The dark, swirling vortex of the Supreme Merge System finally dissipated, leaving a chilling silence in the grand bedchamber.
The Phantom Ash Scorpion sat motionless on the obsidian altar, its newly formed dual stingers dripping with a corrosive, shadowy venom that hissed as it touched the stone.
Sunny stood over the altar, his face a perfect mask of aristocratic cruelty. His glowing crimson eyes stared unblinking at the monstrous creation.
Dark, oppressive energy continued to roll off his shoulders in thick waves.
Inwardly, Sunny was screaming.
'My head... my head feels like it just got trampled by a herd of stampeding rhinos! The metaphysical strain of forcing two living creatures to fuse into a higher-tier entity had nearly drained his soul dry...' His vision was swimming with black spots.
He desperately wanted to collapse onto the massive, silk-draped bed and sleep for three days straight. The system was a miracle, but it was apparently fueled by his own spiritual stamina.
He slowly shifted his gaze to Disciple Zhao, who was kneeling on the cold floor a few paces away.
Zhao was not simply afraid; he was experiencing the kind of mortal dread that precedes a brutal, agonizing execution.
Sweat poured down the disciple's pale face, pooling on the floor beneath him. His entire body vibrated with terror.
He kept his forehead pressed firmly against the stone tiles, convinced that if he made eye contact with the Young Master, his soul would be ripped from his body and fed to that horrifying new scorpion.
Sunny wanted to tell him to get up. He wanted to say, Hey man, it's cool, I'm just a tired accountant trapped in a villain's body, please just go fetch me a glass of water.
Instead, knowing his innately villainous voice would only make things worse, Sunny decided to keep his mouth completely shut.
"..."
The absolute, unbroken silence stretched on. To Sunny, it was a moment of necessary rest as he tried to keep himself from passing out.
To Zhao, the silence was a psychological torture device. The disciple's mind raced with horrifying scenarios.
Finally, Sunny managed to force his trembling hand to point toward a heavy iron cage situated in the darkest corner of the bedchamber.
Inside the cage sat the original body owner's other miserable secret: a starving, wretched Shadow-Ghoul Ape.
It was a skeletal, monkey-like fiend that survived by consuming the marrow of Yin-aspected corpses.
Sunny pointed at a burlap sack of crushed, bloody bone fragments resting near the cage, then pointed at Zhao.
"Feed," Sunny commanded, his voice a flat, freezing whisper.
"Y-Yes! At once, Young Master!" Zhao scrambled on his hands and knees, scrambling toward the sack of bloody bones like a desperate dog.
Zhao frantically scooped up handfuls of the jagged, frost-covered Yin-bones and shoved them through the iron bars.
The Shadow-Ghoul Ape shrieked, its jaw unhinging as it began to crunch loudly on the fragments.
Dark, necrotic mist leaked from the ape's empty eye sockets as it ate, and shards of rotting bone tumbled from its sloppy mouth, staining the expensive demonic-silk rugs.
Sunny frowned. He hated messes. His modern sensibilities detested a dirty floor.
He slowly raised a pale, long-fingered hand and pointed at a deep, bronze blood-basin resting on a nearby ritual pedestal.
"..." Sunny just stared at the basin, then at Zhao.
Zhao gasped, his heart nearly stopping. The message was clear to the terrified disciple. If you let another drop of filth touch my floor, your blood will fill that basin next.
Whimpering softly, Zhao grabbed the heavy bronze basin and crawled directly under the iron cage.
He held the heavy metal bowl awkwardly beneath the ape's dripping maw, catching every single shard of bone and drop of necrotic saliva. His arms shook violently from the weight, but he did not dare let a single speck fall.
Sunny observed this, nodded once in inward satisfaction at having solved the cleaning issue, and slowly turned around. His vision finally went completely black.
He stiffly walked to the edge of the massive obsidian bed, sat down, and immediately lost consciousness.
From Zhao's perspective, the Young Master had simply assumed a meditative posture of absolute, unbothered dominance. Even in sleep, Sunny's villainous aura pulsed darkly into the room.
The Phantom Ash Scorpion scuttled over to the edge of the bed, its ruby eyes locking onto Zhao.
The Shadow-Ghoul Ape paused its chewing, its necrotic gaze also fixing on the kneeling disciple.
Zhao remained trapped in that agonizing position all night, holding the heavy bronze basin until his muscles tore and his hands bled, too terrified to even draw a loud breath while the demonic master slumbered.
Miles beneath the luxurious inner courtyards, deep within the subterranean Blood Bone Hall, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
The chamber was lit only by the eerie green glow of soul-fires. Grand Elder Shen He sat upon a throne carved from a single behemoth's skull. He glared down at the emissary standing before him.
The emissary wore the crimson robes of the Demonic Sect Alliance.
"The mandate is absolute, Elder Shen," the emissary stated coldly, presenting a scroll sealed with dark spiritual energy.
"The Orthodox Sects have launched a crusade across the River of Styx. They are slaughtering our outer branches. The Alliance High Council has decreed the immediate initiation of the Blood Slaughter Trials."
Elder Shen He ground his teeth, the sound echoing loudly in the cavernous hall. The Blood Slaughter Trials were a brutal meat grinder designed to force the younger generation of cultivators into lethal combat, weeding out the weak and rapidly accelerating the growth of the strong through mass bloodshed.
"The Heavenly Demon Sect has always protected its core disciples until they reach the Spirit Core realm," Elder Shen He argued fiercely.
"You are asking us to throw our foundation into the fire! Are the decision-makers on the Council trying to eradicate our future?!"
"The future is built on corpses, Elder," the emissary replied sharply. "There will be no exceptions. All young masters, all legacy disciples, and all inner sect members must enter the Trials. They will be transported to the frontlines. The weak will feed the beasts of the strong. If your sect fails to provide its youth, the Alliance will turn its arrays upon your mountain."
Elder Shen He fell silent, his face aging decades in a single moment. He knew the harsh truth of the cultivation world. The demonic path was unforgiving. If their enemies did not kill them, their allies surely would.
"The survival of our sect is at stake," Elder Shen He finally muttered,
"Fine. But I will not send them blindly. I will inform the instructors in the Martial Pavilion to unlock the forbidden armories. If the youths must kill, they will be armed with our darkest arts."
The emissary smiled cruelly. "Excellent. May the most wicked survive."
As the emissary turned to leave, Elder Shen He thought of the terrifying report he had received earlier that evening regarding Sunny Shen.
If the rumors of the Young Master's sudden, monstrous awakening were true, the boy might actually survive the impending slaughter.
The next morning, the sky above the Heavenly Demon Sect was choked with a thick, blood-red smog.
Sunny walked slowly along the obsidian pathways toward the Outer Martial Pavilion. His entire body ached.
The mental exhaustion of using the fusion system had left him feeling hollow, and a dull, throbbing headache pulsed behind his eyes.
He just wanted to find the sect's dining hall and eat a bowl of plain rice.
However, as he entered the grand courtyard of the Martial Pavilion, the usual chaotic noise of thousands of disciples practicing dark arts instantly vanished.
A deathly silence slammed down over the courtyard.
Thousands of heads snapped toward him. The crowds of young cultivators, usually arrogant and bloodthirsty, practically threw themselves out of his way, parting like the sea to leave a massive, empty path for him.
They lowered their heads, trembling.
Sunny kept his face completely blank. 'Why is everyone staring at me? Did I put my robes on backward? My head hurts too much to deal with this.'
He continued walking in silence...
"Did you hear...?" a disciple whispered from the safety of the back rows, his voice quivering.
"Hear what?" another muttered back, eyes locked on Sunny's terrifying silhouette.
"Disciple Zhao was found in the Young Master's chambers this morning... his arms were entirely paralyzed. He said the Young Master performed the Forbidden Ascension Ritual. Without an array! Without spirit stones! He instantly forced a trash-tier insect to Ascend into a Tier 3 Phantom Beast through sheer tyrannical willpower!"
"Impossible..."
"Zhao swears his soul on it! He said the Young Master's dark aura is so profound that even looking at him invites madness. He said the Young Master is a hidden Grandmaster of the Flesh-Mending Arts! The Sect Master must have been hiding his true power all these years to unleash him upon the Orthodox Sects!"
Sunny caught fragments of the terrified whispers. He maintained his cold, measured pace, but internally, he let out a long sigh.
'A Grandmaster of Flesh-Mending Arts?! I literally just pushed a button on a floating blue screen. These cultists have wild imaginations...'
He reached the front of the pavilion and stopped, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, simply trying to rest his aching brain while he waited for whatever morning gathering this was to conclude.
To the thousands of trembling disciples watching him, the Young Master had just assumed the stance of a supreme predator, closing his eyes because the entire pavilion was beneath his notice.