A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5683

Jared drew a ragged breath. "Sir... Heaven Gate did not vanish without cause. It... it was wiped out overnight by Soul Devourer. He was once a disciple. He repaid the sect with slaughter, murdered his own master, butchered every elder."

"What?" Zevon's voice cracked the air like splintering ice, shock and fury flaring behind his calm eyes.

The idle languor on Zevon's face shattered the moment those words left Jared's mouth.

A horror too ancient for language, like a primordial behemoth rousing from a million-year sleep, erupted from deep inside him.

Gone was his former calm. In its place surged killing intent, raw fury, and a pressure powerful enough to rip open the sky and turn the earth on its head.

Boom!

The heavens convulsed again, colors bleeding and recoiling as if creation itself could not decide which master to obey.

Light like a newborn sun burst from Zevon's body, colliding with the demonic aura that cloaked the Soul Devourer's domain and even beginning to drive it back. The ground shook. Stilled energy storms screamed alive. Wind tore across the plain—no longer cold and malicious, but scorching, righteous, and purifying.

Zevon snapped around. The hint of drunken haze was gone from his eyes; what remained was lightning forged in the highest sky, locked unblinking on the Soul Devourer. "Is... what... he... said... true?"

A shadow of concern flickered across the Soul Devourer's face when Zevon's aura detonated, but it twisted quickly into a jagged grin. "Yes—and what of it? Those hypocrites of Heaven Gate were fossils. They deserved to become the stepping-stones beneath my feet. I swallowed their souls, consumed their cultivation, and stand at this height because of them. So—will you seek their revenge?"

Confirmation landed like a hammer. Zevon swayed, shoulders shivering beneath the weight of it.

Each word dripped blood, each sentence a blade. Grief, fury, and the vast might of his cultivation fused into a single tide that made the sky itself weep.

Jared stood frozen where he was, his breath locked tight in his lungs. Zevon, usually so irreverent it bordered on lazy, had dropped to both knees in silent supplication. What on earth is he doing? Jared's mind reeled, a storm of awe and confusion crashing through him.

Only then did understanding slam into Jared like a falling mountain. Zevon—this unpredictable wanderer he had taken for a mere rogue—was a disciple of the legendary Heaven Gate Sect. Worse, he was their head disciple.

"S-Sir, you—" Jared's voice cracked, the question dying in his throat before it could take shape.

Zevon rose with deliberate calm. When he turned, the tears were gone. What remained was a glacial fury and a disturbing, almost tranquil madness distilling behind his eyes.