The sky glowed an ominous, bloody red, as if the very heavens had been slashed open and were weeping crimson tears. Lifeless bodies, clad in the tattered remains of martial arts robes, lay strewn across the ground like broken porcelain dolls.

 

Amidst this horrifying tableau of death, a young man's body hovered unnaturally in mid-air, his limbs hanging limp as a marionette with severed strings. A river of blood cascaded from the mercilessly plunged blade impaling his heart.

 

His face was frozen in an eternal rictus of agony and disbelief.

 

"Is this the renowned genius from the Jianghu that they spoke of?" Another young man confronted the dying victim, his voice as cold and biting as the steel in his hand as he twisted the sword deeper into the man's heart with a callous flick of his wrist.

 

"GAH!" With a single, disdainful motion, the fatally wounded man was cast aside like a broken toy, coughing up a thick splatter of blood. His feeble hands clutched feebly at the mortal wound as the last flickers of life's flame danced in his rapidly dulling eyes, refusing to accept his cruel fate.

 

"Du...Chen..." A gentle, ragged voice, little more than an exhalation of breath, emerged from one of the fallen corpses. Yet as soon as that whisper left her lips, an eerie, preternatural silence descended, as if the very air itself held its breath in dread anticipation.

 

These strewn forms, once exquisite, were no mere martial artists. They were paragons of lethal grace and beauty - blossoms of genius plucked before their prime. One was even believed a reincarnation of the legendary Zhao Yun, appearing but once a millennium.

 

Now only their soulless, desiccated husks remained, robbed of the vibrant glory they had embodied in life. Defenseless against the onslaught of the lone, dark-robed figure who had so ruthlessly, efficiently slaughtered them all.

 

He stood amidst the grotesque stillness, long hair billowing in a chill wind carrying the metallic tang of spilled blood - a chilling signature of his remorseless handiwork. In his hand, he gripped a jian, the traditional double-edged straight sword gleaming with a crimson patina of fresh blood and death.

 

Having laid waste to these righteous martial artist without any need for reinforcements, his coal-black eyes remained dispassionately fixed on the ominous scarlet sky, as if seeking some ultimate answer from the uncaring heavens themselves.

 

But...

 

"GAH!" A strained, agonized exhalation suddenly pierced the unnatural quiet, snapping the victor's frigid focus back to his surroundings.

 

"There is still one survivor?" His cold query hung in the air like a death knell.

 

 

Meanwhile, the lone survivor who had just expelled that bloodied gasp stared in wide-eyed, horrified incomprehension at the slaughter surrounding him.

 

'How?? How could you all be dead?!' He fought for each rattled breath, his inner voice rising in impotent rage and anguish as his gaze roved across the appalling tableau of fallen comrades.

 

There, he recognized the once bright and promising Junior Sister of the Kunlun Sect, her cheerful radiance extinguished. Her vibrant hair lay shorn away, eyes frozen open in an expression of primal terror and despair.

 

Nearby, the withered corpse of a man who had boasted of profound, unbreakable martial foundations and boundless Qi reserves - a powerhouse in his prime. Yet his remains more closely resembled those of a shriveled, ancient husk, eyes as cold and lifeless as the soulless bodies surrounding him.

 

Lofty skills, titles, abilities - all proved fleeting and insignificant in the face of such implacable, consummate power.

 

The Fiftieth Floor...

 

This floor had been the first gateway into other world's invasion - with goal on eliminating the vile leaders of the cataclysmic evil factions.

 

Ji Wuye, this lone, unlikely survivor, was but an ordinary, middling disciple of the Kunlun Sect. Possessed of neither spectacular talent nor profound martial genius. He had eagerly joined this pivotal strike force, envisioning it as the safest and most pleasurable path to power and glory...

 

The major force itself had been led by none other than Du Chen, the recent, unexpected prodigy whose meteoric rise had already sent shockwaves throughout the entire martial sphere. Countless prodigies had rallied to Du Chen's cause, painting this expedition as an unstoppable juggernaut.

 

But now they were all dead. Lifeless husks strewn about like cast-off ragdolls. Who would save the world from the encroaching darkness if these prodigies had fallen?

 

Ji Wuye stared down at his own broken form in numb shock. His limbs had been severed, blood steadily pooling beneath his shattered body as white-hot tendrils of agonizing pain lanced through his rapidly fading consciousness.

 

He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched tight against the torment, as a roiling storm of confusion, incredulity, and pure contemptuous rage flooded his mind. How could such devastation be possible?

 

Through a haze of bloody tears, Ji Wuye's wavering vision revealed the implacable figure approaching - the dark-robed man who had so effortlessly, ruthlessly slaughtered the vaunted prodigies.

 

'Is...the difference in our strength too vast?' Ji Wuye though inwardly.

 

Then, his fading eyes witnessed the victorious man come to an abrupt stop, eyes shifting focus to the empty air before him. Or rather, to the faintly shimmering, translucent screen that had materialized there, casting its sickly emerald glow upon the scene.

 

 

'I'm well aware of that, you bastard,' Ji Wuye mentally snarled, what little remained of his waning power draining steadily away.

 

 

As oblivion crept in from the edges of Ji Wuye's fading vision, vivid flashes from his past memories flickered through his mind's eye in a dizzying kaleidoscope. He inwardly lamented, 'Ha, after all that, you're all useless. Tsk!'

 

Rather than despair, it was remorse that consumed his final thoughts. All he had wanted was the simple, peaceful life. And for a time, everything had been proceeding exactly according to his carefully laid plans...until the cursed Tower had appeared from oblivion to upend it all.

 

As the blackness closed in, the last image Ji Wuye's eyes took in was of the culprit responsible for his failure. A contemptuous, mocking smirk curled the lips of the man who stood bathed in a blinding aura of radiant golden light.

 

The once somber, blood-red sky had transformed into a vibrant azure expanse, largely concealed behind an undulating veil of shimmering golden mist.

 

It was clear the ruthless man had leveled up and reap a bountiful reward in defense of his motherland's invasion.

 

'Ah...the envy,' Ji Wuye thought with his dying breath, body finally going still and cold. 'His reward must be truly remarkable to wear such a smile of smug satisfaction after such slaughter.'

 

Those were Ji Wuye's final musings before the eternal slumber of oblivion claimed him.

 

 

In the vast, formless void between realms, countless ethereal soul-wisps drifted aimlessly...

 

 

An achingly familiar, wizened voice suddenly echoed around the infinitesimal spark cradling Ji Wuye's essence.

 

 

It bore an uncanny resemblance to the cranky tone of the Elder who had once so frequently berated him during his training.

 

'I do miss that old geezer,' Ji Wuye's soul-spark seemed to flicker with a fleeting ember of mirth.

 

'I wonder just how livid he'll be when he discovers his so-called cherished disciple's demise?' He reveled in the thought of the old man's seething, impotent fury, no doubt blaming Ji Wuye entirely for failing his teachings.

 

 

The disembodied voice echoed once more, an impatient demand for his complete attention. Yet Ji Wuye paid it no mind, savoring his newfound sense of mischievous joy and inner peace. He responded with a soft, weary exhalation.

 

'If I had known this was bound to happen, I surely would have...'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A warm, gentle radiance slowly enveloped the soul-wisp, causing Ji Wuye's long-dormant consciousness to stir as if awaking from an eternity of dreamless slumber.

 

Sensation tingled back into his spiritual form - the faint, distant sense of bodily discomfort like sweat beading down the nape of his neck. The connection reestablishing, one fragile strand at a time.

 

"Huh!" Ji Wuye's eyes started open wide, his metaphysical heart pounding with inexplicable trepidation as he was met with the astonishing, alien vista surrounding his remade form.