Dark clouds drifted across the midday sky, threatening to unleash rain at any moment. Amid the lush foliage below, a bronze-skinned man desperately rushed through the infamous Weeping Forest, lunging from branch to branch in a frantic escape.
Blurs of brown and green swept past him at a startling speed. Though he felt lighter than a feather, he was being hunted like a rabid dog. He had been on the run for several days now.
As he fled, Zeke was cruelly reminded that the comfort he had once enjoyed was nothing more than a delusion before the greater powers that ruled this world. His thoughts churned in a frenzy as regret gnawed at him. He had grown complacent in his cultivation.
Fifty years ago, he had stood near the peak of the mortal realm.
Now, at one hundred and forty-one years old, Zeke still appeared to be a man in his forties—a feat only possible through the effects of cultivation.
This martial world had once been completely alien to Stephen when he first transmigrated into the body of Zeke Samus, the ten-year-old bastard son of the Elemental Sect's patriarch, Sang-Law of the Samus lineage.
Thinking of his so-called father, Zeke ground his teeth in anger.
Lord Samus was the primary reason he found himself trapped in this life-or-death situation.
Before he could continue cursing the man in his head, a gut-wrenching scream escaped his lips as his momentum was abruptly disrupted.
Blood sprayed through the air.
His body spun like a rag doll as an unimaginable burning sensation engulfed his left side. Moments later, he crashed violently into the forest floor with a hollow thud.
Clutching his shoulder, Zeke finally realized what had happened.
His left arm was gone.
Writhing in agony, he raised his head and found one of his pursuers staring down at him with amusement.
"Looking for this?"
The man spoke in a heavy tone while casually holding Zeke's severed arm.
Silver hair.
Golden eyes.
Shark-like teeth.
A mixture of blue and silver silk armor covered his body.
"My misguided younger brother," he continued, "how did it come to this?"
Zeke answered with a dry smile.
"Tsk. You tell me."
At that very moment, a crimson glow erupted from the detached arm dangling in Fang's grasp.
Within a second, a massive blood-red scythe burst from the open wound and slashed toward his neck.
Caught slightly off guard, Fang released the arm and leapt backward.
However, the result had already fallen within Zeke's expectations.
The Blood Scythe rapidly transformed into a strange husk before stretching back toward him. His severed arm reattached itself instantly.
Zeke sprang to his feet as though nothing had happened.
Fang wasted no time counterattacking.
Wind blades enveloped his hand and forearm as he shot forward faster than a passing gust.
The two collided.
Zeke reactivated the Blood Scythe on impact, but he was immediately forced backward several meters. The gap in strength between them was becoming increasingly obvious.
Although both men stood at Stage 5—just a step away from Immortality—the difference between them was immense.
Each Stage possessed three ranks:
Disciple.
Master.
Grandmaster.
Zeke remained a Stage 5 Disciple.
Fang was a Stage 5 Master.
Given the logic of this world, the outcome was nearly predetermined.
"Zeke!" Fang shouted. "Why do you continue this pointless struggle? Haven't you already brought enough shame upon our sect and ancestors?"
Zeke gritted his teeth as he endured the pressure radiating from his brother.
Whether Fang genuinely believed the accusations against him or simply chose to ignore the truth no longer mattered.
His loyalty—along with that of their seven other siblings—belonged entirely to Lord Samus.
Unconditionally.
In a society driven by desire and self-interest, the distinction between Orthodox, Unorthodox, and Demonic factions often came down to presentation.
Behind closed doors, true heroes were rare.
Most of the world's leaders were merely hypocrites hiding behind righteous banners and rotten alliances.
"What else would you expect from someone branded the black sheep since birth?" Zeke sneered. "I'm simply doing my best to live up to the title."
Bitterness filled his voice.
He had spent decades clawing his way upward.
When he finally earned the position of elder more than fifty years ago, the admiration and privileges that followed had slowly dulled his survival instincts.
Around these venomous snakes, he had allowed himself to relax.
That mistake would cost him dearly.
"Ungrateful trash!"
Fang roared.
With overwhelming force, he shattered the Blood Scythe and drove his hand straight through Zeke's abdomen.
Blood spilled from Zeke's mouth.
Yet he smiled.
Grabbing hold of the arm impaling him, he immediately attempted to inject a deadly poison directly into Fang's Spiritual Root—the source from which all martial cultivators gathered their Qi.
Before Fang could react, Zeke unleashed a storm of poisonous blood needles from every pore in his body.
Like a human porcupine, he struck from point-blank range.
"Damn demonic bastard! I'll—"
Fang staggered backward.
Then his words abruptly stopped.
Zeke's body dissolved into a pool of blood.
The shared vision instantly shattered.
The Blood Clone had fulfilled its purpose.
Immediately after, his remaining senses returned to his original body, slithering several meters underground using the Earth Dragon technique.
Moving through the compacted dirt like it was air, Zeke had decided to split off onto an alternate path from his clone a couple of days before the manhunt had first begun.
Fast-forwarding to the present, he now bolted free, thousands of miles in the opposite direction.
Purposely leaving a small but noticeable trail for his pursuers to bite the bait of his clone's whereabouts, instead of himself.
Savoring the last bewildered expression that his older brother exhibited, without warning, his muscles stiffened, succumbing to a delayed onslaught of torment.
Still underground, the surge of visceral anguish that Zeke's clone had experienced reverted. Taking half the tool, he endured the uncontrollable convulsions that threatened to rip him apart. Battling this side effect for a few more minutes, Zeke finally recovered well enough to continue onward.
Having a set goal in mind of seeking refuge under the intel and assassin network he'd established under a different identity in his younger years. He was within half a day of crossing its border towards his desired destination.
The Central Plain was the ideal location to start anew during the current state of affairs. Knowing the Elemental sect influence would be greatly diminished in that particular territory.
'Soon enough, this living nightmare where I had to hide and look over my shoulders like a frightened rat will subside.'
Thinking about the future, an eerie premonition crept to mind, sending a chill down Zeke's spine. On cue, he felt an earth-shattering quake, violently uprooting him from the deep soil underneath. A deafening boom, followed by a large cloud of dust, left a large crater in its wake.
Inside Zeke's mangled body was left at the center of it all. Struggling to breathe as blood poured into his lungs. A familiar voice rang out, invoking utter dread.
" Where do you think you're scurrying off to, Zeke?"