Chapter 9: The Abyssal Throne
The explosion of power that followed Zhao Rui's claim of the Heart was beyond comprehension. Waves of crimson energy tore through the sect's grounds, reducing ancient structures to rubble. The protective formations that had guarded the sect for centuries crumbled like sandcastles before a rising tide. Disciples and elders alike, loyal or rebellious, were scattered like leaves in a storm.
At the epicenter stood Zhao Rui, untouched and unmoving. His body glowed with an ominous crimson light, his aura towering and suffocating. The Heart, once a massive blood-red crystal, was now shattered into countless fragments, their power swirling around him in chaotic, pulsing streams. The Abyssal Seed within him merged with the fragments, fusing them into a singular entity under Zhao Rui's control.
The once-proud Crimson Shadow Sect lay in ruins, its legacy reduced to ash. All that remained was Zhao Rui—now a being who transcended mortal cultivation. He was no longer merely a cultivator. He was something far more dangerous.
A Throne of Shadows
Zhao Rui stood in what was once the grand hall of the sect. Its roof had collapsed, and shattered pillars lay scattered around him. Yet, in the center of the devastation, he raised a new seat of power—a jagged throne formed from the fragments of the Heart itself. The crimson shards pulsed with energy, and every beat echoed like a drum, reverberating through the remnants of the sect.
He sat down, the throne's energy binding itself to him. As he rested, his mind expanded, connecting to the remnants of the sect's power network. He could feel the echoes of the lives that had been sacrificed to create the Heart, their suffering and anguish fueling its strength. But Zhao Rui didn't flinch. Their agony was now his weapon.
Zhang Lei approached cautiously, his usual arrogance replaced by a mixture of awe and fear. His clothing was torn, his body battered from the explosion. Yet he knelt before Zhao Rui without hesitation.
"Master," Zhang Lei said, his voice trembling, "the sect… it's gone. What are your orders?"
Zhao Rui's crimson eyes glowed as he regarded his subordinate. "The sect is not gone, Zhang Lei. It has been reborn. The Crimson Shadow Sect was weak, shackled by old traditions and petty ambitions. What rises now is something far greater."
Zhang Lei hesitated, his brow furrowing. "But the disciples… the elders… almost everyone is dead."
Zhao Rui smiled coldly. "The weak were swept away, as they should be. Those who remain will rebuild—under my rule. Spread the word to the survivors: those who kneel will be spared and given a place in the new order. Those who resist will join the ashes of the old sect."
Zhang Lei bowed low. "As you command."
The Whispering Abyss
As night fell, Zhao Rui sat alone in his throne, surrounded by the faint glow of the Heart's fragments. The sect grounds were eerily silent, the once-bustling halls now empty and lifeless. But Zhao Rui wasn't alone.
The voice came again, as it had ever since he absorbed the Heart.
"You have taken your first step, Zhao Rui."
It was deep and resonant, neither male nor female, but something ancient and unfathomable. It echoed not just in his ears but in his very soul.
Zhao Rui's gaze didn't waver. "Who are you?"
The voice chuckled, a sound like grinding stone. "You already know the answer. I am what you've claimed. I am the Abyss, the chaos that your sect sought to contain. And now, I am yours—as much as you are mine."
Zhao Rui's lips curved into a smirk. "Then you should know your place. You are my weapon, my power. Nothing more."
The voice laughed, a chilling, echoing sound. "You speak with conviction, but you misunderstand. I am not bound to you—you are bound to me. Your ambition is my fuel. Your desires are my leash. Together, we will bring not just this sect but the entire cultivation world to its knees."
Zhao Rui's smirk faded, replaced by cold determination. "You may be the Abyss, but I am Zhao Rui. This power belongs to me, and I will wield it as I see fit. Do not think for a moment that you control me."
The voice fell silent for a moment before speaking again, softer this time. "We shall see, Zhao Rui. For now, our goals align. But remember—power always demands a price. How much are you willing to pay?"
Rebuilding the Sect
The days that followed were filled with blood and fire. Zhao Rui's loyal disciples scoured the ruins, rounding up survivors and forcing them to choose—submit or die. Many chose submission, unable to resist the overwhelming presence of Zhao Rui's new power. Those who resisted were executed without mercy, their deaths serving as a warning to others.
Under Zhao Rui's rule, the remnants of the Crimson Shadow Sect began to rebuild. But this was not the sect of old. The crimson banners were replaced with new ones, marked with a symbol of intertwining shadows and blood—a mark of Zhao Rui's dominion. The sect's name was erased, replaced simply with "The Abyssal Dominion."
Zhao Rui instituted a new hierarchy, one based solely on strength and loyalty. Gone were the traditions and rituals that had once defined the sect. In their place was a brutal meritocracy, where power was the only currency that mattered.
Zhang Lei was elevated to the rank of enforcer, his loyalty rewarded with new techniques and treasures. Other disciples who proved themselves were similarly rewarded, their strength bolstered by Zhao Rui's dark gifts. Yet, even among his followers, there was fear. They could sense the darkness radiating from Zhao Rui, the oppressive aura that seemed to drain the very air around him.
But fear bred obedience. And obedience was all Zhao Rui needed.
The Path Forward
Standing atop the ruins of the Blood Summit, Zhao Rui looked out at the horizon. The cultivation world lay before him, vast and ripe for conquest. The Crimson Shadow Sect had been only the beginning—a foundation upon which he would build his empire.
The Abyss whispered to him, its voice like a dark tide lapping at the edges of his consciousness. "There are others who will oppose you, Zhao Rui. Righteous sects, ancient clans, forces that will see your rise as a threat. They will come for you."
Zhao Rui's crimson eyes gleamed. "Let them come. I will crush them all. The righteous, the powerful, the so-called gods—they are nothing to me now."
The voice chuckled. "Ambitious as always. Very well, Zhao Rui. Let us reshape this world in blood and shadow."
As the moon rose high above the Abyssal Dominion, Zhao Rui raised his hand, summoning a surge of crimson energy that split the night sky. His ambitions were far from fulfilled. The world would soon know the name of Zhao Rui—the harbinger of chaos, the sovereign of shadows.
And in the darkness, his conquest would begin.