The sound grew louder with each passing breath, like the toll of a divine war drum. Meng Meng's thoughts were drowned in the rising echoes. His mind blanked. On his soul orb, the three stars began to spin wildly, releasing a torrent of spiritual pressure. Then, from the chaotic energy of the spinning stars, an image began to take form.
"Kneel."
A voice, ancient and sovereign, echoed through the very fabric of Meng Meng's soul. The command didn't just shake his body—it struck his spirit directly. His soul trembled, teetering on the edge of submission.
Staring at the manifested figure hovering above his soul orb, Meng Meng felt something primal awaken. Its eyes were emotionless, like a predator looking down at an insect. Just looking into them made Meng Meng's soul plead for him to look away—to run, to flee, to never look back. A creeping dread spread across his heart as he questioned: What is this being? Where did it come from?
Elsewhere, hidden among the trees of the outer sanctum, a spy watched it all unfold. This man, known only as "Extra Bit," was no ordinary observer. A master of concealment, he had watched kings and monsters alike, but now… now cold sweat streamed down his face. Fear twisted his expression as he turned to flee—only to be caught.
A chain, ancient and filled with sealing runes, whipped from the Great Formation and coiled around him. He screamed, pleaded for his life. But then—a blur. Someone stepped forward, catching him by the collar and tossing him to a side island like discarded cloth. He lay there, panting, watching with terrified eyes.
Trying to regain control, Extra Bit activated his Earthly Vision Technique, hoping to peer inside the Great Formation. But his spiritual sense was cut off entirely—blocked by the ancient power guarding the core.
Suddenly, a new terror struck.
Thousands of spiritual chains erupted from the formation like awakened dragons, aiming to suppress whoever dared challenge its might.
But the 1st Ancestor didn't even blink.
A smirk curved on his face. "Hmph."
He raised a single finger—his Ninth Demonic Finger. A beam of death energy burst forth, far more potent than anything the 3rd Ancestor could've unleashed. The energy cracked through the sky, shattering the thousands of chains as if they were dry twigs.
He roared at the heavens, defiant. His voice echoed across the vast skies of Wazi.
His madness knew no bounds. He, a mortal, challenged the heavens themselves.
And the heavens answered.
Clouds surged violently. Lightning twisted like divine serpents. One after another, tribulations manifested in the sky—thunderstorms, soul fire, spatial rifts. Each was stronger than the last.
But he stood still, his robes fluttering in the wind, and blocked every blow. He didn't step back. Not even once.
Sects and alliances from across the lands of Wazi appeared, drawn by the cosmic disturbance. The sky above the battle had become a living painting of wrath and destiny. From the crowd, an old man trembled. His hand stroked his long black beard, now wet with sweat. His voice dropped to a whisper as he muttered:
"Teng Xuwan..."
Silence fell. The name carried the weight of history. All the older sect leaders instantly lowered their heads, their expressions grave.
Only the younger ones looked on, confused. One of them turned to his elder, asking, "Who is he?"
The elder's face had gone pale. "He… is someone you must never provoke," he whispered. "Even if you hide in the deepest pits of hell… he'll find you. And he will kill you."
The young leader hesitated, then asked, "What stage is he at?"
The ancestor's voice broke. "He stepped into the Fourth Step of the Soul Shattering Stage… twelve hundred years ago."
Gasps spread like wildfire.
Eyes widened. Disciples' jaws dropped. The battlefield no longer seemed like a spectacle—it felt like a punishment being watched from afar.
Back in the storm-wracked sky, Teng Xuwan laughed madly, his face twisted with rage and sorrow.
"You took my love…" he screamed at the heavens, his voice shaking the clouds. "Now, I'll take everything from you!"
The heavens raged louder. A final tribulation gathered, swirling with divine fury.
Teng Xuwan's aura surged. Space itself fractured around him. He spat out blood—then reached into his robe and pulled out a three-petal leaf. As he consumed it, a spectral arm erupted from his back. A black tattoo bloomed across his face, and his pupils turned entirely white.
Then, in his hand, a sword manifested.
Not just any sword—but one that made even the sky tremble.
A Heaven-Shattering Sword.
With a roar that rattled the mountains and sent birds fleeing for miles, Teng Xuwan charged. The tribulation descended like divine judgment.
Below, the other sect leaders knew they could not interfere—but they could protect the next generation. Ancient formations were activated in unison, surrounding the younger disciples in domes of spiritual protection.
As the sky wept lightning and the heavens trembled in wrath, the war cry of one man.