Chapter 254: The Nine Rings of Heaven

The first golden sliver of the morning sun crested the eastern ridge, washing the towering peaks of the Sanatan Flame Sect in a pale, amber sheen. Below the soaring crags, early mists clung to the ancient pine forests, parting slowly as the morning bells tolled from the outer towers, their deep bronze chimes echoing across the valleys.

Then, the sky cracked.

A streak of panicked jade light tore through the lower mountain mists, wobbling violently as it hurtled toward the central marble plaza.

THUD!

A royal messenger tumbled from a wind-striding talisman, his ornate imperial courier robes shredded by high-altitude winds, soaked through with sweat and road dust. He crashed onto his hands and knees against the polished white flags, coughing dryly as he scrambled to crawl forward.

Elder Wu stood at the head of the grand stairway, his long white beard stirring against his broad chest in the sharp mountain draft. Seeing the royal crest stamped on the courier’s disheveled tunic and the burning red distress rune flickering on the man’s wrist, the tension in the elder’s furrowed brow softened with immediate comprehension—the border tracking relays established between the palace and the mountain had caught their quarry.

He descended the stone steps with measured, heavy strides, coming to a halt before the kneeling messenger.

“Elder Wu!” The courier reached into his breastplate with shaking fingers, pulling out a cracked communication talisman that hissed with dark, boiling static. His breath was ragged, his voice trembling as he held the scorched slip upward. “A transmission just ripped through the southern beacon array! The relays confirm it—Liu Tong has breached the outer boundary of the kingdom! He is tearing through the airspace with unchecked speed; he can reach the royal domain or this mountain at any moment!”

Elder Wu looked down at the sparking talisman, his dark eyes narrowing into cold, razor-thin slits. The anticipation of days had finally materialized into blood and iron. He placed a steadying hand on the messenger’s shoulder, a strand of warm, calming qi sinking through the man’s shuddering collarbone.

“Your watch has served its purpose,” Elder Wu said in a low, resonant rumble. “Keep the talisman lines open from the rear guard. Rest and steady your breath.”

“Yes, Elder!” The messenger pressed his forehead to the stone flags in a hurried salute, rising and retreating swiftly down the outer stairway.

Elder Wu turned on his heel, his dark robes snapping around his frame like unfurling banners. He raised his right hand toward the soaring peaks, his calloused fingers locking into a single, ancient mudra.

His deep voice detonated across the nine peaks like an uncoiling thunderclap, rattling the glazed tiles of every pavilion:

“All sect members—ignite your flames and prepare your steel!”

The quiet morning shattered into purposeful, disciplined motion.

From the northern barracks, rows of male disciples poured out in immaculate orange-and-white martial uniforms, their fitted orange coats fastened securely over white tunics, sleeves bound tight around their forearms with woven leather braces. From the western residential terraces, female disciples surged in sleek, fitted crimson-and-white robes, their hair tied into high battle knots, cold steel singing as half-drawn swords cleared their wooden sheaths.

Wang Tian stood at the vanguard of the Core Disciples, his massive longsword already resting against his shoulder, his bandaged temple hidden beneath his fierce brow. Beside him, Luo Chen’s hand hovered over the pink-wrapped hilt of his blade, his blue eyes dead-still. Behind them, the Single-Mingle Gang, Su Quan, Muo Qian, Lu Fang, Jun Hua and hundreds of battle-ready cultivators fell into perfect formation, the ambient air growing heavy with the synchronized rhythm of their dantians.

Deep beneath the bedrock of the mountain—

CREEEAAAK—

The two-ton iron blast-doors of the Subterranean Gravity Training Chamber groaned, sliding outward into the subterranean rock walls with a deep, reverberating screech.

A lone figure emerged from the pitch-black corridor.

Shaurya stepped out into the pale lantern light. His black, gold-trimmed coat hung broad across his shoulders, the dark fabric dusted with fine chalky stone powder. His chest heaved with heavy, ragged breaths, white furnace-like mist venting continuously from between his lips into the chill of the corridor.

He tilted his head sideways, rolling his neck until a sharp sequence of cracks echoed along his spine, then flexed his calloused fingers, popping each knuckle in slow, measured rhythm.

He lifted his face from the shadows.

Beneath messy strands of dark hair clinging damply to his brow, his right eye remained pitch-black, calm and bottomless. But from his left eye, an incandescent stream of golden spiritual energy ignited—a blinding, razor-sharp flame of raw golden light blazing outward, curling and trailing past his temple into the air like a streak of celestial fire.

A razor-thin, cold smile touched the corner of his lips.

With a silent displacement of air, Shaurya’s boots lifted from the stone flags. His figure dissolved into an aerial step, leaving the subterranean corridor behind without disturbing a single grain of dust.

In the central courtyard, Elder Wu stood beside Lin Shu, their eyes sweeping the assembled ranks.

“Where is the Sect Master?” Elder Wu asked in a low murmur.

Lin Shu raised her chin, her gaze locking on the sky above the grand gate. “He is already here.”

Before another word could be uttered, the morning sun vanished.

The heavens above the Sanatan peaks groaned under a sudden, monstrous weight. The drifting clouds did not scatter—they were incinerated. A churning, apocalyptic sea of deep violet and blood-tinged spiritual energy ripped through the upper atmosphere, blotting out the light and plunging the entire mountain range into a sickly, suffocating twilight.

From the swirling heart of the violet storm, a towering figure descended.

Liu Tong stood suspended hundreds of feet above the sect’s highest pavilion, floating upon a vortex of howling gale and killing intent. His dark robes fluttered like tattered funeral shrouds around his scarred, stone-grey flesh. In his right hand, the blackened double-headed war-axe hummed with a bloodthirsty vibration, its broad crescent dripping with residual crimson sparks.

His crimson pupils burned down upon the assembled cultivators like smoldering coals dredged from the lowest depths of hell.

“A nest of mountain ants daring to hoist an imperial banner,” Liu Tong’s voice descended like tearing sheet metal, the acoustic concussive force flattening the ancient pine canopies along the surrounding ridges into splintered timber. “Your days under the sun end now. Sanatan Flame Sect… turn to ash!”

His left arm shot straight toward the vault of the heavens, five calloused fingers splaying wide.

WHOOOOOOOM—!

The bruised violet clouds across a ten-mile radius suddenly imploded inward, dragged into his open palm by a ferocious gravitational vortex. Jagged arcs of dark purple lightning hissed violently, scorching the humidity from the air and leaving the suffocating stench of burnt ozone and sulfur. In the span of two ragged breaths, the boiling vortex compressed into a colossal, rotating sphere of pitch-black void energy rimmed with incandescent violet fire—swelling until it rivaled the size of a mountain fortress.

The atmospheric pressure directly beneath the orb plummeted. Granite battlements along the outer walls groaned, hairline fractures racing through the stonework as loose gravel levitated into the sky before disintegrating into microscopic dust.

Down on the grand courtyard, the younger disciples buckled at the knees, the raw, suffocating aura descending from the sky bearing down on their shoulders like lead slabs.

Elder An Ning stepped to the front of the ranks, his long dark beard whipping wildly against his chest. He snapped his hands out to summon his defensive qi—

Then, his breath completely hitched.

The color drained from Elder An Ning’s weathered face in an instant, leaving his skin ashen. His pupils contracted into trembling needlepoints as his spiritual senses collided with the abyssal depth of the pressure descending from above. The blue qi gathering along his forearms flickered and fractured, suffocated before it could even coalesce.

“Spirit Lord… Level Eight?!” Elder An Ning’s voice cracked, an involuntary shudder tearing through his frame as his fingers dug into his sleeves. “His foundation… how can a mad dog from the border march with the power of an Eighth-Level Spirit Lord?!”

Above them, Liu Tong threw his head back. A manic, jagged sneer bared teeth stained with dried slaughter as an earth-shaking roar tore from his throat:

“HEAVEN-DEVOURING VOID CRUSHER!”

His left hand slammed violently downward.

The mountain-sized sphere of violet devastation plummeted. It screamed through the atmosphere with apocalyptic velocity, driving a massive shockwave of compressed, white-hot air before it that threatened to pulverize every roof tile and pavilion to splinters before the core of the attack could even make contact.

On the high observation terrace, Elder Wan stood motionless. The violent mountain gale whipped the wide sleeves of his grey scholar robes, yet his posture remained as calm as a stone lantern in a temple garden. His spectacles reflected the descending violet cataclysm without a flicker of panic.

He turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the pale, tense faces of the disciples below. A gentle, reassuring smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“Rest easy, children.”

Elder Wan brought his thumb and middle finger together.

SNAP.

The crisp chime resonated with strange, unnatural clarity through the roaring gale.

HUMMMMMMMMMMMMM—!

From the deep subterranean bedrock of the nine peaks, ancient golden glyphs flared to life, burning through the granite like molten gold. A towering, translucent golden dome surged upward from the perimeter arrays, locking together into an interlocking, crystalline barrier of celestial geometry that sealed the entire sect beneath its immaculate canopy.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The colossal sphere of void energy smashed dead-center into the crest of the golden dome.

The world went blindingly, terrifyingly white.

A cataclysmic shockwave of displaced kinetic force and scorching heat sheared through the heavens, instantly vaporizing the surrounding cloud banks for thirty miles. Rivers of liquid violet fire cascaded down the curved slope of the dome, hissing furiously as they splashed against the protective boundary and boiled away into thin air.

Yet beneath the golden ceiling, not a single banner fluttered.

Not a speck of dust drifted from the eaves.

The crystalline barrier stood completely motionless. It did not shake. It did not fracture. It did not yield even a fraction of a ripple.

High above, suspended within the drifting plumes of black smoke, Liu Tong slowly lowered his smoking arm.

His manic, unhinged sneer slowly stiffened. His crimson eyes widened by a millimeter, the burning hunger within his pupils freezing into cold, disbelieving shock as he stared at the pristine golden runes glowing serenely beneath his boots.

“…What?”

A vein throbbed violently along Liu Tong’s temple. With a guttural snarl, he dropped through the smoke like a plunging falcon, his right arm cocking back until the corded muscles along his stone-grey shoulder twisted like braided steel cables.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

His bare iron fist slammed flush against the surface of the golden dome.

The concussive boom echoed off the distant mountain ranges like rolling thunder.

Nothing.

The golden barrier absorbed the full kinetic impact into its flowing runic circuits without reflecting a whisper of recoil, its smooth crystalline face utterly undisturbed.

Below, standing in crisp, disciplined ranks, the disciples looked up through the flawless ceiling at the fuming beast above them, the terror in their chests dissolving into breathtaking, quiet awe.

On the observation terrace, Elder Wan clasped his hands loosely behind his back. The gentle smile on his face widened, taking on a razor-sharp, calculating edge.

“Since barking dog has traversed ten thousand rivers and a hundred mountain ranges to grace our threshold…”

Elder Wan’s palms came together with a firm, resounding—

CLAP!

The instant his palms parted, the heavens transformed.

HUMMMMMMMMM—!

The single golden barrier did not simply hold—it split. The massive celestial formation began to rotate, concentric layers peeling apart like the gears of an ancient heavenly clockwork. One golden ring expanded into nine distinct, spinning coronas of sacred light, casting complex mathematical arrays across the face of the sky.

Ancient draconic script flared along the clouds, locking the airspace above the sect in a celestial cage.

Liu Tong’s boots shifted backward on the wind, his teeth gritting as the hair on his arms stood on end. “What sort of sorcery—”

Elder Wan’s calm voice echoed through the formation itself:

“First Ring—Spatial Lock.”

KRRRRR—!

The space enveloping Liu Tong instantly hardened, turning as dense and immovable as fossilized amber. His forward momentum seized completely. The very atmosphere refused to displace; every breath in his lungs turned into solid lead, pinning his limbs to his sides.

“Insolent tricks!” Liu Tong roared, violet veins bulging across his stone-grey forehead.

BOOM!

His core detonated outward in a furious pulse of violet qi, forcibly cracking the spatial amber around him. He lunged forward with all his strength, aiming to close the distance—yet instead of clearing a thousand yards in an instant, his boots dragged through the air, advancing barely thirty paces through the dense, viscous space.

Liu Tong raised his blackened war-axe with both hands, his eyes blazing. “If space binds me, I shall cleave space itself into kindling!”

He swung down with catastrophic fury.

SHING—BOOOOOOM!

A colossal crescent of violet axe-qi tore free, aimed dead-center for Elder Wan’s head.

Elder Wan did not flinch. “Second Ring—Qi Suppression.”

HUMMMMM!

A heavy golden pressure field cascaded downward like a waterfall of celestial mercury. The moment the raging violet axe-crescent entered the golden field, its blinding light dimmed. Its whistling shriek dwindled into a dull hum, its destructive momentum drained away by the golden runes until the strike hit the barrier with a feeble CLINK, dissolving into harmless purple mist.

Liu Tong’s breath hitched. “It devours external qi…?”

“Third Ring—Illusion Mirror.”

WHOOM!

The sky fractured into a thousand shimmering facets. In an instant, hundreds of identical Sanatan Flame Sects manifested around Liu Tong—above his head, below his boots, flanking his left and right. Every iteration showed the same golden pavilions, the same mocking smile on Elder Wan’s face.

“Break!” Liu Tong roared, swinging his axe in a wild, blind circle.

BOOM!

One sect vanished into mist, only for two more to materialize behind his shoulder blades. He whipped around, slashing again, but the horizon bent into an endless, dizzying labyrinth of mirrored halls and golden roofs, completely severing his orientation.

With a guttural curse, Liu Tong hammered his spiritual sense outward like an iron hammer, shattering the visual illusions with raw mental force.

Yet as the mirrors broke, they did not dissolve into air—they turned into liquid gold.

“Fourth Ring—Soul-Refining Fire.”

WHOOSH!

Blinding Golden Karma Flames crawled over his dark armor like living vipers. His physical armor did not melt; his stone-like skin did not burn. Yet Liu Tong threw his head back, his face contorting into an agonized grimace as a ragged scream tore from his throat:

“AARRGH!”

The golden flames ignored physical flesh entirely, sinking directly through his pores and meridians to scorch his spiritual soul itself. The pain was like molten lead poured over his sea of consciousness. Liu Tong’s jaw locked so hard blood seeped from his gums as he forced his violet core to construct a frantic, internal shell around his soul, expending precious pools of qi just to extinguish the divine fire.

He tore through the fading embers, panting heavily, a faint, smoking brand scorched into the flesh beneath his collar.

His grip on his axe tightened until the iron shaft warped. “Four layers… and you still dare not show your face to my blade!”

Elder Wan’s fingers shifted into another mudra. “Fifth Ring—Gravity Distortion.”

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The heavens collapsed.

An unfathomable downward force seized Liu Tong’s frame, dragging him out of the sky like a swatting hand.

CRACK!

Space itself groaned beneath his boots. His heavy body plummeted a hundred yards before his legs forcefully braced against the empty air, the muscles in his thighs and back tearing beneath the strain. He roared, his veins swelling into thick cords as he fought the gravity, forcing his boots upward inch by agonizing inch—

Then the gravitational pull tripled.

BOOM!

He was hammered downward once more, his armor plates groaning under the crushing atmospheric weight, forcing him down to the level of the lower cloud decks before he managed to plant his footing through raw, stubborn brute force.

“Is that… all you have?!” Liu Tong wheezed, spit and blood flecking his chin.

Elder Wan’s eyes gleamed with cold amusement. “Sixth Ring—Celestial Tribulation Lightning.”

The clouds directly above Liu Tong turned the color of molten brass.

KRA-KOOOOOOM!

A jagged bolt of pure celestial lightning tore from the heavens, striking the raised blade of his axe and exploding across his broad torso. His entire frame shook violently, black smoke billowing from his shoulders.

KRA-KOOM! KRA-KOOM! BOOM!

A torrential storm of golden tribulation lightning rained from the sky without a heartbeat of pause.

Liu Tong roared through the blinding barrage, swinging his heavy axe like a madman, cleaving bolts apart in mid-air. Strikes slammed into his collarbone, shattered the armor over his knees, and seared across his chest, opening jagged, bloody lacerations along his stone-grey skin. Yet through sheer battle-maniac madness, he refused to fall.

He threw his head back, his charred face splitting into an unhinged, bloody grin. “HAHAHA! Tribulation thunder cannot extinguish my blood! Come! Show me what else your gilded cage can muster!”

Elder Wan sighed softly, shaking his head. “As you wish. Seventh Ring—Void-Folding Mirror.”

The space three feet before Liu Tong warped, folding over itself like a crease in fine silk.

Liu Tong’s eyes flared. Gathering every scrap of his remaining violet spiritual qi, he lunged forward, bringing his axe down with all the accumulated weight of his murderous life:

“DIE BENEATH MY BLADE!”

BOOOOOOM!

A colossal crescent of violet annihilation plunged straight into the creased space.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, the attack vanished completely.

Then, the folded spatial seam opened directly behind Liu Tong’s exposed back.

His pupils shrank to pinpricks. His battle instincts screamed, and he contorted his torso sideways with desperate, inhuman speed—

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

His own void strike detonated point-blank against his left shoulder blade. The concussive rebound tore through his flesh, sending him spinning wildly through the upper air in a trail of boiling crimson before he stabilized his boots sixty yards away, coughing up a heavy river of clotted gore.

His single open eye burned with venomous disbelief. “My own strike…?”

“Eighth Ring—Weapon Disarmament.”

HUMMMMMMMMMMMMM—!

Starlight gathered across the entire array.

The ancient, blood-stained war-axe in Liu Tong’s grip suddenly began to vibrate with violent, resonant shrieks. The weapon jerked sideways, pulling against his wrists like a wild dragon seeking freedom.

“What?!”

Liu Tong wrapped both hands around the hilt, his forearms swelling as his heels dug into the wind. “Stay in my grasp, you piece of iron!”

The golden formation flashed. A ring of celestial runes clamped onto the metal blade, exerting an irresistible, magnetic authority over the weapon.

KRRRRR—!

One by one, Liu Tong’s thick, bloody fingers were pried from the iron handle by an irresistible invisible torque.

SKRRR—SHING!

The heavy war-axe wrenched entirely free, cutting a sharp whistling arc through the sky before freezing dead in the air fifty yards away, trapped inside a slowly revolving cage of golden runic chains.

Liu Tong’s empty hands hung in the freezing air, his calloused palms twitching against the void.

His bloodshot, crimson eye snapped down toward the high observation terrace.

Elder Wan stood with his back straight, His spectacles perched lightly on the bridge of his nose, the polished lenses reflecting the vast golden array spinning above. His hands rested loosely behind his back, his expression carrying the serene, untroubled poise of an architect simply watching his blueprints come to life.

A vein throbbed violently across Liu Tong’s temple, his jaw clenching until the enamel groaned. “A youth playing with toys… you dare believe an array of glyphs can bury the Battle Maniac?!”

The nine golden rings answered with a deafening, metallic hum.

HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM—!

The concentric circles blurred into blinding golden velocity, their light intensifying until the sky turned into a seamless canopy of incandescent fire. The spatial amber, the siphon field, the mirrored illusions, the creeping karma fire, the crushing gravity, the crackling tribulation bolts, and the void-folded fabric all surged inward along the celestial pathways, pouring their accumulated fury into the central hub.

The heavens tore open.

From the burning core of the vortex, an ancient dragon head formed entirely of interlocking golden script forced its way through the cloud ceiling. Its whiskers trailed sparks of white fire; its horns impaled the upper atmosphere, and as its eyelids peeled back to reveal twin stars of pure, ancient judgment, the atmospheric pressure flattened the tree canopy across five mountain ranges.

“Ninth Ring,” Elder Wan said softly, his lips parting in a quiet whisper. “Divine Dragon Strike.”

ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR!

The golden beast plummeted.

Liu Tong’s breath seized in his windpipe. The battle madness that usually clouded his eyes vanished, replaced by the raw, desperate panic of a hunted beast. He threw both arms across his breastplate, violet qi pouring from his shattered meridians to form a dense, jagged shield over his forearms:

“BREAK FOR ME!”

The dragon struck.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

White-hot celestial radiance swallowed the sky, wiping out all color, sound, and shadow.

The violet barrier groaned—one breath. Two breaths. On the third—

CRAAAACK!

The shield shattered into violet slag. The massive, rune-forged snout hammered directly into Liu Tong’s crossed forearms, driving them violently back into his chest. Bone gave way with a sickening snap; blood erupted from his mouth in a crimson geyser as his frame rocketed backward through three layers of clouds, skipping off the upper air currents before crashing to a violent halt a mile away, hovering precariously above the outer border chasm.

Silence rolled over the peaks.

Down in the courtyard, disciples stood with lips parted and chests frozen, their eyes locked on the glowing dome that had absorbed an Eighth-Level Spirit Lord’s onslaught without shedding a single granule of dust.

A mile into the distance, black smoke billowed from Liu Tong’s shredded flesh.

Dark blood ran in rivulets down his stone-grey chest, dripping through the gaps of his shattered breastplate to vanish into the chasm below. His frame trembled violently. He forced his chin upward, spitting out a mouthful of crimson foam that hissed against the cold air.

He looked down at his bloodied palms, his bruised chest rising and falling in shallow, agonizing gasps.

“…An array,” Liu Tong rasped, the words vibrating through his clenched teeth with terrifying, psychotic disbelief. “A mountain array… actually broke my bones?!”

His gaze snapped back toward the golden dome, the madness in his remaining eye reigniting into an inferno.

ROOOOOOOAR!

His roar tore through the valleys, rattling loose shale from the cliffs:

“COWARDS! You think this gilded shell can shield your lives forever?!”

A jagged, bloody sneer stretched across Liu Tong’s bruised lips, exposing sharp teeth slick with dark crimson froth. His broad chest heaved, pulling in the freezing gale before his right wrist gave a violent, twitching jerk. Fifty yards away, the golden runes binding the iron weapon groaned under a sudden crimson surge—the runic cage shattered into flying sparks, and the ancient war-axe tore across the sky, slapping back into his calloused palm with a bone-jarring, metallic CLANG.

Suspended high in the empty expanse, his boots treading the howling winds, Liu Tong looked down toward the golden dome.

“Fine!” His voice shredded into a venomous screech that rolled down the mountain ridges like falling boulders. “If your cowards refuse to cross this golden ring, then let the world outside pay your debt! I will descend upon the royal capital below! I will peel the living flesh from every mortal throat, butcher every mewling child in the streets, and stack their skulls into a tower until the stench of rot drags your sect out on its knees!”

Down on the marble plaza, Wang Tian’s knuckles flared white as his grip threatened to crush the purple silk on his hilt. Luo Chen’s thumb drove his guard forward, the steel clearing its scabbard by two gleaming inches, while Elder Wu’s white beard bristled as killing intent radiated from his chest.

Above them, Liu Tong threw his scarred head back, his throat expanding as a roar of mocking laughter tore into the clouds—

“Master Liu Tong…”

The voice drifted through the wind directly into his ear.

It carried no booming spiritual pressure, no thunderous force. It was frail, raspy, and worn thin, like dried autumn leaves scraping across a stone courtyard.

Yet the instant the syllables brushed against his eardrum, Liu Tong’s laughter choked in his throat.

A suffocating, paralyzing frost plunged straight down into his marrow, arresting the flow of blood to his heart. The coarse hairs along his arms and neck stood on end; every survival instinct forged across hundreds of bloody massacres screamed in raw, unadulterated panic.

WHOOSH!

Liu Tong spun three hundred and sixty degrees on his heel, his heavy war-axe cleaving a desperate, blind arc through the air, spitting violet sparks into the empty void—

Nothing. Only swirling, ragged grey clouds drifting on the gale.

His breath hitched. He jerked his head back toward the barrier—and his crimson eyes locked dead ahead.

There, hovering weightlessly in the empty sky just paces outside the golden dome, floated an old man.

His spine was severely hunched beneath a coarse, threadbare grey robe that flapped loosely in the high-altitude draft. In his weathered, vein-corded hands, he lightly held a crooked wooden cane, its rounded tip resting upon thin air as if leaning on solid earth. Wisps of dry white hair fluttered across a forehead deeply carved by age, and from beneath those hooded, heavy lids, two calm, unreadable eyes looked upon Liu Tong, a faint, untouchable smile resting upon his thin lips.

Liu Tong’s chest froze mid-inhale.

His pupils shrank until it was no larger than the point of a needle.

The destroyed vanguard divisions. The cold ashes of the Celestial Sword Sect. The twelve-kilometer molten tomb that once was the Cloud Peak mountain. The jade flames of Xia Lu’s suicidal detonation. Months of paranoid tracking, hollow slaughter, and endless blood—all of it collapsed into a single, volcanic eruption of unhinged fury behind his bruised ribs.

BOOM!

The sky behind Liu Tong detonated into pitch-black violet lightning. The iron handle of his war-axe groaned as his grip warped the metal, the veins across his stone-grey temples swelling and twisting into violent purple cords.

His jaw unhinged, and an earth-shattering, maddened roar ripped the heavens wide open:

“XU REN—————!”

To Be Continued…