The pavilion stood in the depths of the secret realm, untouched by time yet veiled in illusion. Crimson walls, dark with age, pulsed faintly with lingering energy, their veins of blackened script crawling across the surface like dried blood. The scent of iron hung thick in the air, soaked into the very foundations of the forgotten hall. For centuries, it had remained hidden, sealed away behind layers of deception, but now the illusion had been unravelled, and two figures stepped through its dissolving veil.

  They moved without hesitation, cloaked in flowing ashen robes embroidered with deep red patterns, the mark of Blood Refining Sect elders. Their masks, fashioned in the likeness of snarling beasts, concealed their faces, but the way they carried themselves spoke of power and purpose. The woman, her figure curved and deliberate in every movement, let out a soft laugh as her fingers trailed along the air. The man, broad shouldered and exuding barely restrained aggression, surveyed the space with a sharp, predatory gaze.

  The chamber before them was bathed in muted red light, the glow emanating from a formation at its centre. Resting atop a black stone altar, a blood coloured tome hovered just above the surface, suspended by the remnants of an ancient protective array. The runes carved into the air flickered erratically, their once unbreakable power faltering with the weight of time. The book trembled as if sensing their arrival, as if recognizing the hands that had once belonged to its true masters.

  The woman tilted her head, amusement dancing in her voice. "How stubborn. Even after all these years, it still clings to its duty."

  The man scoffed; his tone edged with impatience. "A rotting chain trying to bind something beyond its grasp. Let’s put it out of its misery."

  He raised a hand, dark Qi coiling around his fingers like serpents before lashing toward the formation. The sigils flared violently, resisting for a moment before beginning to crack. The woman moved beside him, her own Qi flowing in languid waves, seeking out the weaknesses in the formation and prying them apart with almost sensual precision. The ancient protections, once woven with masterful skill, had long since weakened. Now, under their combined efforts, the barrier crumbled. A sharp crack echoed through the room as the last of the runes shattered, and the tome fell back on top of the altar, free at last.

  The woman reached for it, lifting it with reverence, her fingers tracing the aged cover. Her lips curled as if savouring the taste of long awaited victory. "We have waited too long for this."

  The man folded his arms, watching her with a dark expression. "Too long, and it is only a piece. The true legacy is still scattered. Without it, we are incomplete."

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  She chuckled, the sound rich and teasing. "And yet, with this, we are closer than any before us. The Blood Refining Sect was cast aside, its inheritance stolen, its name reduced to whispers. But now, dear brother, we hold something worth fearing again."

  His eyes gleamed with the same fire that burned in her voice. "With this, we will have more say in the Demonic Alliance. No longer treated as mere dogs."

  She stepped closer, her breath warm against his ear, voice a silken whisper. "And do you think our noble sect leader will allow us to claim that power so easily? Now that he has reached Foundation Establishment, he sees further than we do. He is not the reckless man he once was."

  The man clenched his fist, his Qi flaring for the briefest moment. "He unified us with strength, and strength demands rewards. If he believes this will remain in his hands alone, he underestimates the ambition of those who bled for this sect."

  She laughed softly, pressing the tome against her chest. "Then we will see how well he holds his throne."

  A ripple passed through the air, subtle but undeniable. The walls trembled ever so slightly, as if the very foundation of the Blood Pavilion was aware of what had just been taken. The blood red flames that lined the chamber flickered, their glow stretching unnaturally across the floor. The woman’s smile did not waver, but she tilted her head, sensing the shift.

  "It seems the pavilion does not approve of our theft."

  The man exhaled sharply, already turning toward the exit. "Then we leave before it finds a way to protest."

  She followed, steps unhurried despite the weight of the tome in her grasp. As they vanished into the shadows beyond the pavilion’s threshold, the entire structure gave a low, guttural groan. The crimson walls pulsed erratically, the black script that once lay dormant beginning to shift, twisting as if coming to life. A sudden gust of wind howled through the chamber, though there were no openings for air to pass through. Then, the first fissure split the floor, glowing veins of blood red energy spiderwebbing outward, carving through stone like molten fire.

  The realm itself was reacting.

  The blood flames surged to impossible heights, the once dim light now an inferno of violent scarlet. The pavilion shuddered as more cracks spread across its foundations, chunks of stone and wood breaking loose and vanishing into the void. The air became thick, suffocating, pressing down with an unseen force that whispered of impending collapse. A deep, resonant pulse echoed from the very walls, no longer a passive structure but an enraged beast awakening from slumber.

  From within the collapsing chamber, a voice, twisted and ancient, hissed through the burning air, though its words were indistinct, swallowed by the chaos. The blood pavilion was devouring itself.

  The two masked figures did not look back. They had what they came for. And the realm, furious at their trespass, was tearing itself apart.