Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!

Shen Haoran stood at the center of the devastated wasteland, his fingers steady as he uncorked the small jade bottle.

The air around him seemed to freeze, the molecules of oxygen themselves trembling in the presence of the substance within.

Huo Yue frowned, and just seeing that drop of blood was giving her goosebumps, and instinctively, she wanted to burn that blood from the face of the earth.

Haoran turned towards her, ”Take a step back, this might get...chaotic.”

Huo Yue nodded and took a few steps back, watching Haoran poured the drop of dark, primordial blood onto the blade of his sword.

And at that moment, a gurgling sound suddenly resounded—a wet, guttural, and rhythmic noise that vibrated through the marrow of everyone present, as if an ancient god had just awakened from a slumber lasting eons.

Huo Yue cringed, feeling an undescribable discomfort coming from the sword.

Haoran stared at the sword in his hand, the Azathoth, the Black Imperial Sword.

It was not merely a weapon, but more of a cosmic anomaly made through sheer impossibility.

A sword forged from the crushing weight of a dying star and tempered using the blood of the ancient god it was named after, Azathoth.

According to the records hidden within the deepest, most restricted vaults of the Shen Clan’s Archives, Azathoth was a powerful outer god, a chaotic entity said to be the father of the Outer Ones—transcendent, horrific beings that treat the entire universe as nothing more than a source of sustenance.

In the Primordial era, long before the first human drew breath, a supreme existence rose up and resisted these Outer Ones.

In a war that shattered multiverses, this being eventually killed and devoured Azathoth, becoming the ultimate ruler of all existence.

However, the fragments of that Primordial Chaos God were not so easily extinguished, and even after being defeated and devoured, they scattered across the infinite universes, becoming seeds of madness and power waiting to be found.

A single droplet of its blood was found by an ancestor of the Shen Clan who was an Artificer and used it to forge the nameless Black Imperial Sword, giving the blade a weight that transcended the physical.

But no one in the history of the clan had been able to wield the sword.

Even the ancestor, the master Artificer who forged it died shortly after its completion.

It is said that in the final moments of the forging, he discovered the ultimate secret of the sword, or rather, the blood’s origin, and his mortal mind was unable to handle the vast, recursive geometry of the information, forcing him to commit suicide to escape the visions.

The sword remained in the treasury for millennia, cold and silent, until Haoran picked it up as if it were a simple kitchen knife.

Now, this sword usually remains silent, its world-ending power sealed behind layers of ancient enchantments.

However, by feeding it the source blood of some Primordial race, the essence Haoran had just released, one can temporarily access the fragments of its true power.

At that moment, a sickening squelching sound echoed through the battlefield, drowning out the crackle of fire and the cries of the wounded.

The sword suddenly started producing a black, oily liquid.

Strangely enough, it didn’t drip, but just pulsed, before crawling up Haoran’s right arm like a living parasite, engulfing half of his body in a shroud of undulating darkness.

Then, from that oily liquid, countless eyes of varying sizes and dozens of weeping, toothy mouths suddenly opened all over his right side.

The sight was a sensory assault of pure, unadulterated horror.

Huo Yue involuntarily fell back, her face pale as she clutched her chest, feeling her very soul recoil.

However, staring at the other half of face, which remained the same as ever, she quickly calmed down, thinking that he is still Haoran that she knew and love.

As for Korgar, he couldn’t help but shiver looking at that horrific sight. It was incredibly uncanny, as if looking at something that was trying too hard to imitate human appearance.

Haoran smirked, his golden eye shining with a cold light.

At that moment, the countless mouths on the other side of his body also mimicked his grin, stretching wide to reveal rows of needle-like teeth that whispered in a thousand dead languages.

”Come,” Haoran said, his voice now layered with the echoes of the void. ”Show me what you got, barbarian.”

Korgar, the Saint-entity composed of a million compressed souls, let out a shriek that sounded like grinding glass.

The presence of Azathoth was an insult to his pride. How could he feel so uncomfortable and afraid just seeing one human?

He gritted his teeth and lunged forward, his body of hyper compressed shadow and bones turning into a lethal spike of violet gravity.

He intended to pierce Haoran’s heart and end the threat before it could fully manifest.

But Haoran didn’t even raise his sword in a traditional guard.

As Korgar approached, a black, oily tentacle erupted from Haoran’s shoulder, whipped through the air, and slapped the Saint-entity aside.

The impact causes a devastation as if two planets have just collided.

Korgar, who had just shrugged off the combined attacks of the most powerful geniuses in the region, was sent skipping across the ground like a stone, his violet aura flickering and dimming.

”Is that the strength of a Saint?” Haoran asked, his voice a calm drone.

He took a step, and the space beneath his feet didn’t just crack, it rotted and turned into a grey, lifeless ash.

He appeared in front of Korgar instantly, in a speed that surpasses that of what a Nascent Soul should have.

Without as much as a single word, he swung Azathoth in a casual, downward arc.

But Korgar reacted quickly and raised both hands, summoning a shield made of the condensed screams of his sacrificed kin.

However, the Black Imperial Sword passed through the shield as if it were smoke.

The blade bit deep into Korgar’s shoulder bone, and the mouths on the sword’s surface began to feed, tearing away chunks of the giant’s bones and soul essence.

”ARGH! GET OFF ME!” Korgar roared, unleashing a wave of violet fire.

Haoran simply stood in the center of the blast, and the oily darkness covering his body began to absorbed the fire, the mouths on his skin laughing as they ”drank” the Saint-level energy.

And in that instant, Haoran’s power not only recovered but also began to rise, the sword converting Korgar’s stolen power into raw, primordial fuel for Haoran’s own meridians.

”If this is all you have, then your kin died for nothing.” Haoran chuckled.

Korgar gritted his teeth and roared, ”DO NOT INSULT MY PEOPLE!”

The two clashed once more.

And for the next ten minutes, the battlefield witnessed a massacre.

This couldn’t even be described as a fight, it was a predator playing with its food.

Haoran moved with an erratic, non-euclidean grace, his body flickering in and out of reality as he struck Korgar hundreds of times, each hit leaving behind a patch of oily darkness that continued to gnaw at the giant’s form.

”AAAAHHH!” Korgar screamed in pain, ”I will not let their sacrifice be in vain?”

”Sacrifice?” Haoran whispered, appearing behind Korgar and driving the blade through the giant’s spine. ”Barbarian, the moment you decided to use them to increase your strength, their sacrifice has already been in vain. No power in this world is worth more than the lives of ones kin.”

He twisted the blade, and the countless eyes on his body all blinked in unison.

Then, a burst of black light erupted from the point of impact, blowing Korgar’s chest wide open.

The millions of souls within the giant began to leak out, their violet light being swallowed by the blackness of Azathoth.

Korgar was starting to fall apart.

His Saint-level foundation was being systematically dismantled by a force that didn’t belong in this dimension.

He looked at Haoran, this youth who was half-man, half-nightmare, and finally, his mind had completely broke.

The desperation of a dying king and the madness of a corrupted Saint merged into a final, suicidal impulse.

”I... I will not be eaten by a brat!” Korgar shrieked, his voice reaching a frequency that caused the city walls to crumble.

He turned his gaze toward the remaining giants, the remaining hundreds of thousands who hadn’t been part of the initial sacrifice and those who survived the battle against the humans.

They were huddled in the distance, watching their chief be slaughtered.

”MY PEOPLE! GIVE ME YOUR STRENGTH ONE LAST TIME!” Korgar roared.

He didn’t wait for their consent as he reached out with both hands, and his violet aura turned into a series of harpoons that shot out across the battlefield, piercing the hearts of every remaining giant within miles.

Haoran paused, watching with an amused expression as the essence of the remaining tribe was forcibly ripped out.

He didn’t bother trying to stop him.

After all, as he said before, this war was a good place to test all his abilities before the academy starts.

The giants didn’t even have time to scream before they were turned into withered husks.

The influx of energy was so massive that Korgar’s body began to swell and distort, his flesh and bone regrew as he forcefully ascended even further.

Then, the violet light around Korgar turned a deep, bruised indigo, then a solid, light-absorbing black.

His size increased once more, his form becoming a muscular, multi-armed monstrosity of raw, unrefined power.

He had pushed himself past the limits of a Saint, entering the level of a second stage Profound Saint.

”DIE! EVERYONE DIES WITH ME!” Korgar screamed, his very presence causing the air to ignite.

Haoran looked at the hulking, mad giant before him, his smirk widening as the countless eyes on his oily shroud all narrowed in anticipation.

”Finally,” Haoran whispered, the sword Azathoth let out a low, hungry growl. ”A meal worth the effort.”