Beneath an aging sky, forever grey and never truly alight, the Dustfall Mortal Realm rotted like a forsaken world — abandoned even by the immortal names at the summit of existence.
The sun, which should've brought warmth, was but a faint shadow here, reluctantly touching the earth, like an old light disgusted by the decay it revealed. Ancient mist hung between skeletal trees, veiling withered villages trapped in the clutches of frozen time — where the measure of a man's life was counted not in years, but in scars and losses.
In this world, the line between life and death was a thread — thin, brittle, easily cut, easily forgotten. And every soul born here came into the world already assigned their station: prey… or butcher.
A Soul Awakening ceremony was being held in a muddy field — a patch of sodden ground more fit for cattle than for the so-called sacred altar where fate was declared. Foul mist clung to the air, carrying the stench of wet earth and rotten grass, while ancient clouds dragged themselves lazily across a sun that was no more than a dim blur behind a pall of grey.
Twelve young men stood in a stiff line, their bodies trembling not from the chill alone, but from the roiling clash of fear, ambition, and the fragile arrogance plastered upon their youth-worn faces. Behind them, a handful of village elders leaned wearily against creaking bamboo chairs, accompanied by stale tobacco, cheap wine, and the sigh of a world too exhausted to keep mourning the corpses buried beneath this cursed ground.
In a silent corner of the clearing, a thin youth stood alone. His hair a tangled, deep crimson, like a dying flame. His face marked with scars, his body a canvas of this world's cruelty. Yet in his eyes — though dull, worn, and weary — there flickered the last ember of something not yet willing to die.
His name was Chen Tian. A name even crows refused to caw, for fear of catching his misfortune.
"I've confirmed it," one of the elders muttered, his voice like the sigh of old wind on a deathless night. "That child… has no hope. Not in this world. Not in any."
One by one, the young men stepped forward, summoning their Martial Souls into the world. Some called forth golden lions, some radiant spears, others summoned serpentine dragons that coiled proudly through the mist. Qinghe Village roared, faces glowing with envy, hunger, and the petty pride that festers in places like this — where even a lotus born in mud was revered, not for its beauty, but because there was nothing better.
Then… came Chen Tian's turn.
He stepped forward, his footsteps heavy, as though each inch of ground beneath him sought to drag him down into the muck of fate. His frail hand trembled — not with hope, for this world had long stripped that from him — but because he knew precisely what was coming. This was not a world where fairness bloomed, nor one where sincerity meant anything. This was a world ruled by strength, and if you held none, your name would be spat upon, buried, and forgotten.
Chen Tian drew a deep breath, as though to swallow the bitterness for the last time.
"Martial Soul… awaken."
At once, from the back of his right hand, a thin mist of black-blue smoke rose, curling like graveyard fog from ancient earth. It swirled, condensing into the form of a small, slender sword — a blade thin as a withered reed, hued in dark, midnight blue, with a faded crescent-moon hilt eroded by the weight of years. The Martial Soul shimmered faintly, as though reluctant to show itself in a world that did not want it.
Martial Soul: Dark Moon Blade.
Grade: Soul River.
For a moment, time stopped. The mist held its breath. Crows in the distance fell silent.
And then… laughter burst forth.
"HAHAHA! Soul River? By the heavens, what disgrace!"
"That tiny sword? Might snap cutting an apple!"
"Chen Tian! This world's too cheap to even let you live!"
These weren't mere taunts. Not idle jeers from bitter youths. They were declarations, spoken by the law of the world itself. In the Dustfall Mortal Realm, one's Martial Soul was one's fate. And Soul River Grade? It wasn't just worthless — it was a death sentence. A name destined for a gravestone that even the gods wouldn't bother carving.
Chen Tian stood motionless. The cold wind snaking through his wounds. The world had never made space for things like him. And he knew… on this ragged, blood-stained ground, more fit for carrion than men, his fate had already been decided.
The world shifted in an instant. Upon earth that reeked of rot, amidst a crowd of sneering faces, Chen Tian fell into a pool of his own blood. His breath ragged, his body battered, bones cracked, his flesh a tapestry of wounds. In his half-dead eyes, the last light of dusk flickered, like a mocking glow from a sky too cruel to let him fade in peace.
Around him, harsh laughter split the stale air like rusted knives plunging into dying pride.
"Hahaha! Trash like you… Soul Awakening a Soul River Grade? Even a servant's brat in the outer clans would have Soul Earth Grade!"
Accompanied by sour jeers, kicks and punches rained upon his battered frame, as though his body existed for no greater purpose than to serve as a vessel for their petty, gutter-born arrogance. Blow after blow struck him, as though his existence itself was an affront to the filth-ridden world they crawled through.
And yet Chen Tian — though his bones splintered, though his flesh bled — still refused to bow. In the ragged fringes of his shattered consciousness, he struggled to summon the flickering wisp of his Martial Soul. A slender sword, midnight blue like a dying night sky, its crescent-moon hilt ancient and worn. Soul River Grade — the Dark Moon Blade. An existence so lowly it stood only a step above empty mist. But as he forced that Martial Soul into being, the sword trembled… cracked… then shattered into a fine, black mist.
And in that instant — a chime rang out, as though a chain had snapped somewhere deep within the skein of time. The pain wasn't in his flesh — but in his very soul, as though half his existence had been wrenched away. The backlash struck his sea of consciousness, seizing his body in a brutal spasm, until at last… his breath ceased.
The world fell still.
Time held its breath.
A chill wind, grey mist curling like death's pallid hand, brushed against a lifeless body. The world seemed to forget him in that moment. And within that emptiness, far beyond the boundaries of this realm, something ancient… stirred.
High above skies no mortal eye had touched, in the folds of dimensions where law itself dared not crawl, a single white petal drifted slowly. It came from a place even the laws of heaven feared to tread. And within its simple form, it carried two eternal lights — the remnants of a battle that had reshaped history across countless kalpas.
On its left, the imprint of the Void Abyss Eclipse Eye — a violet-black eye, its spiral pupil turning ever slowly, fractures of ancient law bleeding softly from its rim. And on its right, the Reincarnation Six Path Eye — a golden iris with six revolving mandalas, each orbiting in a different direction, holding the mysteries of rebirth and the secret threads of fate.
These eyes had once belonged to Hei Xuan, the Heavenly Demon Emperor who split the cosmos. Now, only his lingering will remained, wrapped within a fragile mortal petal, drifting on the broken river of time.
In the mortal realm sky, the petal descended slowly. The faint consciousness of Hei Xuan surveyed the field.
"Weak… rotten… Hah, this lowly world's even filthier than I imagined… That one? Soul Sky Grade… Hmph, decent enough to serve as a vessel…"
The petal floated toward a broad-shouldered youth — a Martial Adept with a silver spear. His aura was clean, bright, strong. Hei Xuan, like some ancient predator, saw in him a glimmer of survival.
"Come to Grandpa Hei—!"
But fate — as though by the lazy hand of heaven — intervened. The boy stumbled, and the petal, like the bitter laugh of cruel fortune, fell instead upon the battered body of Chen Tian.
"THIS LITTLE—!"
Hei Xuan froze. For a heartbeat, the world went still.
"This one? Trash? A Soul River Grade? Hmph… damn fate. But… if law has decreed it… so be it."
The petal sank into Chen Tian's flesh. Piercing his fractured consciousness. Crashing directly into his nearly extinguished soul-sea. In that moment, Chen Tian's heart ceased.
Darkness. Silence. Void.
In the endless abyss, a heavy voice like grinding chains rang out, tearing through the hush.
"You miserable little wretch… If it weren't for those cursed laws… you'd be ash by now. But… fine. Let's see how long you last in that rotten corpse."
Hei Xuan sneered. Yet somewhere, deep in his gaze… a shadow flickered. A memory of himself.
Chen Tian's sea of consciousness turned pitch black. At its center, a tall man with long hair stood arrogantly. His left eye — the Void Abyss Eclipse Eye — pulsed with abyssal light. His right — the Reincarnation Six Path Eye — revolved slowly, brushing against the paths of mortal rebirth. An aura of ancient hatred and void-devouring will cloaked his figure.
"I, Hei Xuan… Heavenly Demon Emperor… shall now take refuge in this decaying husk. Live with me, or be reduced to ashes."
Hei Xuan traced the sigil of life and death, forging a one-body pact with this mortal wretch.
Chen Tian gave no answer. And yet — somewhere, in the deepest emptiness — a single ember flickered. Not strength. Not fury. Merely the stubborn flame that refused to die. Not vengeance. Not glory. Just a primal instinct:
I want to live.
Not for revenge. Not for greatness.
But to prove that even the filthiest thing… has the right to defy its heaven.
That day, Chen Tian — nameless son of nowhere, child of rust and bone — died.
And from his corpse rose a being who would one day slap fate in the face, fracture the Mortal Realm, and make the heavens weep.