Scarlet lightning slammed into the celestial platform.

It had once been a magnificent testament to the glory and power of the immortals. Now it was dest.i.tute. Corrupted.

Illuminated by this maleficent light was a throne, upon which a hunched figure could vaguely be seen.

Below the throne, a man appearing about thirty years of age kneeled, head bowed. His long red hair spilled across the ground, forming a scarlet smear against the pristine white of the platform.

He was bound by thick chains.

Blood, like tears, dripped from his wounds.

The figure on the throne laughed, slow and deliberate, "So this, this is the end of the Ascendant Sun...!"

"Such a tragedy....such a comedy! You thought you could change this world single-handedly?"

"The realms will curse you!"

"Your descendants will spit your name!"

"Your world will erase you! Your billions of years of cultivation, refined by me! Your immortal body, made into a weapon!"

"That is the consequence!"

Surrounding them, mighty flood dragons writhed in agony. Their struggles formed thunderous rumbles that reverberated through the realm below.

The figure on the throne raised a shriveled hand. A torrent of vicious dark energy streaked towards the kneeling figure.

On the platform, the kneeling man was calm in the face of death.

His lips curled into a small, mocking smile.

[I win.]

His crimson eyes flashed.

On his finger was a black, crystalline ring.

____________________________

[The 182,546th Year, Age of the Fallen]

Thunderous applause and deafening screams split the air of the Great Capital.

A young man, less than twenty years of age, stood victorious atop the Azure Battling Platform, chest heaving and muscles glistening with sweat. His features were sharp, and his dark eyes shone. His red hair was bound behind his back.

On his finger was a black, crystalline ring.

The young man grinned, shark-like, and thrust the medal up into the air.

The crowd went wild.

On the stage, the drums pounded out a furious rhythm. A sound so loud that it could be heard throughout the Great Capital.

Van looked downwards. Mult.i.tudes of people were crammed into the s.p.a.ce below. They screamed his name, voices hoa.r.s.e and eyes s.h.i.+ning fervently.

Suddenly, he laughed. To the onlookers, they simply felt that this was a vigorous, lively laugh of delight. Only Van knew it was a derisive laugh, mocking the heavens.

[How fickle fate is...!]

He thought of his mundane life as an orphan in Mountain Village, a place that felt realms away.

How did he come to stand upon this stage?

Well, it all began when he was thirteen...