The night settled over the Heavenly Demon Sect like a black shroud — silent, heavy, and full of unseen eyes. The moon bled through the clouds, its crimson hue washing the courtyard in an eerie glow. Inside a small stone chamber at the edge of the Inner Sect grounds, Jin Valentine sat cross-legged upon the floor.

  A faint circle of dark mist pulsed around him — demonic qi, alive and volatile, swirling like smoke eager to devour its master.

  His breath was slow. Deliberate. Controlled.

  “Inhale the madness… exhale the restraint,” Jin whispered, repeating the words carved upon the wall — an ancient demonic breathing mantra known as The Black Nirvana Flow.

  The air around him trembled. Every breath drew the demonic qi deeper into his meridians, grinding against the remnants of the orthodox energy he once cultivated. The clash burned. His veins screamed. But Jin did not flinch.

  A faint smile ghosted his lips.

  “So this is the nature of demonic qi… chaotic, hungry, alive,” he murmured. “Good. It suits me.”

  He clenched his fist, the veins along his arm glowing faintly crimson as the Heavenly Overlord Art ignited within him. Symbols of pure darkness and golden flame spiraled along his skin, moving like living runes. The first stance—The Monarch’s Pulse.

  The floor beneath him cracked as the energy surged outward, bending the air. His aura no longer carried the balance of heaven and earth—it now dripped with the arrogance of one who sought to dominate both.

  For a moment, the shadows themselves bowed.

  Then— knock knock knock!

  The sound shattered the silence.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Jin’s eyes opened, calm but sharp, the golden hue in his irises flickering like embers. He rose and approached the door, sliding it open without a word.

  A young disciple stood there, sweating, his expression frantic. “Brother Jin! You— you should run. Now!”

  Jin’s brow arched. “Run?”

  The boy swallowed hard. “A group of new students… ten of them. They’re from the Black Serpent Peak. They said you humiliated their senior during the entrance duels. They’re coming here—to your quarters. If they find you—”

  Jin’s calm turned into quiet amusement. “And you came to warn me?”

  “I— I thought you should know. They’re not like the others… they don’t fight fair.”

  Jin looked past the trembling disciple, his gaze settling on the dark corridor outside. The air carried faint echoes of mocking laughter, the footsteps of predators drawing near.

  He stepped out slowly, the night air brushing against his face. His expression was serene — almost kind — but his aura carried something different now. Something feral.

  “I appreciate the warning,” he said softly. “But running isn’t in my nature.”

  The boy looked confused. “B-But—”

  Jin placed a hand on his shoulder, his tone quiet but final. “Go. You don’t need to see what happens next.”

  And then, he walked away.

  Each step radiated pressure — not of divinity, but of something darker. The transformation had begun. The last traces of his orthodox roots were burning away, leaving only the cold certainty of a demon reborn.

  As he reached the courtyard, the laughter grew louder. Ten disciples stepped out from the shadows, led by a burly youth with crimson tattoos etched along his arms.

  “Well, well,” the leader sneered. “The new prodigy of the Demon Lord himself. Tell me, Jin Valentine — how’s it feel to kneel before your betters?”

  Jin tilted his head slightly, his eyes half-lidded. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I’ve never met one.”

  The group erupted into jeers. The leader spat, summoning a whip of dark qi that hissed through the air like a serpent.

  “Big mouth for a dead man.”

  Jin didn’t move. His fingers flexed slightly, and the demonic qi around him thickened — no longer wild, but obedient. The Heavenly Overlord Art pulsed once, releasing a ripple that made the torches flicker.

  “Let’s make this quick,” Jin said quietly. His smile was faint but real now — a cruel, regal smirk. “I was meditating before you interrupted. Let’s see if your screams can lull me back into peace.”

  And then—he moved.

  A single step, a blur, a flicker of light swallowed by darkness.

  The first body hit the ground before the others even realized he’d moved. A second later, another fell—throat crushed, eyes wide with disbelief.

  The courtyard filled with chaos. Cries, curses, the metallic scent of blood. Jin’s movements were fluid, effortless—like an artist painting in crimson. The Heavenly Overlord Art didn’t just empower him; it exalted him.

  When it was done, only one remained—the leader, trembling, crawling backward.

  “W-What… what are you?” he whispered.

  Jin knelt down, his voice a low murmur against the night.

  “The moment I stopped pretending to be righteous,” he said, “was the moment I remembered what I truly am.”

  He rose, brushing off his sleeve. “A demon.”

  The leader’s scream was swallowed by the wind.

  As dawn crept across the horizon, Jin stood amid the carnage, the crimson light painting his pale features like war paint. His old self—the one bound by restraint—was gone.

  Only the Demon of Heaven’s Fall remained.