Chapter One: The Sky Weeps Blood

The sky… shattered.

Not metaphorically. The endless blue canvas tore apart, jagged streaks of burning light slicing across it with a deafening, glass-shattering roar. Colossal shadows swept over the land—not clouds, but gargantuan warships and beasts, ablaze with sacred fire or wrapped in the suffocating aura of the abyss. They collided, raining death like relentless hail upon the tiny world below.

This was a frontier world at the edge of the Divine Realm, now turned into a battlefield for gods.

BOOM—!!!

A pillar of pure white light, blazing with the will of absolute order and judgment, erupted from the prow of a colossal warship, its structure glimmering like a crystal mountain. Every winged abyssal creature in its path evaporated instantly. The afterglow swept across the land, slicing half of a towering mountain in silence; its surface was smooth as glass, lava dripping from the jagged edges.

Almost at the same moment, a rent opened in the sky, revealing the twisted void within. From it, a massive claw of shadows and anguished screams lashed out, raking the side of the crystalline warship. The sickening sound of bending metal drowned out even the explosions. Sacred crystal armor shattered like fragile glass, and countless tiny, glowing figures—lesser angels or divine servants—were sucked into the void, annihilated instantly.

“For the glory of the Supreme God!” a voice roared amidst the storm of energy, speaking the divine common tongue. Every syllable carried a power that could uplift hearts—but it was quickly drowned out by the maddened howls of the abyss.

“Devour! Corrupt! All shall return to nothing!” another voice hissed in a language of chaos and blasphemy, drilling into the minds of mortals and stirring primal fear.

At the center of the battlefield, a high-ranking angel with three pairs of luminous wings hovered, swinging a blazing holy sword. Every strike carved arcs of light spanning kilometers, cleaving the winged demonic dragons that charged him to pieces. His face was perfect but cold; golden eyes reflected nothing but absolute disdain for heresy.

Opposing him was a constantly shifting mass of black sludge, covered in countless eyes and radiating psychic shockwaves that twisted the very fabric of space around it.

Every clash unleashed energy tsunamis, and even the laws of reality seemed to wail in pain.

At the edge of this apocalyptic battlefield, in a scorched corner repeatedly plowed by the residual energy of combat, a small figure huddled.

Elian clutched his head, curling up in a half-collapsed cellar. Each massive explosion shook the earth violently, rain of dirt and rubble falling onto his tattered clothing. He shivered—not from cold, for the air itself burned—but from the overwhelming, incomprehensible power of the gods.

He was just an ordinary boy, moments ago worrying about survival. Now he was a mere ant in a storm, witnessing gods and demon lords gamble with his homeland as if it were a chessboard.

Fear gripped him, nearly suffocating.

Then—

KRAAAASH!!!

A massive beam of holy light veered wildly, missing its demonic target, and struck less than a hundred meters away.

The earth cracked like eggshells, heaved, then exploded! The shockwave obliterated what remained of the cellar.

“Ah!!” Elian felt as though an invisible hammer had struck him. He was thrown across the scorched land, crashing heavily, bones threatening to splinter.

Coughing up blood and dust, ears ringing, he barely registered sound beyond a strange, persistent hum. Struggling to lift his head, his vision blurred.

Before him lay a massive crater, carved by the misfired beam. Steam rose from the depths; molten rock glimmered like glass.

And in the center… something caught his eye.

It was not stone, nor twisted metal.

It was a corpse.

A colossal figure clad in ancient, tattered dark-gold armor. Even fallen, it radiated grandeur far beyond mortal measure. Its skin was pale gold, its face stern and sculpted, frozen in death with a trace of anger—and something else, an indescribable regret. A gaping black hole scorched its chest, as if struck by a force that extinguished all life in an instant.

Most remarkable: despite death, a faint, pure golden glow emanated from the corpse, repelling the encroaching abyssal corruption and rampant holy energy, forming a small, absolute sanctuary.

This divine corpse was unlike any other fading god or demon. Its aura was ancient, vast, and carried a completeness that Elian could not comprehend.

Another explosion rocked him awake. Instinct for survival overrode fear. Crawling, rolling, staggering, he reached the pit and pressed himself against the corpse.

The golden glow formed a protective bubble. Outside, the destructive roar of the battlefield diminished dramatically.

Elian panted violently, heart hammering, fingers brushing the corpse’s cold, rigid hand.

Then—

Buzz!

A surge of thought slammed into his mind. Fragments of supreme will and knowledge forced their way in—not words, but pure, raw intent:

[…Dao…collapse…laws…extinct…gods…thieves…my path…alone…body as vessel…divine fuel…question the primal…]

Countless inscrutable symbols, action patterns holding universal truths, and intricate maps of energy circulation, cultivation, and refinement flooded his mind. Vast and fragmented, most of it was incomprehensible. Yet some foundational truths—how to perceive and guide energy—imprinted clearly.

And with them, the corpse’s name and unyielding will:

[I am… the last… heir of the primordial… unwilling… the path… broken…]

Boom! Another explosion jolted him. He recoiled, the visions receding, leaving only the essential knowledge and the corpse’s stubborn resolve embedded deep in his soul.

He stared at his hands, then at the corpse, now gradually losing its glow, beginning to dissipate.

Above, the divine war raged on. Light and darkness alternated over the land, a dance of apocalypse.

Yet in Elian’s mind, a foreign term arose—a word utterly alien to this Western divine world—along with a strange rhythm of breathing and mental guidance:

"Qi Refinement."

Trembling, he followed the incomplete instinctual knowledge in his mind, drawing in his first breath.

A faint, almost imperceptible warmth stirred in his lower abdomen, trembling to life.

Chapter Two: Breath Beneath the Ruins

The deafening explosions gradually faded—not because the divine war had ended, but because the center of battle had shifted beyond the horizon, leaving a scarred wasteland and a deathly silence—a silence punctuated only by faint crackles of burning debris and the groans of the dying.

Elian coughed up the dust he had inhaled, struggling to push himself up from the scorching earth. Every bone in his body protested, and his ears still rang incessantly. He looked around in confusion. The cellar where he had hidden had long since vanished, replaced by a massive crater that spewed blistering blue smoke.

He had survived.

But why?

He suddenly remembered the divine corpse—the faint, dark-golden glow that had protected him. Panicked, he turned to search.

The colossal body still lay at the bottom of the pit, but something had changed. The strange aura around it was rapidly fading, like a candle flickering in the wind. Its massive form began to grow translucent, as if slowly dissipating from the world.

A surge of inexplicable panic gripped Elian. Whatever had been supporting him was disappearing. He crawled forward desperately.

As the glow weakened, the suffocating residual energy and the faint stench of corruption seeped back, stinging his skin and causing unbearable discomfort.

Then, the fragmented knowledge that had forcibly entered his mind resurfaced—not as a flood this time, but as a few clear fragments: instinctual guidance on how to breathe and direct the faint energy within his body.

[…Qi sinking… Dantian… Mind guarding… Primordial One…]

He did not understand the words, but the accompanying bodily sensations were unmistakably clear.

Instinct for survival overrode everything. He had no time to comprehend what it was. Following the most primitive guidance, he tried to imitate it.

He lay on the ground, forcing himself to ignore the pain and the surrounding danger, attempting to adjust his breathing. Not the short, panicked gasps from before, but a deeper, slower rhythm, carrying a strange, almost musical cadence.

Inhale… a subtle, almost imperceptible warmth peeled from the air, sinking along his breath into his lower abdomen…

Exhale… slowly releasing the filth and pain within…

One time, two times…

The process was awkward and arduous. He was frequently interrupted by aftershocks or sharp pain from his injuries. The so-called warmth was so faint it almost seemed imaginary.

But gradually, after an unknown span of time, at the end of a deep, focused inhale, a clear, unmistakable stream of warmth—thin as a strand of hair but undeniably real—finally coalesced deep in his lower abdomen and remained stable.

Almost immediately, the searing pain caused by the wild energies and corruption outside eased slightly! Though minor, to Elian—so acutely aware of every sensation—it was like tasting the first drop of water in a desert.

He snapped his eyes open, staring at his hands in disbelief.

What… what was this power? It was neither holy light nor abyssal energy. It came from… deep within his own body.

Then—

“Whoosh!”

A sharp sound pierced the air!

Elian’s scalp tingled violently, and by instinct, he rolled to the side.

“Thunk!”

A metal bolt, faintly glowing with purple light, had embedded itself deep into the spot where he had been lying, its tip still trembling!

Elian’s heart leapt to his throat as he turned to see where it had come from.

Three figures had appeared on the edge of the crater, looking down at him. They wore tattered leather armor, stained with blood and dirt, eyes shining with greed, cruelty, and the madness of survival on the edge of an apocalypse.

Vultures. After divine wars, there were always people like this—scavengers who dared not enter the main battle, prowling the edges of the battlefield to loot the dead, or even… attack survivors.

At their head was a burly man with a single eye, holding a crossbow still smoking from use. His remaining eye was fixed on the dissipating divine corpse at the pit’s center—and on Elian, seemingly frail and defenseless beside it.

“Hey, look what we’ve found,” the one-eyed man rasped, his voice rough and dripping with malice. “A kid who didn’t quite die… and a… well, a ‘big one’ that looks valuable.”

His two companions chuckled low and greedily, their gaze flicking between Elian and the corpse, sizing up their prospective prize.

Elian’s body turned icy. The faint glimmer of hope he had just felt was instantly crushed by the looming threat. Unarmed and injured, he faced three people clearly bent on ill intent.

The tiny warmth he had just conjured stirred nervously in his lower abdomen, disturbed by his rising panic.

The one-eyed man raised the crossbow, cocking it once more. The cold steel bolt was aimed at Elian.

“Kid,” he sneered, “thanks for guarding our… loot. Now, you can die.”

Chapter Three: A Glimmer in Desperation

The cold crossbow bolt remained locked on Elian, and the one-eyed man’s finger slowly squeezed the trigger. The shadow of death pressed down more tangibly than any divine or demonic presence in the sky.

Elian’s mind went blank, yet his survival instinct drove his body. He rolled and crawled backward desperately, seeking any cover—but the bottom of the pit held nothing but the dissipating divine corpse and scorching rubble.

“Ha, quick on the dodge,” the one-eyed man sneered, not firing immediately, savoring the prey’s struggle. He tilted his head, signaling to a tall, thin companion, “Go on, strip the valuable stuff off that big one. Be careful, don’t damage the ‘good stuff.’”

The tall man licked his lips greedily and leaped into the pit, his boots hissing against the hot earth. He ignored Elian entirely and headed straight for the divine corpse, eyes filled with lust for whatever treasure might lie beneath the shattered armor.

Opportunity!

Elian’s heart raced. His gaze darted across the pit edge—the one-eyed man still aimed at him, while the stocky companion guarded the rim with a rusted cleaver, blocking his only exit.

No brute force—he had to gamble!

As the tall man bent down, reaching for the broken divine armor—

Elian inhaled sharply. Not an ordinary breath, but one following the strange instinctive pattern in his mind! The faint warmth lying dormant in his lower abdomen surged upward with his exertion!

He didn’t gain superhuman strength, but the breath gave him speed and coordination far beyond his usual limits. He didn’t charge the enemies; instead, like a startled rabbit, he lunged toward the opposite side of the divine corpse, using the still-massive body as a brief shield!

“Huh?” The one-eyed man had not expected such movement from the seemingly frail boy. His crossbow adjusted instinctively.

But Elian’s target was neither of them! He threw himself to the ground, hands clawing at the scorching mud and debris—at that moment, in the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a strange metallic glint beneath the divine corpse!

“You little brat! You’re dead!” the stocky man cursed, leaping into the pit with his cleaver to intercept Elian.

The tall man froze, startled by the sudden motion.

It was this instant of chaos!

Elian’s fingers burned, but he finally touched the cold, hard object! He yanked it free from the soil—

It was a broken weapon fragment, about the length of a forearm, dark golden, jagged edges gleaming faintly with an unusual light, made of the same material as the divine corpse’s armor. Surprisingly heavy, it felt solid in his hands.

“Damn it, grabbing stuff again!” The stocky man, having bypassed the corpse, saw the fragment in Elian’s hand. Though unfamiliar, his greed compelled him to swing the cleaver!

The blade shot toward Elian’s neck with deadly force!

Elian’s soul leapt. The enhancement from his breath was fading fast; fatigue and pain surged back. He had no time to think, relying on the last remnants of instinct to lift the heavy fragment as a shield!

Clang—!!!

The shrill clash of metal rang out!

A tremendous force reverberated through the fragment, numbing Elian’s arms, cracking his palms, and throwing him backward. The fragment flew from his hands, landing not far away with a dull thud.

Yet, contrary to expectation, the fragment remained unbroken.

The stocky man stepped back, shocked—the cleaver had left a noticeable chip in its edge, but the dark golden fragment was unscathed, not a mark on it.

“What the hell is this thing?” the stocky man muttered, both shocked and angry.

The one-eyed man squinted, realizing the fragment’s extraordinary nature: “Grab the kid! Take the thing!”

The tall man abandoned the divine corpse, joining his companion in advancing on Elian with hostile intent.

Elian felt despair. The fragment was solid, but he couldn’t wield it. The single defensive strike had already drained the strength and luck he had barely mustered.

Then, a sudden change!

The last flicker of the divine corpse’s glow vanished. Its massive body became fully transparent, as if on the verge of disappearing entirely.

At the hollow in its chest, a faint yet pure golden spark drifted upward, like the last ember of a candle in the wind.

The moment it appeared, the three scavengers’ attention snapped to it. Even Elian could feel that the tiny spark exuded an indescribable, ancient purity, far more alluring than the fragment he held!

“Divine core?! Fragment?! Grab that!” the one-eyed man yelled, greed twisting his voice. The crossbow adjusted its aim, hesitating—he didn’t want to destroy it.

The tall and stocky men abandoned Elian, rushing crazily toward the dwindling spark.

Elian lay on the ground, gasping. The dazed relief of survival still lingered. He watched the three scavengers almost clash over the spark and glanced at the dark golden fragment beside him.

He had to leave. Now.

Gritting his teeth, he drew on the last reserves of strength, crawling toward the edge of the pit. Every movement seared his wounds, but he dared not stop.

Behind him came the furious shouts and scuffles of the scavengers, and the one-eyed man’s angry barks.

Elian finally reached the rim of the crater, refusing to look back, staggering into the denser ruins and smoke, desperate to put distance between himself and the danger.

In his hand, he clutched the heavy, cold dark golden fragment that had saved his life. In his lower abdomen, the faint warmth stirred, slightly more vivid after the prior exertion and shock.

The distant roar of the divine war persisted, but the immediate threat had passed—for now.

Elian vanished into the shadows of broken walls, carrying a foreign fragment and an even stranger spark of power within him. His flight had just begun.