Cheon Meng stumbled into his cottage, the day's exhaustion weighing heavily on his small frame. The wind howled outside, carrying the chill of the approaching storm, but all he could think of was the sweet relief of sleep.
His body felt light, almost as if the wind itself was guiding him through the door, his eyes barely open as he fell onto his makeshift bed. The moment his head hit the thin, lumpy pillow, he was out, his mind slipping into the deep embrace of sleep.
For a time, his sleep was peaceful, a much-needed respite from the world that had offered him so little comfort. In his dreams, he wandered through fields of golden light, the sun warm on his skin, and the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.
It was a place of serenity, where his troubles melted away, and he was free to simply exist. But such peace was not to last.
As the night deepened, the storm outside grew fiercer. Rain pounded against the roof of the cottage, the wind shrieking through the trees as if warning of the darkness that was to come.
And then, as if summoned by the storm itself, three shadowy figures emerged from the forest, their presence as ominous as the thunder that rumbled in the distance.
These three men, cloaked in darkness and malice, approached Cheon Meng's humble home with sneers on their faces. The rain soaked through their clothes, but they paid it no mind, their eyes fixed on the dilapidated cottage that stood before them.
This was the home of Cheon Meng, the son of the Heavenly Demon... a boy once thought to be destined for greatness, now reduced to a pathetic existence on the fringes of the sect.
"Look at this place," one of the men scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain.
He was a subordinate of one of the sect's elders, a man who had long harbored contempt for the boy who had squandered his potential.
"The so-called profoundly talented son of the Heavenly Demon… living in a shack like this. What a disgrace."
Another man, equally cruel, chuckled darkly.
"More like a piece of trash that needs to be taken out. The elders were right... he's nothing but a waste of space. It's time someone did something about it."
The third figure, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. He was taller, with an air of authority that the other two lacked. His eyes, cold and calculating, surveyed the cottage with a look of disgust.
This was no ordinary subordinate, this was Cheon Meng's own half-brother, Cheon Ryun, a man driven by ambition and a burning desire to claim the title of Heavenly Demon for himself.
Cheon Ryun had never seen Cheon Meng as anything other than an obstacle, a pebble in his path to power. From the moment they were born, their fates had been intertwined, but where Cheon Meng had rejected the path of power, Cheon Ryun had embraced it with a fervor that bordered on obsession.
He had trained tirelessly, honing his skills and aligning himself with the elders who shared his ruthless vision. And now, with the elders' support, he was ready to remove the last obstacle in his way, his own brother.
"Let's make this quick," Cheon Ryun said coldly, his voice barely audible over the din of the storm.
"He's not worth the time it takes to end him."
The two subordinates nodded in agreement, their hands already reaching for their weapons. They entered the cottage with practiced ease, the door creaking open as they stepped inside. The room was dark, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the interior in brief, harsh bursts. Cheon Meng lay on his bed, completely unaware of the danger that had come for him.
Cheon Ryun watched from the doorway, his expression unreadable as his subordinates approached the sleeping boy. There was no hesitation, no remorse as they drew their weapons, their eyes gleaming with the anticipation of violence.
They had done this before... eliminating threats, carrying out the dirty work that others in the sect preferred not to dirty their hands with. But this was different. This was the son of the Heavenly Demon, and even in his diminished state, the act carried a weight that they could not ignore.
Cheon Meng's peaceful sleep was shattered in an instant as a sharp pain ripped through his side. He gasped, his eyes snapping open as the searing agony jolted him awake. But before he could even register what was happening, another blow struck him, then another. The pain was overwhelming, a brutal assault that left him dazed and disoriented.
The men showed no mercy as they beat him, their attacks relentless and cruel. Fists and feet rained down on him, each blow delivered with precision and hatred. Cheon Meng tried to cry out, but the air was knocked from his lungs, his voice strangled in his throat. Blood splattered across the floor, mixing with the rainwater that had seeped in through the cracks in the walls, creating a grisly scene that was almost too much to bear.
But the physical pain was only the beginning. They mocked him with every strike, their words cutting as deeply as their blows.
"Is this all the son of the Heavenly Demon can do?" one of them sneered, his foot slamming into Cheon Meng's ribs with a sickening crack.
"What a disappointment. No wonder your father doesn't care about you."
"Pathetic," another spat, grabbing Cheon Meng by the hair and yanking his head up, forcing him to look into their cruel eyes.
"You don't even fight back. Just like a coward."
The rain pelted down, soaking Cheon Meng's battered body, mixing with the blood that poured from his wounds. Every inch of him screamed in agony, but he couldn't move, couldn't defend himself. He was utterly powerless, at the mercy of those who relished in his suffering.
Cheon Ryun watched in silence, his face a mask of indifference as his subordinates did their work. This was necessary, he told himself. This was the price of power, the cost of securing his place as the next Heavenly Demon.
He could not afford to let sentimentality or familial ties cloud his judgment. Cheon Meng was weak, unworthy of the legacy that should have been his. And in this world, the weak did not deserve to survive.
Hours passed, though to Cheon Meng, it felt like an eternity. The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if in mourning for the violence that was unfolding within the small cottage. The men did not stop at mere beatings... they twisted his limbs, broke his bones, and inflicted wounds that should have been fatal.
But even then, they were careful not to kill him outright. No, they wanted him to suffer, to feel every moment of the agony they inflicted.
When the men finally stepped back, their breathing heavy from exertion, Cheon Meng lay motionless on the floor, his body battered and broken. His clothes were torn, and his once-handsome face was unrecognizable, swollen and bruised beyond recognition.
"Is he dead?" one of the subordinates asked, wiping the blood from his hands with a sneer.
Cheon Ryun stepped forward, crouching down to examine his brother's body. Cheon Meng's chest barely moved, his breathing shallow and labored. He was on the very brink of death, teetering on the edge of the abyss.
"Close enough," Cheon Ryun replied coldly.
"Leave him. The storm will finish the job."
The three men turned and left the cottage, their laughter echoing in the night as they disappeared into the storm. They didn't look back, certain that the boy who had once been a potential threat was no more. The door to the cottage swung open, the wind and rain sweeping in, mingling with the blood that stained the floorboards.
Cheon Meng was alone once more, his body broken, his spirit crushed. The pain was unbearable, every breath a struggle, every heartbeat a reminder of how close he was to death. His vision blurred, the edges of the world fading to black as he lay there, soaked in rain and blood.
Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling down his bruised cheeks as he cursed his fate. He had never wanted this life, never asked for the power that others coveted so desperately. All he had wanted was peace, a simple existence far from the violence and cruelty of the world he had been born into. But it seemed that even that was too much to ask.
His tears fell, mixing with the blood and rain that pooled on the floor, something stirred within him.
As Cheon Meng struggled to remain conscious, far beyond the physical realm, unseen forces stirred. The Heavens, the very entities that had once watched over his previous life with awe and reverence, sensed his suffering. Nature itself trembled, the winds howling in anger, the rain pouring down as if to wash away the injustice.
The Heavenly Wills, those ancient forces that dictated the balance of the world, began to ripple with unrest. The Deadly Sins, powerful beings that represented the darker aspects of existence, seethed with fury, their rage echoing through the fabric of the cosmos.
They had all watched over him once, the being who had created and destroyed worlds, the eternal sage who had once commanded the very forces of the universe with a mere thought. And now, to see him reduced to this... a broken, bleeding boy on the brink of death, was an affront that they could scarcely tolerate.
The sky above the cottage darkened further, the storm intensifying as lightning cracked across the sky. The winds howled like a beast in pain, and the earth rumbled as if it too shared in the collective wrath of the cosmos. The forces that had once been commanded by Feng Liang, the supreme creator, now yearned to intervene, to save the one they had once served so loyally.
But they hesitated, their actions checked by a powerful memory... a command that had been issued long ago, just before Feng Liang had entered the cycle of reincarnation.
"No matter what happens to me... Do not interfere with the way of the world... Or I won't be able to achieve what I am trying to achieve…"
These words, spoken by Feng Liang himself, echoed through the minds of the entities that now raged against the injustice unfolding before them. They remembered their master's instructions clearly, the stern command not to interfere in his mortal life, no matter the circumstances. And so, despite their fury, they held back, their hands metaphorically tied by the command of the one they revered.
But even as they obeyed, they could not quell their anger. The very fabric of reality seemed to tremble in response to their suppressed wrath. The rain intensified, and the winds howled louder, as if protesting the cruelty inflicted upon Cheon Meng. The forces of the universe were furious, but they could do nothing... they could only watch and wait, bound by the promise they had made to their master.
Cheon Meng, unaware of the cosmic turmoil his suffering had caused, felt his consciousness slipping away. His hopes were fading, his body weakening as the cold seeped into his bones. The blood continued to flow from his wounds, mixing with the rain that soaked through his torn clothes. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one more labored than the last.
A faint whisper, a memory long buried, flickered to life. It was a voice, distant and ethereal, calling to him from the depths of his soul.
"How long are you planning to stay like that?" the voice asked, its tone both gentle and commanding.
Cheon Meng's eyes fluttered open, his vision still hazy, but the voice was clear, resonating within him like a beacon in the darkness. It was a voice he couldn't quite place, yet it was undeniably familiar, as though it had always been there, waiting for this moment.