DEMON KING AZRAEL: REBIRTH OF THE ECLIPSE

Chapter 7

The library rose before me, a silent titan of knowledge, its every window glowing with a faint, scholarly light. It was situated near the Inner Sect, a place forbidden to outer disciples. A formidable energy barrier shimmered around it, invisible to the untrained eye, yet it radiated a prickling sensation against my spiritual senses. It was a net woven from pure spiritual Qi, designed to ensnare any intruder like a fly in amber.

Crude, but effective for those of this era, I mused, surveying the formation. They rely on brute force and the world's purified energy. But a net has holes, if one knows where to look.

I didn't try to force my way through. That would be folly. Instead, I circled the perimeter, my enhanced senses picking up the subtle fluctuations in the formation’s weave. Every defence had a rhythm, a pulse. I found the minor distortions, the brief, almost imperceptible blinks in its energetic matrix. They were points of weakness, not large enough for a direct passage, but sufficient for a delicate probe.

I chose a spot near a thick, ancient cypress tree, whose roots had probably disturbed the formation’s foundation over centuries. I raised my hand, a faint, inky shadow coiling around my fingertips, visible only to my spiritual sight. This wasn’t their pure Qi; this was the raw, unrefined essence drawn from the Void Heart, a disruptive force to their carefully balanced light.

I didn't attack the formation. I whispered to it. A single thread of shadow-energy, thinner than a spider’s silk, reached out, not to break, but to disturb. It found a minor ley line within the barrier, a conduit of spiritual flow. I nudged it, ever so gently, with a frequency that subtly shifted the line’s natural resonance.

The barrier rippled, a shimmer of distortion passing through it like water disturbed by a pebble. It wasn't enough to trigger an alarm, but it was enough. For a fleeting instant, a hairline fracture appeared in the weave, a microscopic gap in the fabric of defence.

I moved. Not through, but into the distortion. It felt like passing through a wall of solid ice, a brief, crushing pressure that squeezed the air from my lungs. My body screamed in protest, every nerve ending firing, but I forced myself through. I landed silently on the other side, inside the protected grounds of the library, the faint hum of the formation now behind me.

Barely, I thought, a thin bead of sweat trickling down my temple. This body is still a hindrance. Any larger an opening, and I would have been shredded.

The library’s inner courtyard was immaculate, paved with white stone, and lit by gentle, glowing lanterns that hung from the eaves. The scent of aged parchment and sweet, floral incense filled the air. It was a stark contrast to the mud and rot of North Peak.

I found a side entrance, an unassuming wooden door, probably for junior scribes. It was locked, of course, but the mechanism was simple, a basic spiritual lock designed more for formality than true security. A whisper of shadow-energy, directed at the lock’s internal mechanism, caused it to click open with a soft sigh.

Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of old paper and the quiet reverence of forgotten lore. Towers of scrolls, ancient tomes, and inscribed tablets lined the shelves, reaching up into the high, vaulted ceilings. Dust motes danced in the sparse light filtering from the lanterns outside, painting shimmering pathways through the silent knowledge.

I moved through the aisles, my footsteps muffled by my careful tread, my eyes scanning the titles. I needed the general history sections, the records of the past millennium. It was there that the lies would be enshrined.

It took me an hour, moving from section to section, my brow furrowed in concentration. My progress was slow; many of the texts were written in archaic script, and Han Xiao's memories, though surprisingly robust for an outer disciple, lacked the depth of knowledge I once possessed. But Azrael's mind, a vast repository of ancient languages and forgotten lore, quickly filled the gaps.

I found a section marked "Celestial Annals: The Age of the Divine Empress." A fitting title, considering the victor writes the history.

I pulled out a scroll, its silk binding brittle with age. I unrolled it carefully, the parchment crackling softly. The script was elegant, flowing, describing the rise of Selene, the Divine Empress, a thousand years ago.

It painted her as a benevolent saviour, a beacon of light who descended from the heavens to quell a devastating 'Demon War' that had ravaged the nine realms. She brought peace, order, and the 'Pure Qi' that now permeated the world. She was the architect of the celestial order, the eternal guardian of all mortal life.

My eyes narrowed. Lies. Every word a gilded lie.

I found my own name, Azrael, mentioned in hushed, fearful tones. I was described as a monstrous entity, a 'Lord of Chaos,' who sought to plunge the realms into eternal darkness. My armies were 'hordes of abominations,' my very existence a 'blight upon creation.' The 'Demon War' was my attempt to destroy all life, and Selene, the pure-hearted goddess, sacrificed everything to defeat me, sealing me away and purifying the realms of my vile influence.

A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was a sound full of rusty scorn, echoing softly in the silent library. Sacrificed everything, did you, my love? Is that what you call plunging a blade into the back of your beloved?

My hands clenched, the ancient parchment beginning to crinkle under my grip. The lie was so absolute, so pervasive, that it had become the bedrock of this new world. Every child would learn it. Every elder would preach it.

They worship you, Selene. They sing hymns of your benevolence. While I, the one who fought by your side, the one who built an empire with you, am merely the boogeyman in their bedtime stories.

My disgust curdled into a renewed, burning resolve. This wasn't just about vengeance anymore. This was about justice. About correcting a cosmic injustice. My history had been erased, defiled, and rewritten by the very hand that had once intertwined with mine.

I moved on, pulling out more scrolls, reading faster, my eyes devouring the information. Every text, every historical record, spun the same tale: Selene, the saviour; Azrael, the monster. The narrative was flawlessly consistent, a testament to her absolute control.

Then I found a small, almost hidden alcove, tucked away behind a larger, more prominent shelf detailing Selene's 'Divine Edicts.' Here, the scrolls were older, less frequently accessed, their bindings coated in a thicker layer of dust. These seemed to be the auxiliary records, the footnotes to the grand history.

One scroll caught my eye. Its title, faint but legible, read: "Genealogy of the Celestial Court: Consorts and Lineages of the Divine Empress."

Interesting, I thought, a cold curiosity stirring within me. Perhaps a glimpse into her personal life. The man she chose to rule by her side after she betrayed me.

I unrolled it. The parchment was brittle, threatening to disintegrate. I scanned the names, the dates, the intricate web of celestial families and their ties to the Empress. My eyes darted through the list of consorts, official lovers, children, and heirs.

And found nothing.

The section on 'Empress Selene' was startlingly brief. It listed her name, her ascension, her divine powers, and her role as the sole, unmarried ruler of the Nine Realms. The space where a consort's name should have been was conspicuously blank. There were no children, no lineage, no declared heir. Just… Selene. Sole. Untouchable.

My breath hitched. Unmarried? After a thousand years, she had taken no one to her side? No one to share her throne, her power, her life?

This was a contradiction, a gaping hole in her perfect narrative.