prison. The scene was over before any of them could comprehend it, and then, in the blink of an eye, both figures disappeared from sight.
The blood-clothed figure felt a violent tug on his consciousness, a sensation so foreign that it sent a shiver down his spine. Before he could react, the darkness consumed him, pulling him into oblivion.
When he awoke, it was to an unfamiliar sense of stillness. His eyes fluttered open, and he found himself in a room, familiar, yet impossibly distant. His body, once ravaged by the chains and his pursuit of the Dao fruit, now lay resting on a bed. Confused, he surveyed his surroundings. The room was his, but something was off. It felt… wrong.
He staggered to his feet, a strange sense of dread washing over him. His hands trembled as he reached for the mirror. The reflection that greeted him was not the hardened face of a battle-worn cultivator, but the youthful face of his childhood.
"This… this is my room, but… this is three thousand years ago. How is this possible?" His voice cracked with disbelief as he gazed at his reflection, his mind unable to comprehend the situation. He had been so close to his goal. He was moments away from merging with the Dao fruit, becoming unstoppable. How had he come back to the past?
This couldn't be a dream. His memories were too clear, too vivid. Every moment of his life had led to this point, yet here he was, inexplicably returned to the past.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, a young man in purple robes opened his eyes, his gaze burning with unrelenting determination. Resentment flashed in his eyes as he stared toward a distant horizon. His hands gripped a glass cup, the crystal creaking under the pressure.
"You will pay for everything you've done," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice filled with venom. "I will make you pay for it all. Wait for me, you demonic bastard."
With a sharp motion, the glass shattered in his hands, the fragments falling like stars into the abyss. The stage was set, and the game was far from over.