Villain System in a Cultivation World-Chapter 38: Fall of Rivals

The palace shuddered, its ancient structure groaning under the weight of unleashed power. Jiang Zhongbai stood amidst the chaos, his white robes stained with ash and sweat, his face a stormcloud of disbelief and dread. His eyes, once sharp with cunning, widened as if straining to unsee the impossible. A serpent of fear coiled tight in his gut, its fangs sinking deeper with every breath.

He had staked everything on this moment—his honor as one of the Xuantian Sect's prodigies, the favor of what allies he still had, the very breath in his lungs—all wagered on Qin Ting's annihilation. The Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame was no mere treasure; it was a force of legend, said to have melted the Fangtooth Peaks into glass centuries ago, its fury reducing ancient groves to whispering ash. No mortal could withstand it.

No cultivator at the Divine Spirit Realm, no matter how gifted, could have emerged from that explosion alive.

Yet there Qin Ting stood.

Not merely alive, but reborn. His silhouette cut a blazing wound against the chamber's gloom, a figure of divine wrath cloaked in a mantle of golden-violet fire. The flames rippled like liquid silk, their edges sharp with an otherworldly majesty that seemed to drink the light itself.

His presence warped the air, bending shadows into jagged, trembling distortions that danced across the palace's cracked walls. The peak of the Divine Spirit Realm pulsed from him, a power so vast it pressed against Jiang Zhongbai's senses like a tide, threatening to drown him where he stood.

'This isn't a fight I can win,' Jiang Zhongbai thought, the realization slicing through him like a blade of ice, cold and unyielding. 'He's transcended immortality. A god of fire and ruin.'

Beside him, Ye Qiu swayed as if the world itself had betrayed him. His lean frame trembled, his bloodshot eyes locked on Qin Ting with a hatred so fierce it seemed to erode his sanity. Strands of dark hair clung to his sweat-slicked brow, framing a face twisted into a mask of rage and despair.

Qin Ting—the nemesis Ye Qiu had sworn to bury beneath a thousand curses. The thorn in his side since Sunken Moon Valley, where Qin Ting seduced his childhood sweetheart and turned her against him. Ye Qiu had dreamed of this moment: Qin Ting's broken body at his feet, his pride ground to dust. But now, that dream lay in ruins, consumed by a nightmare of flame and ascendance.

"Why... aren't you dead?" Ye Qiu's voice erupted in a jagged screech, raw and unhinged, echoing through the chamber like the cry of a wounded beast.

Qin Ting turned his gaze upon them, his eyes twin glaciers set in a face of carved stone. Beneath that icy calm, a maelstrom of loathing churned, dark and fathomless, a hatred honed over years of rivalry and betrayal.

His lips parted, and his words fell like poisoned honey, serene yet laced with venom. "Jiang Zhongbai. Ye Qiu. Tell me—how should I send you to your graves? Shall I let my holy flames feast slowly, licking at your flesh until you're nothing but screams carried on the wind? Or tear you apart, piece by screaming piece, and watch your blood paint these ancient stones? Perhaps I'll indulge in both, just to savor the symphony of your ruin."

Ye Qiu's fury ignited like a spark in dry tinder. "Let's see who turns to ashes first!" he roared, his voice cracking the air like a whip, reverberating off the walls until the stalactites trembled. "Guardian of Ten Thousand Spells!"

His aura exploded outward, a crimson tide flooding his gaunt cheeks as spiritual energy surged, wild and untamed. The ground beneath him fractured, cracks racing outward as the temperature spiked, the air shimmering with heat.

Behind him, a colossal figure flickered into existence—a deity forged of radiant light, its molten-gold silhouette towering as if plucked from the heart of a dying star. Its eyes blazed with an otherworldly wrath, and with a gesture that shook the earth, it unleashed a torrent of blinding energy.

Spells erupted forth in a storm of celestial fury—fireballs roared like miniature suns, spears of light screamed through the air, and chains of shadow lashed out like serpents, their tips crackling with the promise of annihilation. The underground palace blazed in a medley of chaos, the light fracturing against the walls in a dance of destruction.

Qin Ting remained motionless, his expression a frost-carved mask of indifference. With a deliberate lift of his right hand, a spark ignited in his palm—small yet fierce, a seed of flame that unfurled into a Golden Crow, its purple eyes glinting with a predatory gleam.

The mythical beast swelled into being, its wings ablaze with primal flame, feathers molten and sharp as tempered steel. Its presence was a wildfire unbound, exuding the savage aura of an ancient demonic creature that had once scorched the skies of the Eastern Wilderness.

The air quaked as its piercing cry rent the heavens, a sound of promised ruin that rattled the chamber's ceiling until stalactites shattered and rained down like jagged tears. With a beat of its molten wings, the Golden Crow surged forward, a comet of incandescent death.

Ye Qiu's barrage met it—and broke. The divine spells shattered like brittle glass, scattering into the wind as sparks and ash. The bird crashed into the glowing deity, its talons raking through the luminous form.

The guardian's golden silhouette fractured into a thousand drifting motes, fading like embers on a dying breeze, its final wail swallowed by the depths. Ye Qiu staggered, his knees buckling as blood sprayed from his lips, staining his tattered white robes a vivid crimson.

As the last remnants of the guardian dissolved, the Golden Crow wheeled gracefully in the air, its fiery wings casting a radiant glow across the chamber. With a soft, triumphant caw, it descended, alighting on Qin Ting's shoulder. Its molten feathers brushed against his golden-violet flames, merging seamlessly with them, as if the bird and its master were one. The creature's purple eyes gleamed with a quiet menace, surveying the devastation it had wrought, its presence a silent testament to Qin Ting's preeminence.

Ye Qiu's once-mighty aura had faded to a mere flicker, unable to endure even a single blow from Qin Ting. 'I'm still no match for him!' The thought tore through his mind, as bitter and cutting as the sharpest blade. 'I have to run—NOW!' But a smoldering resolve burned within him. 'Once I reach the Divine Spirit Realm, I'll crush him like the insect he is!'

Desperation fueled his flight. He morphed into a streak of crimson light, tearing toward the horizon with every ounce of power he could summon, his silhouette blurring against the palace's shadowed arches. Dust swirled in his wake, a frantic trail marking his retreat.

Qin Ting's eyes glinted with dark amusement as he watched Ye Qiu flee, the Golden Crow shifting slightly on his shoulder, its talons clicking faintly against his armor. "Pathetic," he murmured, his voice a low growl that rumbled through the chamber like distant thunder.

He extended a finger, and the sky answered—a colossal, spectral finger materialized above, its descent twisting the void with a groan of tortured space. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as if the weight of a mountain bore down.

It plummeted toward Ye Qiu, the ground quaking beneath its shadow, poised to grind him into dust. But then a flicker of restraint crossed Qin Ting's features, a shadow of calculation in his icy gaze.

'No—not yet,' he thought. 'Death is too swift a mercy.' He tempered the blow, pulling back its full force.

The giant finger struck, and Ye Qiu hacked up another gout of blood, the impact hurling him forward like a broken doll. Yet it propelled him faster, a desperate comet streaking into the distance, his form vanishing into the palace's labyrinthine tunnels.

Qin Ting smirked, flicking his wrist with a grace that belied its menace. A talisman blazed forth—a streak of light like a falling star—the Dreamwraith Amulet, its power subtle and insidious, a whisper of malice woven into its glow.

Ye Qiu, aware of the relentless pursuit, bellowed, "Mysterious Flame Transformation: Emberveil Shield!" In an instant, a blazing barrier ignited, its surface etched with swirling runes. Teal flames flickered like molten fire, twisting and flowing with an almost sentient grace—a technique he had once derided Elder Ling for teaching him.

The initial strike Qin Ting had loosed slammed into it and fizzled, dissolving into a shower of harmless sparks. But the talisman slipped through, unnoticed, striking Ye Qiu's back with a soft, sinister hiss.

A black wisp unfurled from the amulet, melting into his skull, burrowing deep like a parasite taking root. Ye Qiu, oblivious, poured his remaining spirit energy into his escape, disappearing beyond the underground palace and the surrounding Blazing Valley in a heartbeat. His ragged breaths echoed faintly, then faded into silence.

Qin Ting's gaze lingered on the horizon, his eyes fathomless pools of malice, the Golden Crow tilting its head as if sharing in his dark thoughts. 'Ye Qiu, you self-righteous fool,' he thought. 'Death would be too kind for a worm like you... Clinging to your precious Goddess Mu Qingyi, your sanctimonious pride—oh, I'll strip it all away.'

'The amulet will haunt your dreams, twist your mind, and when your body breaks, your name will rot. You'll beg for death before I grant it.'

He turned, his attention settling on Jiang Zhongbai. The golden-violet flames around him pulsed like a living crown, licking at his form with a hunger that seemed almost sentient, the Golden Crow's fiery presence amplifying his menace. A faint, predatory smile curled his lips.

"Jiang Zhongbai... you're either too brave or too stupid. Why aren't you scampering off like your cowardly new friend?" Qin Ting asked.

Jiang Zhongbai barked a dry, hollow laugh, the sound brittle against the chamber's silence, bouncing off the walls like a taunt. "Run? To where, exactly?" His voice carried a bitter edge, sharp as a blade forged in despair.

The truth unraveled before him like a frayed tapestry. The Eastern Wilderness sprawled vast and untamed beyond these walls—its shadowed forests, jagged peaks, and hidden valleys a maze of refuge for lesser men.

But no shadow would shield him now. Word of this betrayal would spread like wildfire through the sects and clans, carried on the lips of cultivators and spies alike.

The Xuantian Sect would brand him a traitor, a pariah marked for death, hunted like a mangy cur through every realm from the Jade Sea to the Cerise Highlands. A life of skulking in caves and gutters, choking on fear and shame? Not for him.

'Better to die with my spine intact than live as a rat,' he thought, his jaw tightening. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back, his white robes snapping in the wind stirred by Qin Ting's flames.

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His laughter rang out again, bold and unbroken, a defiance that seemed to ignite the underground palace's gloom. "In all my years, I've never bent my knee to anyone! Qin Ting, we're the twin prodigies of our age, you and I."

"It's a shame we've never faced each other at our fiercest—not truly, not with bloodlust coursing through our veins. So, I ask you now, will you face me in this final duel? A fight to the death."

For a brief moment, he was the Jiang Zhongbai of old—the fearless senior brother of the Xuantian Sect, his spirit a beacon unbowed by time or treachery. His eyes gleamed with a wild, reckless light, daring fate to meet him head-on.

Memories flickered unbidden: the days when they'd sparred under the sect's cherry blossoms, their rivalry a fire that had forged them both. Now that fire would consume him.

Qin Ting regarded him in silence, the violet-golden flames around him pulsing like a heartbeat, the Golden Crow's molten gaze fixed on Jiang Zhongbai. A flicker of amusement crossed his glacial stare.

Then he inclined his head, a gesture both regal and menacing. "I shall personally escort my Senior Brother to the gates of hell."

Jiang Zhongbai's grin split wide, wild and fierce, his teeth flashing in the firelight. "Then let's dance, you bastard—come at me!"

The underground palace erupted as Jiang Zhongbai's aura flared, a storm of silver light spiraling around him like a tempest unbound. His hands flashed through seals, each motion precise and fluid, summoning a spectral blade—a crescent of pure energy that hummed with the weight of a collapsing star.

The air sang with its power, a low keening that set the hairs on end. He lunged, the blade slashing toward Qin Ting with a howl that split the air, the ground beneath him fracturing into a web of fissures that glowed faintly with residual energy.

Qin Ting's smile deepened, a glimmer of genuine delight igniting in his eyes. "You wish to weather a storm in a straw raft? Very well," he murmured, his voice a ribbon of silk layered with steel.

The Golden Crow shrieked anew from its perch on his shoulder, then launched itself forward, diving to meet the challenge, its molten wings casting a hellish glow across the palace.