The Sovereign Returns

The heavens trembled. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

At the peak of the celestial battlefield, Zhao Feng stood alone. His black and gold robes rippled in the wind, his long hair stained with the blood of countless foes. The divine radiance of his aura illuminated the shattered landscape below, where mountains had been reduced to dust, rivers had boiled away, and entire legions lay prostrate before him.

They knelt in submission—thousands of cultivators, warriors, and divine beasts—none daring to lift their heads.

Zhao Feng, the Heavenly Sovereign, had won.

His fingers curled slightly. Power surged beneath his skin, vast and immeasurable, distorting space itself.

So this is what it means to stand above all.

His golden eyes drifted to the heavens, where celestial thunder rumbled. The world could sense it—his imminent ascension. The final step before true godhood.

The path that no one had ever walked before.

And yet… something felt off.

A strange unease slithered into his chest, a whisper of danger just beyond perception.

Then a familiar voice called from behind.

"You've done it, Senior Brother."

Zhao Feng turned.

Li Tian.

His sworn brother. The one who had fought by his side since their youth.

Li Tian's silver armor was stained with battle, his face weary but filled with admiration. At his side stood Feng Qing, the sword prodigy, and Yuan Xiu, the alchemist. They had all grown together, forged in blood and war.

A flicker of warmth touched Zhao Feng's heart.

He had raised them. Guided them. Led them to glory.

And now, they stood beside him at the very peak of existence.

"The heavens tremble before you, Sovereign," Feng Qing said, his voice filled with reverence.

Zhao Feng exhaled, letting go of the last remnants of battle.

"It's over," he murmured.

Then—pain.

A sharp, cold agony pierced through his chest.

Zhao Feng's breath hitched. His fingers twitched.

Time slowed.

He looked down. A divine spear had erupted through his torso, its silver blade drenched in golden blood. His blood.

His immortal, invincible body—pierced.

The battlefield fell into absolute silence.

He turned his head slightly.

Li Tian's hand gripped the spear.

His brother. His sworn brother.

Zhao Feng's mind screamed at him to move, to retaliate, to destroy everything.

But his qi—his unmatched, unrivaled qi—collapsed.

The spear wasn't just a weapon.

It was consuming him.

Draining his very foundation.

Zhao Feng's breath turned ragged.

"Why?"

Li Tian's expression was soft. Pitying.

"Because you were never meant to rule forever, Senior Brother."

Feng Qing and Yuan Xiu stepped closer.

And for the first time, Zhao Feng saw them.

Not his disciples. Not his sworn brothers.

Only traitors.

"Did you truly believe we would remain beneath you forever?" Feng Qing sneered.

"You were a fool to trust us," Yuan Xiu whispered.

They had stripped him of everything—his faith, his empire, his very place in this world—and they laughed.

The ground trembled.

Even in his dying state, the heavens responded to his fury.

Li Tian hesitated.

Then—a shadow descended.

A figure wrapped in ethereal flames, his presence alone warping reality.

A god.

The final piece of the betrayal.

Zhao Feng staggered, barely holding himself upright.

Even a deity had turned against him.

The god looked down at him.

"You were never meant to exist beyond this point."

The sky ripped open.

A swirling abyss—black, endless—devoured the heavens.

The Abyss of Eternal Night.

Li Tian ripped the spear from Zhao Feng's chest.

And then—he fell.

~~~

The world was dark.

Zhao Feng's body drifted through the void, lost in the silence. The heavens, the earth—everything he had ever known—was gone. His soul, once bound by the laws of this world, was now unraveled, adrift in the abyss. The searing pain from the divine spear had long faded, replaced by a hollow numbness. His consciousness was fragmented, flickering like a dying flame.

Had he died?

No. He had been betrayed.

But it wasn't just betrayal—it was annihilation. They hadn't simply struck him down. They had torn him apart, severed him from everything that made him Zhao Feng, the Heavenly Sovereign.

His essence had been scattered, pulled to the deepest corners of the universe. He wasn't just falling into the abyss; he was being erased.

For what felt like an eternity, he wandered in darkness. Thoughts drifted in and out, half-formed fragments of his past life. Faces blurred, memories twisted, and in the distance, he thought he could hear a voice calling him—but it was distorted, unfamiliar.

Then, something shifted.

A flicker of light. A presence.

Zhao Feng's eyes—if they could even be called eyes in this state—snapped open, or rather, his perception adjusted to something far more ancient.

"Do you seek another chance, child of heaven?"

The voice was deep, resonating through the very core of his soul. It wasn't just a voice—it was an entity, one that spoke not with sound, but with essence.

Zhao Feng could feel the words like a pulse, like a heartbeat in the vast emptiness. It was a call.

His thoughts, still fractured, attempted to comprehend the enormity of the situation. Another chance? Was he even worthy of one? The weight of his betrayal, the loss, the shame—all of it crashed down on him.

But then, a primal desire stirred within him.

He had conquered realms, shattered gods, and forged empires. And now, in this moment of utter ruin, he wanted nothing more than to return—to destroy those who had dared to betray him.

"Yes," his thoughts bled into the void. "I seek vengeance."

The void around him seemed to pulse. The presence that spoke to him did not respond with words, but with an overwhelming force, like the weight of an entire universe pressing against his soul. Zhao Feng felt himself falling, but it was no longer into nothingness. He was being pulled, drawn toward something.

A crimson rune burned itself into his soul, searing through his very existence. His form, his essence, restructured itself.

For the first time since his fall, Zhao Feng felt.

Power.

A surge like a flood, like fire consuming the void, wrapped itself around him. His body—his true body—had been reformed. It wasn't the same as it had been before, though. It was different. But in the most primal way, it was still him.

"I will return," Zhao Feng whispered, though there was no sound in the abyss. His words resonated with the very fabric of reality. "And I will not forget."

The presence responded with the faintest hint of amusement. "Then return. And this time, do not just rule. Conquer."

---

A thousand years had passed.

Zhao Feng was reborn—not in glory, but in weakness. His new body was frail, his aura shattered, a mere shadow of the divine sovereign he once was.

But his soul—his soul had been forged anew.

He opened his eyes, or rather, the body he inhabited did. A dull, coppery ceiling stretched above him. The scent of must and decay filled his senses. Zhao Feng's fingers twitched, brushing against cold stone beneath him. He was on the floor.

He sat up slowly, the world spinning as he did. His limbs felt weak—too weak. His chest tightened as he struggled to breathe, the air thick and suffocating. It felt as if his very lungs were made of paper, fragile and brittle.

His gaze snapped around, taking in the surroundings. This wasn't the celestial throne he had once commanded. This wasn't even a palace. It was a dungeon, a prison, dark and suffocating. The stone walls were cracked, the air thick with moisture and the stench of neglect.

He was in a cell.

Zhao Feng gritted his teeth. His head throbbed as memories began to coalesce, like shards of glass being slowly pieced together.

Zhao Chen.

That was the name he had been given. The name he had inherited in this new life.

The weakest son of a declining noble house.

His fingers clenched into fists, but there was no power in them. His once-mighty limbs felt like they had been emptied of their strength. His aura, the radiant, divine aura that had once bent the heavens, was barely a whisper now.

But still… something stirred within him.

It wasn't the immense power he once wielded. But it was something. A spark. The faintest hint of dominance, like a flame struggling to ignite in the wet darkness.

A low laugh escaped his lips. It was bitter, cruel, but the sound of it felt good.

Through the bars of the prison cell, he saw figures moving in the distance. Two guards stood outside, their conversation drifting through the air. They didn't even notice his movement, too busy with their petty bickering.

Zhao Feng's eyes narrowed.

He didn't have the strength to face them directly—not yet. But he wasn't helpless.

His fingers brushed against the stone, testing its texture. His body still ached, but he could feel the faintest threads of energy pulsing from his core. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

He took a deep breath, forcing his aching body to move. Slowly, he stood, his legs trembling with the effort.

The guards were still oblivious.

Zhao Feng reached down, gathering the last of his strength, and with the smallest motion, he summoned a flicker of fire. It wasn't much—just a tiny spark—but it was enough to melt the lock on the cell door.

The heat didn't burn him, but it drained him, leaving him weak and dizzy. Still, he managed to pry the door open just wide enough to slip through.

Outside the cell, he found himself in a dimly lit hall, the walls lined with tapestries that had long since rotted away. The sounds of battle were distant, the air thick with the stench of decay. The noble house he had once been part of was now in ruins, barely hanging on to its legacy.

But for Zhao Feng, this was only the beginning.

He had to survive. Regain strength.

And when the time came, he would crush the world beneath his heel.

But for now, he took careful steps, using his wit and caution. He would not reveal himself to the world yet. He had to rebuild his foundation—his true power—piece by piece.

The Heavenly Sovereign had returned.

And this time, he would not fail.