Rainy night, ancient temple.
Candlelight, sword shadows.
In a mere moment, the dimly-lit Nuwa Temple, modest in scale and sitting at the foot of the wilderness mountains, is soaked with thick, scarlet blood filling the cracks between the worn stones. It mixes with the dust accumulated over years, trampled under leather soles, squelching like mud with every step.
Nezha treads through this bloody mire, advancing step by step towards the 'Night Master.' He seems weary, slowly squatting down.
On this chilly rainy night, he exhales a breath that shows white and clear, eyeing the other's face that has turned purple with suffocation, he says, "If you knew it would come to this, why did you even begin?"
His fingers, clutching the Chaos Sky Silk, twitch, slightly loosening its grip.
"Cough! Cough!"
The woman keeps coughing. She looks up at Nezha, his youthful face brimming with a content smile, blood spattered across his fair skin.
