The three souls of Lord Haxar didn't scream as Jian mashed them between his fingers. They sang a discordant oily hymn of every sin the High Immortal had ever committed.

  To the guards and rebel veterans watching, it was a sight that should have invited madness. Nascent Soul, Divine Spirit, Heavenly Soul—all pulverized into a shimmering grey-black paste hissing against the cold air. Jian held onto the rot. In ten million years of Backstage training, he learned that Evil Karma was the only part truly solid. Everything else—power, rank, light—was just a mask.

  "See, Saphra?" Jian rasped, voice a low rhythmic thrum making the floor vibrate. "Consumption only works on decay. If they were truly pure, I’d have nothing to grip. But they all have it. As soon as they reach for Eternity, they start to smell like the ground."

  Saphra sprinkled Grave-Soil Ginger and Mountain-Marrow Salt over the writhing soul-paste. The mixture reacted instantly, herbs turning black karma into rich pungent seasoning. She didn't flinch at the cosmic horror. She was an alchemist, and Jian was her most complex formula.

  "The ginger will stabilize the Natal Spirit corruption," Saphra murmured, tracking the energy. "But be careful, Jian. This is a century of stolen youth. If the children take too much, their meridians will believe they’re a hundred years older."

  Jian let out a short dry laugh and turned to his children. Caelum, Lyzara, and the twins watched with morbid inherited curiosity. They didn't feel horror. They felt hunger.

  "Come," Jian commanded, holding out a platter of meat enhanced with refined soul-paste. "Eat the rot. It’s the only part of an Immortal that has any weight."

  The scene was a bizarre domestic nightmare. Children sat in a circle, tearing into spirit-imbued meat with ferocity. As they chewed, Lord Haxar’s energy—Earth-Yang and Natal Essence—flowed into their Golden Cores.

  Jian reached out with his Edge Aura, smoothing jagged flares of power as his children began to glow with terrifying silver-gold radiance. By the time the platter was empty, the four heirs slumped in lethargic high-tier evolution. Their power solidified, pushing them to the edge of the Half-Step Nascent Soul realm.

  "Look at them," Zelari whispered, hand on her sword-hilt, face a mask of exasperated pride. "They have that same look in their eyes after they eat. That... detached, where-do-I-kill-next stare. They’re exactly like you, you lunatic."

  Jian sat back, hunger satiated for the moment, though the Fire in his gut simmered with new aggressive intensity. "They are real, Zelari. That’s why the power sticks to them. The Old Man hates things that are real."

  He stood up, body twitching with restless energy. The Third Step was processed. He felt the Fourth Step—the Conceptual Expansion—calling from beyond the horizon.

  "I need to wander," Jian said, scanning the distance. "Haxar’s essence is good fuel, but it’s too heavy. I need to offset it with something... premiere. Something with the weight of a planet."

  Zelari’s eyes widened. "A walk? Jian, we just finished the battle. The High Immortal’s blood isn't dry, and you’re talking about a walk? This is exactly how we met. Only this time, you’re actually telling me your plans."

  She stepped in front of him. "Which way? East? Trade-lords. West? Abyssal Sea-Serpents. North? The Heaven-Sovereign Empire. Their Guardian Spirit is a Celestial Wyrm that’s lived since the beginning of the script."

  Jian looked around, head tilting in that strange jerky rhythm. He pointed a scarred finger toward the North. "The Premiere Power. The one who thinks his Aura of Governance can hide him from the dark."

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  "The North it is," Zelari said, turning to her scouts. "We’ve been preparing for this. Having the Calamity with us means we don't have to worry about their twenty High Immortals."

  But then, Jian’s head snapped toward the South. He pointed toward endless grey plains where nothing had lived for a thousand years. "No. This way. The South."

  Zelari froze. "The South? Jian, there’s nothing there. Miles of salt-flats and dust. Even bandits don't go there."

  "A sneaky script," Jian mumbled to himself, eyes wide with crazed prophetic light. "I’ve seen this one. The Endless Plain where the real boss hides beneath the layer of nothing. You search until you’re exhausted, and then the trap springs. I can feel it. Something is... breathing down there."

  "Maybe you’re mistaking it for the North, Jian," Saphra suggested. "If the power is shifting between the two, why waste time wandering salt-flats? Let’s go North. If the Old Man is hiding something in the South, he’ll have to bring it out to defend his premiere throne."

  Jian looked deeply into Saphra and Zelari’s eyes. He searched for the ripple, the yellow tint, the sign of the Scripted Advisor. He found only fierce grounded intelligence.

  He looked at his children standing up, their new power vibrating in the air. He nodded once. "The North. The fires of the Dragon are hard to contain... and the Fox is getting... restless."

  Oh, darling, I'm always restless, Kyuzumi purred in his mind. All this talk of expeditions and wars... it’s making me quite... heated. Don't you think it’s time to vent some of that excess Yang before we head into the cold North? We wouldn't want another trip to the Underworld, would we? I’m quite fond of my skin staying attached to my soul.

  Jian’s eyes darkened. He looked at Mira and Lyra stepping forward with knowing sultry smiles. They had been his Queens for thirty years, but they never forgotten the Release that anchored him.

  "We’ll handle the preparation, Zelari," Mira said. "You and Saphra have two hours to gather the legions. We’ll make sure the Calamity is... ready to walk."

  Zelari sighed but didn't argue. "Fine. Two hours. We’re driving a main assault force straight to the Northern Capital. We’ll start with the vanguard, and the rest of the twenty million can catch up as we cross the border."

  The courtyard erupted into frantic activity. Orders barked, banners raised, rhythmic pounding of boots as the Iron-Ash Legions assembled. A logistical miracle set in motion in the time it takes to brew tea.

  But in the Royal Chambers, the world narrowed down to a single burning point.

  Jian didn't bother with the script of romance. He was fire and void, and the excess Yang from the Immortal’s soul was pressure needing a physical outlet. He took the merchant girls, then Zelari and Saphra, his touch a branding iron of raw primal necessity.

  The release wasn't quiet. Jian’s groans were rumbles of an approaching storm, cries of the women lightning tearing through the palace. In the hallways, children blushed and looked at the floor, their new Golden Cores vibrating in sympathetic resonance. Guards stood stone-cold, though the air was heavy with ozone and the heat of a god at play.

  "He... he’s certainly enthusiastic," Caelum muttered.

  "It’s the Dragon Core," Lyzara said, face bright crimson. "And the Garuda. And... everything else. Just... focus on your breathing, Caelum."

  Outside, the first of twenty million soldiers marched through the gates.

  By the time two hours were up, Jian emerged. No longer smoking. Skin cool solid copper, eyes swirling lethal cocktail of gold and void. He looked North, the Eclipse Fang letting out a long satisfied hum.

  "The preparation is complete?" Jian asked, voice a deep absolute command.

  "The vanguard is moving," Zelari said, hair slightly mussed, green eyes bright with new secondary glow. "Twenty million men, Jian. All ready to die for the Calamity."

  Jian looked at the massive host, then at the northern horizon where the Heaven-Sovereign Empire waited in arrogant golden towers. A slow twisted smile spread across his face.

  "Good," Jian whispered, hand on his blade. "Let the puppets see what happens when the lead actor decides to go off-script."

  He stepped into the air, a vertical streak of violet-black fire leading the greatest assault force in history toward the heart of the world’s power. The Fourth Step was waiting, and it was going to taste absolutely divine.