Dawn Everleaf's disciples recoiled at the sight before them. Flint knelt in the underground chamber, wreathed in an otherworldly glow of brownish-red resentment force. Their hands tightened around sword hilts as different hues of natural aura gathered at the blades' tips, casting prismatic shadows across their grim faces.
"How many..." one whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of horror and disgust. "How many souls has she devoured to emanate such darkness?"
"You will come with us," another called out, his voice echoing against the stone walls. "You stand accused of soul absorption. The Immortal Alliance will pass judgment!"
Flint's eyes opened slowly, blood crusted at the corners like crimson tears. A weary smile touched her lips, carrying neither malice nor fear – only an ancient patience that seemed at odds with her young features.
"Please step aside," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of countless unspoken sorrows.
The accusation seemed to stir the resentful souls surrounding her into a frenzy. They writhed and twisted around her form like flames in a spectral pyre, their collective anguish piercing deeper into her consciousness. Yet Flint's expression remained serene, even as fresh blood trickled from her eyes, painting stark trails down her pale cheeks.
Dawn Everleaf took an involuntary step back, her usual composure fracturing at the sight of this blood-wreathed figure who appeared more celestial being than mortal cultivator. The gathered Adept disciples shifted uneasily, their training offering no guidance for this unsettling tableau.
The effort of containing so many souls left little room in Flint's mind for explanations. Even if she could find the words, who among these cultivators would comprehend the burden of bearing witness to thousands of interrupted lives? With exhaustion weighing heavy in her voice, she spoke again:
"Please wait to take me. These souls must first find peace."
The disciples surged forward, their accusation cutting through the chamber like a blade. "You're the one who killed them!" one shouted, descending the stairs with others in tow. They roughly hauled Flint to her feet, heedless of her bloodied state.
The moment they touched her, the resentful souls erupted into chaos. Though these formless spirits instinctively tried to ward off those who would drag away their only witness, their turbulent emotions only amplified Flint's agony. Memories boiled through her mind like scalding water – fragments of her own past life interwoven with thousands of final moments from the souls surrounding her. Their collective anguish threatened to drown her mortal consciousness in an ocean of shared suffering.
As the pain crescendoed and the world began to fade, Flint struggled to form words, desperate to ensure Seedling wouldn't be forgotten. But her body felt distant, as if she were watching herself from within a dream. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged – she was a divine witness trapped in mortal flesh, unable to bridge the gap between realms.
Then, like a beacon piercing through storm clouds, Seedling's voice rang out behind her: "You're wrong! Flint isn't the one absorbing souls – it's the cultivators who were imprisoned here!"
They must have heard her. They'll save Seedling now. The thought drifted through Flint's mind as her eyes closed, her consciousness slipping away like water through cupped hands. The resentful souls continued their lament, their song now tinged with an ancient sadness for this being.
———
Flint's eyes fluttered open, though the distinction between consciousness and unconsciousness had grown hazy. The voices of the resentful souls continued their endless lament in her mind, whether her eyes were open or closed.
Through blood-crusted lashes, she took in her surroundings. The Heaven-Piercing Grand Hall's inner chamber soared above her, its gilded rafters adorned with intricate cloud motifs catching the sunlight that streamed through tall windows. Deep crimson carpets stretched across the floor, their rich color a stark contrast to the chamber's ethereal architecture.
Three ornate chairs dominated the front of the chamber. Sage East Cloud occupied the central seat, his jade crown and cloud-embroidered robes befitting his position as sect leader. He maintained an air of composed dignity as he raised a teacup to his lips. To his side, Sage Mortius Crane radiated impatience, his long dark nails tapping an irregular rhythm against his chair's armrest. His gray eyes held nothing but contempt as they swept over Flint.
"Such filth in these hallowed halls," Sage Mortius drawled, his lips curling in disgust.
He gestured to Pierce Everett, who stood rigidly beside the chairs. "She seems not fully awake. Assist her, Pierce."
Pierce approached with obvious revulsion, his hand passing through the wraith-like flames of resentful souls that still encompassed Flint. He pressed something against her bloodied forehead, though Flint barely registered the physical sensation. The clamor of resentful souls in her mind overshadowed any bodily discomfort, though even that had begun to numb.
As she struggled to stand, determined to complete her task of granting peace to the hundreds of tortured souls, she backed into crossed swords. The blades tore through her sect robes and into her flesh, adding fresh wounds to her already battered form.
"Respected Elders," Flint managed, her voice steady despite her condition. "I must finish my task. These grieving souls need to find peace."
The figure seated in the central chair remained impassive, his voice measured when he finally spoke. "Are you confessing to absorbing these souls?"
Flint's head throbbed at such willful misunderstanding. The thousands of memories coursing through her mind made it difficult to focus on the present moment, let alone construct a coherent defense.
"Sect Leader," the dark-haired elder with black nails spoke, his voice dripping with disdain. "I fail to see why we're conducting this inquiry. Such vermin should be handed directly to the Immortal Alliance for execution."
The man addressed as Sect Leader set down his teacup with practiced grace. "Such powerful resentment force suggests numerous victims. We must determine where these killings took place."
Sage East Cloud, Flint managed to identify through the cacophony of suffering souls flooding her consciousness. The pain and anguish of countless spirits made it nearly impossible to maintain her own thoughts, and as she looked at the figures before her, she felt an inexplicable ruthlessness radiating from them – though whether this was her own perception or the collective darkness of the tortured souls, she couldn't tell.
The gentle chiming of wind bells and the rumble of wooden wheels interrupted the tense atmosphere. "Flint!" A familiar voice cried out – Seedling's voice.
"Was the main entrance to Heaven-Piercing Grand Hall not ordered sealed?" The black-nailed elder's voice carried a strange mockery rather than genuine anger.
"My deepest apologies," a warm, clear voice responded, seemingly unperturbed by the other's scorn. "While judging those who violate Immortal Alliance law falls under your jurisdiction, Sage Mortius Crane, this female disciple happens to be a friend of my direct disciple Seedling. And Seedling claims you've wrongly accused the detained disciple."
"I thought, well, we can't deny someone the right to speak, can we?" Sage West Wind added with a gentle laugh, attempting to ease the mounting tension.
The resentful souls swirling around Flint surged at the newcomers' arrival, their collective anguish threatening to overwhelm her already fragile consciousness. Fresh blood trickled from her eyes as she struggled to maintain her composure, knowing that these souls' peace depended on her endurance.
Sage Mortius Crane burst into mocking laughter. "Since you admit she's a friend, how can her testimony be trusted?"
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Seedling slammed her fist against her wheelchair's armrest. "Damn you! The disciples who brought Flint here can testify - I was there!" Her voice trembled with barely contained fury.
"Mind your manners, Seedling," Sage West Wind chided gently, though his own disapproval of Mortius Crane's conduct was evident in his stance.
"Besides, that underground prison is your doing!" Seedling's accusation rang through the hall. "I saw your hound! Your beast was bringing soul-drained cultivators inside!"
A heavy silence descended upon the grand hall. Mortius Crane's composure slipped for just a heartbeat before his icy demeanor returned. His eyes narrowed as he regarded Seedling with contempt, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "Why would I build a prison for trash that will soon be reduced to dust by the Immortal Alliance's judgment?"
Seedling's breathing grew more rapid, her anger palpable. "We can go see for ourselves! There are cultivators there who absorbed souls - even if the prison isn't yours, Flint didn't absorb those souls! The resentment force just flew to her when they saw her!"
Mortius Crane made an almost imperceptible movement with his jade tablet, seemingly intent on prolonging this exchange. "Is that so? And why did these cultivators absorb souls?"
"Because they had resentment force on them!" Seedling shouted, frustration evident in every word.
Sage West Wind stroked Seedling's fox ears soothingly. "Calm yourself, Seedling."
"And your friend?" Mortius Crane's voice dripped with venom. "Is she not surrounded by an abundance of resentment force?"
Seedling was nearly hysterical now. "I already told you, you fool! The resentment force flew to Flint on its own when it saw her!"
"How amusing," Mortius Crane's tone turned patronizing. "Sage West Wind, your disciple is quite... well-mannered. Tell me, little girl, if those cultivators claimed the same - that the resentment force simply flew to them of its own accord - should I believe them too?"
Throughout this exchange, the resentful souls continued their relentless dance around Flint, their collective pain intensifying with each barbed word. Fresh rivulets of blood traced paths down her cheeks as she struggled to maintain her focus on the souls' need for peace, even as the political machinations of the living threatened to derail their final journey.
The chamber's oppressive atmosphere grew heavier as Seedling struggled for words, her chest heaving with frustrated breaths. Sage West Wind continued stroking her ears soothingly, though his own expression betrayed his helplessness against Sage Mortius Crane's seemingly impeccable logic.
Mortius Crane's fingers absently traced the blood-red stone of his ring, a subtle tell of anxiety that belied his mask of contemptuous calm. The gesture sent an inexplicable chill through the room, though none dared comment on it.
"Since the evidence is clear," Sage East Cloud's measured voice cut through the tension, "our primary concern now is determining where these numerous killings took place..."
Flint's vision swam as the voices around her began to blur. The cacophony of memories flooding her mind made it nearly impossible to form a coherent response. Even following their words required every ounce of her remaining strength.
A dark thought crossed her mind: They might as well execute me now and be done with it.
The resentful souls surrounding her writhed violently at this thought, their collective agitation manifesting in wild, erratic movements. As Flint closed her eyes against the onslaught, a hauntingly familiar voice echoed through her consciousness: "Did you really absorb their souls…"
Blaze Mighty... The name resonated through her mind as a hazy scene began to form. But before she could grasp it fully, a much more immediate and familiar voice cut through everything:
"Flint!"
She instinctively turned toward Spark's voice, earning a fresh cut across her cheek from the crossed swords at her back. The sound of multiple footsteps echoed through the chamber, heralding new arrivals to this tense scene.
Sage Mortius Crane adjusted his ring with deliberate slowness, though it needed no adjustment. His voice dripped with venomous pleasure as he whispered, "This criminal, Flint, seems to have quite the collection of friends."
Spark froze at the sight of Flint. The resentful souls writhed around her like hellfire, their ethereal flames casting grotesque shadows across her blood-stained face. He swallowed hard, an inexplicable guilt creeping into his chest. He'd heard rumors of a soul-absorbing criminal being brought before the Sect Leader - someone who had consumed hundreds of souls and burned with otherworldly flames. It took several inquiries before Seedling finally revealed it was Flint.
Seedling had immediately sought out her master, Sage West Wind, claiming she knew the truth and could prove Flint's innocence. Spark, unwilling to stay behind, had practically begged Sage North Thunder to bring him to the inner chamber. It wasn't like him to plead with others, but the stakes were too high.
"I think..." Spark's voice wavered as he swallowed again. He'd never seen someone surrounded by the resentful forces of absorbed souls before - he'd only heard stories. The reality was far more terrifying than any tale.
Turning desperately to Seedling, he asked, "What exactly did you see there?"
Sage Mortius Crane's laughter echoed through the chamber, sharp and cruel. "How amusing. What's this? Even you suspect your friend of these heinous crimes?"
"No..." Spark's voice trembled noticeably. "I don't believe that."
But the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him, and the resentful souls around Flint churned more violently at his wavering faith.
Spark stepped forward, finally seeing Flint's face clearly. Blood streamed from her eyes like tears, creating stark crimson trails down her pale skin. She tilted her head slightly, meeting Spark's gaze through the writhing flames of resentment force.
As Spark stared at her blood-streaked face, he took an almost imperceptible step backward. Sage Mortius Crane caught this tiny retreat, his smile widening with cruel satisfaction. "See for yourself how terrifying these soul-absorbing criminals truly are."
Spark's lips trembled as he forced out the words: "Flint... what happened to you?"
"Spark!" Seedling's voice cracked with fury. "How can you doubt Flint?"
"I don't!" Spark shot back, though his voice lacked conviction.
A weary smile crossed Flint's lips. She wanted to explain - felt compelled to explain, especially to Spark - but her mind was screaming with thousands of voices, making coherent thought nearly impossible. She closed her bleeding eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to quiet the chaos in her mind long enough to speak:
"The resentment force gathered around me to share their suffering. I need to help them find peace... COUGH" Her empty eyes snapped open as she choked on the words, disrupted natural aura forcing blood into her throat. The last word ended in a spray of crimson that soaked her already stained robes.
"Only their killer would draw such spirits," Sage Mortius Crane's seductive voice slithered into Spark's ears like poison.
"Why would they seek you out?" Spark swallowed hard, staring into Flint's vacant eyes.
Why do I still need to explain... Flint's consciousness wavered, her strength nearly spent.
Only a weak smile touched Flint's blood-stained lips in response to Spark, making his heart constrict painfully. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably, fingers curling and uncurling as sweat beaded on his palms. The golden wolf eyes that usually blazed with confidence now darted between Flint's blood-streaked face and the writhing spirits around her, unable to settle on either.
Flint, what is the truth? His thoughts spiraled into chaos. He didn't want to doubt her, yet he couldn't find a single argument in her defense. The seed of suspicion took root in his heart, flourishing under Sage Mortius Crane's mocking smile.
Sage North Thunder, who had been watching with furrowed brows, finally spoke: "It seems there's no other explanation. Spark... this is your friend?"
For one terrible moment, Spark wanted to deny it. The thought horrified him so much that he bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, punishing himself for such a treacherous impulse. "Master North Thunder, yes... she is my friend. So I..."
The words "So I believe she's innocent" died in his throat. He turned to Flint, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Did you really absorb their souls?"
Flint's vacant pupils suddenly contracted sharply. In that moment, Blaze Mighty and Spark Lumin's images overlapped in her mind. Her smile transformed into something bitter and mocking - directed perhaps at Spark, at Blaze, or even at Obsidian herself.
"You spineless coward!" Seedling's voice exploded through the chamber. "You're nothing but a treacherous wolf after all!"
Sage West Wind's fingers trembled slightly as he stroked Seedling's head, his usual calming presence strained by the weight of the moment. "Please, Seedling... control yourself..."
Spark stood frozen, his chest heaving with ragged breaths as he stared at Flint's blood-streaked face. Each heartbeat thundered in his ears like a war drum, his fingers clenching and unclenching unconsciously at his sides. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chamber's cool air, and his normally steady hands shook visibly. The more Flint remained silent, the more his breathing grew erratic, until black spots began dancing at the edges of his vision.
Then suddenly, the world tilted.
The ornate chamber dissolved around him as a memory crashed through his consciousness - a woman bound to a cross with iron chains, wreathed in the same ghostly flames that now surrounded Flint. His past and present selves merged in that moment of painful doubt, and he heard his own voice echo across time:
"Did you really absorb their souls?"
The bound woman raised her head slowly, blood streaming from her eyes just like Flint's. Her lips parted, and Spark found himself stepping forward, desperate to hear her words. When they came, they sent ice through his veins:
"Kill me, Blaze... kill me."
Reality snapped back into focus, but Spark's world continued to spin. He gasped for air, his sect robes now drenched in cold sweat. His mind raced wildly, trying to make sense of what he'd just witnessed. Was it a hallucination? A dream? The name echoed in his thoughts: Blaze... Blaze Mighty... Was that truly his past life? And in that life... had he killed Flint?
No, not Flint - that was... Obsidian. An icy realization crawled up his spine like a serpent. The weight of this cruel parallel crushed down on him - was history destined to repeat itself? Would he now play a part in Flint's execution? No, that would be the Immortal Alliance's doing, not his. But could he really stand by and let Flint be condemned? She must be innocent. Or... was she?
These thoughts multiplied like poison in his mind, each new question spawning three more until his head felt ready to burst. His legs gave out beneath him and he crashed to his knees, clutching his head between trembling hands as he desperately tried to quiet the chaos of his thoughts.
The assembled elders watched this display with varying degrees of interest. Sage Mortius Crane's lips curled into a satisfied smirk, while Sage East Cloud maintained his mask of studied neutrality. Through it all, the resentful souls continued their restless dance around Flint's bloodied form, their silent screams matching the ones echoing in Spark's mind.
"Send her to the Immortal Alliance for execution since she refuses to speak." Sage Mortius Crane shifted his gaze from Spark, regarding Flint with contempt as he needlessly adjusted his ruby ring once again.
"Wait." A firm female voice rang out. Flint didn't turn - she knew Sage South Rain's voice.
A powerful wave of natural aura forced the sword-wielding disciples behind Flint to step back. "Stand down," Sage South Rain commanded, her tone utterly unlike her usual gentle demeanor.
The disciples exchanged uncertain glances before looking to Sect Leader Sage East Cloud, who gave an almost imperceptible sigh before nodding his assent.
Sage South Rain approached Flint, bending down to cup her face between her hands. Blood continued to seep from Flint's eyes, staining South Rain's pristine fingers.
"Flint..." South Rain's voice trembled as she spoke.
"Sage South Rain," Flint struggled to focus through the cacophony of souls, "please ask those seated above to grant me time. I must help these wronged souls find peace."
"Go, Flint." Though South Rain didn't understand what Flint intended, she trusted there must be a reason.
Flint rose unsteadily to her feet. Her gaze swept over the impassive Sage East Cloud before settling on Sage Mortius Crane, her blood-filled eyes narrowing with contempt as a mocking smile played across her lips.
"I cannot kneel to you."
She turned with painful slowness and made her way to the courtyard outside the inner chamber. Tilting her head back, she faced the evening sky that had taken on the same crimson hue as the restless spirits surrounding her form.
In one fluid motion, she dropped to her knees, the impact reverberating through her entire body. The time had come to continue her ritual.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, painting everything in shades of blood and fire. As Flint knelt there, her form wreathed in writhing souls, she appeared less like a ordinary cultivator and more like an ancient deity performing some primordial rite. The boundary between divine and mortal seemed to blur around her, as if reality itself recognized that something greater than human justice was about to unfold.