Chapter Twenty-Four: Fall from Grace

In the pitch-black, shadowy divine realm, Chen Ming stood quietly, his face calm, gazing at the figure ahead.

“Who are you?”

The figure was a warrior clad in armor, towering and broad-shouldered, his entire being exuding a powerful aura mingled with a chaotic presence. As he emerged, his blood-red eyes fixed ferociously upon Chen Ming, as if his mind were clouded, a faint confusion lurking within his gaze.

“So the soul has been tainted by the vengeful spirits it devoured,” Chen Ming mused silently, regarding the ancestral spirit before him without replying.

The benefits of blood sacrifices lay in swift and convenient power, yet forcibly consuming the flesh and soul of others could never be without consequence. Living beings, born of heaven and earth, each carry a unique mark. Devouring the life essence of another may grant rapid advancement and formidable strength at first, but in time, alien marks would seep into one’s own, ultimately corrupting the soul.

This ancestral spirit’s foundation was mediocre—perhaps even mortal when he died. Though his original nature was not strong, he had enjoyed the tribe’s blood sacrifices for centuries. His true spirit must have long been polluted by impurities, leaving his mind clouded.

“Roar!”

The ancestral spirit, receiving no answer, suddenly let out a furious howl, like a wild beast. At his cry, a troop of warriors materialized behind him, their faces twisted, their bodies radiating waves of spiritual pressure.

Chen Ming was momentarily taken aback. Before him, more than a dozen warriors appeared, shrouded in a thick aura of karmic resentment, resembling demonic specters. Obviously, the ancestral spirit had already lost all sense of self.

Together, they formed a small battle formation, a solemn martial energy sweeping forth. Chen Ming sighed inwardly, recognizing that these were once disciplined warriors, now following the ancestral spirit in death, sharing in the blood sacrifice’s terrifying power.

“But what use is this?” he thought, as the ancestral spirit strode forward, unleashing a fierce spiritual pressure and slashing with a blade, sending a wave of bloody energy surging forth.

Seeing this, Chen Ming moved his hand, divine power coalescing into a spear that shot toward his foe.

With a resounding clash, the two forces collided and stilled. Blood-red energy and pure white divine power clashed, skipping the initial probing and plunging into the final confrontation.

In the end, with a thunderous boom, a wave of corrosive blood energy assaulted Chen Ming. He staggered back several steps, sensing the immense drain on his divine power, and sighed.

Across from him, the ancestral spirit remained standing, though his blood energy fluctuated violently, his strength visibly diminished. He stared at Chen Ming, red eyes gleaming with hunger, as though seeing a perfect sacrifice.

Clearly, in the recent exchange, Chen Ming had been bested.

“But that’s only to be expected,” he thought, gazing at the lingering blood energy.

Divine power was supreme, among the highest forms of energy anywhere, its essence far surpassing that of his opponent. Yet, the higher the power, the harder it was to replenish. Divine power stemmed from faith, from life itself, transformed by divine essence and flame, exceedingly rare.

Chen Ming’s followers numbered only a few thousand, and truly devout ones were fewer still. He had been a god for mere months, constantly needing to feed divine power back to his worshippers. The ancestral spirit, on the other hand, had accumulated centuries of energy—his advantage was natural.

“I’m nearing the limits of the first rank,” Chen Ming thought, gazing at his adversary.

Still, his expression remained tranquil. Though the ancestral spirit had accumulated much, he remained at the first rank. His mind was muddled, his attacks limited—if Chen Ming took his time, employing divine arts, he could surely defeat him eventually.

“But why bother with that?” A cold smile touched his lips; within his soul, the high-hanging divine essence stirred, drawing upon something unseen.

Outside, beneath an ancient tree, clan members prayed fervently. In wilderness and village alike, countless sparks of light kindled across a small region, streaming through invisible threads of faith to form a clear aura shaped like a tree, which lingered and gathered beside Chen Ming.

As the aura merged with his own fortune overhead, a brilliant radiance erupted. Chen Ming felt divine power surge anew within him. At his side, light of divine power burst forth, driving away the blood-red energy and gaining the upper hand.

This was the blessing of countless followers. Worshippers unite with their god, bearing his power at all times.

But it was not enough. Chen Ming raised his head again.

Above the tribe, a fully formed divine domain descended, wrapping the world tightly as the ancestral spirit stared in confusion and shock.

Instantly, Chen Ming sensed the world around him being assimilated by his own divine realm. A force of the land itself blessed him, strengthening his aura even further.

Across from him, the once-mighty ancestral spirit shrank, as the prayers and intentions of the devout pressed in. His bloody domain was compressed, losing ground.

After months of spreading faith, the divine realm had taken root, and Chen Ming had made this land his own.

Seeing the ancestral spirit still struggling, Chen Ming’s mind stirred; he concentrated, intensifying the pressure of his divine realm.

This was the combined faith of thousands, mingled with generations of resentment and indignation against the ancestral spirit, the power so overwhelming it pinned him down.

Chen Ming saw clearly: as the ancestral spirit was suppressed, a blood-red essence atop his head was shaved away, torrents of thick karmic energy pouring down, accompanied by the lingering resentment and soul fragments of those he had devoured, engulfing his body.

Sensing this, Chen Ming noted the ancestral spirit’s aura rapidly plummeting, barely able to maintain his form, gradually morphing into a terrifying beast.

Seeing this, Chen Ming felt a trace of pity; at this point, he needed not even lift a hand. The hidden dangers within the ancestral spirit erupted, and soon he would collapse on his own.

“No, perhaps not collapse,” Chen Ming thought.

Before him, under the flood of resentment and soul fragments, the ancestral spirit lost all human shape, transforming into a monster with three sharp horns and scales under Chen Ming’s astonished gaze.

The more impurities poured in, the more stable his form became, his aura even strengthening. At last, he howled skyward, nearly breaking free from the faith domain, now even more powerful, having fully digested the centuries of blood sacrifice.

Watching the beast struggle and roar, Chen Ming waved his arm, divine power and domain resonating with a light like a falling star, smashing into the creature and rendering its flesh bloody and torn.

“Has he utterly fallen?” Chen Ming wondered, glancing at the dozen warriors who once stood guard.

Now, as their protective power was crushed by the divine domain, they followed the ancestral spirit’s path, corrupted by resentment and impurity, transformed into terrifying beasts.

Without hesitation, Chen Ming summoned grand divine power, radiant and majestic, infused with the strength of thousands of worshippers, purifying and dissolving their bodies until only essence and true spirit remained, which drifted quietly to him.

Thus, within Chen Ming’s soul, ancient memories surged forth, battering his mind. A warm current enveloped him, merging with the brilliance of his divine essence, forming a new power that gradually drew him into sleep.