Mystique Soul: A Cultivator's Flame
Chapter 99

Chapter 99: Chapter 99

The air was thick with the remnants of battle, the acrid scent of blood and burnt flesh, the lingering hum of dissipating magic. The once-grand imperial hall lay in ruins, its marble tiles fractured, its golden pillars marred with deep gashes, its walls stained with the dark residue of void creatures now reduced to nothing but mist. The bodies of the fallen, both enemy and ally, lay strewn like discarded chess pieces, testaments to a battle waged at the very heart of the empire.

Feng Jiao Xue stood among the wreckage, her senbon needles still gleaming with fresh crimson, her stance relaxed yet poised like a blade waiting to be drawn. She barely felt the exhaustion in her limbs, the sting of minor wounds. Instead, her gaze remained sharp, scanning the aftermath, the battlefield instincts honed in blood and steel whispering to her. Something was missing.

At her side, Liang Feng stood just as still, his sword dripping, his expression carved from stone. He, too, felt it. The unnatural silence, the way tension still crackled in the air despite the last enemy having fallen. A battle had ended, but the war had not.

The emperor’s voice rang out, firm and commanding, issuing orders to secure the palace. Guards scrambled, rushing to fortify the halls, their hurried footsteps echoing against broken stone. But even as they moved, neither Feng Jiao Xue nor Liang Feng turned their heads. Their instincts whispered of something unfinished.

And somewhere within the ruins, a shadow slipped away.

The third prince moved like a whisper, his dark silks flowing seamlessly into the ruined corridors, his steps light, soundless. His heart pounded, but his breath remained steady fear was for the weak, and weakness had no place in the game he played.

He had lost this battle But the war? The war had only begun.

Navigating through the palace was second nature to him each hallway, each hidden passageway carved into his memory since childhood. The guards, preoccupied with securing the emperor, did not notice the phantom weaving through the chaos. The stench of smoke, iron, and death clung to his robes, but he pressed forward, unbothered.

Failure was not something he ever intended to accept.

His plan had unraveled before his very eyes, the void creatures destroyed, his accusations shattered, his once-loyal allies beginning to waver. But he would not be caged, not be executed like a fallen traitor. No, if he could not seize the throne today, then he would tear the empire apart and build a new one from the ashes.

Somewhere deep within him, rage simmered beneath his calm façade, cold and quiet, a beast held on a fragile leash. Feng Jiao Xue, Liang Feng, the emperor, they had stolen his victory, humiliated him before the court. They would pay for that.

All of them.

The empire had no room for weak rulers. That much had always been clear.

And so, under the cover of shadow and smoke, the third prince vanished into the night, leaving behind only the echoes of his ambition, unbroken, undying, and far from over.

A damp, suffocating cold hung in the air. The underground chamber was vast, carved deep beneath the palace, its walls slick with moisture and age-old grime. The scent of decay clung to the stone, thick and cloying, mingling with something far worse the iron tang of blood.

At the center of the room, a grotesque heart loomed, suspended above the ground like a twisted offering to some forsaken deity. Black and glistening, it pulsed with sickening, wet, labored beats, each throb sending sluggish ripples across its slick, veined surface. It was massive, the size of a grown man, its twisted arteries slithering outwards, digging into the stone like the roots of a parasitic tree. Each beat echoed in the chamber, a slow, meaty rhythm that seemed almost sentient as if it were not merely alive, but aware.

A blood-red array surrounded it, its markings carved deep into the stone. The intricate symbols pulsed like breathing wounds, flickering between crimson and abyssal black, each line crackling with malignant energy. Every so often, the array twitched, as if something trapped within its confines was writhing, desperate to be free.

The third prince stood just at the edge, bathed in the eerie glow. Shadows pooled around his feet, flickering unnaturally. His fine robes were tattered, the deep blue fabric stained with dirt and dried blood. His once regal bearing had twisted into something darker, something feral.

His golden eyes, once filled with cold cunning, now burned with something deeper, something more unhinged. He extended a hand over the array, his fingers trembling, not with fear, but with anticipation. The energy licked at his skin, sharp and searing, yet he did not flinch.

His lips parted, his voice a whisper laced with venom.

"Father has never put me in his eyes," he murmured, his voice low and bitter. "So, he can’t blame me for not caring about blood."

He let out a quiet chuckle, soft and devoid of humor.

"If I can’t beat Liang Feng, I’ll take everything he has, starting with this empire."

His fingers brushed against the array.

A violent tremor surged through the chamber, as if the very stone itself recoiled. The heart spasmed, veins bulging grotesquely, and a sound, wet, hideous, somewhere between a gurgle and a scream, ripped from its depths.

From the corners of the room, the shadows began to slither, coalescing into shifting, writhing masses. They pulsed with malevolent hunger, creeping forward like predators catching the scent of fresh blood.

The third prince did not move.

Instead, he smiled.

And the black heart shuddered, its veins splitting open, spilling darkness into the air like a festering wound oozing filth into the world.

The empire had not yet noticed. Not truly.

The common folk carried on with their lives, too occupied with daily struggles to sense the shift in the world around them. But those attuned to the arcane, those who dealt with the mystical, those whose livelihoods depended on magical creatures they knew.

The magical beast market in the capital was a place of controlled chaos, filled with merchants, buyers, and handlers dealing in everything from spirit birds to shadow hounds. It was where noble houses acquired their prized mounts and commoners sought guardian beasts, a place where contracts were sealed in blood and spirit agreements bound master and creature.

Today, however, that controlled chaos began to unravel.

A merchant stood at his stall, showing off a pair of Thunderclaw Hawks, majestic birds with lightning-brushed feathers and sharp, intelligent eyes. They were a noble’s treasure, prized for their speed and ability to deliver messages even through storms. Yet, instead of remaining still as trained, they flapped their wings violently, screeching at the sky.

"Easy now, easy!" the merchant tried to soothe them, but the birds ignored his command. Their talons sparked with electricity, wings beating furiously against the iron bars of their enclosure.

Just a few stalls away, a pair of Blaze Hounds, canine beasts with fire burning beneath their fur, snarled and snapped at thin air. Their handlers struggled to hold them back, the beasts’ glowing eyes darting in every direction.

"What’s gotten into them?" a handler muttered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"It’s not just them" another merchant whispered, looking around. The entire market had shifted. Caged spirit beasts, usually docile under controlled bindings, were now restless, growling, flaring their wings, or stamping their claws.

The master beast appraiser of the market, an elder with decades of experience, stood in the center of it all, a deep frown etched into his face. His gaze swept across the agitated creatures before settling on the sky, eyes narrowing.

"...Something is calling them," he murmured. His words sent a chill through those around him.

Even in the royal household things started to become strange.

The Imperial Stables housed some of the most powerful magical beasts in the empire, mounts exclusively bred and trained for the royal family. It was a place of discipline and order, yet today, it was anything but.

A stable hand yelled out in alarm as a Storm Roc, a massive eagle-like beast that could summon tempests, let out a piercing shriek and tore at its bindings. Its wings crackled with lightning, the air thick with the scent of ozone as stablemasters rushed to contain it.

On the other side of the stable, warhorses infused with draconic blood stomped their hooves, their usually sleek scales bristling with agitation. They whinnied sharply, teeth bared, refusing to be ridden or calmed.

The head beastmaster, a grizzled man who had spent his entire life training these creatures, was pale as he watched the chaos unfold. He had witnessed beasts become frightened, aggressive, even sick, but this?

This was not fear. This was excitement.

Something had roused them. Something ancient.

His hands tightened into fists. Whatever it was, it did not bode well for the empire.

And Even within the palatial estates of the noble houses, unrest took root.

House Xu, an aristocratic family known for producing the empire’s finest beast tamers, prided itself on its collection of rare and powerful magical creatures. Among them was a white qilin, a sacred beast that only appeared in the presence of rulers or those destined for greatness.

Normally serene, the qilin stood in its courtyard beneath a blooming spirit willow, its silver mane flowing like silk in the breeze. But now, it was restless.

The qilin pawed at the ground, its crystalline hooves leaving glowing cracks in the stone pavement. Its usually tranquil gaze was locked on the distant horizon, its breath heavy with anticipation.

Lady Xu, the matriarch of the house and an expert in beast-taming, observed the qilin carefully, her hands tightening around the silk sash of her robe.

"What is it, old friend?" she murmured.

The qilin let out a low, vibrating sound, its breath curling in the air like mist.

It did not respond to words. It responded to fate.

And fate was shifting.

Lady Xu turned toward the inner hall, her expression grim. This could not be ignored. She needed to inform the emperor.

The empire’s unrest was only the beginning.

In the Deepwood Vale, a sacred forest where powerful spirit creatures thrived, the earth trembled. Ancient beasts, ones that had avoided human contact for centuries, began to stir.

A colossal serpent coiled around the roots of an enchanted tree, its emerald eyes flickering open for the first time in decades. It tasted the air, its forked tongue quivering as if catching the scent of something familiar yet forgotten.

Deep in the Azure Depths, where the sea touched the sky, something old and boundless moved beneath the waves. The ocean swelled, and creatures of all sizes scattered as a shadow, a leviathan the size of a fortress, shifted within the abyss.

And in the Blackstone Wastes, where even the bravest warriors refused to tread, something darker, more ancient, more terrifying stirred. The very sands rippled as something vast, something monstrous, exhaled its first breath in millennia.

Across the empire, people continued their lives, unaware of the change creeping through the land. But those who knew, the beast handlers, the tamers, the nobles who had spent generations mastering these creatures, felt it in their bones.

Something had awakened.

And the beasts of the world had heard its call.