A figure robed in verdant silk hovered before the ancient altar, his gaze as frigid as the winter moon, yet holding a piercing brilliance. His lips, thin and hinting at cruelties untold, framed a visage both handsome and unsettling. Raven hair, unbound, cascaded around him, painting the aura of a fiend clad in celestial raiment.

He strode forth from the altar’s gate, each step defying gravity, ascending skyward. His form was not entirely substantial; one could gaze through the ethereal outline and glimpse the ancient altar looming behind him.

Suspended in the air beside him was Wang Lin, accompanied by the spectral butterfly born from the activation of the God-Slaying Chariot. The butterfly’s wings shimmered, maintaining a delicate equilibrium in the face of the newcomer’s presence.

A hundred paces distant, the warriors of the Chosen Clan stood wary, their eyes locked on the jade-clad stranger. Tasan, the stalwart chieftain, advanced a pace, his voice a thunderous bellow, “Who goes there!”

The emerald gaze of the man swept over Tasan, then lingered across the ranks of the Chosen Clan, before settling upon Wang Lin. A flicker of consideration sparked within his eyes. “You are not of this land. From whence do you hail?”

Wang Lin’s expression remained unreadable. He discerned the newcomer’s power – a peak of Yang Completion, subtly surpassing his own.

Tasan’s brow furrowed. He surged forward, his fist clenched tight. Runes etched across his skin blazed to life, converging upon his fist in a torrent of light. “I demand to know your purpose here!” he roared, launching a savage blow.

“Kneel!” The jade-robed man’s eyes flashed with disdain, as if regarding an insect. He raised a hand, a single finger outstretched. A ripple of unseen energy emanated from his fingertip, expanding outwards to engulf the surroundings.

As Tasan drew near, his face paled. His body convulsed as he sensed an invisible force, an insurmountable barrier, impeding his advance, preventing his strike.

The power was vast, ancient, as if an inherent command was imprinted deep within him. Twenty paces from the stranger, Tasan faltered, his advance halted. Pain contorted his features as beads of sweat, like rain, cascaded from his brow.

He felt the restraining force emanate from the very runes inscribed upon his flesh. Their power surged, preventing him from defiance.

It was as if he faced an apex predator. No matter his strength, no matter his progress, defiance against this man was unthinkable. A shudder ran through his soul as he realized one thought from the jade-clad stranger could shatter him, extinguish his very essence.

Such a sensation had never before plagued Tasan, yet the instant it arose, it felt eternally present, woven into the very fabric of the Chosen Clan’s lineage.

Irresistible. Tasan trembled. As the stranger’s gaze bore down upon him, an overwhelming urge to prostrate himself arose. Yet, fueled by unyielding pride, Tasan gritted his teeth, desperately fighting the primal command emanating from his soul, from the runic brand upon his flesh.

A tortured roar, wrung from the depths of his being, escaped his lips. Bloodshot eyes burned with defiance, and blood mingled with the sweat pouring from his body.

With agonizing effort, he forced his leg forward. The mere attempt sent tremors through his frame, as if defying the very heavens.

Before the foot could land, Tasan’s vision blurred. He coughed forth a torrent of blood, his body buckling beneath an invisible weight. He was forced to his knees, as if crushed by colossal hands.

Tears of blood streamed down his face, a torrent of anguish and defiance, yet his body remained unable to rise. He was forced to kneel! “Lower Clan whelp, dare you resist the mark of servitude! Were I inclined to kill you, a mere whim would erase you from existence. Be gone!” the jade-robed man sneered.

Tasan was hurled back as if struck by an unseen fist. He collided with the ground a hundred paces away, rising with defiance and hatred burning in his eyes. “Who are you!” he bellowed.

The Chosen Clan watched, their faces pallid, mouths agape. The scene defied comprehension.

The Clan Elder’s face was ashen, his body wracked with tremors. A forgotten memory stirred within him. “Immortal!” the jade-robed man declared with frigid arrogance. “Kneel!”

The Elder knew. He remembered the Clan texts, detailing the awe and reverence shown by his ancestors when encountering such beings.

No explanation was needed. Their mere presence commanded obeisance. This was the legacy passed down from the founders of the Chosen Clan.

“We cannot but tremble,” the Elder lamented, prostrating himself. “Lower clansman… I greet your Eminence.”

One by one, the Chosen Clan warriors succumbed, their bodies wracked with tremors. An irresistible force compelled them to kneel, even in the face of death. One by one, they bowed their heads to the ground. Of all those assembled, only two remained standing: Wang Lin, and Tasan.

Tasan refused to yield again. Though blood coursed through his veins and an invisible force tore at him, he fought against his body’s instinctive urges, refusing to bow.
The echoes of thunderous blows reverberated through the valley, and a crimson mist erupted from Tasan’s wounded form. His battle with Wang Lin had left him weakened, and now, under the oppressive gaze of the jade-robed figure, he teetered on the brink. Though his eyes dimmed, they burned with an indomitable spirit, a defiance rooted in his very soul. Wang Lin observed the scene, his brow furrowing with growing comprehension.

“The Immortal Escort Clan, the Immortal Remnant Clan… they are but thralls, bound to the Celestials, much like the Slave Marks of old. Generation upon generation, they are destined to be the chattel of the Immortals!”

This was no mere conjecture, but a truth etched in their very bloodlines. It was a brand of servitude akin to that of Li Yuan’s family, though far more insidious. Had Wang Lin not witnessed Li Yuan’s plight, he might have remained blind to the full scope of this treachery. But now, the pieces fell into place, and a chilling clarity washed over him.

“This Slave Mark, intertwined with the runes upon the Escort Clan’s flesh, forms the Slave Glyph. This Glyph is a far more potent shackle than the mark borne by Li Yuan’s lineage, which instilled reverence for a single Immortal. The Slave Glyph, it seems, demands subservience to *all* Celestials. This is not mere manipulation, but a complete and utter enslavement, rendering these people mere possessions of the Immortals!”

Furthermore, the existence of the Immortal Remnant Clan on Vermilion Bird Star hinted at a far greater number of those enslaved, scattered throughout the realms. Wang Lin’s gaze hardened, a daring notion taking root in his mind.

“It is possible that in ages past, before the collapse of the Celestial realms, there existed a race of beings, powerful enough to challenge the Immortals themselves. Defeated and broken, they were subjected to a devastating spell, perhaps a combined effort of the Four Great Celestial Realms, transforming them into slaves, their lineage forever bound by the Slave Glyph!” Wang Lin cast a sorrowful glance at the trembling, kneeling members of the Escort Clan, their eyes filled with a horrifying reverence.

The jade-robed figure turned his attention to Tasan, his brow furrowed. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a spell that caused Tasan’s body to erupt in a fresh torrent of blood. In mere moments, he was drenched in his own life force. “Kneel!” the jade-robed man commanded, his voice like the crack of thunder.

Tasan’s gaze was now glazed, yet his eyes still blazed with rebellion. But the power of the Slave Glyph was too great to overcome. As if crushed by countless mountains, his knees shattered, forcing him to the ground.

Silence fell over the valley. Xu Liguo, sensing the tide turning, had prudently retreated to a safe distance, his mind racing with calculations. Should his master fall, would he fight or grovel?

The Mosquito Beast circled overhead, its eyes locked on the jade-robed figure. The Lightning Frog, too, remained at a distance, its throat bulging, watching with cold intensity.

The jade-robed figure glanced at Wang Lin, wary. He recognized the power emanating from him, especially from the butterfly with its beating wings, which instilled a profound sense of danger.

“This one is not of this base clan. How did he come to be here? His aura is unlike that of an Immortal… Who is he?”

With a flicker of his gaze, the jade-robed figure chose not to provoke Wang Lin. Instead, he pressed his left hand down towards the altar below. With a deafening groan, the great doors to the underworld swung open.

From the abyss, a wave of black mist surged forth, coalescing into monstrous, shadowy beasts in the sky. Within the doorway, the spectral figure of the woman Wang Lin had glimpsed before materialized, her gaze fixed upon him with chilling indifference.

The kneeling Escort Clan members cried out as the mist beasts took form, their bodies wracked by the agonizing power of the Slave Glyph, rendering them utterly unable to rise. It was an instinctual, inescapable compulsion.

The mist beasts solidified, their eyes burning with cold malice. With piercing shrieks that echoed through the valley, they descended upon the helpless Escort Clan members at the jade-robed figure’s command.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed as he witnessed the unfolding horror.

One mist beast, taking the form of a five-clawed avian monstrosity, swooped down upon an Escort Clan warrior. Seizing him in its talons, it lifted him into the air, then released him with a bone-chilling screech. As it plummeted through the warrior’s body, the victim was devoured, his flesh dissolving into a crimson mist that was greedily absorbed by the beast. The warrior offered no resistance, his eyes filled with a fleeting moment of struggle that quickly faded into resignation.

One by one, the other mist beasts attacked, seizing and consuming the kneeling Escort Clan members. A blood-soaked carnage quickly consumed the valley, tinged with a profound sense of despair.

Each victim, unable to fight back, met their end with eyes filled with grief. As death approached, a terrible understanding dawned upon them. “Perhaps… this is our destiny…”

Tasan, his knees shattered, struggled to lift his head, witnessing the abject humiliation of his people. A guttural roar, akin to that of a wounded beast, tore from his throat. His face contorted, veins bulging as he fought against the centuries of ingrained servitude. The jade-robed figure watched impassively, his expression cold and detached.

The elder patriarch of the Escort Clan trembled as a whirlwind of shadow tore a young man from his side, shredding him to pieces in the air before devouring his remains.

Almost instinctively, the elder looked up, a single, warm droplet of blood landing on his face, tracing a path down his cheek. His eyes filled with an unutterable sorrow and rage. “Why…? Why…?” he murmured.

At that moment, a mist beast seized the elder, dragging him into the air. An ancient power, drawn from the very depths of his lineage, surged through his being. Despair etched across his face, he turned to the jade-robed figure and roared, “Why?!”

With the elder’s cry, the remaining members of the Escort Clan struggled to lift their heads, their gaze following his to rest upon the jade-robed figure. Each pair of eyes contained an immeasurable burden of sorrow and fury.

“Your purpose,” the jade-robed figure replied, his voice devoid of emotion, “is to feed the mist beasts. There is no why.”
“I will not let you all perish,” the azure-robed man declared, his voice as placid as a still lake. “You are needed to replenish our ranks.”

Just then, a grotesque beast, a creature of shadow and mist, descended from the skies. It hurtled towards the distant structures, its target the terrified children huddled within. The azure-robed man frowned, but offered no resistance.

An elder of the Xianxuan clan gave a bitter laugh, his form already dissolving under the beast’s foul breath. But then, a sigh echoed across the ravaged land. Wang Lin raised a hand, a single finger tracing a line in the air. With a thunderous crack, the mist-wreathed beast shattered into nothingness. The elder stared, bewildered. In the distance, the remaining mist-beasts swarmed the buildings, their guttural roars mingling with the children’s desperate cries for their kin.

On the ravaged earth, the Xianxuan, chosen by the immortals, struggled to rise, their broken bodies protesting with each movement. Frustrated roars escaped their lips.

Tashan, his knees shattered, his eyes bloodshot, fought to stand. Each attempt brought fresh agony, but he would not yield.

“Immortal… what have you made of my people?!” His voice cracked with pain and fury. “For countless years, we have guarded the Xuan Yin Cauldron, never faltering. And what has it earned us? These monstrous creatures! The death of our kin!”

“Now I understand,” he rasped, his voice growing in intensity. “These beasts… they are the fruit of the Cauldron! Our purpose… to be their sustenance!”

“Then I defy you!” Tashan bellowed. “I will embrace oblivion before I submit!” His defiance echoed across the desolate landscape.

And he was not alone. A chorus of defiance erupted from the surviving Xianxuan, their eyes burning with a righteous rage.

With a dismissive gesture, the azure-robed man pressed his hand forward. A series of sickening pops filled the air as blood erupted from the Xianxuan, halting their struggles.

Only Tashan, fueled by pure rage, tore himself free from the earth. His body screamed in protest, bones snapping with each agonizing movement, yet he pressed on.

The azure-robed man’s eyes narrowed. He raised his hand, ready to strike, when Wang Lin intervened. He had wished to remain uninvolved, especially considering the azure-robed man’s power and apparent immortal nature.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. With a sigh, Wang Lin unleashed the shard of the ancient seal. The fragment soared through the air, positioning itself between Tashan and the azure-robed man.

The immortal’s gaze sharpened, his eyes blazing with cold fury. His hands moved in a blur, weaving a sigil of pure celestial energy that shot towards Wang Lin. “I wondered when you would finally interfere!” he snarled, surging after the sigil.

Wang Lin guided the shard, sending it crashing down towards the azure-robed man. Simultaneously, he moved with impossible speed to Tashan’s side, placing a hand upon him and channeling vital energy into the warrior’s ravaged body. Tashan was hurled forward, towards the swarming mist-beasts that threatened the children.

Turning, Wang Lin formed his fingers into a blade and struck downwards. The celestial sigil shattered, dissipating into harmless ripples.

As the shard of the seal descended, the azure-robed man’s eyes glinted. He wove another intricate gesture, drawing upon the power of his immortal soul. A gleaming white spear materialized in his hand, radiating potent celestial energy. With a triumphant roar, he thrust the spear skyward, aiming to meet the descending seal.

The impact was deafening. The azure-robed man stumbled back, his face etched with a newfound respect. The shard of the seal, however, was deflected, pushed back several lengths.

“Baseborn slaves!” the azure-robed man commanded, his voice resonating with power. “Assist me!”

His words were like a geas, a magical compulsion woven into the very essence of the Xianxuan. Against their will, they rose, their eyes filled with sorrow and internal conflict, yet their bodies moved with unnatural speed, surrounding Wang Lin.

Wang Lin retreated, the butterfly formed from the artifact he called the “Godslayer Carriage” fluttering constantly at his side. It seemed to mimic his every move, like a shadow.

Intrigued by the artifact’s unknown power, Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with understanding. He wove a hand sign, imbuing the butterfly with his will. Murderous intent burned in his eyes as he pointed towards the azure-robed man.

The butterfly’s movements remained unchanged, its wings fluttering lightly, though now with a touch more urgency. As it moved, a fine, iridescent dust drifted from its wings, swirling around them.

The azure-robed man halted, his gaze fixed on the butterfly. He had sensed a primal, terrifying power emanating from the creature. Had that not been the case, he would have attacked long ago.

The Xianxuan around him were drawn forward, their bodies acting almost independently of their will. They fought against it, their eyes filled with pain and despair, but the ancestral commands were too strong.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the butterfly. He wanted to understand the true nature of this third “Godslayer Carriage.” The butterfly fluttered forward, leaving Wang Lin’s side, and in an instant, its wings paused, before beating again.

This single beat brought no immediate effect, but the azure-robed man, who had been cautious enough to keep his distance, immediately paled. Though no wind stirred, his hair seemed to billow out behind him.

A sharp sound reverberated from within his body, causing him to stumble backward, spewing a mouthful of crimson mist. The mist coalesced, miraculously, into the form of a blood-red butterfly, which immediately fluttered its wings. The azure-robed man was struck again, this time a gaping wound appearing on his chest. The expelled mist once more took the form of a butterfly, and it too, fluttered its wings.
The sound of rending echoed through the ethereal plane as the emerald-robed sorcerer was flung back repeatedly, each impact unleashing a crimson mist that blossomed into ephemeral butterflies. With every beat of their spectral wings, unimaginable agony tore through his very being.

Terror etched itself upon his face, a fear so profound it eclipsed all else. He was helpless, his body and soul held captive. The vital energy within him, his very essence as a celestial being, seemed not his own, but locked away by an alien force.

Another butterfly unfurled from the crimson spray, its wings causing the sorcerer to hurtle backwards once more, a ceaseless torment extending over a thousand leagues. His fear reached a fever pitch, a chilling crescendo of desperation.

“Thunder…burst!” he choked, the word a ragged plea against the onslaught. A thunderous rumble erupted within his core as his right hand dissolved into a bloody, chaotic mess, a contained explosion of raw destructive power.

Fueled by this desperate, sacrificial act, his face paled, and he momentarily wrested control of his imprisoned energies. He was a broken thing, spirit shattered, his mind consumed by utter dread.

“What sorcery is this?! What unholy artifact?!” Never in his long existence had he encountered such an inexplicable power. He could not fight, could not defend. A mere flutter of butterfly wings brought him to the brink of annihilation. Without hesitation, he turned and fled towards the ancient altar below, desperate to escape the nightmarish assault.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, a gasp escaping his lips. He felt a strange connection to the Spirit-Piercing Chariot, a vague sense that its deadliest potential remained dormant, yet unleashed.

Just then, the iridescent butterfly beside Wang Lin, with the lightest of touches, stirred its left wing.

The emerald-robed sorcerer, who had almost reached the sanctuary of the altar, froze at the threshold as the great doors began to close. Unbelief flared in his eyes as his form began to dissipate, starting from his feet and swiftly engulfing his entire being, erasing him, along with all that he was, from existence.

At the moment of the sorcerer’s demise, within the endless, black void that dwelled within the heart of the Netherbeast, a figure sat in meditation. Dark energy radiated from him, strangely laced with the faintest glimmer of celestial power.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, fixing on a point unseen, a flicker of shock rippling across his features. “To destroy my avatar with such ease… What manner of artifact is this?!”

**(Note: The last two paragraphs about the author meeting an old friend and encouraging readers to save the story have been omitted as they are not part of the fantasy narrative.)**