"Is it done?" The question fell from the lips of our op protagonist, his gaze fixed on the elderly figure knelt before them.
The old man wore the familiar garb of his village, unchanged outwardly, yet a profound metamorphosis had etched its mark upon him.
It resided in the weariness etched into the lines of his face, but most strikingly, it was in the haunting vacancy that now dwelled within his eyes—a vacancy more pronounced than ever before.
"Yes, master," came the response, lacking in verve or aspiration.
"And how does it sit with you? This culmination of revenge, the lifelong pursuit—is it satisfaction that you feel?" The protagonist's inquiry held a weighty curiosity.
"I feel... hollow. I want the release of death, yet I can no longer have it now. There exists no reason for me to live any longer on this ugly world," the old man's admission carried the rawness of unadorned truth.
"Death has claimed you, old man. Make no mistake. But as my undead slave, you shall endure a monotonous existence in my company," our mc's smile deepened, bearing a trace of darkness.
He comprehended the old man's emotions intimately.
Nero Deathbinder had weathered those sentiments for eras, epochs, and eons, a cunning dark lord driven by an unyielding pursuit of strength, his heart encased in unyielding stone, persisting until the very brink of existence.
"I hear and obey, master," Kaelen intoned, his voice echoing with a hollow compliance that seemed to emanate from a place beyond his own will.
It was as though every fiber of his being was tethered to the mysterious dictates of this man known as Nero.
A transformation had occurred, twisting Kaelen's essence into something unrecognizable—a dark aberration born from the whims of his newfound master.
"Return to your former life. I shall summon you when necessity compels," commanded our op protagonist.
"DING!" The sound reverberated through the air, heralding Kaelen's dissolution into billowing shadows that coiled and dissipated, melding seamlessly into the obscure recesses of the village, unseen and untouched by those who trod its more frequented paths.
As he melded into the obscure corners, Kaelen experienced a surreal disconnect from the world he once knew. His senses seemed heightened, attuned to the whispering secrets hidden within the shadows.
Every unnoticed alleyway, every neglected corner, became a clandestine sanctuary where he could weave through the veils of darkness, an entity unseen and unacknowledged by the villagers bustling about their daily lives.
And yet, an undercurrent of desolation tugged at the edges of his consciousness—a reminder of the life he had lost and the servitude now etched into his very being.
* * *
Verdant Vale City, a bastion of mortal existence, boasted powerhouses that reached only to the pinnacle of the Golden Core Realm.
Despite its mortal limitations, this city held a significant tie to a righteous sect deeply entrenched within the regional fabric.
The nuanced importance of mortal cities extended beyond mere habitation; they were crucibles that occasionally birthed extraordinary talents, cultivating individuals whose potential could rival even the most seasoned cultivators.
And when not birthing prodigies, these cities served as fertile grounds for replenishing the ranks of sects, providing new blood to sustain and fortify their strengths.
In this vein, Verdant Vale City found itself under the protective aegis of the Mystic Lotus Sect.
This venerable order, harkening back to an era a hundred thousand years past, traced its origins to the wisdom and prowess of a Celestial Ascension Realm expert.
The very essence of the Mystic Lotus Sect interwove with the annals of time, an ancient lineage whose roots ran deep, nurturing an unparalleled legacy.
To comprehend the magnitude of an entity that had thrived and exerted its influence for a span as vast as a hundred millennia was a task beyond mortal reckoning.
The Mystic Lotus Sect's dominion draped over Verdant Vale City like an ethereal tapestry, imbued with the wisdom of ages and the strength forged through epochs—an enduring testament to the unwavering might of an institution steeped in the mystical currents of history.
Within the protective embrace of this ancient sect, the city flourished, shielded by the enigmatic power that had persevered through the winds of time.
Therefore, the Mystic Lotus Sect held an unwavering stance against allowing the taint of mass murder to linger within the sacred confines of their realm, for they upheld justice and harmony above all else.
With a resounding "DING!" that echoed through the skies, a monumental flying vessel manifested amidst the vast expanse, drawing the gaze of a populace numbering a million.
The sight of this magnificent airborne craft invoked both fear and reverence among the populace.
Typically, a mystical flying treasure of this caliber graced the skies solely during the sect recruitment event, an occurrence anticipated every five years.
However, this particular manifestation defied the usual patterns, for the populace held a collective awareness of the Mystic Lotus Sect's swift and resolute actions following the grievous tragedy—the murder of ten thousand innocent lives.
High above the city lord's opulent mansion, the colossal vessel cast its imposing shadow, a celestial behemoth adorning the skies with its grandeur.
From within its ethereal embrace emerged two figures, descending gracefully through the air with an effortless poise that bespoke their mastery over the currents of wind and energy.
Their presence alone carried an undeniable weight, a silent proclamation of their affiliation with the illustrious Mystic Lotus Sect.
The duo traversed the heavens with an elegance that seemed inherent, a fluidity in their movements that bespoke years of honed skill and unwavering discipline.
Silhouetted against the backdrop of the hovering vessel, they glided downward, their descent a symphony of controlled grace and harmonious synchrony.
It required no proclamation nor announcement; the sight of these two figures was a testament in itself.
Clad in robes adorned with intricate patterns woven with threads of celestial significance, their bearing exuded an aura of authority and reverence.
The insignia of the Mystic Lotus Sect embroidered upon their attire shimmered with a subdued radiance, a mark that resonated with the profound legacy of the sect they represented.
As they alighted upon the ground with a feather-light touch, the atmosphere seemed to bow in deference to their presence.
Without uttering a single word, their arrival spoke volumes, signifying the commencement of an event that held both anticipation and reverence—the visitation of the Mystic Lotus Sect's emissaries, heralds of justice upon anyone that would dare tarnish the sect's reputation in the area.