Cultivation starts with picking up attributes

The mountain plateau bent beneath the weight of two titans.

The void commander's presence rolled across the ridges like a tide of midnight, his aura twisting the air until the horizon itself seemed warped, broken, consumed. Jagged cracks spread beneath his feet, and every breath he took exhaled violet qi, thick with the stench of rot and inevitability. His gauntlet pulsed like a second heart, its runes alive, hungry, demanding blood to feed the void.

Before him stood Tian Shen.

Silver flames burned along his spear, the heat flickering faint but sharp, a light so clean that the void itself recoiled when it touched the air. His robes hung torn from battle, his blood still wet on his sleeves, but his stance was unshakable. A man who had endured tribulation, who had survived the storm of heavens themselves, now met the storm of the abyss.

"Fractured one," the commander's voice echoed, deep and layered, like a chorus dragged through eternity. "Your path is not heaven's, nor earth's. It is incomplete. A mistake. And yet you dare to stand before me."

Tian Shen's eyes narrowed. His spear tilted downward slightly, the tip angled to pierce the shadows writhing before him. "You call me fractured," he answered, voice even. "Then let the mistake be the one that kills you."

The air cracked.

The commander struck first. His gauntlet carved through the void, releasing a tidal wave of darkness that swept forward with the roar of breaking reality. Mountains crumbled beneath its edge, the very plateau screaming as chunks of earth were consumed into nothingness.

Tian Shen leapt. His spear thrummed, silver fire spiraling into a single thrust. The strike cut the darkness, cleaving a path of light through shadow. Qi howled, mountains quivered, disciples shielded their eyes from the blinding collision.

The plateau split.

One half drowned in shadow, the other burned in silver flame. Where the two met, the air shrieked, collapsing into jagged fragments of broken laws.

From the rear lines, Feilun Sect disciples staggered, some coughing blood just from the pressure. Elders raised their hands, stabilizing formations, shielding their young. Even hardened warriors whispered in awe. Few among them had ever seen power wielded at such a scale—two cultivators whose strikes reshaped the world itself.

And yet, Feng Yin did not flinch.

Her blade remained sheathed at her side, but her eyes stayed locked on Tian Shen. She read every shift of his stance, every flare of his qi. Where others saw chaos, she saw the narrow rhythm of survival. Her breath steadied, her heartbeat calm. Because she knew: if Tian Shen fell, everything fell.

The commander laughed, though the sound was like steel grinding stone. "Not bad, fractured one. But tell me—how long can your flame last?"

He pressed forward. His gauntlet swelled, runes multiplying, feeding on blood drawn from his own veins. The shadows deepened, forming titanic claws that swept downward, eager to crush Tian Shen into dust.

Tian Shen's spear rose to meet them.

Every thrust was deliberate, not desperate—a pattern carved through trial and tempered by tribulation. Silver light split each claw, flames biting through darkness. His body screamed with each motion, meridians straining, but his eyes never wavered.

One clash. Two. Ten.

The plateau collapsed further, ridges breaking apart, rivers of qi exploding into the sky like storms.

Yet for every strike Tian Shen answered, another loomed heavier, darker. The void commander's strength did not falter—it multiplied. His gauntlet drank from the earth itself, runes glowing brighter, veins blackening with power that no mortal body should have endured. He became less man, more void incarnate.

And still Tian Shen advanced.

Step by step, his silver flame pressed forward, forcing back the night. Sweat burned his eyes, blood dripped from his palms, but he moved like inevitability itself. Not flawless, not divine—but unstoppable.

Feng Yin's hand twitched at her hilt. She longed to move, to strike at Tian Shen's side, but her discipline held. This was his battle—no, their Sect's battle—etched into the clash of spear and void. To interrupt would be to deny the weight Tian Shen bore, the truth he carved with every thrust.

The commander snarled, a crack forming across his gauntlet. His eyes blazed violet. "Enough!"

With a roar, he summoned the Hand of the Void.

The sky shattered.

A colossal palm, wide enough to blot out the heavens, descended from above, each finger carved from pure nothingness. Its weight crushed the plateau, air exploding outward in a hurricane. Disciples screamed as they were thrown back. Elders shouted orders, formations flared desperately, but even they bent beneath its presence.

This was no simple strike. It was annihilation.

Tian Shen's silver flame flickered. His body shook, his spear trembled. For an instant, even he felt the crushing inevitability of defeat.

But then—

A breath.

He remembered Feng Yin's gaze, steady as moonlight. He remembered Elder Su's quiet nods, Little Mei's laughter, Ji Luan's stubborn pride. He remembered the Root Division, the disciples who had followed him into fire, the Sect that had called him its spear.

His flame surged.

Not perfect. Not divine. But human.

His dantian roared, silver light igniting blood and marrow alike. The spear in his hands howled, not with rage, but with defiance. His qi condensed into a single point, brighter, sharper than ever before.

And he thrust.

The world silenced.

A single arc of silver cut the heavens. It pierced the Hand of the Void, splitting its colossal palm down the center. Darkness screamed as light drove through it, unraveling shadow into sparks.

The commander staggered, his gauntlet fracturing further, runes splintering into dying embers. His body cracked beneath the recoil, blood spraying in dark arcs. His arrogance, for the first time, faltered.

Tian Shen did not stop.

He pressed forward, spear slamming into the gauntlet's heart. Silver flames erupted, devouring runes, consuming void. The gauntlet shattered, shards exploding across the plateau. The commander screamed, his arm torn apart, his body thrown back into the earth with a thunderous crash.

Silence fell.

Disciples stared, trembling. Elders exhaled, relief flickering through their eyes. The void commander lay broken, his power fractured, his body crushed beneath the weight of Tian Shen's strike.

Tian Shen stood tall, his chest heaving, blood soaking his robes. His silver flame dimmed to embers, but his spear remained steady. His eyes, clear and sharp, scanned the battlefield.

Feng Yin stepped forward, her voice calm but cutting through the silence. "The Hand is broken."

And in that moment, Feilun Sect's disciples roared.

Their voices shook the ridges, echoing across the wounded land. They had seen their spear shatter the void. They had seen hope take shape in silver flame.

But Tian Shen knew.

This was not the end. The void commander's shattered body twitched, violet sparks still pulsing faintly in his veins. And beyond the horizon, other banners waited, their shadows stretching long and patient.

The storm was not defeated.

Only delayed.

...

The echo of the disciples' roar lingered across the shattered plateau, fading only when the mountain winds returned. Smoke drifted in thin, bitter streams, curling around broken stones and the fallen void commander. His body twitched once, then stilled, violet sparks dimming to a dull glow before vanishing into the cracked earth.

Tian Shen lowered his spear at last. The silver flames that had danced along its shaft guttered out, leaving only a faint shimmer, like moonlight caught in steel. His breath came slow and heavy, each inhalation dragging the ache of torn meridians and overstrained qi through his chest. Pain throbbed deep in his bones, but he refused to bend.

Feng Yin reached him first. Her boots crunched over shattered stone as she stepped to his side, sword still sheathed but aura sharp enough to slice through the lingering void. She did not speak at once. Instead, she scanned his posture, the faint tremor in his shoulders, the blood staining his sleeve. Only when she saw the steadiness in his gaze did she exhale.

"You pushed past your limits," she said quietly.

"Limits are for the untested," Tian Shen replied, though the faint rasp in his voice betrayed the cost.

From the lower ridges, Feilun elders approached with measured steps. Elder Su's eyes flicked over the broken battlefield, pausing on the corpse of the foreign commander. "The gauntlet's fragments are still active," he warned. "We'll need containment seals before the remnants corrupt the land."

Lian Hua joined them, her Azure Phoenix robes streaked with blood and ash. She knelt beside one of the shattered gauntlet shards, her fingers tracing the faint violet rune that pulsed within. "This isn't just a weapon," she murmured. "It's a key. A fragment of a larger design." Her eyes narrowed, sharp as talons. "They weren't testing our strength. They were testing their own."

The implication settled like a stone in the disciples' stomachs. If this was only a probe, the true invasion lay ahead.

Sect Master Feilun arrived last, his presence a steady pillar amid the chaos. He studied the ruined plateau, the broken enemy, and finally Tian Shen. "You've given us more than a victory," he said, his deep voice carrying through the crackling air. "You've given us warning."

Tian Shen met the Sect Master's gaze without flinching. "Then we use the time they've bought us," he said. "Strengthen the formations. Train the divisions. Prepare for the storm."

A silence followed—heavy, but no longer fearful. Around them, disciples straightened their backs, drawing quiet courage from the words. The night air still carried the scent of blood, yet it also carried something else: resolve.

Feng Yin rested a hand lightly on Tian Shen's arm, her eyes gleaming beneath the lantern light. "Then we stand together," she said.

The silver flame in Tian Shen's eyes flared once more, faint but unyielding.

"Until the end."