“Drain five million commoners dry and condense my Immortal Blood-Dragon!” Emperor Ji Wudao roared from the center of the vortex.
His voice boomed through the blackened clouds like rolling thunder, carrying the ancient, rotten cadence of a dynasty that had forgotten how to govern. From the jagged cracks in the marble dais, thousands of thick, pulsating crimson tentacles erupted into the air. They whipped across the palace walls, hissing like pit vipers, and shot outward toward the crowded residential districts of the Central Heavenly Capital.
In the artisan quarters and crowded tea alleys, citizens screamed in terror as the crimson tendrils reached toward their roofs.
“Lock the shutters!” a blacksmith shouted, shoving his children behind an iron anvil. “The Emperor is devouring the city!”
“It’s the ancient blood-curse!” an old scholar wailed, clutching his scrolls to his chest as his knees buckled. “The historical records spoke of it! Three thousand years ago, during the Red River Rebellion, the fourth emperor drained two provinces to preserve his throne! He is doing it again!”
Across the Supreme Harmony Plaza, thirty honest merchant masters collapsed onto their stomachs. Their fingernails dug into the stone flagstones as invisible hooks seemed to latch onto their meridians, dragging their spiritual vitality and life-essence toward the center of the palace.
