Chapter Forty: Braveheart (XV)

The Black Crow watched the changes within the formation in silence. In the second layer, the twenty-eight constellations alternated between light and darkness, the Eight Trigrams formed their own pattern, while the Four Symbols constantly shifted as well. Though each had moments of strength and weakness, together they formed a seamless cycle—seemingly unbreakable.

The Black Crow knew his own mastery over formations was too shallow; even if he spent ages observing, he would likely discover nothing. His only option was to break it by force.

Having made up his mind, the Black Crow no longer circled outside the formation. Instead, he resumed his true form.

This time, his transformation was different from when he had first descended. The pitch-black armor that had once cloaked him had vanished, revealing a body covered in blood-red patterns.

Those blood-red markings shimmered with an eerie light, radiating a demonic and terrifying aura. Under their glow, even the very underworld itself seemed to undergo strange changes.

First, all the spirits in the space grew frenzied. Bathed in the bloody light, the specters that had glowed pale blue began slowly turning red, ultimately becoming the color of blood.

Countless blood-red spirits—perhaps now more aptly named blood wraiths—emanated boundless baleful energy, as though they wished to tear apart all the gods and Buddhas of the heavens.

“Let it begin,” the Black Crow intoned fervently, muttering incantations, his entire being shrouded in a strange crimson radiance. Suddenly, a gloomy blood moon appeared behind him.

His visage twisted with ferocity, blood-colored hair streaming wildly, and a black mark on his brow shone starkly—a monstrous dragon with seven heads and ten horns. This mark pulsed with ghostly light, subtly echoing the blood moon, heightening the sense of the uncanny.

A bizarre aura erupted from him in an instant. Countless blood wraiths stared with madness in their eyes, hurling themselves toward the blood moon one after another.

As the endless blood wraiths sacrificed themselves, the blood moon behind the Black Crow, once faint and indistinct, gradually grew clear. Even more unsettling, the black seven-headed, ten-horned dragon mark on his brow began to turn blood-red as well, as if awakening from slumber.

“What—what is he doing?” Magi Hong stared at the mysterious mark on the Black Crow’s forehead, a nameless terror surfacing in his eyes. Never, since attaining divinity, had he witnessed such a strange sight. An almost suffocating dread welled up from his very soul.

So it was for most of the Seven Ghosts of Mount Changyang on the first layer. Faces once fierce and terrifying turned pale as paper. It was as if they sensed an ancient, primordial nemesis, and their bodies shook uncontrollably.

“The blood moon sacrifice—this is a summoning! He’s calling something forth!” Magi Hai exclaimed, his face ashen.

The Black Crow lightly tapped the now blood-red mark on his brow, as if communicating with something. Moments later, joy shone on his face as the blood moon blazed with light.

A terrifying pull radiated from the blood moon. The boundless blood wraiths vanished at a speed visible to the naked eye, while the blood moon grew ever more substantial. The surrounding void trembled violently, and ripples of blood-red light appeared out of nowhere.

Where the void shook, a bolt of blood-red lightning flashed, then a second, a third—

In the blink of an eye, a dense web of blood lightning filled the sky around the sacrificial altar.

Clusters of black demonic energy swirled around the nearly solid blood moon, spinning rapidly under an unseen force. In an instant, a massive black vortex—dozens of yards across—formed in midair.

The void rippled wildly; the whole sky crackled with the sound of shattering. The area around the black vortex warped dramatically.

Suddenly, the black vortex trembled and spread open, revealing a colossal tunnel through the void.

Through this enormous portal, one could faintly glimpse a blood-red sky and a blood-red sun radiating endless crimson light.

Beneath this bloody sun stood a gigantic throne of bones, hundreds of yards tall. Most chilling of all, the throne’s base was supported by four massive skeletons, each faintly resembling the Azure Dragons of the Four Symbols formation—these were dragon bones!

Atop the throne rested a head, still dripping with blood. Though blood streamed from it, boundless Buddha-light emanated from it. Beyond the void tunnel, none could clearly see its features, yet merely beholding it brought a sense of peace and serenity.

Upon the great throne sat a majestic figure shrouded in demonic energy. Around him, space and time blurred, as if the cosmos itself sought to conceal his presence from all others.

“Ah!? That—that’s a Buddha!” Magi Hai beheld the head and was stunned. With a wail, he spat blood, grief contorting his face, and fell in worship.

“Heavens, how unjust you are! Why must even a Buddha perish?” Magi Shou cried to the sky, collapsing in tears as he bowed, knees bent, hands together, chanting the prayer for the departed over and over.

“We have been imprisoned here for countless eons, severed from the world, and yet even a Buddha has fallen. Which Buddha, we do not know, but the sin is unforgivable, unforgivable!” Magi Hong muttered incessantly, kneeling toward the west like a clay statue.

“You fiend! How dare you slay a Buddha? If you have the courage, come forth and fight me, Magi Qing!” Magi Qing’s eyes blazed with fury. He roared to the heavens, his voice shaking the sky.

The Black Crow looked upon Magi Qing’s furious outburst with disdain, as if watching a clown’s antics. He sneered, then gazed fervently at the majestic figure beyond the void, and prayed with devotion:

“Mighty Lord of Darkness, your insignificant servant begs you to send forth your humblest vassal to aid me in this endeavor.”

It seemed the towering figure glanced through space and time at their world. All present felt as if their breath was seized. With a gesture, he sent forth a gray shadow from the void tunnel.

It was a monster over thirty yards tall—bull-headed, man-bodied, covered in short gray fur, radiating an aura both mysterious and sinister.

Twin blood-red horns crowned its head, though one was sheared halfway, lending it a more murderous air. Its eyes blazed red, and in its hand it gripped a giant black axe as large as itself. The axe’s blade was chipped and battered, a testament to countless fierce battles.

The bull-headed monster looked down at the Black Crow, who stood nearly its equal in height, and rumbled, “I am the Bull Demon, one of my master’s twelve warlords. You begged for my descent—what is it you seek?”

“Simply that formation. Destroy it, and I ask nothing more,” the Black Crow replied with a chilling smile, his face contorted in anticipation as he waited for the Bull Demon to act.