The sky no longer existed. Massive ships covered everything, blocking even the stars, while light gathered beneath them and compressed into a single point before collapsing inward. The structure that held it together began to distort, and within moments, the formation broke.
"His state is shifting." "Don't let him stabilize." "Attack. Full force."
Multiple attacks merged into a single beam and descended. The outer barrier shattered instantly, unable to hold even for a moment.
"Protect the Lord!"
A second layer formed immediately, energy rising from multiple directions to reinforce the space around him. It surged upward, trying to rebuild what had been lost.
It didn't hold.
The beam cut through it without slowing.
The pressure in the surrounding space tightened as the attack descended, leaving no room to avoid it.
He didn't move.
He couldn't.
The process had already locked his state. Energy surged inside his body, unstable and close to collapse. Stabilization had not finished, and any disturbance at this stage would destroy everything he had built. If it broke now, there would be nothing left to recover.
They knew that.
They weren't afraid of him as he was now.
They were afraid of what he would become once it succeeded.
That was why they attacked without restraint, combining everything into a single strike meant to end it before it began.
His thoughts remained clear. He had always been like this—when everything broke, his thinking only became sharper. This was not the first time he had lost everything, but it would be the last.
Two thousand years earlier, there had been nothing. No cultivation, no power, no control over anything beyond survival.
The city had already quieted. Most shops were closed, leaving scattered lights across empty streets. The air was still, and movement had almost disappeared. Three jobs in a single day, and it still wasn't enough. Debt didn't decrease. It remained constant, unaffected by effort or time, as if the numbers were designed never to change.
It was no longer about clearing it.
It was about keeping up.
The work never stayed simple. Machines on the verge of failure, repairs that took longer than expected, and tasks others avoided because they weren't worth the effort. He took all of it, not because it was worth doing, but because there were no alternatives.
There had been a time when things were stable. A routine, a fixed income, and a place that could still be called his. That stability ended the moment he tried to build something of his own.
It started small—a rented space and basic equipment, most of it second-hand. He repaired what others discarded and improved what already existed. The idea was simple: make things work better than before.
It worked.
Requests increased. Work became steady. For the first time, effort produced results. Progress wasn't immediate, but it was visible.
That was enough to move forward.
He expanded. Family first, then people he trusted. It reduced the burden and allowed growth.
That was where it failed.
The change didn't happen suddenly. Delays appeared where they shouldn't have. Materials went missing. Accounts stopped matching. Each issue was small on its own, easy to ignore.
He ignored it.
It didn't stop.
It grew.
Control shifted without confrontation. By the time he understood, nothing remained in his hands. Accounts, materials, and clients had already moved beyond his reach.
They took everything.
There was no argument, no resistance.
It was already done.
Debt followed immediately. Responsibility stayed with him, not them.
They moved on.
He didn't.
At home, things declined. His father's condition worsened over time, and his mother stopped working because there was no work left to take. The pressure didn't arrive all at once—it accumulated until it became constant.
Work continued. Not because it would change anything, but because stopping meant collapse.
That night, the road was empty. Streetlights stretched across the path, uneven and dim, casting shadows that didn't fully connect. Fatigue had already settled deep into his body.
A sudden light crossed his vision.
Impact came before reaction.
The force threw him to the ground. The sensation spread through his body before fading into something distant. Warmth followed, spreading beneath him.
Blood.
Footsteps approached.
Familiar.
So it was them.
There was no anger, no resistance—only understanding. By the time he reached this point, the outcome had already been decided.
If there was another chance, this time he wouldn't lose everything again.
Darkness closed in.