Under the relentless rain and the constant flicker of lightning, the woman reached the outskirts of the village. Her figure advanced calmly. With steady hands, she pulled a small black leather pouch from her chest. Upon opening it, twelve hand-sized flags shot into the air of their own accord.
They emanated a sinister aura.
The fabric, torn like badly stitched skin, was a dark red, dyed with a hue that could only be old blood. The poles, thin and pointed, seemed carved from bone… but not from any animal.
She activated a movement technique, and her silhouette became a shadow in an instant. She began to circle the perimeter of the village with precision, dropping a flag at regular intervals. With each step, the spiritual pressure in the air increased. With each flag, the air grew denser.
When she completed the circle and returned to her starting point, she pulled out one more item—a disc carved with complex runes. It was the size of an outstretched hand. The markings etched into it seemed to move on their own.
She closed her eyes and placed both hands on the disc. She began to pour her spiritual energy into the artifact.
Minutes later, the disc emitted a sickly glow. In response, the flags began to levitate a few centimeters off the ground, vibrating at an almost imperceptible frequency, as if something beneath the earth was answering the call.
Then, the woman raised the disc above her head.
A signal.
From each of the twelve flags, a beam of scarlet light burst forth at great speed. The rays connected to each other with geometric precision, weaving a luminous net in the sky that, in a matter of seconds, sealed a bloody dome over the entire village.
The atmosphere grew heavier.
The air, thicker.
The smell of death… more real.
The woman licked her red lips and, with a cold, cruel smile, murmured:
"Let the feast begin."
The bloody dome covering the village descended with a deep hum, as if the sky itself had fallen. A shiver ran through the old structures as an invisible pressure clutched the chests of those inside. The air turned frigid, and the sense that something unnatural had taken hold of the surroundings was undeniable.
Ye Han watched from the alley, just a few meters from the inn. Alongside the other Vespers hidden among shadows and alleys. His eyes fixed on the dome for a moment.
"What the hell is that...?" he muttered, without raising his voice.
Most mortals had never seen a cultivator fight. Their methods, their techniques… were a mystery. And what now covered the village's sky was not something that could be explained with his previous combat experience.
The moment of confusion was brief. Ye Han regained control quickly. His voice came out low and sharp, like a blade ready to open fire:
"Hold position. No one fires without my order."
At that moment, the people inside the inn and in every corner of the village realized something was terribly wrong.
What had been a quiet night, marked by rain and thunder, turned into a nightmare. The air became thick, laced with a metallic, nauseating stench… as if the whole world were soaked in blood.
The animals were the first to react. Dogs howled in desperation. Horses neighed, shaking violently in their stables or trying to break free from their reins. Chickens screamed senselessly. Instinct screamed at them to flee.
And then, human shadows began to emerge.
From the houses, trembling figures peeked through parted curtains, windows, or barely cracked doors. Their faces all the same: confusion… and fear. An inexplicable fear. As if their blood wanted to evaporate and their soul escape through their mouth.
Children began to cry. Fathers and mothers, caught between terror and despair, held them tight and hid as best they could—under tables, behind furniture, in basements. Some tried to run, but the scarlet dome already trapped them.
Inside the inn, the tension twisted into a knot. Everyone stood up instinctively and looked toward the windows, with rigid faces and tense bodies.
Some, more perceptive, looked toward the corner of the hall. Where that group was… the one that had always seemed out of place.
The more seasoned mercenaries didn't hesitate. Their eyes locked onto the strangers. Hands went to weapons. They could already feel it.
And then, just as they feared, it happened.
The burly man who was their leader stood up slowly. His heavy figure rose, and his gaze swept across the inn with terrifying calm. His eyes were cold, empty, like bottomless pits. And upon seeing the confusion, the fear… the smiles appeared.
Not just on him.
One by one, the others at his table began to smile.
Perverted smiles. Slow. Twisted.
Like predators who had cornered their prey… and were now merely toying with them.
The mercenaries in the inn began to react. One by one they drew their swords, retreating with their eyes fixed on the strange group.
"Who are you? What's going on here?" asked one of the closer ones, his voice firm but tense.
He received no answer. Only a dry laugh, dripping with contempt.
The leader of the group stepped forward. His figure blurred for an instant, moving with the fluidity of a shadow. His hands, covered in a dark energy that pulsed like living mist, looked like sharpened claws.
In the blink of an eye, his palm pierced the mercenary's chest. He pulled it back with a clean motion, still holding the beating heart. The body fell backward without a sound.
Strangely, the blood didn't spread… it was absorbed by the ground. No one noticed.
The inn exploded into screams and chaos.
With a cold smile, the leader spoke in a clear, icy voice:
"Leave no one alive."
The sharp-faced young man moved instantly. He slid to the main entrance and planted himself there, blocking the way out. His eyes scanned the room as if choosing who to kill first. No one would pass.
A desperate traveler tried to escape through the nearest window, but another of the demonic cultivators appeared in a breath. His fist struck the man square in the chest, hurling him against the wall like a rag doll. The crack of bones mixed with the wet thud of the impact. A smear of blood marked the wood, slowly sliding and disappearing into the floor.
Outside the inn, hidden in the shadows beneath the rain, Ye Han watched.
The bloodstained dome still glowed with a sickening intensity over the town. No more waiting was needed. The entire town was aware of the abnormality.
"Hostile confirmed," he murmured coldly.
His finger slowly tightened on the trigger.
His eyes quickly scanned the positions of his men, already in place.
Then, without hesitation, he gave the order.
"Fire!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound of gunfire echoed through the inn, and the shots focused on the visible targets through the windows.
The first demonic cultivator, completely unaware of the danger, still had his back to the door, confident in his surroundings. A bullet pierced the back of his neck with deadly precision, followed by two more that struck his back. His expression of perverse satisfaction didn't fade as he collapsed to the floor.
At the other windows, the result was the same. A precise shot tore through one target's neck and chest, while another took two simultaneous bullets that took him down immediately.
In less than a blink, three demonic cultivators fell, their bodies collapsing without a scream, without resistance.
The remaining four, at the back of the inn, froze with the smile still on their lips as their eyes searched frantically around.
"Who?!" shouted the leader, just as a scarlet light covered his body, activating his defensive technique. The others reacted instantly, summoning their own spiritual shields.
But the only reply they got was the thunderous echo of more gunfire.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The leader at the front took two direct hits that rocked his spiritual shield to the brink of collapse. The shockwaves ran through his body like whips of energy. Of the other three, two were hit immediately; their shields barely held for half a second before bursting like bubbles, and their bodies fell — one with a clean shot through the eye, the other with a shredded chest.
The last one, his face full of terror, threw himself to the floor and rolled behind the inn's bar, where the leader was already taking cover. The stench of spilled alcohol and old wood filled the air.
"Shit…! If you're men, don't hide! Fight us face to face!" the leader roared, his voice echoing with frustration and fear.
From outside, Ye Han watched every movement. Rain slid down the edge of his helmet as his finger marked the rhythm of death from afar.
"Two enemies remaining. Movement confirmed behind the bar," he reported coldly.
"V-17, V-18, defensive positions at the windows. The rest, move in."
The Vespers stormed in with precision. Weapons forward, firm steps, synchronized movements.
Crossing the threshold, they spread out in formation, each taking a strategic position with a clear view of the bar. Finger on the trigger. Steady pulse. No one spoke. No one hesitated.
The patrons didn't have time to understand. Chaos erupted in seconds. Screams. Bodies pushing without direction. Some ran toward the windows. Others ducked behind tables, barrels, anything.
No one knew what was happening. Everything had changed in a blink.
"Grenade at the target. Now," Ye Han ordered firmly, pointing with precision.
V-15 didn't hesitate. He pulled out a G-1 grenade, removed the safety with a dry click, and threw it at a perfect angle. The grenade cut through the air with a barely perceptible whistle, like a shadow announcing death. All the Vespers immediately took cover, bodies pressed to the ground, weapons ready.
CLACK.
The G-1 struck some jars behind the bar before rolling to a stop. Behind the bar, the eyes of the other demonic cultivator widened like saucers. He didn't know what that object was, but every fiber of his being screamed danger. He tried to raise a defensive talisman, gasping:
"Shie—"
BOOM.
The explosion was brutal, yet precise. It didn't demolish the structure, but it turned the bar into a rain of splinters and shrapnel. The muffled roar echoed through everyone's chest. A brief scream… then silence, broken only by the crackle of smoldering wood.
The two tumbled out like broken dolls, their clothes blackened, faces and torsos streaked with bloody cuts. One fell on his side, motionless, a fragment lodged in his neck, his glazed eyes staring into nothingness.
The other, the leader, landed with a dull crunch on a broken table. He coughed violently, spitting blood. His spiritual shield had completely vanished, leaving him defenseless, weak, and at their mercy.
Ye Han raised his hand, a silent gesture that was all the Vespers needed to advance.
"Target alive!" Ye Han announced, detecting the faint twitch in the demonic cultivator's body, still clinging to life among the splinters and blood.
Immediately, three Vespers converged on him. One covered with rifle raised, another flanked from the right, and the third, V-19, advanced with reinforced black steel cuffs. The air grew heavier.
The leader, face twisted by pain and fury, tried to move. His trembling hand reached for a talisman among the shredded remains of his clothing.
BANG!
The shot cracked out. Precise. The bullet pierced the outstretched hand, pinning it to the wood. A scream of pain ripped through the air.
"DON'T MOVE!" roared V-20, rifle aimed at his head. His voice was authoritative, lethal. "HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM! DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!"
The leader panted, his body wracked with spasms. His shield had collapsed, his arrogance shattered, and now all that remained was a man on the brink of collapse.
"TRY IT AND I'LL BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF!" V-19 snarled, rolling over the shattered table as he immobilized the enemy with brutal efficiency. His knee pressed down on the man's back while the cuffs locked in place with a metallic snap. Blood dripped from the mangled hand.
"Clear," reported V-15, scanning the perimeter with precision. "No enemies remaining."
Ye Han nodded with a brief gesture, his gaze sweeping the area. Weapons remained ready, senses still sharpened from combat.
The customers who hadn't managed to escape were still on the floor, unmoving. Some trembled, covering their heads with both hands. Others barely dared to look up, fear painted across their faces. Amid the confusion, a few mercenaries—the boldest among them—watched with shining eyes.