The heavens over the Northern Celestial Empire were not simply raining. They were violently, catastrophically fracturing.
It was a torrential, apocalyptic downpour, the likes of which Neo-Chang'an had not witnessed in over a decade. The sky was a bruised, bruised purple-black, unleashing a relentless deluge of freezing water that flooded the ancient stone courtyards of the Imperial Burial Grounds.
It felt less like the sky was weeping for the dead Emperor Wei, and more like it was mourning the absolute devastation that was about to be unleashed upon the world.
Despite the catastrophic weather, the sprawling burial plaza was packed. Thousands of black umbrellas formed a restless, shifting sea. The death of the Northern Emperor had sent shockwaves across the globe, and the predators had gathered to pay their respects. Kings, Queens, Prime Ministers, and Warlords from every continent stood in the freezing rain, their eyes darting around the courtyard, silently calculating the massive power vacuum.
Standing under a heavy black umbrella, flanked by the Russian assassin known as Winter, was Grand Inquisitor Valerian Cross. Queen Octavia Vane and Aurelian Sol were conspicuously absent, leaving Cross to represent the European Empire. He watched the proceedings with his ice-blue eyes, his brilliant mind analyzing the fractured Northern Court.
Near the grand, elevated pyre where Emperor Wei's titanium casket rested, two figures stood conversing beneath a silk canopy. They were the Second Prince, Feng, and the Third Prince, Chao. They were dressed in opulent mourning silks, but their faces lacked any genuine grief.
"Look at them," Prince Feng muttered, gesturing to the foreign dignitaries. "Vultures circling a carcass. They think the North is weak."
"Let them think it," Prince Chao smirked, adjusting his collar. "It just means they won't see us coming when we consolidate power. Though, it is a shame our esteemed Elder Brother couldn't be bothered to show up early. Twenty years living in the United Nations of America, and he can't even arrive on time to put our father in the ground. I thought we might actually get to see his face today."
Feng scoffed. "No matter. The less the First Prince is here, the better. He surrendered his claim to the throne the day he left for the West. It seems the Mandate of Heaven will fall to one of us."
"We will discuss alliances tonight," Chao agreed quietly. "The European Empire is bleeding, but they are rich. If we play this right..."
The steady roar of the rain was suddenly pierced by a profound, suffocating silence that rippled from the back of the massive crowd.
The sea of thousands of black umbrellas began to part. They didn't just step aside; the world leaders, hardened generals, and elite Enforcers actively scrambled backward, dividing into two distinct halves, leaving a wide, straight path down the center of the flooded courtyard.
Walking slowly down the path, completely ignoring the torrential rain, was the First Prince.
He didn't carry an umbrella. He had no Imperial Enforcers, no Shadow-Guards, and no entourage. He wore a simple, soaking wet, midnight-black suit. But the sheer, suffocating weight of his aura pressed down on the plaza like physical gravity. He walked with the heavy, exhausted grace of a myth made flesh.
He reached the pyre, ignoring the whispers of the global elite. He bowed deeply to his father's casket, taking his traditional blessings in absolute silence.
Emperor Huang of the Southern Jade Empire, standing near the front of the procession, stepped forward to intercept him. "Shen," Huang greeted warmly, offering a diplomatic, uncle-like smile. "It has been too long. We must speak of the future of the—"
The Elder Prince didn't even break his stride. He walked straight past the Southern Emperor without offering him a single glance, ascending the marble stairs and disappearing into the massive, gloomy doors of the Imperial Estate.
As the burial concluded, the foreign dignitaries were quickly escorted to their lavish guest houses across the compound, leaving the royal family to mourn in private.
Inside the grand, dimly lit receiving room of the estate, the atmosphere was suffocating. The rhythmic drumming of the rain against the massive glass windows was deafening.
The women of the court—Jian's mother, the Second and Third Princes' mother, and Jian's younger sister—sat together on a plush velvet sofa, weeping softly into silk handkerchiefs.
Sitting directly across from them was Prince Jian. The Fourth Son was entirely silent. He was soaking wet from the rain, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He stared blankly at his own hands, his eyes hollow and entirely devoid of life.
Emperor Huang sat in a high-backed armchair, silently observing the fractured family. The Elder Prince stood near the window, his back to the room, staring out into the storm.
The silence was broken by the heavy boots of the Second and Third Princes as they strode into the room. They didn't look like men who had just buried their father; they walked with the arrogant, puffed-out chests of men measuring drapes for a throne room.
Prince Feng threw himself down onto a leather couch next to Jian, sprawling out as if he already owned the palace.
"Well," Feng sighed dramatically, crossing his legs. "The old man is in the ground. The global board is watching us. The question is, who takes the Mandate? By traditional law, the Elder should rule."
"But since our esteemed brother is always away playing capitalist in the UNA," Prince Chao cut in seamlessly, pacing in front of the fireplace, "it is better for the stability of the Empire if one of us assumes the Vanguard. We know the generals. We know the logistics."
"Perhaps we should hold an election between the two of us," Feng suggested smoothly, examining his fingernails. "It hasn't been done in a century, but the commoners in the lower tiers would love it. It would make them believe in the Republic ideals again, effectively crushing the southern rebellion's propaganda."
The Elder Prince didn't turn away from the window. "And what about Jian?" his deep, rumbling voice echoed over the rain.
Prince Feng let out a loud, highly condescending laugh. "Jian? Why should he have a seat at the table? Look at him. He's still a child."
"He doesn't understand politics, brother," Chao added, looking down at the silent, shivering Fourth Prince with utter disdain. "He spends his days giving speeches to peasants and playing with repulsor engines. If we put him on the throne, he's going to play house while the European Triumvirate marches across the Urals."
Jian remained perfectly still. He didn't rise to the insult. He didn't defend his honor.
He slowly looked up, his hollow eyes meeting Feng's.
"What about the person who killed Father?" Jian asked. His voice was incredibly soft, almost a whisper, trembling with unresolved grief. "When will you mobilize the Vanguard to start hunting him?"
Prince Feng rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, grow up, Jian. How the hell are we going to find one man in a golden mask? It's like finding a single, invisible mouse in a city of billions. We don't even know if he's still in the Empire."
"We have bigger, infinitely more important things to focus on right now," Chao agreed firmly, leaning against the mantelpiece. "We have to secure the borders. We have to negotiate with the Russians. We have to claim the throne to project strength. Father was a pragmatist. He would have wanted us to focus on the Empire, not chase a mouse."
Jian stared at his two older brothers. He looked at their pristine, dry mourning silks, and their arrogant, unbothered faces.
Jian slowly stood up.
He turned his back on them. He looked at his weeping mother, the mother of his half-brothers, and his trembling younger sister. His dark eyes softened into something profoundly, agonizingly sorrowful.
"Mother. Sister," Jian whispered, his voice cracking with a terrifying, gentle finality. "Please. Go upstairs. Do not look down."
The women paused, bewildered by the strange, heavy request. But Emperor Huang, sitting in the armchair, felt a sudden, sickening chill crawl up his spine.
The Elder Prince finally turned away from the window. He looked at Jian, and then at the two arrogant middle brothers. He shook his head, a look of profound, weary disgust crossing his face.
"You two haven't changed a bit," the Elder Prince rumbled, stepping away from the glass. "Always thinking so selfishly. You never learned to look beneath the water."
"Excuse me?" Feng snapped, his face flushing red as he stood up to confront his eldest brother. "We are trying to save this Empire while you run away to the West! Don't you dare lecture—"
Prince Jian moved.
It wasn't a martial arts stance. It wasn't a calculated, military strike. It was a sudden, explosive, apocalyptic manifestation of pure, unadulterated violence that defied the limits of human biology.
Jian crossed the ten feet between them in a fraction of a millisecond. He grabbed Prince Feng by the collar of his opulent silk tunic with both hands.
Before Feng could even register the movement, Jian effortlessly lifted the grown man entirely off his feet and slammed him downward into the solid marble floor with catastrophic, earth-shattering kinetic force.
The sickening CRACK of Feng's spine fracturing echoed over the thunderstorm.
"What the hell?!" Prince Chao shrieked, reaching frantically for his concealed sidearm.
Jian didn't even look at him. Still crouched over Feng's paralyzed, gasping body, Jian blindly shot his hand backward, grabbing Chao violently by the hair. With a guttural, demonic roar, Jian ripped Chao off his feet, dragging him across the floor, and violently smashed his brother's face directly into the sharp, jagged edge of a decorative stone pillar.
Blood sprayed across the pristine white marble. Chao collapsed, his nose and jaw entirely obliterated, choking on his own blood.
Emperor Huang shot to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer, paralyzing terror. The monster was out.
The Elder Prince didn't flinch. He simply walked toward the heavy oak doors of the drawing room, his heavy boots stepping casually over Chao's twitching legs.
He stopped in the doorway, looking back at the Fourth Prince, who was currently raining brutal, merciless, bone-shattering punches down upon Feng's face, entirely ruining the man's features.
"I have no time for these small plays," the Elder Prince stated, his voice a low, indifferent rumble over the sound of breaking bone. "Do what you must, Jian. Burn it all if you want to. But do not get me involved. I am better off alone in the UNA."
The Elder Prince walked out into the storm, leaving the nightmare behind him.
Jian didn't respond. He grabbed Feng by the throat, violently hauling his bleeding, semi-conscious brother up so they were face-to-face. Jian's eyes weren't hollow anymore. They were pitch-black pools of limitless, world-ending rage.
"You two have absolutely no place on this throne," Jian hissed, his voice a demonic, vibrating snarl that sent saliva and blood flying across Feng's ruined face. "You don't have the guts to find Father's killer. You don't have the stomach for what comes next."
Jian violently hurled Feng backward. The prince crashed into a glass display cabinet, shattering it into a million pieces, and lay still among the ruins.
Jian stood up, his chest heaving, his hands completely coated in his brothers' blood. He looked down at the two groaning, bleeding men on the floor.
"I will do it myself," Jian promised, the vow echoing in the cavernous room like a death sentence for the entire continent. "I will find him. And if I need to burn this entire world to ash to illuminate the shadows he hides in, I will do it. And after I am done... after the world is a graveyard... you can take your pathetic throne. You can beg me for it, and I will give you the ashes."
Emperor Huang swallowed hard, his throat entirely dry. He needed to leave. He needed to get back to the South before this rabid dog turned its fangs on the Jade Empire.
"It seems you have your succession under control, Jian," Emperor Huang said, his voice trembling slightly as he backed away toward the exit. "I will return to Neo-Shanghai and prepare my forces to assist in the manhunt."
"Stop."
The single word paralyzed the Southern Emperor.
Jian turned his head slowly. The blood dripping from his knuckles hit the marble floor with a quiet, terrifying pat-pat-pat.
"I need full, unrestricted military clearance to search your half of the Empire," Jian demanded, his dark eyes locking onto his uncle. "I want your borders open to the Vanguard. I want access to your digital grids. I want the South."
Emperor Huang's political instincts flared, warring violently with his terror. To open his borders to the Northern Vanguard was to surrender his sovereignty. It was an invasion disguised as an investigation.
"It is not that easy, my boy," Huang stammered, putting up his hands in a placating gesture. "The Southern Court has protocols. There are treaties. Give me time. I will try to make the arrangements in one month."
Jian took a slow, heavy step forward.
"A family member has died, Uncle," Jian whispered, tilting his head, his eyes burning with a psychotic intensity. "The Emperor of the North was murdered. Shouldn't that be the main focus? Shouldn't treaties burn in the face of blood?"
"I understand your grief, Jian, but I cannot just hand you the keys to the South! I will do it, I promise you, I just need one month!"
"Okay," Jian nodded slowly. He took a step backward, his posture strangely relaxing. "One month. I accept your terms."
Emperor Huang let out a massive, shuddering breath of relief.
"And in exchange," Jian continued smoothly, reaching into his soaked suit jacket, "I will send your second son home to you in one month. But honestly, Uncle... I have no idea whether he will survive without food and water for that long."
Emperor Huang froze. The blood instantly vanished from his face.
Jian pulled a small, silver holographic projector from his pocket and tossed it onto the floor between them.
The projector whirred to life. It displayed a live, high-definition feed of a dark, damp, subterranean cell. Bound tightly to a heavy metal chair, gagged, and visibly bruised, was Prince Li—Emperor Huang's second, beloved son.
Huang's eyes widened to the size of saucers. His jaw dropped in absolute, unadulterated horror. He stared at his captive son, unable to process the sheer audacity of the trap.
"How?" Huang gasped, stepping toward the hologram, his hands shaking violently. "When?! Why?!"
Jian closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. He stepped directly into the Southern Emperor's personal space, towering over the older man, his blood-soaked hands hovering inches from Huang's pristine robes.
"I want it now," Jian whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute, murderous intent.
Huang looked into the eyes of the monster. He saw no mercy. He saw no political negotiation. He saw a boy who would happily slowly torture his cousin to death just to make a point.
"At least let me go to my office!" Huang begged, tears of panic spilling over his cheeks, his diplomatic composure entirely broken. "Leave my son alone! I will draft the edicts, I will sign the permissions, I told you I will do it! Just let me get to a terminal!"
Jian didn't blink. He reached over to a nearby desk, grabbing a blank sheet of heavy, physical parchment and an ink pen. He forcefully shoved them into the trembling Emperor's chest.
"God has given you two hands, Uncle," Jian stated coldly, his eyes dead. "Use them."
Emperor Huang took the paper. He didn't argue. He fell to his knees on the floor, right next to the groaning, bleeding body of Prince Chao. Using the marble floor as a desk, the most powerful man in the Southern Hemisphere frantically, desperately began to write out the absolute surrender of his borders to the Northern Vanguard.
He signed the edict with a violently shaking hand and held it up to the Fourth Prince.
Jian took the paper. He didn't look at it. He simply tucked it into his pocket.
"Your son will be delivered to your guest house in two hours. Safe and sound," Jian promised softly.
Jian turned his back on the weeping Emperor and the two bleeding, shattered princes on the floor. He walked out of the room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the white marble.
The storm raged violently against the glass. The sky continued to fracture, completely unaware that the true apocalypse had already been born inside the walls of the palace.