Chương 3: Chapter 2

Inverted Onyx Mountain was a bit of a misnomer. First of all, it was no mountain. A crater large enough to swallow a city opened in a rocky plateau, its rock turned a glassy black by a meteorite impact tens of thousands of years ago. A high-ranking Dragon Vein lay at the bottom, providing a rare kind of spirit stone called Nightstone; it was produced by mixing the Earth's Qi with whatever stellar substance came from the heavens, and was the main reason for Wu Zetian's decision to establish her Sect there.

Her Abyssal Iron Blossom lay at the bottom, right atop the greatest point of contact between heavenly and earthly Qi. This was the lowest level of the Sect, also called the Abyssal Underworld. Rising from it, veins of spirit stone and the Night, a mix of her own and the Qi provided by the Shadow Dragon Vein, wound their way upward, lessening in quality as they did and providing a ranking for inhabitation.

Closest to the Blossom yet divided from it by a barrier called Still-Death Gate, there were the Sect Elders' personal households, where they lived and cultivated alongside their Direct Disciples; their palaces floated into the Night like dandelions on the wind, or clung to the highest quality Spirit Veins like greedy dragons. Each was a self-contained domain, held by its Elder in total autonomy, and together they formed the Lightless Underworld.

Above, beyond a second barrier called Midnight Step Gate, there lay the Core Disciples' ring of residences. Ornate halls, palaces and whole mansions clung to the crater's walls or crisscrossed it in delicate structures and bridges; shadowflame torches didn't push away the unnatural darkness, which normal fire wouldn't have managed to repel, but offered those who walked in their darklight the ability to see through it.

This was the Gate Underworld, and it was here that the best soldiers of the Sect lived and studied, often at the feet of Elders. Rising again beyond the Twilight Faltering Gate, another ring of residences hosted the Sect's Inner Disciples. Unlike the more lavish homes beneath, this was a stark, militaristic space, with barracks, dormitories and communal halls for meditation, training and study. Light made its tentative appearance here, in the rows after rows of silverflame torches that kept the Night at bay.

No Elder lived here: the esteemed teachers returned to the level beneath to rest and ascended only to offer insight and guidance, leaving the day-to-day governance to handpicked Hall Masters. This was the Middle Grey Underworld. Lastly, beyond the Black Fog Gate, one arrived in the Shallow Underworld and the houses of the Outer Disciples and the Sect Slaves.

Sprawling chaotically between the first rungs of the crater and the flat lands around it, this was a dysmal place, choked with foundries' smoke and darkened by an eternal night. The newcomers and the lowest talents mostly fended for themselves here, living in crumbling homes and abject poverty. The difference between disciples and slaves blurred: any Inner Disciple could coerce an inhabitant to do his bidding, or kill one if he found he was being disrespected. Life was bloody and hard here.

The only real protection came from the Walled Moonlit Ring, a string of fortifications around the crater's lip that was manned by the Sect's soldiers and kept away the monsters living on the plateau. It was one of the few things keeping the Godless Night separated by the demonic factions, and something the slaves and the Outer Disciples were endlessly grateful for.

Each Gate was guarded by one or more Spirit Beasts, the last of which was the Sect Master's Artifact Spirit, a millenary shadow-spawn hand-fed on the bones of high-level cultivators. Wu Zetian was instantly smitten by it. The coolness of the Night's breath, wafting its way upward. The ornate halls that glimmered in the darkness. The orderly array, the strength and discipline. This was the Five Courts of Night, the main base and ancestral seat of the Godless Night Sect.

Of course, there was much to improve and more to fix, her past incarnation's memories told her as much. But it still was everything she could have dreamed of, and more. A dream she didn't know she possessed. A kingdom she never knew she dreamed. It made seeing the state it had fallen into only more enraging. The Sect Elders' palaces were empty, the magnificent structures dancing like hollowed dolls.

No Core Disciple meditated in the ornate halls, and her Night wafted in the Outer Disciples' barracks to find only dust. The classroom and messhalls of the Outer Disciples rang with no voices. Only the slave quarters had their inhabitants. Tens of thousands of ragged mortals huddled in their hovels, trembling and praying. Their terror was like a beacon in the Night, sitting on her tongue like bitter tea. Frowning, Wu Zetian pushed her perceptions further. A Sect was its people, its masters and students.

Where was her Sect? The answer… wasn't optimal. The Courts were under siege. Thousands of demons, demoniac beasts and demonic cultivators surrounded the Walled Moonlit Ring. Monsters shrieked with too many mouths and sent barrages of fireballs streaking into the night. Giants of ruby flame strode across the plateau, unleashing cones of demonic fire that melted stone like wax. Centipedes and things dragged from the underworld coiled and clacked, filling the air with the whistling of spines and globs of acid.

Blood-crazed men, muscular bodies scoured clean of hair, lifted their hands in violent chants that splintered the air and summoned cascades of lava. Shadowy shapes wrapped in cloaks that rippled as if alive sent bolts of shadowy flame crashing against the walls. They weren't unopposed. Wu Zetian saw the dusky grey and shades of black of the Godless Night on the walls. The Sect's disciples launched bolts of dark energy and defended themselves with shadowy shields.

As she watched, tendrils of living darkness shot from the bastions, carving trenches into a battalion of demonic beasts like fingers dragged through dust. An obsidian flame erupted, and a moment later, explosions of the same blossomed amidst the invaders, annihilating dozens of enemies each. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The disciples hacked at the assailants with weapons that seemed carved from obsidian, threw back wave after wave from the walls with a furious determination. Wu Zetian saw two Core Disciples, their uniforms a deep blue-black, launch themselves at a knot of invaders that had taken over a section of the walls. They cut through their opponents in whirlwinds of blades, before coming together in a devastating double-cut that threw a ten-foot demon off the wall in four separate pieces.

In the blink of attention she gave it, she saw three similar episodes. It was a brave stand, but the defenders were outmatched. They were a fraction of their enemy's numbers and whoever commanded the sieging forces pushed their soldiers without regard for losses. The Ring had already been breached in four points, colossal demons of iron and flame roaring as they raged to enlarge the breaches. As she watched, a group of Disciples launched a barrage of needles at one of the monsters.

It seemed almost comical until the needles embedded themselves in the creature's shadow. The monster seized immediately, all its muscles locking up like it had been caught by lightning. A small figure, his robes flying around him, impacted against the creature. An ant against an elephant didn't do justice to the assault. And yet, as amethyst Qi erupted, the giant's flank distorted, demonic skin rippling like water under a bombardment of pebbles.

Howling, the monster erupted in a blaze of flame, sending incandescent shrapnel raining over the battlefield. Glorious victories, and yet they couldn't stop the advance nor tilt the battle's momentum. Even as the Elder struggled at his feet, three more giants were already lumbering toward the breach. Already?! Wu Zetian knew what was happening. This was the moment that effectively kicked off the story: the destruction of the Godless Night by an alliance of demonic sects.

The novel described it as the inevitable consequence of neglect: with their Ancestor lost in seclusion and no strong moral and duty framework to hold them together, all it took was a generation of over-arrogant Sect Elders for the Sect to splinter and fall into civil war. The loyalist faction, led by the Deputy Master, a descendant of Wu Zetian and effective leader of the Sect, won, but the fighting left what was an established Sect into a wreck. Things only got worse from there.

Elders plundered the vaults and deserted, the long-suffering Disciples started leaving and Wu Zetian's bottleneck provoked an increase in the monsters around the Courts. The new Deputy Master did his best to keep things hushed, but the demonic sects of the south smelled blood in the water. Putting aside their hostility, they allied and assaulted the Godless Night. The story described the fighting as a night of violence as the demons rampaged to their heart's content, destroying all that was left.

The leftover Disciples fought bravely, but they were too tired and too few. One by one, they fell, until the survivors could only beg for salvation. Which never came. Wu Zetian never stirred from her cultivation, and the Godless Night died with their Ancestor's indifferent back in its eyes. That event would shape the hero.

The callous indifference of those in power, the violence of a world ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness; it would give him the drive to start his own cultivation journey and launch him toward greatness. Problem was… The novel wasn't so violent. Acid flew and where it fell, horror followed. People screamed, dragging themselves through mud made bloody by their own lives. And again. And again. And again. Tales of Ascension didn't spare the fighting, but it always kept a lid on graphic violence.

The world that it described was simple, with defeated and winners, not horribly maimed, and a far look at the most problematic aspects. It fell in line with its protagonist: after living through what was effectively a string of traumas, he remained sunny and optimistic. Which was one of the many reasons she had snorted at it, but at least it was consistent with the world-building. That soft touch… wasn't there. Wu Zetian frowned. Would the protagonist be changed by it then? Become… darker? It would make sense.

Her own presence was a great deviation already, wasn't it? Except that the protagonist was meant to save the world. If he weren't the happy-go-lucky idiot of the novel, so many things could have gone wrong and the end… Zu Wetian shook her head. She was going into a tangent, without proof but her own imagination. But was it so strange to imagine? This situation was already so surreal. Well, it didn't matter.

Of course, she wasn't the old Wu Zetian, and wasn't callous nor cowardly enough to huddle into a hole while invaders despoiled her Sect and slaughtered her people. Maybe she was in a coma, and this was all a dream. Even if it was, she would be protecting her turf. … and save some people as collateral, she guessed. She nodded at that and, glad to put any thoughts of comas and brain death aside, started to look at the wider picture.

As expected, the invaders' leadership was keeping back, waiting for their troops to do the work before jumping in. Split between a tortured abomination the size of a small mountain that carried a castle on its back, a phenomenon that looked like a blood hurricane frozen in place and a flying, half-molten palace, she counted a dozen Nascent Soul cultivators. They were the danger. Their armies, for all their being in the hundreds of thousands, were inconsequential. Wu Zetian paced, hands behind her back.

Could she take them all? The answer was… possibly. She had just broken through to mid-tier Earth Immortal, and this was the heart of her power. Yet, the enemy greatly outnumbered her and wielded powers unknown to her. … but was that true? Wu Zetian arched an eyebrow. From what she remembered of the story, and her new memories compounded it, this was an alliance of pure, short-term convenience, to the point that the demonic cultivators would fall into fighting to divide the spoils. Absolute foolishness.

But what can you expect from these types? It's to be marveled at that they managed to set aside their base instincts long enough to act in a somewhat coordinated fashion. More to the point, she knew their commander. Gan Nim was the Sect Master of the Writhing Flame, and one of the few names mentioned in the story belonging to the demonic alliance that destroyed the Godless Night.

Blood-mad and greedy, if Wu Zetiang was supposed to incarnate cold indifference, he was another narrative device meant to show the violence lurking in the world. He fought in the bluntest way possible, summoning hellflames and burning his enemies to ashes with it. A brute of his likes would be the supreme commander only by bullying his way to the top. Shaky and easily disputable. She lifted a hand, gazing at it. Her fingertips were slightly stained, her power manifesting like drops of ink covering bone-white skin.

Enough flies may bring down a lion, yes, but Wu Zetian was more than her tier suggested. Not only was she monstrously talented, but her Nature was also incredibly powerful, its use refined by thousands of years of cultivation and fighting. She nodded slowly. Pros and cons had been set. The decision was easily taken now. She would step in, and she would do so in the most dramatic way possible. She swatted the air with a hand, the ample sleeve of her kimono fluttering with the movement.

At the same time, she flexed her aura. And the world twisted.