Chapter Text
Wen Ruohan strode out of the Scorching Sun Palace, throwing his arms out maniacally as he howled at the forces before him. Nie Mingjue felt his body and sabre burn with heat and rage as the madman’s crimson eyes fell on him, insanity burning within those hellfire irises.
Jiang Wanyin had inadvertently taken a step back at the sight of Wen Ruohan, having never seen him at his most deranged, and even Wei Wuxian, with dark miasma heavily draped around him like a cloak, clutched tighter at Chenqing.
Beside Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen panted as Shuoyue dripped filth onto his already stained robes. As Wen Ruohan leapt down the grand steps, he swept a hand through the air, and a heavy weight flew past him, tumbling down.
The First Jade furrowed his eyebrows, confusion taking hold of all of them for a moment, as the pile on the steps finally came to a halt.
The thin outer robe, stained beyond belief, unfurled in almost slow motion—a parody of a flower in bloom, blossoming outwards to reveal a pale face. The flesh seemed completely bloodless, yet the drooling line of red from the temples and lips told another story.
Lan Wangji gazed blankly at the four of them, absolutely serene, eyes half-lidded and barely revealing the thinnest shadow of dull, dead gold. His wrists were bound together with rope, and had been flung up over his head with the force of his landing, displaying the fiery marks that wound fervently around his neck and shoulders, the innumerable cuts that riddled his limbs, and most damningly, the Wen brand crusted in burned skin and limpid yellow, blinding sunlight on his heart.
The stones beneath them cried out in dissonance as Shuoyue dropped, blade-first. Lan Xichen staggered forward, eyes wide and white, breath rasping from his throat—“Wang—“
Nie Mingjue grabbed him by the arm as he fell, and Wen Ruohan roared with laughter. He spun around, catching sight of Jiang Wanyin, who was frozen in horror at the sight, and Wei Wuxian, who seemed to have become virtually inhuman.
“Indeed, he was the Second Jade! He didn’t even flinch at torture—only breaking his meridians seemed to do the trick!” Wen Ruohan advanced upon them, a pillar of flame—his sword—manifesting in his right hand, even as he drew Lan Wangji’s body forward with his left.
Lan Xichen was shaking in absolute hysteria, choking on the blood that made its way up his throat as he wailed. Nie Mingjue could barely hold him back as his once-white sleeves began to tear from the strain.
Wei Wuxian suddenly threw himself at Wen Ruohan, heedless of Jiang Wanyin’s snap of fear for him to—“Get back, Wei Wuxian you idiot!”—a wave of darkness enveloping his body with a shriek of a thousand ghosts as his shadows slammed against the crimson sword.
“Oh?” Wen Ruohan inspected Wei Wuxian’s eyes, blown red, tears already dripping down his cheeks. Mouth bared in a monstrous snarl, black smoke seemed to burst from his eyes and throat, billowing around his face like ink spilled in water, reaching for Wen Ruohan’s neck. The sect leader laughed, blasting him back with a sweep of fire. “And here I thought you of all people had no love lost for him!”
Wei Wuxian faltered, expression twisting upwards, anguish gripping his brow. Even the serpentine movements around him stilled.
Before Wen Ruohan could blow him away for good, Jiang Cheng dashed in, Zidian spitting and crackling as it wrapped around the red sword. He yanked with all his might. Sweat dripped from his temples.
Lan Xichen took advantage of the distraction to slip from Nie Mingjue’s grasp, staggering to a halt beside the cold body on the ground. Even as the other three engaged in battle with the Chief Cultivator behind him, the fight fell through his deaf ears and slipped uselessly down his trembling fingers. His robes pooled under him as he fell to his knees and gathered his brother’s body in his arms, drawing out the last vestiges of his energy to send through Lan Wangji’s system…but there was nothing there.
Where there had once been powerful, bountiful spiritual veins and energy, were now completely annihilated remnants. Lan Xichen sobbed, cradling him to his chest, wiping his sleeve at the corner of Lan Wangji’s lips, desperately etching away at the dried blood.
Nie Mingjue kept Xichen in the corner of his eye as he charged Wen Ruohan. The man spun in a circle, tongues of flame lashing out from his body and fending off the deadly attacks from three fronts. A wave of volcanic heat washed over them—Wei Wuxian’s shadows were blown out into wisps, before collecting themselves and rearing for another strike. Zidian and Baxia leapt forward at the behests of their masters, landing glancing blows on Wen Ruohan’s body. However, nothing seemed to deter him.
Wen Ruohan was an unstoppable force—Wei Wuxian, Nie Mingjue, and Jiang Cheng, having already waded through a hellish mass of fierce corpses and cultivators, were at their limits. After what felt like only a few moments—a drawn-out cacophony of clashing blades and leering flames—they stood before Wen Ruohan, exhausted and wounded.
Wei Wuxian was delirious. He felt the fury of the dead permeating through his veins, crashing into the waves of despair and disbelief as he caught sight of the Lan brothers again. Seeing Lan Zhan’s limp body, his sightless eyes…The world seemed to stretch around him, with the knowledge that Lan Zhan’s murderer was right in front of him screaming at him, scraping at his helplessness. Something enveloped him like a tide, and he distantly felt the Yinhufu scorch him from where it sat in his robes, gathering swirling masses of the howling dead above like a hurricane.
Jiang Cheng watched as Wei Wuxian was swallowed up by a writhing mass of shadows that slowly edged closer to Wen Ruohan, stomach dropping at the sight. The man himself seemed to have no fear, simply waiting for him to approach. A glint of excitement flashed through his bloody eyes.
The cloud of souls reared back, lashing out and barely restrained by the eye of the storm. They shot towards Wen Ruohan, a wall of piercing death, as he readied his sword and energy for the final blow. The impact shattered the stones beneath them, thousands of dead screeching as they dropped onto Wen Ruohan. A shockwave tore out from the centre, rendering all within range deaf for a few moments.
Shards of stone blew past his face.
The stink of sulfur was almost noxious.
All was silent. Then, thunder crackled.
Numbness overcame Wei Wuxian as he stared at what had become of Wen Ruohan. A body slashed into white and red—mutilated at the hands of the dead—with a blade protruding out from its chest.
Meng Yao drew the sword back with a flourish. The body of one of the greatest sect leaders of the cultivation world fell, grandiose robes fluttering.
Before it had even hit the ground, Wei Wuxian had turned and moved away, coming to a stop before the Lan brothers. He stumbled to his knees, a hand reaching out tenuously to Lan Wangji’s sleeve. Lan Xichen had quietened. He simply held Lan Wangji close, eyes closed, suffocating.
Wei Wuxian stayed, a pale hand just out of reach. The sky began to weep.