Poison God's Heritage

On the other side of the Beyond, at the Sea of Demons

The carnage was no less severe. The moment the Heaven's Hand had descended upon Shen Bao, the Suns had converged on the Sea of Demons. What followed was nothing short of a massacre. The Rakshasa, once a formidable force, were obliterated by the combined might of the Suns.

The waters of the Sea of Demons had been stained blue with the blood of the fallen Rakshasa, their bodies torn apart and scattered like debris on the wind. For days, the sea had churned with the remnants of the battle, a grisly testament to the Suns' unrestrained wrath.

In the capital city of the Sea of Demons, a funeral was being held—a solemn affair for a man who had touched the lives of many, yet left a void that could never be filled. Shen Bao's body had been placed in a golden coffin, a symbol of the respect and honor he had earned in life. The coffin was carried through the streets by X and Y, the two automatons who had served him faithfully until the end.

The citizens of the city watched the procession in silence, their faces a mixture of sadness and resignation.

Shen Bao had been a figure of hope, a leader who had brought stability to the chaotic Sea of Demons. He had touched the lives of many, offering them a chance at a better life, free from the corruption and decay that had plagued the region for so long. Yet, despite his efforts, he was still just one man, and now he was gone.

For most of the citizens, his death was just another reminder of the harsh realities of life in the Beyond—a world where even the greatest among them could be struck down without warning.

The puppets, ever faithful to their master, continued their duties as if nothing had changed. They guarded the gates, manned the walls, and continued their work in the forges, producing more of their kind to defend the city. But even they could not hide the grief that had settled over the city like a shroud.

They moved with a mechanical precision, their expressions blank, but there was a heaviness in their movements, a silent acknowledgment of the loss they had suffered.

YuYu and Liang Yu, Shen Bao's wives, walked behind the coffin, their faces pale and drawn. Their grief was palpable, a raw wound that had yet to heal. They had loved Shen Bao deeply, each in their own way, and now that he was gone, they were left with a void that could never be filled. Their tears fell silently, mingling with the rain that began to fall from the darkened skies.

The citizens watched them with a mixture of pity and respect, understanding that their pain was something that words could never fully express.

The coffin was lowered into the ground, the final resting place of a man who had lived and died in a world that demanded everything and gave nothing in return. Creeping Demise, the sword that had been Shen Bao's faithful companion, was laid across his chest, a symbol of the life he had lived as a warrior and protector.

His ring and the Poison God's Heritage, artifacts of immense power, were placed beside him, their glow dimming as they were buried with their master. The ground was sealed, and the finality of death settled over the city.

Shen Mo, Shen Bao's avatar, had been laid to rest in the Hall of Slaughter within the Red Sun's sect. His body was entombed beneath the Tower of Slaughter, a structure that Shen Bao had returned to the Red Sun as a symbol of his respect and loyalty.

The Red Sun's Heaven Stage cultivators had performed the rites, ensuring that Shen Mo would rest in peace, his sacrifice honored by those who had known him.

Master Rain, upon hearing the news of Shen Bao's death, was struck silent. For three days, he sat in the Wisest Sun's elder hall, unmoving, his retainer by his side. He refused food and drink, his mind consumed by the loss of a disciple who had meant more to him than words could express.

Shen Bao had been a beacon of hope, a man who had defied the odds and proven that even in the harshest of worlds, one could rise above and achieve greatness. His loss was a blow that Master Rain could not easily recover from.

Meng Hao, upon hearing the final words of Shen Bao, had erupted in a rage unlike any other. His fury was directed at the heavens themselves, the very forces that had taken his friend from him. For an entire day and night, Meng Hao roared his defiance, daring the heavens to strike him down for their injustice.

His rage was so intense, so all-consuming, that it burned through his phoenix blood essence, pushing him beyond his limits. In his fury, Meng Hao unknowingly broke through to the void stage, his cultivation surging to new heights even as his heart broke.

If Shen Bao were still alive, he would have marveled at the irony. Meng Hao, the main character of this story, had once again proven his resilience, his ability to rise above even the most devastating of losses. But for those who had known and loved Shen Bao, this victory was bittersweet, a reminder that life goes on, even in the face of unimaginable grief.

***

Death is supposed to be the end. It's a concept we're all familiar with—the cessation of life, the final chapter in the story of our existence. Your body fails, your consciousness fades, and you're gone. That's the way of things. Some people believe in an afterlife, a place where souls go after they leave this world.

Others believe in reincarnation, the endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, where your soul cycles through existence until you achieve enlightenment. Stay updated via empire

But me? I'm not sure what to believe anymore. All I know is that I'm supposed to be dead. The Heavens themselves saw to that, and when the Heavens make a decision, there's no coming back from it. Their decree is final, their judgment absolute. So why am I still here?

Why can I still think, still feel, still question?

"Where the fuck am I?"