Tang Yichen Story #1 (Patreon)

Yichen felt nothing but disgust for his own son. As he stared at the only child of his only wife, he had to actively suppress the urge to call upon his flames and torch the useless bum to cinders. But ruining a centuries-long scheme for a murderous thought be foolish. Impractical. Impulsive.

And right now, Yichen couldn’t afford to be either of those things.

So, he smiled. Looked at his offspring gently, in a way he never looked at anyone else. He turned his voice softer and he made it sound caring.

“Hong’er,” he said, “I have a task for you.”

His son, a man that appeared to be in his early twenties, raised his head, his gaze haughty. Men much powerful than this child couldn’t even dream of matching Yichen’s stare – and this idiot did it with an undisguised annoyance.

“Can’t you give it to someone else, Dad?” Tang Hong replied, “I’m kind of busy.”

Yichen’s forced smile slipped and the temperature around him spiked, turning so hot and dry Tang Hong had trouble breathing.

“D-dad!”

Yichen took a deep breath and calmed himself down, the alleviation of his temper cooling off the room.

“Apologies, son,” Yichen told his child, hating every word – he wasn’t the type of man that apologized – but saying them nevertheless, “I’ve been on edge.”

“It’s al-alright…” Tang Hong reassured, uncomfortable as he wiped away the sudden sweat, “What was it about a task?”

“I need you to travel to the Zhongyao Province and retrieve something from the Shengyu Mountain.”

“Why do you need me though?” Tang Hong asked, sighing, “Just send some Xiantians to do it.”

“No.” Yichen said, with just enough steel in his tone to make his undisciplined son listen but not scare him off, “This is an extremely sensitive matter. I need someone I can trust.”

“Fine,” Tang Hong rolled his eyes, “I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Yichen nodded, a blink away from just incinerating the brat, “Do it now.”

“Sure, sure.” Tang Hong said, waiving his hand and turning away. He didn’t ask for a permission, didn’t bow in a farewell. Anyone else, and Yichen would turn them into ash: but faced with his disappointment of a son, he just gritted his teeth and watched Tang Hong leave.

Once he was out of the room, three others joined Yichen, glancing at the door with complicated expressions on their faces: this trio he didn’t hold in contempt. They were weak, yes, but they were at least acceptable.

“Are you sure about this, Father?” his daughter asked, the only one in the entire world, besides Hong’er, who dared to question him. But while he tolerated the latter out of need, the former he dignified with answers out of respect.

“Are you feeling pity? Don’t. He’s not worthy of it.”

“He still wears our name. He’s a Tang, by blood and right, and we’re about to sacrifice him like a mere pawn,” she pressed on, “That isn’t right.”

Yichen snorted, directed his powerful, oppressive gaze at his daughter. She was a Shangtian, a being revered by many, but sensing his anger, she immediately grew quiet.

“Apologies,” she said, “I overstepped.”

Yichen didn’t comment on her apology, gestured to his son instead.

“Follow him. Make sure that the dragon is provoked. They are naturally protective of their eggs, so it shouldn’t be hard: but just in case it isn’t blinded by wrath enough to kill Hong, do something so that it would.”

His son, ever the obedient soldier, nodded.

“It will be done, Father.”

With a bow, the married duo disappeared.

“Are you still going to sacrifice them too?”

At times like this, Yichen regretted telling his daughter the entirety of his plan. He thought she was ready, that she understood the necessity of his means – but foolish questions like that put his previous assessment into doubt.

He’d hate to have to kill her too.

“When the time comes,” Yichen said, “They barely qualify as Shangtians. In the events to come, both will be of no use. This is the best way for them to serve the clan.”

“Of course, Father.”

“Jia,” he called out sternly, “Do not disappoint me. Your loyalty is commendable, but don’t let it cloud your judgement. You know well enough that I’m doing all of this for our survival.”

“It’s just…” she sighed, “We are strong, Father. Perhaps stronger than we’ve ever been. What if the prophecy is wrong? What if we can handle it without that abomination of a child?”

“Is that your true belief or merely a wish spoken out loud?”

“I don’t know.”

Yichen shook his head and, in a rare for him display of sincere affection, stroked her cheek.

“I forget sometimes how young you are. If I thought there was another way, I’d use it. There isn’t, so we do what we must. Destroy the doubts in your head or they will lead you astray.”

“Understood, Father.”

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A week later, shocking news disturbed the world: the beloved son of the Celestial Emperor, the one the Flame Tyrant openly favored above all others, was killed. Brutally torn apart, mauled, ripped apart by a dragon in act of rage. Details were uncertain, specifics undisclosed, but the whole Empire waited, with held breaths, for the inevitable retaliation.

They didn’t have to wait long.

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Tang Yichen stood in the air, a majestic purple robe covering his aging, yet still intimidating figure. His hands were clasped behind his back, face expressionless and cold. He was the ruler of the world, the undisputed sovereign – and he waited long to get rid of the arrogant beasts that dared to dispute his claim on the sky.

He took one last, long look at the meadow under him, for it was last time this land was full of green instead of being scorched beyond revival, and moved.

The first Dragon Clan he targeted, the Greens, creatures of the wind and speed, hated solitude. Unlike the others of their kind, they didn’t keep to their lairs and their lonely selves. Instead, they spent their days together, old with the young, bloodlines intermixed. They basked in the sun, played tag in the sky, and nuzzled each other in familial joy.

When Tang Yichen appeared above them, four dozen dragons turned their heads. Younger ones were excited at the sight of a flying human, only held back from coming closer by their worried caretakers. The elders exchanged glances, confused and alarmed, before one of them found the courage to communicate.

“Your Majes-”

The dragon didn’t get the chance to finish, for Yichen opened his eyes, two orbs of blazing violet, and spoke.

“World Burning Art – Ocean of Incineration.”

Violet flames swallowed him. Violet flames swallowed the dragons. Violet flames swallowed everything. They rushed forward like tidal waves, leaving nothing but ash in their wake.

Dragons screamed guttural roars of desperation. Parents tried to save their precious children, Elders selflessly attempted to stop the fire with their own flesh.

They failed. And they burned. All were burned alive as their scales melted and they endlessly howled in mind-shattering agony.

Their deaths were slow. Some tried to bear the pain, bear the devouring them flames and fly away, but Yichen smacked down every escapee without mercy.

An hour later, the valley previously filled with laughter and happiness held nothing but smoldered death. Yichen inhaled deeply, the smell of freshly roasted flesh as ever addicting, and moved again – to another target.

Three days later, the Celestial Emperor found himself besieged by three gargantuan beasts. One red, one blue, one yellow, monstrous dragons of fire, water and thunder surrounded him, their massive bodies and enormous wings making him appear tiny as they blocked the sky itself.

Yichen was unfazed. No, he was disappointed: it appeared, the fourth Divine Spirit was truly dead.

WHY?

An ancient voice spoke into his mind. Dragons lived longer than humans did, so much so that their lifespans could not even be compared. How old was the blue beast that spoke to him? A hundred thousand years? Two hundred? In front of it, Yichen could as well be a child.

Not that he cared, as he turned and looked into the reptilian slits that contained wisdom of millenia.

“You killed my son.”

BULLSHIT.

Another voice yelled into Yichen’s mind and the red dragon huffed, smoke coming out of its nostrils.

THE BRAT IS NOT WORTH THIS CARNAGE. GIVE US THE REAL REASON.

Yichen hesitated. There was no need to, but… in the depth of his heart, where he sealed all emotions in favor of cold pragmatism, a tinge of pity sprouted.

For his own selfish goals, he slaughtered a species so noble even Wei left them alone in consideration. They deserved at least an explanation, considering this genocide was only the beginning of their torment.

“A battle is coming. I don’t know when, but it will come. And for our world to be preserved, we need an expert at a level I can never hope to reach.”

WHO IN THIS WORLD CAN MAKE YOU WORRY SO?

Smiling, Yichen looked up.

“In this world? No one.”

He sighed, shook his head.

“Enough. I’ve talked for long enough.”

I THINK SO TOO. NO MATTER YOUR REASONS, FOR YOUR SINS YOU WILL PAY WITH BLOOD.

“Will I?”

Yichen spread his arms, violet fire sparking at his palms.

“World Burning Art – Thousand Years Fuel The Fire!”

Flames exploded, shrouding him like a mantle. He aged in a blink, skin turning withered and saggy, stature shrinking, back bending into a hump.

The dragons recoiled, eyes filled with horror: the fire was so intense, their scales began to disintegrate from the proximity alone. Hesitation, thoughts of escape started to form – and a single word ended them all.

“Burn.”