Heavens' Laughter

Panic gripped the old man.

His spiritual breath quickened, each step heavy with dread, as the Sea of Consciousness around him began to twist and darken.

The air thickened, turning blood red, like the very atmosphere was suffocating the old man.

He couldn't control the terror rising within him, nor could he quell the gnawing realization of the grave mistake he had made.

In the old man's haste, he failed to recognize the true nature of the demon he had underestimated.

He had thought of him as merely another adversary, but now, with clarity striking like a bolt of lightning, he understood the horrifying truth.

This wasn't just any demon—this was something far darker, far more ancient and powerful than the old man could have ever imagined.

The weight of his ignorance crushed him.

With every fleeting moment, the old man's mind raced, replaying the warnings he had ignored, the signs he had missed.

The old man's spiritual stomach churned, bile rising in his spiritual throat, as he realized that he had unknowingly stepped into the grasp of something far worse than death itself.

Using the last remnants of his cultivation, which was rapidly deteriorating, he fought to maintain his grip on his sanity.

Every fiber of his being screamed in protest as the overwhelming force of the demon pressed against his mind, threatening to shatter his own Sea of Consciousness.

Desperation fueled the old man's every action, and with every ounce of strength he could muster, he forced his will to push back, fighting against the crushing darkness that sought to swallow him whole.

'AHHHH!!! I NEED TO FLEE!!!'

The escape wasn't swift—it was agonizingly slow.

The old man's spiritual body was no longer his own; his Qi had been stretched thin as he had spread himself out, attempting to seize control of the demon's body to usurp it.

But the cost of such an effort was great.

The old man's mind, frayed and fragile, fought to untangle itself from the demon's grip, but every movement was a battle, every second a drawn-out war of wills.

The struggle felt endless.

What should have been a quick escape became a desperate fight for the old man's very soul.

Time stretched, and he could feel his Qi slipping away with each passing moment, his cultivation draining faster than he could restore it.

Despite the old man's best efforts, the more he fought, the deeper the entanglement became, leaving him teetering on the edge of total annihilation.

'I can't die like this!'

As the old man fought for his very own life…

The mechanical voice resounded throughout:

"Jay Chou has been DEFEATED!"

"Spare or kill?"

Feng Shen, now fully in control of his own mind, wore a twisted, manic smile as he observed the unconscious "hero".

His golden eyes glinted with dark satisfaction, no trace of mercy in them.

"Feng Shen has chosen KILL!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Feng Shen delivered a devastating punch to the "hero's" face.

The sound of bone cracking echoed through the air as his fist made contact, shattering the skull in an instant.

The force of the blow was so intense that the "hero's" life was snuffed out immediately, his body lifeless.

Feng Shen's smile only widened, madness as he watched the once-proud "hero" fall.

Immediately, he was sent back to his seat, the crowd in the stands frozen in fear, too terrified to even glance in his direction.

No one dared acknowledge the demon, their gazes firmly fixed on the ground or elsewhere, as if by avoiding eye contact, they could somehow escape his eyes.

Unfazed by their fear, Feng Shen leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes.

'Don't think I haven't forgotten about you, young one.'

Feng Shen's thoughts echoed through his Sea of Consciousness, their dark resonance vibrating in the depths of his mind.

A faint, twisted grin curled at the corners of his lips as he felt the old man within him stir.

'PLEASE! Let me go! I'll never come across you again!'

The old was deseprate as he began coughing up spirtual blood, feeling everything become paler and weaker.

Feng Shen floated in his Sea of Consciousness.

Here, within the boundless expanse of his own mind, he was the god of this place.

Feng Shen looked down with a chilling sense of superiority at the spirit beneath him.

The old man's hands clawed at his spiritual head, his eyes wide with madness as he struggled to free himself from the overwhelming force that bound him.

'I BEG YOU!'

Blood chains, thick and pulsating, held the old man in place, their crimson tendrils burrowing into his soul.

The chains were an extension of Feng Shen's will, a manifestation of his power, and the spirit could do nothing but scream and squirm under their weight.

The more the old man fought, the tighter they became, constricting his consciousness, pushing him closer to the brink of insanity.

His efforts were futile, like a trapped animal desperately gnawing at its restraints.

Feng Shen watched.

'So much pain, so much desperation,' he thought, savoring the sight.

Feng Shen could feel the spirit's essence fraying, unraveling in real time.

It was exquisite—pure suffering that he had carefully cultivated, like a flower blossoming in the depths of torment.

"You cannot escape. You were never meant to," Feng Shen said.

The blood chains tightened, feeding off the spirit's anguish.

With a casual flick of his hand, the chains pulled harder, sending the spirit into a frenzy.

'AHHHHH! IT HURTS! IT FUCKING HURTS!!!'

Feng Shen enjoyed the symphony of despair below him.

He would not stop until the spirit was nothing.

Licking his lips with a slow, deliberate motion, Feng Shen placed his hand over half of his face, as though savoring the very Qi of the moment.

His golden eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger. Your journey continues on My Virtual Library Empire

'I must express my gratitude for this cultivation progress,' Feng Shen murmured.

To him, the suffering of the spirit before him was an offering—one that would fuel something far greater.

'It is the perfect tool to fuel my rise.'

Hearing the words, despite them being broken and hard to decipher, the old man felt his entire existence begin to shatter.

The very fabric of his soul seemed to fracture as he finally understood the depth of his predicament.

The demon wanted this to happen…

'I'm so dumb…'

The old man knew…. the demon wanted to harvest all his cultivation progress.

A surge of helpless anger bubbled up within him, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a crushing sense of sorrow.

The bitter truth was too much to bear.

The demon—this unorthodox cultivator.

The old man's own cultivation, his efforts, his sacrifices—now nothing more than a stepping stone in the demon's unstoppable rise.

The very thing he had worked for, fought for, was being torn away from him.

His heart, if it could still be called that, twisted with rage.

'YOU DAMN BASTARD! I HATE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU EVIL CULTIVATORS! BURN IN THE REINCARNATION CYCLE AND SUFFER ETERNAL AGONY! MAY YOU BE TRAPPED IN AN INFINITE SPIRAL OF PAIN AND DESPAIR, WHERE NO ESCAPE EXISTS! YOUR WRETCHED SOULS WILL NEVER KNOW PEACE, FOR THE CYCLE WILL CONSUME YOU FOREVER, AND I WILL WATCH AS YOU WRITHE IN YOUR OWN DAMNATION!'

The blur of pain and exhaustion overwhelmed the old man.

Everything around him becoming a hazy, indistinct void.

The old man could do nothing but sink deeper into the blur of oblivion, the echo of the demon's triumph ringing in his ears as his consciousness dissolved into darkness.

At that moment...

Feng Shen's eyes shot open.

In that instant, an explosion of Qi erupted from his body, a torrent of raw power that surged outward like a tempest, tearing through the very air.

The sky itself seemed to recoil, clouds swirling away in the wake of the explosive force.

And then—boom—a blinding light, pure and searing, erupted from Feng Shen's form, bathing the entire area in a brilliance so intense it consumed all shadows.

It was as though the heavens themselves had parted for him.

Feng Shen had broken through.

He had reached the Middle Stage of the Foundation Realm.

"Ah~ Pathetic... still so weak~ I can feel it, the power slipping through my fingers like sand. I need more—more—more than this pitiful scrap of strength!" Feng Shen muttered.

His gaze flicked around.

Feng Shen could see it—everyone, from the strongest to the most pitiful, had been forced into defensive stances, struggling to recover from the sheer force of his ascension.

They were battered, but they had held their ground.

Some were strong enough to barely stand their ground, but those too weak or too slow to defend themselves had been shielded by a mysterious force, a protective barrier that seemed to manifest out of thin air.

Nobody said a word.

Not a single soul dared to utter a sound.

The demon's reckless disregard for holding back his ascension power was a face slap.

But…

Who would confront this demon?

The answer was clear.

Nobody.