Beyond a rice paddy, under the shadow of a celestial mountain, a group of dark cloaked humans finish their ritual to summon the demon king. They had performed this ritual every month for a year, and had not yet summoned anything at all.

One of these is a young man, born to a wealthy merchant. sixth son of a sixth son thrice over. He is held up by heretical forces as a potential master of the dark path. With nothing but failure to bring forth anything that would increase his power, he was starting to consider alternate methods. Should this ritual again be fruitless, he would turn upon his lackeys, the minions being useless as sacrifices when there was nothing to sacrifice them to.

Still waiting for any sign that otherworldly forces had taken note of his ritual, and his ritual it was, despite what these foolish saps might believe, he cast his mind over his rivals in the upcoming sect tournament.

His Chaotic Demon Sect would be sending three contestants, himself, Shi Yuheng, and Yue Feihua. Of them, Shi Yuheng was untrustworthy and Yue Feihua was stupid. They were not worth bothering with in the slightest, whether to plot against the other sects or to utilize for more power.

The Grandmist Primordial Sect would be sending three as well, as would the Divine Continent Sect. An even nine participants, the three most promising disciples of each of the three top tier cultivation organizations. Diviners were the ones who focus on the orthodox path of cultivation; advance slowly up the eighty one stages from mortal to immortal. The sect leaders were generally assumed to be in the various stages of ranks five and six, worlds above the mere rank three limit for the tournament. Primordials focused on balance of all things, mixing the elements together to create incredible power. Their leaders were universally rank six, though the sect had a higher than average mortality rate.

From the Grandmist Sect comes Yang Ming, Lin Laotian, and Wang Yun. From the Continent Sect comes Lan Mu, Lan Fu, and Mu Yichan. To go over what his informants had gathered, he only needed a word to summarize their personalities. Lan Mu, bubbler. Lan Fu, flakey. Mu Yichan, naive. Lin Loatian, hidebound. Wan Yun, greedy. Yang Ming, lazy.

He was sure that none of them would be able to stand against him in the finals. The Demon Sect follows the path of sacrifices. Sacrifice, of the literal and the figurative. Personally, he prefered to use the literal in combat and the figurative otherwise. Give flesh, break bone. Sacrifice his own well being to demolish the opponent. Upon reaching true immortality, there would be nothing one could not overcome by continuously tearing away at it.

As it was now, however, this pose was beginning to become tiring. He looked up at the sky, where he knew there was an invisible rend in the very fabric of reality. According to the sect's records, this barren land must have been the site of a terrible calamity. Hundreds of years in the past, the cracks of space were so jagged not only could one see them with the unaugmented eye, but even the densest of materials, from iron to jade to a cultivator's core, would be sliced apart with the slightest touch, never to join again.

Energy of the Heavens, otherwise plentiful throughout the land, is sucked through the cracks, depriving the plants, animals, and people of its warm power. Over time, space has been 'healing', the cracks shrinking and the flow decreasing in speed. It was even possible to cultivate here, albeit slower than one could in a capital city. Regardless, with the boundary between planes sealing, and the tournament forthcoming, there was little time left for him to devour the power of a Demon King. After all, even a powerful dragon cannot repress a local snake. With all these preparations, array formations designed to rip apart anything that appears and scatter the pieces across the planet and seal the essence within their circle, even a rank eight existence would be unable to escape!

He holds back a sigh, blinks twice, and looks through his lower dantian to see the flow of power around him. All is as it should be, the arrays positively tingling with imported power. Far above, swirls of energy circle shrinking cracks, disappearing forever into the void beyond space through fine and shrinking apertures. If the cracks hadn't healed to this point, not only would it be nearly impossible to bring forth the energy needed to power these arrays, as it was, but it would be further impossible for the energy to stay in its delicate formation long enough to do anything at all. As it stands now, the rifts are nearly healed.

He had worked tirelessly to accomplish this, to steal the patterns necessary to seal the very core of a being, where its intellect and power was held while depriving it of all else, to organize four individuals who were intelligent enough to perform the ritual, but stupid enough to not realize they would be a part, and the sealing method to devour the energy and hold it within himself without being overwhelmed by the ego of a demon king. It was a shame that these four would need to be sacrificed to box the imprint with their own intellects, but that was the risk any cultivator took when pursuing the dark paths. At any time a confederate could shed the thin veneer of civility and take everything. The weak are prey to the strong in all places, but often the mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.

Slowly, ever slowly, the cracks above slide together. Almost like a three dimensional block of wood having a perfectly carved secondary piece slid into place, space snapped into place with a feeling that was almost audible. Sensing this was his last chance at success, he dropped his arms. A waste of time, a waste of energy, and a waste of thought. The last was the worst. With a deadline fast approaching, every bit of mental energy he could summon up was essential to grow in power. While the competition limited its participants to the third rank, that only held for as long as it took to finalize the contestants. Every bit of thought spent determining how to hide his increase in power, every idea of how to tame the energy and incorporate it evenly into each of the three dantians, finalizing his upper core and filling them all with golden elixir, every plan to consolidate the energy through the slaughter of beasts and harvesting of their cores in an upward spiraling carnival of gore, all lost forever.

It was with regret over his lost plans that he raised his arms again to rend his accomplices asunder.

Then, the sky broke.