"How... How did everything come to this?.."

Everything. Everything and everyone had been destroyed. At one point, the world had been at peace. The peace that had been expected to last for millennia.

"It can't end like this!..."

Yeong-jeon leaned on a large tree, a trail of blood following him from behind as he walked. His clothes had been soaked in so much blood that the once striking blue robe he adorned was now dyed red, crimson red.

The forest was thick, and the tree leaves served as a thick canopy from the moonlight. Everything was barely visible from him, yet, he still walked forward, hoping to find the exit.

"Those demonic scums!..."

The demon cult, for years, had been silent until now. One day, they erected from their silence and struck the entire world, staining it into a chaotic and blood-filled one. It first emerged from the north and then descended into the central plains.

Everyone, from the largest to the smallest sect, united in one mission: to eliminate the demonic sect. The Thunderous Sky Sect was one of the alliance's members, the sect that Yeong-jeon was part of.

"How long have I been walking?" he asked himself. He glanced back at his trail of blood. He was limp, dragging one leg as he leaned on the other. 

The entire world never expected something catastrophic like this. The disciples of the demonic sect were vast, vast enough to serve as an entire country's army. Never in history has the demonic sect made an appearance, and yet, they do, now, at the once peaceful land.

Yeong-jeon bit his lip in frustration. His eyes watered and trembled every time he took a step forward, wanting to cry but forcing himself not to.

He was separated from the cluster, from his father. The demon forces attacked their camp and made everyone retreat. He had run to the forest due to his father's orders; he lost his sense of time due to not seeing a single ray of sunlight; it could be days, weeks, months, maybe minutes. 

Nevertheless, time was not important. He was chased by a few of the demon disciples. And he had been wounded severely the last time they clashed. Now, he is forced to hide.

'Everyone. Are they all alright?..." he hoped, 'Father, please be safe.'

He glanced at his hip, the scabbard of his sword was destroyed, and now, his broken and chirped sword was tied to a piece of cloth he had ripped from his robe.

He was once famed, the title 'The reverend thunder of Chengdu' was the name called to him. But these glory days crumbled and he was reduced to a wounded man. No matter how grand a warrior's title is, it is nothing when in the face of death.

Yeong-jeon's vision blurred as his blood loss took its toll. Each step felt heavier than the last, and the once proud warrior could feel his life slipping through his fingers. He leaned harder against the tree, trying to steady his breathing, trying to gather what remained of his strength.

His head was rushing with thoughts. Why? Why did they do this? The dead can't even be mourned. They can't even be buried. The warrior's emotions must be pushed away, not now, not now must the emotions hinder him. His fellow brothers, who had promised to soar the skies with him, had now departed, unable to return. And countless warriors followed their departure.

The rumbling of leaves and the sound of stepping on hard wooden branches sounded from behind him. Yeong-jeon immediately grabbed his sword, pulling it aggressively, tearing the small cloth it was tied to. His empty heart started to burst into flames. He didn't know if his father survived the onslaught at the camp but he still yearned for his survival. Maybe, once this was all over, they could share a drink and mourn their lost comrades.

"Impossible."

Everyone in this war died with regrets in their heart. Yeong-jeon couldn't deny that fact. 

Even if the dead rest peacefully in the afterlife, he couldn't, as everything was taken from him along with his rationality.

Yeong-jeon gripped his broken sword tightly, the jagged edge reflecting what little light pierced through the canopy. His breath came in ragged gasps, the weight of his wounds pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. The sound of footsteps behind him grew closer, and with every step, his heart raced faster, as if the specter of death was approaching.

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He was no longer a revered warrior but a cornered beast, ready to lash out with his final breath.

The footsteps stopped. Yeong-jeon tightened his grip, waiting, listening. His vision swam as exhaustion crept over him, but he forced himself to stay alert.

A voice broke the silence.

"Yeong-jeon."

A quick call is enough to heighten Yeong-jeon's senses. He turned around and a cluster of demon disciples surrounded him like a tiger waiting to be captured. 

"Bastards."

A word escaped from his mouth.

They watched him like hunters circling a wounded animal, knowing their prey was on the verge of collapse.

"Is this how it ends for the great Reverend Thunder?" one of them sneered, stepping forward, the tip of his sword resting lightly on the ground. "Reduced to a dying man, bleeding out in the woods like a dog?"

Yeong-jeon spat blood on the ground and his lip curled in disgust. "I will kill you all and sever the Heavenly Demon's head," he threatened. But his words came out as a desperate attempt to scare away the demon disciples.

The disciples snickered at Yeong-jeon's defiance, their laughter cold and mocking. One of them, a tall man with cruel eyes, took a step closer, twirling his blade with casual confidence.

"Sever the Heavenly Demon's head?" the man repeated with a smirk. "You can barely stand, and you think you can reach him?"

The others joined in the mocking laughter, their voices echoing through the forest like a chorus of death.

"I've faced worse than you," Yeong-jeon growled, his voice hoarse but unwavering. "If I'm going down, I'll take at least one of you with me."

The tall disciple's smirk faded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the battered warrior before him. Something was unsettling in Yeong-jeon's eyes, a fire that hadn't yet been extinguished, despite the blood that stained his clothes and the broken sword in his hand.

"Enough of this," the tall man spat. "Finish him."

Dash!

Two disciples lunged at once, their blades aimed to cut down the exhausted warrior in a swift strike. 

Yeong-jeon braced himself, summoning the last remnants of his strength as he swung his broken sword. Steel clashed, and for a moment, time seemed to slow as sparks flew from the impact.

But Yeong-jeon was outnumbered, outmatched. The second disciple's blade slipped past his defenses, slicing across his already wounded side. Yet the pain didn't reach him, not at all. From the tip of his fingers, sparks of lightning emerged faintly.

The disciples faltered for a second, their sneers faltering. They had expected an easy kill, but now, seeing the faint glow of Yeong-jeon's power, they hesitated. Perhaps there was still some danger in the man they thought was finished.

Shiik!

Yeong-jeon took a grab of a disciple's neck and gripped it tight. The anger in his heart burned, heating his whole body. His lightning surged strongly on his arm, coursing through his body and expelled onto the disciple's neck.

The disciple let out a strangled cry as the lightning coursed through his body, eyes wide with shock and pain. His limbs convulsed uncontrollably, and his sword fell from his grasp, clattering to the forest floor. Yeong-jeon's grip tightened, and the burning heat of his anger fueled the raw energy pouring from his hand.

All of the disciple's smirks faltered completely.

Thud!

With a final surge of energy, Yeong-jeon flung the lifeless disciple to the ground, his body hitting the earth with a heavy thud. His arm trembled from the exertion, and blood continued to pour from his side, but his eyes still burned with the same defiance.

Yeong-jeon staggered slightly, leaning on his sword for support. His vision was starting to blur again, the edges of the world darkening. His breathing grew rougher and slower as the seconds passed but he didn't lose control of his lightning. He knew charging without thinking would mean death to him, and he could only wait and counterattack. But fear ensued inside him, swelling up. 

'No, I'll bleed out before I take any more of them out!...'

Yeong-jeon's grip on his broken sword tightened, his knuckles white as the sparks of lightning flickered and danced along the blade. If this was to be his end, he would make sure to take as many of them with him as he could.

The disciples glanced at each other, and then one of them charged, blade raised to strike. Yeong-jeon shifted his stance, his injured leg nearly giving way beneath him. Time slowed as he waited for the precise moment, the air thick with tension.

At the last second, Yeong-jeon brought his broken sword up in a swift arc, deflecting the attack just enough to throw the disciple off balance. With a guttural shout, Yeong-jeon plunged his electrified hand into the disciple's chest, the lightning coursing through him in a surge of raw power.

A spark of lightning surged on the tip of his sword, at this, he swung his sword with all his remaining strength. The jagged edge connected with the second disciple, who had been closing in. A blinding flash erupted as the blade met flesh, sending arcs of electricity dancing through the air.

The disciple staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief as the energy coursed through him. He fell to the ground, convulsing, before collapsing into silence.

Yeong-jeon was barely able to stand. He swayed on his feet, breathing heavily as blood dripped from his wounds, soaking into the earth below. Each breath felt like a struggle, but the sight of his fallen enemies ignited a flicker of hope within him.

The remaining disciples, now visibly shaken, huddled together, casting wary glances at Yeong-jeon. They had underestimated him, and the reality of their situation began to sink in.

"Finish him!" one of them shouted, trying to rally the others. But the hesitance in their eyes spoke louder than their words.

Yeong-jeon straightened, summoning whatever resolve he had left. "You think you can kill me?" he rasped, his voice low but fierce. "I will fight until my last breath. If you want me, you'll have to take me down yourself."

His father once nagged him about his arrogant personality, yet he didn't listen. His father would always boast and nag about honor. A faint memory appeared in his mind; it was when he first wielded a sword, he would always smack the lower disciples with it and would always end up getting scolded for his reckless behavior. But now, in the face of death, that recklessness ignited something deep within him—a fire of defiance that refused to be extinguished.

'Is my life flashing before my eyes...?'

He hadn't paid attention to it; the blood that he had lost accumulated on the ground, the coldness of the wound spreading out.

"Come then!" he shouted, voice hoarse but laced with fierce determination. "I'll show you what the Reverend Thunder can do, even in the face of death!"

With a roar, he charged, the broken sword raised high, a flicker of lightning arcing along its edge. The disciples shifted, uncertainty evident in their movements. Yeong-jeon swung his sword with all the strength he could muster, the jagged blade catching the dim light as he lunged at the nearest foe.

The fight that ensued lasted for hours and a mountain of bodies accumulated in that particular part of the forest, blood staining the lush, green grass. Yeong-jeon lay on the ground, his whole body battered and covered with cuts, he had lost his left hand in the fight, the hand laying a few steps across him.

He had also sustained a massive gash on his thigh, its cut fresh and deep. He looked up, expecting the sun to shine down but the thick canopy prevented it.

Instead, all he saw were the memories of a peaceful world slowly being consumed by darkness.

His thoughts drifted to his father and the other members of the Thunderous Sky Sect. Had they managed to escape? Were they safe? The uncertainty gnawed at him like a hungry beast.

Would he have walked past this forest and met his father's smile once more if he had trained harder?

Regrets. There were regrets in his heart. Worries that can't be answered.

He wasn't even able to live half of his life.

The thunder strikes so fast and strongly; it's a light that is so bright. And yet, a thunder can only last for a moment before disappearing.

He had left a great mark on this world. But his life was cut short.

'Father...'

The Reverend Thunder of Chengdu, Yeong-jeon, the son of the sect leader of the Thunderous Sky Sect drew his last breath and drifted into eternal sleep.