On the night I was born, a Demon King came from beyond time, cleaving the river of years.
It burned away its ten-thousand-foot dharma form and consumed the fruits of its cultivation across three lifetimes, all to carve a curse into my fate:
This child must not live.
Eighteen years later, I took hold of the demon-slaying sword.
As the sword left its sheath, tribulation lightning from the nine heavens surged from my palm, lighting up the demon realm’s sky for ten thousand miles.
The Demon King that had shattered its dharma form to curse me now lay prostrate in the shadow cast by my blade.
It turned out that what it had seen across time was not my death,
but what lay where my sword was pointed:
the sky of the entire demon race, collapsing.
