Chronicles of the Blood Demon

That day began as always.

The dawn brought with it the chill of routine, the kind that is felt most in the hands holding worn tools. My father left for the forest early, leaving behind a brief, rough caress, while I stayed behind preparing breakfast for my siblings. It was such a habitual ritual that it barely required thought.

Later, I took my axe and ventured into the forest. The sound of birds and the wind through the leaves filled the air, so familiar it was almost easy to ignore. Each strike of the axe echoed in the stillness. Life went on, simple, monotonous.

But tranquility is always the prelude to something worse.

I took the bamboo cuts and was heading back to the village.

I fell to my knees without warning, as if the weight of an invisible fate crushed me. An unexpected cold coursed down my back, so intense it froze even my thoughts. And then I saw it.

The village, my home, was burning.

The air was thick with smoke, dense and suffocating, as flames consumed the rooftops. Breathing was an effort, like inhaling blades. Screams filled the air, each one tearing something inside me.

A man, a neighbor, tried to run. I don't blame him. But he didn't get far.

One of those men—but not human—caught him with unsettling ease. I saw how it lifted him off the ground with one hand, ignoring his struggles. In an instant, his neck snapped with a dry crack, and the body fell lifeless.

I couldn't look away. I couldn't move. It was as if my body had been seized by the same shadows invading the village.

I turned, but there was no refuge.

Wherever I looked, the horror persisted, relentless. Villagers ran in every direction, stumbling over bodies, crying for help that would never come. A woman lay on the ground, crawling with effort. A deep wound crossed her back, from which blood flowed incessantly, staining the earth beneath her a dark red. Each groan that escaped her lips was a lament toward death itself.

Beside her, a child wept, his eyes full of fear. Before I could react, one of those beings reached him. It lifted him by the hair, pulling with such force that a ripping sound cut through the air. A moment later, the child was thrown into the flames. The flames roared, and his cries fell silent.

I felt a paralyzing cold take hold of me. My knees gave way, my body trembled as if the whole world had turned into a nightmare. I tried to look away, but the infernal scenes kept multiplying.

The demons moved among the flames with a grotesque grace, taking lives as if they were trophies. My gaze stopped on the body of a woman, her abdomen opened to reveal an indescribable horror. Her empty eyes gazed at the sky, but I felt they looked at me, accusing me, demanding something I couldn't give.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest tight as if fear had stolen the air from me. My hands trembled so much I couldn't clench them, the ground beneath my feet soaked in blood and ashes.

And then I saw him. My father.

His staggering figure emerged from the haze of smoke and fire. A deep wound crossed his chest, blood soaking his shirt in an unending torrent. His steps were unsteady, but his gaze remained fierce, determined.

He approached me, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. His skin was cold, his fingers trembling, but his eyes burned with a determination that pierced me.

—Son… run— His voice was a broken whisper, each word accompanied by a spasm of pain that drained even more life from him —Take your siblings and flee… I'll hold them off.

Blood flowed from his lips, staining his words with a desperate tone. I tried to respond, but my throat was closed with panic, my body trapped between fear and disbelief. He looked at me, and in that gaze, I knew there was no argument. This was his final sacrifice.

—Father… what's happening?— I asked, barely aware of my own words. I didn't expect an answer.

I knew I wouldn't get one.

The roar of screams and the crackling of fire filled the air, a sound that drowned out any thought. My father's last word still echoed in my mind, clear and brutal: "Run!"

Fear gripped my chest, freezing me inside, but something—perhaps the last fragment of sanity I had left—shook me. I had to act. I had to save them. In that moment, a painful truth pierced me: my father wouldn't survive, but my siblings still could.

The why, the how… none of that mattered anymore. The only thing that made sense was to escape.

"They must escape."

We moved with desperation, stumbling in the darkness of the bamboo forest that surrounded the village. 

Behind us, the roar of fire and screams was a constant echo, a cruel reminder of what we had left behind. Every step felt like a heartbeat closer to the end, and the crunch beneath my feet was a silent vow: "I will not stop." 

Inside our home, my siblings trembled, huddled together, their eyes filled with tears and terror. 

—Brother… why do we hear screams? Why is Father bleeding?— asked the youngest. His trembling voice, laden with heartbreaking innocence, shattered me completely. 

The lump in my throat stopped me from speaking for a moment, but I knew I had to stay calm. If they succumbed to fear, we would be lost. Forcing a smile that felt like tearing my soul apart, I managed to answer. Broken, fake, but convincing enough. 

—It's nothing— I lied, the words burning inside me —It's… a game. Father dressed up as a hunter, and we are the boars. We need to run and hide very well, okay? Just like the game we play when it rains. 

My eyes sought my father, hoping he would continue the lie. But he could barely stand. His smile was a grimace, a desperate attempt to give them hope. 

—Isn't that right, Father?— I whispered, pleading. 

The silence that followed was like a blow. But my siblings, too young to understand the magnitude of the tragedy, believed the lie. Their tears subsided, at least for now. 

That gave us the necessary time to leave. There was no chance to pack anything. Only the essentials: a machete I grabbed with trembling hands, an old bow and arrows slung over my father's shoulder, a map, and a drawing my youngest brother clutched to his chest as if it were his last treasure. 

We left behind the house, the memories, and with them, the safety of a future we had believed eternal until that morning. 

The forest welcomed us with its dense shadows and thick mist, every step sinking us deeper into its embrace. My father led the way, his heavy steps setting the pace. He tried to hide it, but every gasp escaping his lips was a reminder of how little time he had left. 

Blood soaked his clothes, leaving a dark trail on the damp ground. I knew he didn't have much time, but he refused to stop. He moved forward as if the sheer act of protecting us was enough to keep him upright. 

We descended the mountain, stepping on brittle branches and dead leaves. The night enveloped us, and each step seemed heavier than the last. We reached a shallow river; the freezing water seeped through our clothes to our knees, stealing our breath. A thick mist covered everything, wrapping the landscape in a sepulchral silence. It seemed like the perfect setting to escape. 

Or so it seemed. Something about that mist unsettled me, as if we weren't alone. I knew it wouldn't be enough to deter the demons hunting us. 

—You must go down the river— my father whispered, his voice hoarse and broken from the effort. His bloodshot eyes, filled with determination, locked onto mine. —The mist will hide you. The water will erase your tracks. Don't stop until you reach the clearing. Promise me. 

I tried to respond, but before I could utter a word, a distant crackle froze my breath. Breaking branches and the whispered voices of the killers filled the air, drawing closer, inhuman and twisted. Father had known this from the beginning. Since the moment this escape began. 

He turned to us, and his gaze burned with fierce resolve. Then, he embraced us. His desperate strength left me speechless, his body trembling as if holding us was both his anchor and his farewell. 

—Children, I love you— he said in a faint voice, barely audible over the river's murmur. His tone broke, and his eyes filled with tears, something I never thought I'd see in him. 

My youngest brother looked at him, confused, not understanding. 

—Why are you crying, Father? What's wrong?— he asked, with that devastating innocence only a child can have. 

Forcing a smile, my father stroked his head. 

—Can't a father hug his children without so many questions?— he joked, eliciting a brief laugh from my siblings. That fragile, misplaced laughter floated between us like the last breath of a time that would never return. 

But I didn't laugh. I knew this was the final embrace. My chest ached with unbearable intensity, and the tears I had tried to hold back finally fell, silent. 

—Bai Xuebing— he whispered, and his voice pierced the mist like a dagger. —You're as much of a crybaby as your mother. 

He tried to joke, but his words only broke me more. With rough, trembling hands, he forced me to look directly at him. 

—Take care of them for me. 

There was no room for protests. I only nodded, my voice broken as I replied: 

—I promise you. 

That was enough for him. He gave me one last smile, weak but filled with love, before turning toward the approaching sounds. His upright back and determined stride disappeared into the mist, facing his fate with his head held high. He knew what he was doing. He knew we would never see him again. 

The silence that followed was brief, shattered by a scream that tore through the night. A scream that soon transformed into something worse: laughter. The desperate, maddened laughter of my father. 

That laughter, cruel and chilling, froze me to the bone. It was a war cry and a goodbye all at once. 

—Silence— I murmured to my siblings, squeezing their small, trembling hands. —We must keep playing. The hunter is looking for us. 

My words, a clumsy lie, were enough to keep them moving. We followed the river, each step taking us farther from that horror, but my father's laughter didn't leave us. 

It became an echo that would forever resonate in my mind, a melody of madness that would haunt even my dreams. As the river carried us farther, the darkness and weight of his sacrifice clung to me like a second skin. 

We would never see him again. But his laughter… that laughter still floated in the mist, as if death itself mocked our fate. 

From the darkness of the forest, they emerged like specters, their azure robes reflecting the moon's pale light, stained with dried blood that wordlessly told the horrors they had unleashed. 

At the front, a man dressed in black advanced with firm steps, radiating an oppressive aura that made it seem as if the night itself bowed to him. His imposing figure cast long shadows, and his eyes, cold as the void itself, pierced Long Qiang with an intensity that seemed capable of stripping away his soul. A twisted smile curved his lips, overflowing with cruel and almost mocking confidence. He was the embodiment of death walking, a demon in mortal flesh. 

But Long Qiang showed no fear. Not a tremor, not a trace of doubt. In his eyes burned an unyielding fire, and his stance, though facing the impossible, was that of a man with a spirit that refused to break. He had nothing to lose, and that made him infinitely more dangerous. 

—Celestial Heron Sect... how did you find me?— he growled, his voice laden with a mix of defiance and rage that echoed like a dark warning among the trees. 

The leader of the group, his smile even more pronounced, paused briefly, inclining his head slightly as if savoring the spectacle before delivering his final blow. 

—How is it that Long Qiang, of the Rising Dragon Sect, the infamous Black Fang, hero of the Great War of the Four Realms...— his tone was venom laced with mockery— How is it that a man as great as you ended up in such a pathetic state? 

—Shut up— roared Long Qiang, his words slicing through the air like daggers —Answer me! 

—Hmph, impatient, aren't you?— the man in black replied, his smile turning into a cold sneer —But does it really matter? You already know why we're here, Long Qiang. We're not here to play. 

The leader stepped forward, his eyes an infinite abyss. 

—We came to kill you. Afterward, we'll take your bloodline. Those children... I wonder how sweet they'll taste. 

Long Qiang's blood boiled, and his eyes, injected with fury, glowed with an inhuman hatred. 

—Damn you, Xu Tianrong! Don't you dare touch them, or...! 

—Or what? —Xu Tianrong interrupted, his tone mocking but dripping with venom—. What will you do, Long Qiang? Your cultivation is shattered. Now you're nothing more than a mere mortal. You're not even a shadow of the man I once begrudgingly admired. Pathetic. Pathetic to the end. 

Laughter erupted from Xu Tianrong's men, cascading like a waterfall, filling the air with mockery and contempt. Yet amidst the laughter, their leader remained silent, his gaze fixed on Long Qiang. Something about the way Long Qiang stared back deeply unsettled him. 

Suddenly, Long Qiang tilted his head and began to laugh—a low, deranged laugh, as if a demon had just been released from its cage. 

—What are you laughing at, wretch? —Xu Tianrong growled, his tone losing its usual confidence. 

And then he saw it. A small pill between Long Qiang's teeth. The dark hue of the pill and the intricate patterns adorning it were unmistakable. 

—The Tiān Fá Dān! —some men shouted, instinctively stepping back. 

Xu Tianrong reacted instantly. In a swift motion, he lunged toward Long Qiang. He knew he had to stop him before he consumed the pill, for the consequences of failing would be catastrophic. 

The Tiān Fá Dān, a forbidden pill, was infamous across the cultivation world for its terrifying effect: it completely restored a warrior's broken cultivation for a brief period. But such power came with a cost: the inevitable death of the user afterward. For someone like Long Qiang, however, even a single minute of absolute power was enough to slaughter everyone present. 

Before Xu Tianrong could reach him, Long Qiang bit down on the pill and swallowed it. 

—Idiot! You'll kill yourself! —Xu Tianrong roared, his eyes filled with both fury and fear. 

A torrent of divine energy erupted around Long Qiang, as if a storm had been unleashed from within him. His wounds no longer mattered, and his body, once frail and broken, began to radiate an overwhelming force. The ground beneath his feet cracked, and the trees around him creaked and bent under the weight of his reborn power. 

From within his earth core, in his inner domain, shattered stars mended themselves, connecting into a constellation: the Black Spear Constellation. His cultivation had been restored. 

—Hahaha! —Long Qiang's laughter grew louder, darker—. One minute! One damned minute is all I need to send every one of you to hell! 

Xu Tianrong's men hesitated, some retreating in fear. But Xu Tianrong stood firm, his eyes burning with the need to eliminate the threat, though his instincts told him it was already too late. 

The entire forest seemed to hold its breath, as if it knew that hell was about to break loose. 

The madness in Long Qiang's gaze, distilled into every dark glint of his eyes, made Xu Tianrong falter for an instant. But the chance to stop him had already slipped away. 

—Die! —Long Qiang roared, his voice reverberating with such power that the air trembled and the ground cracked. 

With a sweep of his arm, a devastating wave of black and golden energy tore through the air like a rending bolt. The world seemed to pause in awe. Trees disintegrated on contact; the ground shattered like brittle glass under an impossible weight. The energy tore through the forest in an instant, striking the mountain with an apocalyptic blast. A massive hole was carved into the rock, large enough to reveal the horizon beyond. 

Xu Tianrong's men recoiled, pale as death itself. Even Xu Tianrong, usually unflappable, blinked. His sneer twisted between disbelief and disdain. 

—Is this all that's left of the great Long Qiang? —he mocked, though his tone betrayed a sliver of fear. 

Long Qiang's laughter thundered, dark and deep, like an echo from the abyss. It was the laugh of a man who no longer feared death. 

—One minute is enough to drag you all to hell! —Long screamed, his gaze devouring his enemies. 

He raised both hands to the sky, concentrating all his power into a sphere of dark energy. It spun violently, absorbing everything around it: life, light, even the air itself. The sphere grew, becoming a colossal presence, a pure manifestation of destruction. 

—Heavenly Spear! —Long bellowed. 

Xu Tianrong tried to retreat, but it was too late. The sphere shot forward, slicing through the air with a velocity that seemed to tear the fabric of space. The ensuing explosion was deafening. A shockwave obliterated the terrain, wiping out the mountain and Xu Tianrong's men as if they had never existed. 

When the dust settled, Long Qiang fell to his knees, his body trembling and his face drenched in sweat. 

He had used every last drop of his energy, but the crater surrounding him bore witness to his fury. 

—One minute... —he muttered with a bitter laugh—. It was enough. 

But before he could savor his victory, a chilling laugh pierced the air. Long turned with difficulty, his heart sinking as he saw a figure walking amidst the rubble. 

Xu Tianrong emerged unscathed, a cruel smile on his lips and a dark artifact in his hand: an ancient doll adorned with sinister runes. 

—Did you really think it would be that easy? —Xu Tianrong said, leaning over the exhausted Long Qiang. 

Long tried to move, but his body refused to respond. 

—How? —he whispered, disbelief tinged with despair. 

Xu Tianrong leaned closer, his voice a venomous whisper. 

—Wondering how we found you? Who gave the order? —A wicked grin spread across his face— It was ####. 

Long Qiang's eyes widened in horror, but before he could process what he'd heard, Xu Tianrong drove his sword into the fallen hero's chest. 

Long's world went dark, and as his life faded, he could only think of his children's faces, of the smiles he would never see again. 

Xu Tianrong straightened, looking down at the corpse with a mix of satisfaction and contempt. 

—A broken hero... nothing more than a forgotten memory. —He turned to the few men still standing—. Let's go. We still have a mission to complete. 

Xu Tianrong's cold laughter echoed as he walked away, leaving behind only ruins and the haunting echo of an irreparable tragedy.