pjbooks Chapter 1007 Demon God Mark
Chapter 1007 Demon God Mark
Lin Qiye's consciousness seemed to be torn in two at this moment.
Half of him remained trapped in the crumbling altar ruins, his body entwined with fluorescent blue sacrificial threads. The monster's fingertip pressed against his brow, attempting to strip away his life force along with his soul, turning him into the final offering for the soul-summoning array. The other half, however, sank into the dark golden sea of clouds, witnessing firsthand the collapse of the majestic throne, and the figure seated upon it being pierced through by countless chains of light, dragged towards the deep blue void rift.
He couldn't see the face clearly.
But he recognized the horns.
That was the origin of the faint lines that appeared on his forehead when the power of the Blood Demon within him erupted at its limit. It was not an external manifestation of some kind of technique, nor a byproduct of the circulation of Origin Qi, but a mark etched deep within his bloodline—from the figure being dragged into the void, from the king who was falling.
In the scene, fragments of the collapsing throne fall into the sea of clouds like meteors. Each fragment carries the power to crush mountains, landing on the inverted peaks and smashing the colossal creatures lurking there to pieces. The dark golden sea of clouds is burning; the flames are not red or blue, but a color between gold and black, not found in the natural spectrum, much like the chaotic filaments of light produced when the energy of the Heavenly Soul-Guiding Array and the power of the Blood Demon devour each other.
And those chains of light piercing through the king's body—Lin Qiye finally saw their origin. Not one, not ten, but tens of thousands of chains of light shot out from the other end of the deep blue void rift, piercing through the barriers of time and space, wrapping around the figure like a giant spider web. At the end of each chain of light was a blurry outline, some like humans, some like beasts, some like some existence between reality and illusion. Their forms twisted and changed in the light of the rift, but their movements were consistent—they were pulling, dragging the king from the peak of the sea of clouds into the depths of the rift.
Lin Qiye could feel that pain.
It wasn't physical pain, but a more fundamental agony, like the soul being torn apart inch by inch. That pain resonated through his bloodline, so real that it felt as if he too was being pierced by those chains of light. His heart was convulsing violently, each contraction feeling like being gripped tightly by a cold hand and then roughly twisted.
But he did not look away.
Because at the edge of that void rift, he saw a detail—the king's hand. At the very last moment, as the chain of light dragged the hand completely into the rift, that hand clenched tightly, then flicked a drop of blood towards the sea of clouds below, towards this primordial universe.
Only one drop.
That drop of blood fell from the summit of the sea of clouds, piercing through the burning sky, through the collapsing void, through endless ages and the barriers of countless realms, like a dark golden meteor, silently sinking into a vast wasteland. On the wasteland lie layers of gray ashes, jagged black rock walls, and fluorescent blue crystal clusters shimmering in the mist—that is the Azure Bone Mountain Range.
Or rather, this land before the formation of the Canggu Mountains.
The image shattered abruptly at that moment.
Lin Qiye suddenly opened his eyes, and a dark golden light shot out from his pupils as if it were a tangible substance, forcefully knocking back three inches from the monster's finger covered in fluorescent blue light in front of his brow. At the same moment, the sacrificial light threads wrapped around him trembled violently, emitting a tooth-grinding metallic scraping sound, and several of the thinnest threads snapped on the spot, turning into specks of light and dissipating into the air.
The monster's composed smile finally froze.
"You..." He uttered only one word before realizing his fingers couldn't move forward an inch. The dark golden light emanating from Lin Qiye's brow was no longer in a passive defensive state, but rather actively expanded outwards like a living thing, spreading upwards from his fingertips and enveloping his entire palm in a dark golden halo. The halo had no burning sensation, no corrosiveness, but carried a pressure that made the monster's soul tremble—a pressure he was all too familiar with, the aura of the master he had knelt before for countless years, only fainter, younger, and more yet to awaken.
"You've seen the master?!" The monster's voice suddenly rose, no longer the previous cold and composed tone, but filled with an almost hysterical fanaticism. "How can you have the master's mark within you—you are—you are that drop from back then—"
He didn't finish speaking.
Because Lin Qiye moved.
This time, his movements were devoid of any discernible technique, not even those of a conscious person fighting. His eyes had turned completely dark gold, with two faint, curved horn-like phantoms swirling deep within his pupils. The shattered skin around his body no longer bled; instead, a layer of dark gold light membrane condensed within the cracks, sealing them completely. The sacrificial light threads wrapped around his limbs began to disintegrate the moment they touched the light membrane, like ice meeting lava, vanishing into nothingness without even a struggle.
He took a step forward, and the ground beneath his feet shattered with a resounding crack. It wasn't from the force of his footsteps, but rather the bone-like structure of the ground itself cracked the instant he stepped down, as if it couldn't bear his weight. He reached out with his right hand, and the black iron spear, as if summoned by some invisible force, flew from the ground several feet away into his palm. The previously inconspicuous iron-gray patterns on the spearhead lit up completely at this moment. The patterns were no longer random casting marks, but had transformed into a complete and ancient design—two curved horns crossed and guarded a dark golden sun, and at the center of the sun was a vertical pupil-like eye that opened and closed with Lin Qiye's breath.
The moment the monster saw the pattern, its entire face changed color.
"Demon God Mark..." His voice trembled, not with fear, but with something more complex—excitement, ecstasy, the near-collapse of hope after a long, desperate wait. "You really are the inheritor of that drop of bloodline... the last bloodline left behind by my master before his fall... You actually survived until now... You're right here in front of me—"
He suddenly burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the collapsing hall, mingling with the hissing of boiling magma and the cracking of spreading cracks in the dome, creating an extremely eerie symphony. His hands no longer tried to attack Lin Qiye; instead, he held his short staff horizontally in front of him, his knees slightly bent, assuming a posture as if forcibly restraining himself at the last moment before kneeling in worship.
"This bow should have been to you—you are the sole inheritor of the master's bloodline, and in terms of rank, you are a whole major level above me. But I'm sorry, the master's demise was not an accident, not a war, but a betrayal. Back then, all the realms joined forces to kill the master because his power had exceeded the limits that everyone could tolerate. If I let you live, and let them know that the master's bloodline still continues in the world—" His smile turned ferocious and resolute, "they would spare no effort to crush this primordial universe along with the entire realm into dust."
He straightened up, gripping the short staff tightly with both hands. The fluorescent blue crystal core at the top of the staff shone as brightly as a new star about to explode, and even began to show fine cracks—he was burning all the energy of this altar core to gain the power for a single blow.
"So I'm sorry, Master. In order for you to return intact, this strand of your bloodline must become the sacrifice for your return."