I Become Sect master In Another World-Chapter 187 — The Sky Chose a King
Ash fell like tired snow.
Slow.
Relentless.
It dusted broken helms and split pauldrons, clung to cracked blades and shaking fingers.
It traced thin gray lines down faces streaked with sweat and blood, settled in lashes, melted into wounds that would not close.
The disciples of the Sanatan Flame Sect stood shoulder to shoulder.
Boots dug into fractured stone.
Spines bent but unbroken.
Breaths came rough and shallow, ribs creaking with every inhale, but no one stepped back.
Someone’s sword tip trembled so hard it rang against the rock. Another tightened his grip until blood leaked between knuckles and dripped silently to the ground.
Eyes burned anyway.
Across the shattered terrace—
Qin Morian lifted his hand.
No flourish.
No chant.
Just the quiet certainty of a blade already descending.
Violet light seeped from his palm.
At first it was only a glow—thin threads curling lazily through his fingers like smoke.
Then the threads thickened, twisting around one another, knotting tighter and tighter until the air itself groaned under the weight.
The light did not flare.
It condensed.
Corrupted qi folded inward in slow spirals, coiling like strangled serpents, crushing themselves smaller, denser, hotter.
Each turn made the sky dim another shade. Each breath the sphere drank sound from the world.
Stone beneath his boots whined.
Hairline cracks crawled outward in delicate, trembling lines. Pebbles leapt once, twice, then floated, trembling in the pressure that thickened like drowning water.
The ground sagged.
The air tasted metallic.
Creatures felt it.
Their howls died in their throats. Wings folded tight against trembling backs.
Claws scraped nervously over rock as hundreds of warped bodies edged closer, forming a tightening ring.
One creature licked blood from its fangs and shuddered.
Another tilted its head, grin splitting its face too wide, waiting.
They leaned forward together.
Breath held.
Eyes fixed on the broken line of humans daring to stand.
In the center of it all—
Qin Morian’s fingers curled.
The violet sphere pulsed once.
And the mountain seemed to flinch.
Elder Liya felt it before she saw it.
The air thickened.
Not heat.
Not wind.
Weight.
It pressed against her lungs until her breath caught halfway in.
Her fingers tightened around Lin Shu’s torn sleeve without her realizing, nails biting through fabric into skin.
Her pupils shrank.
The violet sphere above Qin Morian’s palm pulsed once—
—and the terrace beneath her feet gave a soft, miserable crack.
Pebbles rose.
Hung.
Trembled.
"...This isn’t..." Her throat tightened. She swallowed against it. "If that falls... we won’t hold it without bodies."
Lin Shu didn’t answer.
Her cracked sword trembled in her hand, blue light flickering weakly along its spine like a dying heartbeat.
Behind them—
Crunch.
Boot against broken stone.
Elder An Ning stepped forward.
Shadow clung to him in ragged shreds, trailing behind like torn cloth.
Blood dripped from his chin in steady drops, dark spots blooming across the dust at his feet.
Each breath made his ribs shift wrong beneath torn robes.
Still—
He walked.
One step.
Another.
He stopped ahead of the line and planted his sword into the ground.
The steel sank deep.
Rang once.
He rested both hands on the hilt to steady himself, shoulders rising slowly, painfully.
"I’ll take it," he said.
Not loud.
The wind carried it anyway.
Ash swirled past his face, caught in the ragged shadow clinging to his shoulders.
He didn’t look back.
"I’m the strongest left."
For a moment, no one breathed.
Then—
A second set of footsteps.
Slow.
Uneven.
Elder Feng Yu came up beside him, robes dark with blood, one arm shaking as he raised his sword. The blade wavered once in his grip before he locked his wrist tight.
He snorted softly.
"You think I’ll let you die alone?"
His mouth twisted in something like a grin.
"If we fall..." He spat blood aside. "...we fall together."
Behind them—
Elder Wu limped forward.
His knees shook so hard they clicked against each other, but he planted his feet anyway, shoulders squaring as he dragged himself in front of the disciples.
Elder Jian Fan staggered into place beside him, coughing hard, red splashing across his palm.
He wiped it on his robe without looking and clenched his fist until golden light flickered weakly between his knuckles.
Elder Wan inhaled slowly.
His ribs crackled.
Still, his fingers twitched through half-formed seals, emerald lines flickering and dying in the air before him as if habit refused to stop.
They formed a wall.
Bent backs.
Bleeding hands.
Swords lifted anyway.
Across the terrace—
Qin Morian watched.
His smile deepened.
Violet light spun faster above his palm, threads tightening, crushing inward until the sphere hummed like something alive.
"I like this," he murmured.
The words slid through smoke like silk over steel.
"So loyal. So... touching."
The sphere pulsed.
The mountain answered.
Stone split with sharp reports. Fractures raced through shattered terraces.
Loose slabs leapt into the air and hovered, trembling like leaves caught in a storm that had not yet begun.
Creatures screamed.
Hundreds of warped bodies flattened instinctively against the ground, claws digging into rock as pressure crushed their spines low. Wings snapped shut. Teeth chattered.
Wang Tian wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
His eyes stayed on the swelling light.
"...What is he doing?" he rasped. "If he drops that... his own monsters die too."
Elder Liya didn’t look away.
"He doesn’t care," she said.
The violet sphere swelled again, swallowing more sky.
"He’ll bury everything."
She raised her voice.
"Ready!"
Steel lifted.
Slow.
Hands shaking.
Blades nicked and cracked caught what little light remained.
Auras crawled over broken bodies.
Blue sparks crept weakly along Lin Shu’s fractured sword, popping like static.
Pink petals trembled around Liya’s shoulders, edges frayed and fading.
Shadow leaked from An Ning’s blade in thin, unsteady wisps.
Disciples forced qi through shattered meridians, faces twisting as pain burned through them.
Flickers of crimson, brown, silver, emerald rose anyway—dim, flickering, refusing to die.
Across from them—
Qin Morian’s grin widened.
The violet sphere above his palm thickened until even light bent around it.
The sky dimmed, colors draining, the sun smothered behind spiraling corruption.
Every heart on the mountain felt it.
A crushing promise.
Then—
Suddenly, the wind died.
Not fading.
Cut.
Ash that had been drifting in slow spirals halted midair, gray flakes hanging like shattered snow caught inside glass.
Torn banners froze in mid-flutter. Flames licking along broken rafters bent sideways and stayed there, stretched thin and trembling.
A loose pebble rolled toward a crack—
—and stopped on its edge.
Qin Morian’s smile held.
Then stalled.
Just enough.
Something moved through the battlefield.
No sound.
No light.
Only a chill crawling across skin, sliding down spines, squeezing lungs until breath refused to come.
Far above—
Clouds twisted.
Not blown.
Dragged.
Gray masses folded inward, spiraling around a point that had not been there a heartbeat before.
Threads of dull sunlight fractured inside them—
—and snapped.
A line of gold tore through the sky.
Then another. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖
Then a jagged lance of lightning ripped across the sky, carving blazing scars through cloud and smoke. It did not flash.
It burned.
Thunder did not follow.
The sky split.
A column of molten gold fell.
Not like rain.
Not like lightning.
Like a mountain of light slammed down from the heavens themselves.
BOOOOOOOOM—
The world convulsed.
Stone detonated outward in a ring of shattered rock. Terraces cracked open like dry bone. Pillars snapped. Dust blasted into the air in glowing waves that caught fire as they rose.
Creatures screamed.
Bodies lifted off the ground and were flung backward, wings tearing, limbs snapping as they tumbled across broken stone. Claws screeched uselessly over scorched rock before sliding free.
One beast slammed into a collapsed wall hard enough to burst apart.
Another spun end over end, neck breaking midair.
The violet sphere in Qin Morian’s hand flickered—
Wavered—
—and died.
His fingers remained curled around empty air.
His pupils shrank.
The gold swallowed everything.
Not sharp.
Not blinding.
Heavy.
Warm.
Ancient.
It poured down in a roaring torrent, a pillar thick as a fortress tower, crushing dust flat and cracking the mountain beneath it in branching fractures that raced across the terraces like lightning etched in stone.
Heat rolled outward—not burning—pressing, steady, like a hand laid gently on a racing heart.
Inside the light—
A shape.
Still.
Dark against brilliance.
Robes stirred in slow motion.
Hair lifted in a silent wind that had not yet returned.
The sect stared.
Someone’s sword slipped from numb fingers and clanged across the stone, the sound swallowed instantly by the humming gold.
A disciple sobbed once, breath hitching.
Elder Wu’s knees buckled.
He caught himself.
Lin Shu’s lips curved faintly through blood.
"...Late," she breathed, voice thin, breaking like glass.
The pillar narrowed.
Layer by layer, the radiance folded inward, peeling away like wings closing around a hidden core. The roar softened into a low, endless hum that vibrated through bone.
Boots touched stone.
The impact rolled across the mountain.
Not a crash.
A recognition.
Cracks in the terrace deepened underfoot. Loose stones jumped once, then settled.
Dust fell away from the figure’s outline as if pushed back by presence alone.
Broken chests filled with air.
Hope flooded in so sharply it hurt.
Wang Tian barked a laugh that came out half-choked, half-sobbing.
Luo Chen’s blade dipped without him realizing.
Elder An Ning’s grip loosened, fingers trembling.
Across the shattered ground—
Qin Morian stared.
Violet aura tightened around him like a coiled serpent.
"...So," he said softly.
The last veil of gold drifted away.
Light thinned.
Smoke curled back.
Ash began to fall again, slow and gentle, settling on shoulders, on blades, on the boots of the one who stood between ruin and the sect.
Wind returned.
A low breath over broken stone.
And every heart on the mountain—
Stopped.
For one single beat.
To Be Continued....
