Re: God of Formation.

"What did you say?!"

A booming voice reverberated through the dark chamber, shaking its very foundations.

The tall stone pillars quivered; spiderweb cracks spread across the tiled floor, and the faint light of the lanterns flickered, dimming as if afraid of the voice that filled the air.

Kneeling before the towering figure seated on the throne, a man trembled violently.

The soft sound of sweat dripping from his chin onto the cold floor echoed faintly, each drop amplifying the suffocating tension that filled the chamber.

He did not dare raise his head.

His breath came shallow and quick as he waited for the fury of the man seated on the throne to subside.

"Are you saying," the man on the throne growled, his voice seething with fury barely contained, "that the old dean has sided with him?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Good. Good…" He repeated, each word laced with venomous anger and suppressed hatred.

His fingers clenched tightly against the armrest of his throne, veins bulging as his mind burned with rage.

He had just lost one of the key pillars of his organization.

Though there are Expert Realm cultivators that served under him, the loss of even one was a blow he could not easily dismiss.

"Since the old dean has chosen a side," he finally muttered darkly, "then it is time we take sides as well."

His words dripped with sinister resolve.

"It is time to deal with those old fools. Gather the smaller clans and have them strike the academy." His tone was calm now—but that calm was the kind that comes before the storms.

"Let's see if he can still maintain his arrogance when all their students withdraw from the academy."

His eyes gleamed like a beast in the dark. "Also, send someone to contact the Gong clan. It is time we work together."

"Yes, My Lord," the kneeling man replied quickly, bowing until his forehead touched the cracked floor before hurrying out of the chamber, exhaling a long, shaky sigh of relief once he crossed the threshold.

Left alone in the oppressive silence, the figure on the throne leaned back.

His thoughts churned.

Everything had been moving according to plan—until the sudden appearance of Jun Wu.

That name alone made his jaw tighten.

The emergence of a Heavenly Son would give the world hope—hope that could inspire rebellion, unity, and resistance.

Hope was dangerous.

Hope was poison to his organization.

Thus, that light must be extinguished before it could shine too brightly.

…

The Gong Clan

"So, the Mystic Path Academy no longer remains neutral," the Matriarch said coldly, her voice laced with disdain.

Her eyes, sharp and commanding, swept across the gathered elders.

For centuries, the academy had prided itself on neutrality, on standing above mortal disputes.

Yet now, they had chosen to side with a so-called "trash" from the Jun aristocrat clan.

"Since they've chosen a side," she continued, "it's time we remind them who truly controls this region. Withdraw all our people from the city."

She paused, then added chillingly, "Begin the hunts."

The words fell like thunder.

The elders froze.

A murmur rippled through the hall, their expressions shifting from confusion to horror.

They all knew what "the hunts" meant.

It was a ruthless strategy—a purge the clan had only invoked twice since its founding.

Both times had been during crises that threatened their very survival.

To hear those words now, when the clan's existence was not directly threatened, sent a cold shiver down their spines.

One elder hesitated, frowning. "Matriarch… if we launch the hunts now, we risk attracting unwanted attention. The academy is one matter, but what of the Jun clan—our lifelong enemies? Will this not spread us thin?"

The Matriarch's eyes narrowed, her aura flaring. "What? Do you think my decision is rash?"

Her cold snort silenced the room.

"Let me tell you all something," she said slowly, each word carrying the weight of authority. "I've received news of a new profession… one that Heaven itself seems to have acknowledged."

Her lips curled into a sneer.

"They call it Master Teacher."

"Master… Teacher?" several elders echoed in disbelief, exchanging bewildered glances.

They had never heard of such a thing.

A title granted by Heaven itself?

Impossible…or so they thought.

"This," the Matriarch said, her tone rising, "This is a sign of great change. With the appearance of the Master Teacher, all the prestige and authority our clan has built could be threatened."

She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with madness.

"Tell me….if the Soaring Cloud Region suddenly produces dozens of Masters and Experts, do you think anyone will still fear us?"

Everyone inside the hall sucked in a cold breath.

The implications hit them like lightning.

For generations, they toiled with blood and sweat to rise to their current level and…

If this so-called Master Teacher could awaken potential on a large scale, the entire balance of power would collapse.

Their clan prestige would mean nothing.

They would no longer be at the top.

The elders' faces darkened as the reality sank in.

The Matriarch smiled faintly, sensing their shifting expression.

"Now, you understand," she said coldly.

"This 'Master Teacher' nonsense must not be allowed to flourish. Pass my order immediately. We won't stop until that trash is dead, and anyone who dares follow him shares the same fate."

The hall fell silent.

The decision had been made.

….

Unknown Location

In a distant forest untouched by human presence, a dilapidated pagoda stood eerily at its center.

The air around it was thick with death and decay.

Every tree, blade of grass, and flower within a hundred meters had long since withered away.

The land itself seemed cursed, tainted by something ancient and malevolent.

Any living creature that dared to step within that radius had its vitality drained in seconds.

Even the beasts avoided the place, circling far around it.

Inside the pagoda, the atmosphere was even worse.

A group of figures cloaked in black robes embroidered with crimson sigils stood in a loose circle.

The stench of blood and rot permeated the air.

At the center loomed an ancient shrine, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly with an ominous energy.

Upon the altar lay hundreds of young men and women, all under twenty.

Their pale, lifeless bodies were covered in shallow cuts, on their wrists, ankles, and chests.

Blood trickled down the altar, feeding into the runes like rivers into a hungry ocean.

"Begin the sacrifice," an old, rasping voice commanded.

Immediately, the cloaked figures knelt and began chanting in a strange tongue.

With every passing second, the air grew heavier.

The chanting deepened, vibrating through the bones, and the flow of blood from the bodies intensified.

Ten minutes later, the sky above the pagoda had turned black.

A swirling mass of dark clouds gathered, crackling with otherworldly energy.

Then, from within the altar, a presence emerged, vast, suffocating, ancient.

A shadow formed amidst the blood and smoke, its voice reverberating through every soul in the chamber.

"Why…do you summon me?"

The voice was neither male nor female. It was the whisper of death itself.

"Speak," it growled, "before I devour you all."

The old man trembled, forcing himself to raise his head.

"My Lord… a Heaven Chosen has appeared."