But in the moment before his consciousness faded, Hepuyuan still did not give up on his wish. In that final instant, he seemed to see a deity in the heavens above. It was as if the god opened its eyes and witnessed everything on the battlefield.
He so desperately wanted to avenge the fallen yakshas. He so desperately wanted to protect his race, to protect this land. But he could do nothing. He was dying.
Just as Hepuyuan's consciousness vanished and he died, a green light suddenly burst from the body of the kite bird.
The elemental power of the dead.
Though Hepuyuan had died, his wish did not dissipate. Instead, it drove the lingering elemental power to carry on his will.
Nearby, Alatus watched his eldest brother die before him. He was frozen, unable to do anything. He wanted to roar. He wanted to cry out his brother's name. But his entire body was beyond his control. He could not even make a sound.
He could feel his heart pounding violently, blood coursing through his veins. Yet his consciousness grew dim, as if plunging into an abyss. Everything around him blurred. He could no longer see clearly. He could no longer tell reality from illusion.
He imagined that his brother had not died. He imagined that his brother had defeated the god.
Gradually, Alatus fell into a trance, lost in a long, long dream. He dreamed that after Hepuyuan's death, the elemental power within the kite bird's body erupted and transformed into a sharp divine weapon, piercing the god's body and running through one of his arms.
He dreamed that he grasped that green weapon and charged at the god. Like a god of death, he fought the god.
In that moment, Alatus's consciousness was trapped in a dark abyss. He could only watch as if viewing a film—a yaksha identical to himself battling a terrifying god.
It had to be a dream. He could not believe his brother had truly died. He could not believe that his brother had become a green polearm.
Slowly, his consciousness faded further. Darkness consumed everything around him.
The dream ended. His consciousness was swallowed by the night.
...
No one knew how much time had passed since the battle between the kite bird and the god. Days, perhaps months. On that battlefield, the fight between yaksha and god had still not ended.
Because the battle had dragged on so long, other gods and factions had taken notice. But none of them dared to come within a thousand li of that place. Every god, every powerful being, was shocked by the ferocity of the battle.
Scattered bodies lay everywhere. Blood flowed across the land. On the battlefield, drenched in crimson, a towering god dozens of meters high turned his hand to summon clouds, swept his palm to summon rain, shattering the earth. But the god's massive body was covered in horrific wounds. Countless streams of divine blood poured from those wounds, staining the land red.
Only a being as powerful as a god could have done this to a god. Yet when onlookers saw the other combatant, they were stunned.
A short figure. Green hair. A green polearm. At a glance, anyone could tell that this was not a god, but an ordinary yaksha. And yet, this yaksha dared to try to kill a god—and he had actually driven the god into a corner.
But a closer look revealed that the yaksha fighting the god had gone mad. He had lost his mind, fighting purely on instinct. He paid no heed to his own life. Gripping the green polearm, he struck at the god's knee. A single blow left a deep wound in the god's knee.
Yet the maddened yaksha had lost all awareness and did not know how to dodge. His small body took a direct hit from the god. With a crash, he was hurled hundreds of meters away, carving a massive crater into the earth.
An ordinary person—or an ordinary yaksha—would have died from such a blow. But this insane, unconscious yaksha seemed to feel no pain. His body was nearly monstrous. Withstanding such a heavy strike, he did not die. Instinctively, he grabbed the green polearm and crawled out of the crater, resuming his assault on the god.
And so, with no outside interference, a terrifying god and a hate-filled, mad yaksha fought for an eternity.
One of the god's arms was severed. The yaksha's body was drenched in blood. As long as both remained alive, the battle would continue. Blood dried on the ground, then fresh blood flowed again, staining the earth.
Until one day, a young man named Morax arrived on this land with the adepti who had formed contracts with him.
When Morax and the adepti saw the scene before them, they were stunned. They had heard that a god who controlled yakshas had been betrayed by them. They had heard that a few "foolish" yakshas had declared war on their former master. But months had passed, and they had never imagined that battle was still ongoing. The green-haired yaksha was still fighting the god.
Moreover, Morax and the adepti immediately saw that the yaksha had long since lost his mind, fighting purely on instinct. They also noticed that the green polearm in his hand carried the aura of another yaksha. The polearm itself was the body of a yaksha.
What had happened on this battlefield over the past months to lead to such a state?
Seeing this, the yakshas who had formed contracts with Morax broke down.
"Rex Lapis, that god is the enemy of our yaksha race. Please allow us to join the fight!"
Not only the adepti and yakshas, but even Morax, the God of Contracts, was moved by the sight.
He said slowly, "We came here to subdue the gods. It is only fitting that I end this."
With that, Morax raised his hand. A golden star appeared in the distant sky.
Wake of the Earth.