Immortal Paladin

503 Declaration of War

[POV: War]

The handsome man with hair the color of ripened wheat strode across the vast hall without hesitation, his steps echoing wetly against the glistening floor. Every surface pulsed faintly, as though the palace itself breathed in a slow, labored rhythm. Veins ran like crimson rivers beneath translucent layers of stretched flesh, and bone spires jutted upward in grotesque symmetry. The air carried the metallic tang of blood and something older, something steeped in endless slaughter.

At the far end stood the throne.

It rose like a monument to conquest, sculpted from the remains of fallen champions who had once dared to challenge its master. Skulls fused into armrests, their hollow sockets weeping thin trails of dark ichor. Ribcages formed its spine, interlocked with jagged precision. At its apex, embedded like a crown jewel, a massive heart throbbed openly, each beat sending ripples through the structure. It was not decorative. It was alive.

The man ascended the steps, each one slick and red, formed from compressed sinew and marrow. Without pause, he turned and seated himself upon the throne, the living construct tightening subtly beneath his weight as if recognizing its sovereign. His crimson eyes swept across the gathered assembly below, their glow cutting through the dim, sanguine light of the hall.

They knelt as one.

“Grace to the War General, Mighty Emperor, and Immortal Warrior,” they cried in unison, their voices layered with reverence and hunger.

A woman approached from his side, her beauty striking and sharp, her hair cascading like living flame. In her pale hands, she cradled a heart with deliberate care, its surface still warm, still faintly twitching. She lowered herself gracefully, offering it upward.

“Your Valiant Majesty, I offer thee a heart of a devoted general who died in battle in your name—”

War scoffed softly, the sound carrying across the chamber with quiet authority.

“Chen Shun, is it?”

He took the heart from her without ceremony. His fingers pressed into its surface, not tearing, but pulling at something unseen beneath the flesh. A shimmer flickered, revealing the faint outline of a soul bound within. With a sudden surge of violent, searing flame, the heart ignited, blooming, unfolding like a grotesque flower of fire.

War released it.

The flames collapsed inward, and from them emerged a figure, flesh knitting together from nothingness. A man stood there, naked and trembling, his form newly restored yet bearing the weight of remembered death.

Chen Shun fell immediately into a kowtow, his forehead striking the slick floor.

“I have failed you, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice strained but resolute. “I was tasked to scout the Hollowed World and investigate the existence known as Da Wei. Instead, we encountered an army equal to our own in vigor. Beyond that, there were masters… beings capable of felling me in battle.”

A ripple moved through the gathered ranks.

Then came the jeers.

“Equal to us?” one general barked, rising slightly from his kneel with a sneer twisting his face. “You must have grown soft, Chen Shun. The Hollowed World is nothing but a prison realm, starved of ascension.”

Another laughed harshly, the sound sharp as breaking bone. “No new ascendants have emerged from that place in eras. You expect us to believe it now breeds warriors who can rival you?”

“A failure speaks loudly to hide his shame,” a third added coldly. “Perhaps defeat has clouded your judgment.”

The murmurs turned to open ridicule, laughter echoing through the hall as others joined in, their voices layering into a chorus of contempt.

War’s gaze remained fixed on the kneeling figure.

“Do you speak only the truth?” he asked, his tone even, though something beneath it coiled like a drawn blade. “Your peers doubt you. Perhaps you inflate their strength to conceal your failure.”

Chen Shun’s head lifted just enough for his voice to carry, desperation threading through it.

“No, Your Majesty! I speak only the truth! Moreover… they possess an immortal army!”

The laughter erupted again, louder this time, rolling through the chamber like thunder.

One of the elder generals rose fully now, his armor clattering softly as he spread his arms in exaggerated disbelief. “An immortal army?” he echoed, amusement dripping from every word. “And so do we.”

He turned slightly, gesturing toward the vast host surrounding him. “An army of Ascended Souls, layered with immortality, hardened by endless war. We traverse the Greater Universe itself, selling our blades, harvesting the fallen, raising them again to swell our ranks.”

His grin widened, sharp and prideful.

“It is no exaggeration to say we are unmatched. None rival us. None ever will.”

He lifted his voice, addressing not just Chen Shun, but all present.

“And why is that!?”

The response came like a war cry, unified and deafening.

“We’re immortal! We’re blessed! We’re warriors!”

Another general stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with fervor. “And with the grace of our Mighty Emperor,” he added, bowing deeply toward the throne, “we return from death again and again!”

“We’re immortal! We’re blessed! We’re warriors!”

Their voices reverberated through the living palace, each word sinking into its walls, feeding the endless pulse of the Crimson Slaughter Palace.

“We’re immortal! We’re blessed! We’re warriors!”

War leaned back against the living throne, one arm resting upon a curve of fused bone as the pulsing heart above him continued its steady rhythm. Below, his warriors roared and mocked, their voices thick with arrogance, their laughter sharpened by centuries of unchallenged dominance. He found it amusing, not because they were wrong in their strength, but because they had forgotten what it meant to be threatened.

They stood at the apex of the Underworld, feared across the Greater Universe, their immortality granting them a reckless abandon that bordered on worship. Death held no consequence for them. War had granted them the privilege of return, again and again, until fear itself had become foreign. They mistook that absence for invincibility.

War did not.

His crimson gaze dimmed slightly as thought crept beneath the surface of his amusement. The Hollowed World was no longer a forgotten prison in his mind. It had become something else entirely, something that stirred the faintest trace of anticipation… and irritation. His father’s words, relayed by there eldest, echoed in memory. An ultimatum had been given, not just to the universe, but to his own sons.

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The Supreme Death’s end was coming.

War should have felt pride. His father had chased that end across eternity, seeking something beyond even the endless cycle of death and rebirth. The fulfillment of that pursuit should have been worthy of celebration.

Instead, it threatened everything War was.

If his father reached that end, then the Four Horsemen would follow. Their existence was bound to his. Death Junior, the eldest, would not intervene. War knew this with certainty. That one had always been detached, unconcerned with preservation or rebellion. Conquest had vanished as usual, wandering without allegiance even to fate itself. And Famine… War’s lips curved faintly at the thought.

Famine, the supposed pacifist, was gathering strength in silence. That alone spoke volumes.

War exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming once against the armrest as the throne pulsed beneath him.

He did not want to die.

It was not philosophy or fear of oblivion that drove that thought. It was something far simpler. War existed to fight, to revel in endless conflict, to drown in the symphony of clashing wills and breaking bodies. An end to that was unacceptable. His father’s dream demanded the death of his own.

And now, a name had been placed at the center of that fate.

Da Wei.

Below, Chen Shun lifted his head, his voice cutting through the jeering chorus with strained urgency. “Please take a good look at me. I died. Every layer of my immortality was stripped away. Even with my Immortal Art, I was slaughtered like a dog. My army suffered the same fate. We were hunted, reduced to nothing.”

The laughter faltered, if only slightly.

“The only reason I stand here now,” Chen Shun continued, his voice tightening, “is because of His Majesty.”

However, his peers continued their ridicule, laughing at him.

The red-haired woman stepped forward sharply, her presence flaring like a sudden blaze. “You stand in the presence of His Valiant Majesty,” she declared, her voice cutting through the hall with commanding force. “Silence yourselves.”

War’s lips curled faintly as he watched the tension ripple outward.

“It’s fine, Flame,” he said, his tone relaxed, almost indulgent. “Let them speak. Let them argue. Let them clash with words as they please. Conflict, in any form, is never without value. I find it… invigorating.”

Flame turned slightly toward him, her expression tightening despite her composure. “I mean no offense, Your Valiant Majesty, but they ought to show more restraint in your presence.”

War’s smile widened as he rose slowly from the throne, the palace itself seeming to shift with his movement. “I also enjoy this,” he replied, his voice softening in a way that carried something far more dangerous beneath it. “The way you resist. The way you contradict me.”

He stepped closer.

“I said it’s fine.”

The hall fell into an uneasy stillness. No one met his eyes. Even the most arrogant among them lowered their gazes, instinct overriding pride.

Flame frowned faintly, though she did not retreat. “I am glad you understand—”

War’s hand moved without warning.

His fingers closed around her throat, lifting her effortlessly from the ground. There was no struggle, no scream. Her form unraveled instantly, her body dissolving into roaring fire that coiled and condensed within his grasp. In the span of a breath, the flames reshaped into a massive greatsword, its blade blazing with violent intensity.

In the same motion, War brought it down.

The sword pierced through Chen Shun’s skull, splitting him from crown to core before driving deep into the living floor beneath. The impact sent a dull, wet tremor through the chamber as the blade anchored itself.

Silence followed.

Chen Shun’s body hung for a moment, divided, before sliding apart with a sickening ease.

War’s expression flattened, the earlier amusement vanishing completely.

“You failed me,” he said, his voice calm, almost absent of emotion. “You lost every layer of your immortality. You returned not through your own strength, but through mine.”

The halves of Chen Shun’s body began to sink into the ground, the palace eagerly accepting the offering. Flesh dissolved into the crimson surface, veins reaching upward like roots reclaiming lost nutrients.

“I acknowledge the information you’ve brought,” War continued, his gaze steady. “But it is not enough to absolve you from your failure.”

The absorption quickened, bone and blood vanishing into the structure that had birthed countless warriors before.

“However,” he added, his tone lowering slightly, “it is not too late.”

War released the sword. It remained embedded, flames flickering as the last remnants of Chen Shun were consumed entirely by the Crimson Slaughter Palace.

“Become my nourishment,” he finished. “Redeem yourself.”

The blazing greatsword trembled where it had been embedded, its flames flickering before collapsing inward. Fire folded upon itself, condensing, reshaping, until once more it took the form of the red-haired woman. She stood beside the embedded blade’s mark, reborn as Heavenly Flame, her body restored without blemish yet entirely unclothed.

Her fair skin caught the crimson glow of the palace, unmarred save for the streaks of blood and fragments of viscera that clung stubbornly to her form. No one in the hall dared to look at her. Eyes remained lowered, fixed upon the living floor, as if even a glance might invite the same fate that had just unfolded before them.

Heavenly Flame exhaled in mild irritation, brushing a strand of fiery hair from her face. “So rough, like always, Your Valiant Majesty,” she said, her tone edged with complaint rather than defiance. “And now I am left naked again. Not to mention… bloody.”

A faint shimmer of power gathered around her as she drew upon her nature as a Shén. Quintessence coiled at her fingertips, weaving itself into existence before settling over her body as flowing robes of deep crimson and gold. At the same time, a thin veil of flame passed over her skin, incinerating every trace of blood and gore until nothing remained but pristine flesh beneath divine fabric.

It was common knowledge that the Supreme Death’s hatred for Shén was absolute. Their kind was slaughtered without hesitation whenever encountered, erased as though they were impurities within existence itself. Only two exceptions endured within that brutal certainty. Meng Po remained by agreement among the Six Supremes, her existence preserved for reasons few dared question. The other stood here, untouched and alive, tolerated solely because War had willed it so.

War’s gaze swept across the assembly, and this time there was no amusement within it.

“We are going to war,” he declared, his voice carrying effortlessly through the vast chamber. “Our enemy lies within the Hollowed World at the fringes. Their ruler is known as Da Wei, the Holy Emperor.”

A subtle shift rippled through the crowd, anticipation igniting like dry tinder.

“Spread the word,” War continued, his tone sharpening. “The one who claims his head will be granted peerage as a duke within my empire. They will be given a night within my most precious garden of flowers, gifted a weapon suited perfectly to their nature, and hailed as a hero of the Underworld for thousands of years to come.”

For a brief moment, silence held.

Then the hall erupted.

“A duke’s title…!”

“The Holy Emperor’s head…!”

“An opportunity to rise beyond all others…”

“He speaks of the Hollowed World… is it truly worth such reward?”

“I will take it. I will carve that man apart myself!”

“Or die trying,” another muttered, though even that carried a thrill rather than hesitation.

Excitement surged like wildfire, yet beneath it coiled something colder. Fear lingered in the corners of their thoughts, sharpened by Chen Shun’s fate. Resolve battled with ambition, greed tangled with unease, but none voiced retreat. Not here. Not before War.

War turned away from them without another word.

The living palace parted subtly as he walked, the flesh and bone shifting to grant him passage. He moved through corridors that pulsed with dim life, deeper into the heart of the Crimson Slaughter Palace. Behind him, Heavenly Flame followed in silence, her presence a steady heat at his back.

They entered his bedchambers, a vast space draped in layers of dark crimson, where the walls beat faintly like a resting heart. The air was heavier here, saturated with power.

Heavenly Flame stepped forward, her brows knitting slightly. “Was that the right decision to make?” she asked, her voice quieter now, edged with concern. “It seems… excessive, even for you.”

War did not turn immediately. His gaze lingered on the far wall, where veins pulsed in slow, deliberate rhythm.

“The Supreme Heart visited me,” he said at last. “He told me everything about this… Da Wei.”

Heavenly Flame froze.

“The Supreme Heart?” she repeated, disbelief slipping into her voice. “One of the Six Supremes… the wisest among them, and yet the most indulgent of all… that being came to you?”

War’s expression remained unchanged, though his eyes darkened slightly.

He knew he was being used. That much was certain. What remained unclear was the extent of that manipulation, and more importantly, its purpose. The Supreme Heart did nothing without intent, and rarely without layers beneath layers.

Heavenly Flame stepped closer, curiosity threading through her caution. “Why would a Supreme Being from another domain involve himself in this?” she asked. “If this matter were truly so critical… would not the Supreme Death himself come to you? You are his son.”

War’s jaw tightened ever so slightly.

He had always despised that absence, the distance his father maintained even toward his own kin. Yet that resentment never clouded his perception. The Six Supremes were not unified in purpose. They moved as individuals, bound loosely by balance rather than loyalty.

And yet…

“It seems the Supreme Death and the Supreme Heart are aligned in this,” War said quietly.

Heavenly Flame’s gaze sharpened, her tone softening as she lowered her head slightly. “What did you learn?” she asked, her voice carrying both curiosity and deference.

War finally turned to face her.

“The truth of this Da Wei,” he said. “Not merely a ruler of some forgotten world.”

A brief pause followed, heavy with implication.

“He is a Supreme Being.”

The words settled into the chamber like a weight.

Heavenly Flame’s body tensed involuntarily, her pupils shrinking before dilating again, a faint shudder passing through her. The air itself seemed to grow colder despite her presence.

“Can we win?” she asked, the question escaping before she could restrain it.

War’s lips curled into a snicker, low and unrestrained.

“What do you think?” he replied.

For a moment, she said nothing. Then something hardened within her expression, resolve igniting behind her eyes like rekindled flame.

“We must win,” she said.

War’s grin widened, sharp and approving.

“That’s my girl.”