The sun barely reached the peaks of the Celestial North when the call was made.
Across all three realms—Lower, Upper, and even the fringes of the forbidden Heaven World—a pulse of qi rippled out like a shiver from the marrow of the universe itself. It was not loud, nor dazzling, nor destructive. But every ancient being who felt it knew exactly what it meant.
The seal on the Heavenly Conclave had been broken. And that only happened when the heavens prepared to intervene.
Far above the mortal and demonic planes, through veils of swirling clouds and layers of golden light, hovered a structure unseen by most. Not a palace, nor a sect, nor a mountain—but the Thirteenth Tower, built from the bones of stars and sealed with the blood of a thousand saints. Few knew of its location. Even fewer had ever been summoned to stand before it.
Inside, the floor was lined with halos suspended midair. Ancient voices murmured softly in languages older than the first cultivators. Every breath taken in that tower echoed across time. Every decision made there had consequences that rippled into destiny itself.
At the center of it all, floating above a lotus of pure will, sat the Heavenly Oracle—an entity so old, even the eldest archons dared not speak its true name. Its face was veiled. Its body formless. But its words were final.
"The Glutton has awakened," it said. "And he is changing."
Back in the Upper World, chaos stirred beneath calm. The Nine Searing Sects had long been the dominant powers in the Upper Realm. Their hatred for the Glutton ran deep—not just for the lives he had taken, but for what he represented. A flaw in the cycle. A creature that consumed karma and soul alike, ignoring the balance that every cultivator was meant to uphold.
Now, their chosen weapon—Lian Xue—had been turned. The Fang lay silent. And the shadows had moved. The Glutton had spoken. He had warned them. But he had not attacked.
And that terrified them more than war.
"He's biding," said Fei of the Blood-Wind Sect, slamming his fist into the jade table and cracking it in two. "He's waiting for something. This is a trap."
"No," said Mo of the Silver Vortex Sect, arms folded. "This is transformation. The Glutton is not behaving as a beast anymore. He's remembering."
"Even more dangerous," muttered Jin from the Thunder Gate. "A monster that thinks is worse than one that acts."
"He let the girl live," Mo pointed out.
"To prove something," Jin spat. "It's all manipulation."
Silence fell as the golden gate at the far end of the hall slowly creaked open. A figure entered—small, bowed, blindfolded.
The Seer.
Her arrival cut through the arguing like a blade through fog. When she finally reached the shattered table, her voice rang out—not loud, but laced with undeniable truth.
"Prepare the seal. The second one."
A stunned hush followed.
Fei narrowed his eyes. "You mean…"
"Yes," she said. "We must contact the Heaven World."
Jin stood up in disbelief. "Are you mad?! That's forbidden! The last time the Upper Realm begged Heaven for intervention, entire continents were erased!"
"The Glutton is more dangerous than any war," the Seer replied. "He is a sinkhole. Every soul he devours becomes his. He does not merely gain strength—he inherits memory. Every person he kills becomes part of his mind."
Mo stepped back, his voice barely above a whisper. "…He's a walking eternity."
"Yes," she whispered. "And he remembers now."
Down in the Lower Realm, the man once called Kamazaki knelt by a riverbank. His children laughed in the water, splashing each other with cupped hands. His wife sat nearby under a flowering tree, weaving tiny charms from red string and blessed silk. It was quiet. Peaceful.
But his hands shook.
Not from fear, nor from guilt.
But from sight.
He saw the strands of fate bending. He felt the Tower stir. He tasted the scent of Heaven's scrutiny.
He rose slowly and walked deeper into the forest, far from sight. The shadows followed, silent and invisible. When he stopped, thirty of them emerged in a ring.
Their leader—a tall one with no face—knelt.
"Lord," it said, "the heavens are watching."
He nodded. "They'll come soon."
"We must prepare."
"No," he said.
They looked up.
"I will go alone."
Back in the Thirteenth Tower, the Oracle turned to the assembled judges—twelve beings draped in starlight, their forms flickering between genders, shapes, even species. Some were once gods. Others had been cultivators elevated beyond samsara. All were bound to Heaven's Will.
"He has committed countless sins," one said. "And yet… there is no proof he intends more."
"Not yet," another murmured. "But how long before instinct overrides intent?"
"We should send an envoy," suggested a third.
"No. Not an envoy," said the Oracle. "A witness. One who will see not just his actions… but his heart."
They turned as a new form appeared in the lotus. Female. Tall. Wrapped in robes of sunfire. And bound at the wrists by chains of mercy.
"The Angel of Judgement," the Oracle intoned.
The woman opened her eyes.
And the stars dimmed.
She descended two days later in a beam of gold. No explosion. No storm. Just light.
He was waiting for her alone, atop a cliff that overlooked the village.
"Came quicker than I expected," he said without turning.
She landed softly behind him. "You don't seem surprised."
"I felt the seal break. Heaven never sits idle."
She tilted her head. "You seem… calm."
"I'm always calm."
"No," she said. "You used to be angry."
He turned finally. And for the first time in over three hundred years, he looked into the eyes of one not driven by fear, loyalty, or vengeance—just purpose.
"You remember me," he said slowly.
"I judged you once," she answered. "But back then, your soul was… chaos. I could not see the core. Just layers upon layers of screaming."
He stepped forward. "You see it now?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"You are not innocent," she said softly. "But you are no longer guilty."
A breeze passed between them, carrying not words, but a weight.
"I won't fight again," he said. "Not unless I must."
"I know."
"I've buried that part of me."
"But it's still you."
He closed his eyes. "That's the hardest part."
She walked past him, toward the edge of the cliff, and looked down at the quiet village.
"The Upper Realms will come," she said. "And Heaven… may not stop them this time."
"I know."
"Will you run?"
"No."
"Will you resist?"
He turned toward the children in the distance, his voice barely audible. "…Only if they touch what I love."
In the Celestial Citadel, the Seer's fingers twitched uncontrollably. Visions blurred together—blood, light, a child in a cage, the Fang shattering. And in the distance… a door. Not made of stone or wood or even spirit. But made of will. Something long sealed. Something ancient even before Heaven formed.
She gasped. And spoke four words.
"Open the Abyss Gate."