On the second level of the Abyss, four pale-winged, disheveled Feiling Clan Saints were engaged in a running battle with a swarm of black scorpions several feet long.
Though these scorpions lacked wings, they could still fly effortlessly through the air, their movements unnaturally swift. Coupled with their acid-spitting maws and venomous tail hooks, they proved a formidable nuisance. The four Feiling cultivators found themselves hard-pressed to shake off the relentless assault.
After nearly an hour, one of the Feiling cultivators, gritting his teeth, expended a great deal of spiritual power to unleash a devastating technique—brilliant blue fire orbs that incinerated three or four of the black scorpions surrounding them. At last, the remaining scorpions retreated unwillingly.
The four Feiling cultivators let out a collective sigh of relief.
But before they could exchange words, a flash of spiritual light appeared in the distant sky, followed by a rolling crimson mist that swept toward them like a ghostly tide. Silent and swift, the blood mist circled them several times before halting nearby.
Instantly on guard, the four Feiling Saints tensed.
A cold snort echoed from within the mist, revealing a pair of frenzied eyes that swept over them with a brutal gaze. A hoarse voice, dripping with malice, sent chills down their spines:
“Not the ones I was looking for… but since you’ve crossed my path, consider yourselves unlucky.”
No sooner had the words been spoken than thunder rumbled within the blood mist. The sky darkened into a crimson haze as eerie clouds of blood swirled into existence, churning ominously.
“Damn it—Heavenly Blood Lightning! Run!” One of the Feiling cultivators paled instantly and transformed into a streak of yellow light, fleeing in panic.
The other three, hearing the words “Heavenly Blood Lightning,” were equally terrified. They activated their spiritual light and bolted in different directions.
But in that same instant, four crimson bolts of lightning crackled from the clouds, twisting briefly before vanishing. The next moment, they reappeared directly above the fleeing cultivators and struck without hesitation.
Four agonized screams rang out as their protective lights shattered upon impact. Their bodies convulsed violently before disintegrating into ash—neither their spiritual barriers nor defensive treasures offered the slightest resistance.
A maddened laugh erupted from the blood mist before it flared brightly and streaked away like a meteor, vanishing into the distance in moments.
—
Countless miles away, Han Li let out a faint sigh as he regarded the seven Feiling cultivators who had suddenly surrounded them with ill intent.
“Fellow Daoists, shouldn’t you be searching for Netherflame Fruits instead of blocking our path?” he asked coolly.
“The Tianpeng Clan has no feud with your people,” Bai Bi added, his expression composed.
A tall Feiling cultivator with dark wings and skin folded his arms arrogantly. “Heh, true—the Tianpeng Clan has no quarrel with our Black Spirit Clan. But before we entered the Abyss, the Chiron Clan and other powerful branches offered bounties for your heads. If we hadn’t run into you, we wouldn’t have bothered hunting you down. But since fate has brought us together, why not take advantage of it?”
The other Black Spirit cultivators encircling them wore equally cold expressions, clearly confident in their superiority.
This was no surprise—the Black Spirit Clan, though not among the top branches of the seventy-two Feiling lineages, still ranked in the upper-middle tier, far above the nearly-bottom-tier Tianpeng Clan.
“A bounty?” Han Li frowned, caught off guard.
“Enough talk. At least you won’t die ignorant.” The leader of the Black Spirit cultivators raised a hand, signaling the attack.
Without hesitation, the other six spat out black feathers, each no larger than an inch at first. But with a twist of their hands, the feathers elongated to a foot, their surfaces shimmering with dark light and swirling runes—clearly no ordinary artifacts.
With a synchronized flourish, the six cultivators unleashed torrents of black flame from the feathers, which rapidly expanded into a massive fiery dome, trapping Han Li and his companions inside.
The Black Spirit cultivators showed no mercy, intent on wiping out the Tianpeng group in one strike. Even Qin Xiao of the Nightgreen Clan, though not a Tianpeng member, was not spared.
Lei Lan’s face drained of color as she summoned arcs of silver lightning to shield herself, followed by thin purple tendrils from a golden gourd at her neck. The arcs instantly turned violet, crackling with terrifying energy.
“Brother Han, this is the Black Spirit Clan’s Golden Crow Spirit Fire—it can drain our cultivation base! Do not let it touch you!” she urgently transmitted.
Bai Bi and Qin Xiao, equally horrified, scrambled to defend themselves—one unleashing golden radiance, the other summoning a dark jade tablet that emitted emerald light to fend off the encroaching flames.
“Golden Crow Spirit Fire? Interesting.” Han Li chuckled. Without any visible movement, a five-colored radiance erupted from his body. Though the black flames were formidable, upon contact with his light, they reacted violently, producing thunderous booms as if water had been poured into boiling oil.
The Black Spirit cultivators stiffened in shock.
Their leader’s pupils contracted. “Increase the flames’ intensity! No matter what trick he’s using, he can’t hold out against all of us!”
The others obeyed, their feathers whipping faster as shadowy avian apparitions materialized behind them—most indistinct, though a few flickered with greater clarity.
With the manifestation of these spirit avatars, the black feathers’ power surged. The flames turned pitch-black, warping the surrounding space with their heat.
Lei Lan and the others’ defenses began to falter under the intensified assault. Desperate, they summoned additional treasures, but it was clear they wouldn’t last long.
Yet Han Li’s five-colored flames seemed inexhaustible, expanding several feet to counter the black fire’s escalation.
The Black Spirit leader’s expression darkened. Before he could issue another command, Han Li glanced at his struggling companions and suddenly spat out a silver flame. With a *whoosh*, it morphed into a silver firebird.
The moment it appeared, the bird let out a joyous cry at the sight of the black flames. Its wings spread, its body swelling to ten feet in an instant before it plunged into the inferno.
Where silver and black flames met, there was no explosion—only an eerie silence as the firebird acted like a magnet, voraciously devouring the surrounding black flames.
Han Li’s Devouring Spiritual Flame, born from the fusion of multiple supreme fires and possessing a trace of sentience, excelled at consuming other spiritual flames. Though the so-called Golden Crow Spirit Fire wasn’t the true divine flame capable of melting space and scorching the earth, it still contained a wisp of the Golden Crow’s power—making it irresistible prey for the Devouring Flame.
Within moments, the once-raging black flames had been completely absorbed, leaving the Black Spirit cultivators gaping in disbelief.
Lei Lan and the others, meanwhile, were overjoyed.
“Who *are* you? The Tianpeng Clan has no such techniques!” the Black Spirit leader demanded, his voice laced with fury and fear.
“I don’t owe you an answer,” Han Li replied softly. With a flick of his wings, he vanished in a streak of blue-white lightning.
The leader, battle-hardened, reacted instantly. A black silk net shot from his sleeve, not toward Han Li but around himself, forming a protective shroud. Simultaneously, he conjured three pitch-black thunder orbs that orbited him defensively.
A thunderclap sounded as Han Li reappeared right beside the shroud.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
The three orbs struck Han Li squarely—only to dissipate harmlessly against the black battle armor that had materialized over his body.
Expressionless, golden scales rippled across Han Li’s skin as his arm blurred forward, fingers like talons piercing straight through the Black Spirit leader’s back.
*Rip!*
The supposedly formidable black shroud tore like paper under his golden claws. The man barely had time to register the cold sensation before Han Li’s arm erupted from his chest—strangely, not a single drop of blood staining it.
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