A suffocating silence gripped the Crimson Sky Sect's main courtyard like a vice. The whispers, the murmurs, the gasps—all had died the moment Tian Yang's fist had shattered Elder Mu's defenses and sent him crumpling to the earth like a discarded puppet.
Blood pooled beneath Elder Mu's trembling form, glistening crimson under the sun's cold gaze. It was not merely the blood of a man—no, it was the blood of the old order, staining the courtyard that had once been Tian Yang's prison.
The disciples stood frozen. Some had mocked him. Others had beaten him. All had forgotten him.
Now, none dared breathe too loudly.
Tian Yang stood in the center, back straight, face unreadable. There was no trace of the broken youth who had been cast into the Abyssal Cavern two years ago. That boy was gone. What remained was something reborn—tempered in darkness and resurrected by fury.
Power radiated from his body like waves of pressure rolling off an erupting volcano. It was raw, unrefined, yes—but it was terrifying. The aura of the Tyrant's Forbidden Codex pulsed beneath his skin, flickering like ghostly flame.
He slowly lifted his hand and pointed to the gathering of elders and disciples, eyes like twin voids.
"Who else dares?"
The words weren't shouted, but they echoed across the courtyard with unnatural clarity, as if the very heavens carried his voice.
Gasps broke the silence. The weight of his words pressed into the bones of everyone present. This wasn't arrogance—it was dominance. He wasn't asking. He was challenging.
Elder Mu, groaning in pain, struggled to lift himself onto his knees. His limbs shook, his lips dribbled blood, and his face twisted with confusion and fear.
"You... What have you done?" he croaked. "Your dantian was shattered. You were finished!"
Tian Yang tilted his head, as if contemplating the question. Then, a cold smirk formed.
"You thought the Abyss would devour me," he said, voice low and biting. "But I devoured it instead. Pain is a fine teacher, Elder Mu. And in the darkness, I found a truth far greater than what this sect ever offered me."
His eyes gleamed. "I was forged in suffering. You discarded me like trash... but trash that survives fire becomes something else."
He turned, sweeping his gaze across the disciples—those who had spit at his name, who now stood trembling.
"Listen well!" His voice thundered. "I am not the weakling you tossed into the dark. I am Tian Yang—reborn in flame and fury. I will reclaim everything you stole from me. And if you stand in my path..."
He raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. The air trembled.
"You will be crushed."
Even the wind seemed to hesitate. The sun itself dimmed behind clouds as if the heavens were reluctant to bear witness.
Then—
A sharp burst of laughter rang from above.
All heads turned toward the sect balcony, where a figure leaned against a carved jade railing, golden robes fluttering in the wind.
"Tian Yang, Tian Yang…" the man said, his voice smooth and mocking. "You truly have a death wish."
He stepped forward, descending in a graceful arc that kicked up a swirl of spiritual energy. The disciples immediately parted, forming a path like loyal dogs before their master.
Liu Qingfeng.
The Crimson Sky Sect's chief disciple. The favored son. The prodigy with a nine-fold spiritual root and the rumored successor of the sect master himself.
Arrogant. Untouchable. Dangerous.
He landed lightly, boots clicking against stone, arms folded. His long black hair shimmered, and the corner of his lips curled into a smirk that dripped contempt.
"You return after crawling from the gutter, humiliate an elder, and now bark like a mad dog," he said. "Has the filth of the caves rotted your mind?"
Tian Yang didn't move. His smirk remained.
"Reality?" he said, eyes narrowing. "You speak as if you stand above me. But I see only a pampered dog—barking loud because it's never felt the bite of true pain."
A shocked murmur swept through the courtyard.
Liu Qingfeng's expression stiffened. "You—"
He moved.
In the blink of an eye, Qingfeng blurred, golden light blooming from his palm as he lunged. A roaring gust of spiritual force followed.
"Die!"
But Tian Yang didn't flinch.
He stepped forward, his fist crashing into Qingfeng's strike—BOOM! The explosion of force tore through the courtyard, sending disciples tumbling. Dust surged upward in a storm of broken tiles and cracked stone.
When it settled...
Only one figure stood firm.
Tian Yang.
Liu Qingfeng stumbled back, eyes wide in disbelief. "Impossible..."
Tian Yang rolled his shoulders, unconcerned. "I expected more," he said calmly. "You call yourself the chief disciple? You're barely a footnote."
Qingfeng roared and charged again—but Tian Yang was faster.
CRACK!
A single blow.
His fist collided with Qingfeng's abdomen, folding him in half before launching him across the courtyard like a comet. The sound of his body slamming into a stone pillar echoed like thunder. The pillar cracked. Qingfeng fell to his knees, coughing blood, barely conscious.
Gasps filled the courtyard. Some disciples looked ready to kneel then and there.
The chief disciple—defeated.
Tian Yang exhaled slowly, his aura settling around him like a cloak. He could feel it—the Tyrant's Forbidden Codex stabilizing, weaving his shattered foundation into something entirely new. Something monstrous.
"Pathetic," he muttered.
He turned to the elders now—those who had sneered at him, who had cast him into darkness without a second thought.
"Who else believes I do not belong?"
Before anyone could answer, a deep voice boomed from the grand hall.
"Enough!"
The voice cracked like thunder.
The doors parted. A tall figure emerged—clad in deep crimson robes embroidered with the sigil of a flaming dragon. His beard was silver, but his eyes burned with sharpness that could pierce mountains.
Sect Master Han Wu.
Even the air around him seemed to bend in deference. Spiritual pressure rolled from him like tidal waves. Several disciples staggered under the weight.
Tian Yang, however, did not bow. He met Han Wu's gaze with defiance.
The sect master descended the stairs, each step deliberate.
"Tian Yang," he said at last, voice like a judge's gavel. "You return after being expelled, defeat an elder and the chief disciple, and now challenge the authority of the Crimson Sky Sect. You are either fearless... or foolish."
Tian Yang's lips curled. "Neither," he said. "I am only taking back what is mine."
Han Wu studied him, unmoved. "You have power now, yes. But power alone does not determine your worth to this sect. Tell me, then. What do you seek? Is it revenge? Or something... more?"
Tian Yang's eyes gleamed with fire.
"I seek dominance," he said. "The heavens wronged me. This sect betrayed me. I will rise above them all. My name will echo across the realms—not as a victim... but as a tyrant."
Gasps rang out again. Some disciples stared at him with awe. Others with fear.
Han Wu chuckled, though his gaze remained unreadable.
"Such arrogance," he said. "Yet such... potential."
Murmurs erupted among the elders. Was the sect master truly considering allowing him back?
"Very well," Han Wu said, raising a hand. "You wish to reclaim your place? Then earn it. In three days, the Crimson Sky Sect shall host the Grand Disciple Challenge."
His eyes narrowed.
"You will face our chosen. Before the sect. Before the heavens. If you win, your status is restored. If you fail..."
His voice chilled.
"You will be exiled forever. No second chances."
Tian Yang stepped forward, eyes blazing.
"I accept."
The game had begun.