The abrupt echoing of an icy outcry surged forth as if cracking thunder across a furious sky. This sound resonated with thunderous might through the heavens above, redirecting many wavering glances toward that sudden disturbance in the stillness. Upon this gathering of gazes and skyward sight, colossal mirages swiftly dissipated into ether, revealing amidst that dispersing haze a youth clad in black, his face ice-cold. At his emergence, countless shouts immediately rang forth from the gathered spectators like the sound of waves crashing against the shore.
“Xiao Yan? How could it be Xiao Yan — how may he appear in this place?”
“They say it was his woman the Yao Huang Clan demanded of the Jiu You Snake Clan. Now things indeed turn out as spoken.”
“Hmph, what drama will follow! Xiao Yan does not easily concede. The Heaven Soul殿 Chief himself was bested under his fists. Today, Feng Tian has surely met iron sharper than his flame.”
“Pshaw, just a mere human? And that alone dares challenge Feng Tian’s might? The combative strength of our race of Magical Beasts far surpasses that of the corresponding human. If the famed genius of the Middle Continent has come to test our might in the Beasts’ Domain, well it will teach him that the Magical Clans do not tremble like weaker men!”
“Xiao-Yan-Brother.” Indeed quickly caught the attention of the beleaguered creature, Yao Ming, who had been bound fast in violent conflict. As he scanned the area with glances, astonishment transformed into jubilant wonder. If Xiao Yan’s timely help would arrive, this dire peril of his crisis might indeed subside. From skies afar, Xiao Yan nodded towards Yao Ming while gancing down onto the depths of Nine Heaven’s Yellow Spring. With a flick of his sleeve, he redirected the columns of water that Feng Tian had wrenched forth back into Yellow Spring’s waters, dissipating the maelstrom swirling there.
After this, only then did Xiao Yan lift his head. From a little distant now floated Feng Tian rising from stony ruins, beneath whose frost-gaze simmered a rising tide of wrath. Of all things during his cultivation was interrupting it by force unforgiveable — in an unstable progression, the life of he who practices could be cast into grave peril. Such violent recklessness on Feng Tian’s side toward Cai Lin’s fragile status was simply inexcusable by Xiao Yan’s reckoning.
“Then — you are that famous Xiao Yan?” Xiao Yan’s features froze still in bitter cold. Equally, Feng Tian scowled dark. His deep-golden double lenses locked glances with Xiao Yan as he murmured forward, “You finally show, don’t delay now…”
“So the intent was drawing out my arrival?” Xiao Yan barely allowed one brow a slight lift. The fact Feng Tian was not startled suggested this wasn’t for Cai Lin at all—but himself as the ultimate goal.
“You are the boldest who dares capture my tribe’s Elders as hostages.”
Xiao Yan’s figure, Feng Tian stated darkly as Feng Tian’s body cooled the slight dizziness sustained from his direct blow before. “I taste the traces, the aroma, from Xiao Yan’s blood and wings of the Celestial Yaksha. As foreseen by Elders—he carries the feathered limb of a Yoked-Yao-Huang.”
“By this and more, Xiao Yan enters the ranks as someone forever pursued on our execution decree.” With this decree, Feng Tian’s golden plumed pinions expanded from his back—a majestic reach of over hundreds zhang—each gleaming feather radiating with royal command and regal authority that blanketed the skies above. Xiao Yan watched the figure of Feng Tian impassionate towards this recital of death notes against his soul, though each supposed offense was but the breath from a contemptuous smirk from him. Though it wasn’t the path he sought—that war path with Yaksha-Yaofeathers in its totality—his actions when the younger Prince, a few Elders met imprisonment had never meant death or their eternal bondage. Xiao Yan had restrained, not murdered—eventually setting them back homeward to consolidate new stability, thus sending signals of a certain mercy and understanding.
…Today had clarified however that those silent intentions weren’t grasped. His restraint was seen not as diplomacy, but fear—a sign the foe perceived not compassion, but cowardice. Thus—if his kindness wouldn’t earn acceptance… perhaps a savage tongue would need be spoken.
“What gall to threaten me in a death mandate. Your Celestial Yaksha boasts might. Does the Lord Chief Feng Tian possess the prowess to back these words you cast?” Xiao Yan smiled mildly.
“Let it not fog in that head of yours—the defeat of a殿head of Soul is trivial to stand boldly and pridefully before this King! ” The eyes of Feng Tian turned cold while his gleaming pinions stirred ever slightly—yet with a sudden sound of tearing reality, his shape vanished, reappearing mere breaths in front of Xiao Yan as his strike came like thunder—an outstretched hand transforming into a colossal golden claw, radiant with killing fury. Alongside this slash, space shattered into violent bursts encircling Xiao Yan.
“Yellow Spring’s Maw.” Seeing this overwhelming acceleration, a frown crept across Xiao Yan’s own brows as yet—his steps held firm. He weaverd a seal, releasing a palm strike of monumental proportions, its surface shimmering in constant bursts of pinkish embers—a force indeed fearsome with promise.
Boom. The clash of attack on defense resounded in the heavens with ferocious energy ripples scorching outward, shredding clouds into oblivion.
The initial blow sent reverberating power cascading over Xiao Yan, who skidded away several urgent steps. It was an unavoidable edge—a five star Dou Saint in ultimate form as an incarnate Celestial Yaksha was an imposing figure. A full frontal collision bore costs.
But it seemed that Feng Tian fared little brighter; Xiao Yan had slipped with his own edge—the residual embers on the palm strike left behind a blackened scent that burned into his claw from Netian’s Crimson Flame.
“Indeed…Netian’s Inferno!” Feng Tian’s face showed disdain upon regarding his blackening digits before golden light surged, repairing his minor wound.
Xiao Yan remained wordless. His shoulders flexed. A pair of deep scarlet and sapphire bone-wings emerged like blossoming blossoms from death. One beat and he was moving rapidly back, too fast for proximity advantage.
“A race of movement? Before My King’s eyes? Ha-ha!” Feng Tian smirked seeing Xiao Yan pull this card; his wings thunderclapped violently, sending low resonances like storm rolls of an oncoming tide. And with that—without pause—he shot through void, a near-invisible streak, to pursue Xiao Yan like prey. Within moments Feng Tian had closed all gaps. With no delay he aimed a radiant blow at the young figure before Xiao Yan had any chance to steady further, the attack screaming towards his unsuspecting head.
Wincing, Xiao Yan narrowed his focus while the palm lit aflame; he met with his own flaming right—directed to the image closing in. But—his knotted fist pierced through illusion as contact passed air alone.
“A mere reflection?!”
Realizing his error—Xiao Yan reflex shifted, his limbs snapping into an x-guard before a golden fist erupted forth from behind, crashing against Xiao Yan’s dual forearm block like thunderous fury. A terrible impact shook Xiao Yan for hundreds yards backwards.
Before his form fully halted from flight, violent wind already sang again, descending upon him as the invisible enemy struck with another relentless blow.
“Allow me to show how the Sky Yaksha Tribe waltzes through battle. This — the Dance, the ‘Yao Huang Step’! Observe, mortal!” Across the skies, golden mirage after radiant mirage swirled endlessly around an embattled target—so many precise and deadly punches converging to hit Xiao Yan’s body without let or limit, reducing into fragments the space around, as each impact cracked and splintered.
The onlookers below all whispered:
“The speed… truly terrifying. The Yaksha were renowned for swiftness alone. Feng Tian’s velocity, at such a masterful level, evaded even six star Dou Sage pursuit — the legend now meets unbreakable iron. Despite rumors painting this Xiao Yan as a being of his own lightning pace—it still cannot challenge the speed of our Lord!”
At a far-off vantage, Yao Ming narrowed anxious brow lines over those swirling, unending golden lights. This moment showed a definite edge leaning toward Feng Tian’s favor.
Boom after explosive boom echoed within the unrelenting circle of gold and violence. From within its epicenter emerged Xiao Yan—a flickering shape confined within a tighter dance space under constant bombardment.
Among the many that crossed blows through his years, not easily could they name a faster opponent—a Celestial Yaksha born gifted speed. In these opening moments, the rapid flurry did catch Xiao Yan unaware with its ferality. For all the illusions appeared hollow, at point of impact they morphed into solid fury—bewildering indeed.
Yet, Xiao Yan had seen and endured too much to not adapt. Though initially on the heels of losing command, through continued dodges came his tempered composure. While shifting footwork, perception sharpened to trace the unseen patterns of movement Feng Tian wove.
Though true enough—his raw speed could not yet match Feng Tian’s—the advantage Xiao Yan had was an asset unapproached by the Yaksha Lord. Power of Soul.
Reflections of the golden clones rippled across Xiao Yan’s black irises like the laughter of a thousand devils in unison—hands reaching out in every direction. Each bore a smile, sinister and cruel. The air turned electric against his senses even from their phantom gestures while each passing second built pressure upon his vital spirit. Yet amidst all, Xiao Yan slowly let his eyes close—movement dulled slightly, and somehow those phantom fists found nothing but air each try—grace born through restraint.
Though his motions slackened, each carefully delayed weave avoided the storm.
Eyes of Xiao Yan remained sealed. But beyond the confines of mere visual sight, he extended perception outward through invisible spiritual senses. Slowly—imperceiving figures grew visible within his mind, no longer blurred by their impossible rapidity.
And then—with an abrupt snap—the closed eyes opened. Within the vision of one pair of burning obsidian eyes, the multitudes of golden figures dimmed, faded—finally fading… into falsehood. Their tricks, no longer concealed.
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