Clad in grey armour, the figure emanated wisps of dark energy that coalesced behind him into a grotesque shadow-shape. He stood amidst the desolate black sands as though born of the very desert itself.

His face was obscured by the helm, leaving only a pair of cold eyes visible, burning with an emotionless light. His voice was flat and toneless as he addressed Wang Lin, his gaze unwavering.

Wang Lin’s expression darkened. With a wave of his right hand, he gathered the scattered heads into his storage bag. He looked upon the man who called himself ‘Nethersea’, feeling within him a power that spoke of nascent Nirvana, yet tainted by something else.

Stranger still, amidst the dark energies, there lingered faint traces of celestial essence. “Am I the only being here?” Wang Lin asked, his voice measured.

The man paused, then shook his head, his eyes blazing with sudden light. “Vanquish me, and you shall know all!” With that, he leaped from the black tower.

As he hung in the air, he slashed his right hand forward. Five shrill cries echoed across the wastes as five trails of black smoke surged toward Wang Lin.

They seemed to slice through the very fabric of reality, leaving jagged rents in the sky. As they hurtled closer, five monstrous claw marks appeared, as if the heavens themselves were being torn asunder.

Wang Lin’s pupils constricted. He retreated, but the dark trails struck the ground where he had stood, erupting in geysers of sand. They formed towering waves, dozens of feet high, crashing down upon him. Wang Lin’s eyes flashed. He formed a hand seal and pointed, chanting, “Rain’s Summons!”

The heavens responded. The wind howled, and countless drops of rain manifested, shimmering like jewels. As Wang Lin spoke, they plummeted from the sky.

Each drop carried the weight of the elements, and the sand waves hissed and dissolved upon contact, their fury muted by the deluge.

Wang Lin continued to retreat, his hand seals shifting. The rain gathered in a frenzy, engulfing thousands of feet in a watery curtain.

With a final flick of his wrists, the rain transformed into a million glittering blades, screaming toward the approaching figure. Thunderous explosions rocked the desert as the watery lances slammed into the dissipating waves of sand.

In that instant, Nethersea pierced through the remains of the sandstorm. With a point of his hand, he whispered, “Sand Burst!”

The sand beneath his feet erupted upwards, a shrieking whirlwind converging upon Wang Lin.

From the distant horizon, an endless tide of sand surged inwards, threatening to engulf everything.

The sand raced towards Wang Lin, a ravenous maw eager to consume him. From above, the landscape appeared as if the desert itself was coalescing into a colossal, grasping wave.

Wang Lin’s face grew grim. He spat forth an object – the Eighteen Hells Immortal Sealing Stamp. It expanded before him into a miniature mountain. He unleashed the spell “Scatter Beans, Become Soldiers” with a sweeping gesture. Ghostly wails filled the air as a shower of crystalline lights rained down. Each light became a materialized soul, including that of the Blood Ancestor.

Countless other souls of immortals he had slain joined the throng, their rage shaking the very foundations of reality. These spectres formed a protective circle around Wang Lin, born of his magic.

At his command, the souls surged outwards, with the Blood Ancestor leading the charge. His blood-red eyes were fixed on Wang Lin, yet he did not rebel. Instead, he roared and charged outwards. The other immortal souls followed, howling with madness, crashing against the approaching sand.

Among them were those from the Realm of Slaughter, new additions to his spectral army, radiating malice.

As the sand slammed into the spectral barrier, deafening explosions echoed across the barren expanse.

Nethersea remained impassive. He touched his forehead, and a white light emerged, solidifying into a three-inch sword.

The blade pulsed with an astounding aura that seemed to rend the very sky. “This blade, gifted by the Immortal Emperor, is named Fang Zhu,” Nethersea said, a touch of regret in his voice. He raised the sword and flicked it forward.

With a piercing cry, the blade streaked forward like a lightning bolt, a pure white line hurtling towards Wang Lin. “It possesses a spirit. To die by its edge is a grace.”

Nethersea sighed, his face hidden in shadow, yet the sound carried to Wang Lin.

Without hesitation, Wang Lin clenched his fist, and the ethereal form of an ancient god manifested behind him. He stepped forward, shattering the sand beneath his feet, and met the oncoming light with his fist.

A cataclysmic shockwave erupted, tearing through the surrounding sand and colliding with the sword.

An earth-shattering burst of sword qi erupted. Even the sword qi of Ling Tianhou paled in comparison. It was akin to a celestial blade, tearing Wang Lin’s vortex apart from the inside, cleaving it in two.
Wang Lin’s visage darkened as he recoiled, unleashing a flurry of fists, a tempest of blows that echoed like thunder. He retreated a hundred paces, barely evading the cutting edge of the errant sword-qi. Míng Hǎi, his eyes flashing with a flicker of disappointment, turned towards the looming Black Tower. The vengeful little sword, undeterred by the gale of Wang Lin’s fists, cleaved through the disrupted air, a streak of white light hurtling once more towards its prey.

Lin’s brow furrowed in concentration. With a flash of emerald light from his right eye, the Azure Shield materialized, swirling into existence before him, a shimmering barrier against the incoming onslaught. The white light struck with brutal force, a deafening clang resonating through the desolate landscape. Behind Wang Lin, the spectral form of the Ancient God solidified, its image growing more defined with each passing moment. A faint halo of light pulsed around the star-shaped mark upon his brow, memories of the Ancient God Tū Sì cascading through his mind. He inhaled deeply, raising his hands before him, intertwining his fingers into an arcane mudra.

“I seize the power of Heaven and Earth, I draw upon the spirit of the Cosmos, I bind myself to the Clan of the Ancient Ones, in endless devotion!” The ancient words flowed from Wang Lin’s lips. As his voice rose and fell, the spectral Ancient God mirrored his movements, its ethereal hands forming the same intricate seal.

Of the ancient arts inherited, only a handful could be wielded with his current five-starred power. Beyond the Invocation of the Ancients and the conjuration of the ephemeral God-Slaying Spear, only one remained, the apex of power a five-starred Ancient God could muster: The Art of Spirit-Theft, *Gōng Líng*.

The target of this art was not merely the white sword, but the man called Míng Hǎi. A spectral light gleamed in Wang Lin’s eyes. He thrust the hand seal forward, unleashing a torrent of Ancient God power, surging from the star-shaped mark on his brow and flowing through his arms, converging upon the mudra. “I seize the power of Heaven!”

In that instant, the world around them convulsed. The dim sky seemed to tear asunder, as if rent by colossal hands. The very earth trembled, swirling sands rising in reverse eddies. The scattered souls conjured by the ‘Scattering Beans for Soldiers’ spell were flung violently aside.

Beyond the borders of the Demonic Spirit Land, in the vast expanse of the starry sky above the Fifth Cavern Mansion, a thread of celestial power coalesced. It pierced the tidal maelstrom of the Eastern Sea, reaching directly into the interior. It tore through the Demonic Spirit Land, shattering all obstacles in its path, surging through the Nine Dragon Formation and into the Fifth Cavern Mansion.

Within the mansion, upon a rickety wooden bridge, the figure shrouded in black mist, who sat in meditative repose, felt the jade vial floating before him begin to tremble violently.

“Hmm…?” The voice emanating from the black mist was sharp. The figure within snapped his head up, two eerie lights flaring within the darkness of the mist. A swirling black vortex had opened before him, spewing forth strands of celestial power that raced towards the vial.

“He can draw upon the power of the outer heavens?!” The voice in the mist betrayed astonishment.

“I had thought only four warranted my attention this time… but now there is another…” The mumbled words hung in the air, punctuated by the sinister glow. A withered hand emerged from the mist, gripping the jade vial tightly. The torrent of celestial power shattered, dissipating into nothingness.

As the shrouded figure crushed the incoming power, Wang Lin’s ancient words echoed once more across the Black Sand Desert. “I draw upon the spirit of the Cosmos!”

With this utterance, the spectral Ancient God behind him roared, a sound that shook the very fabric of existence. It was as if a force capable of cleaving the heavens had been unleashed, a force that could draw the soul from a mountain, or the spirit from a star.

The Cosmos was not inherently sentient, but the ancient art of the Gods could extract its essence, its *will*. The Art of Spirit-Theft, *Gōng Líng*, was an immensely powerful technique, though its effect varied depending on the wielder’s strength.

A nine-starred Ancient God, invoking *Gōng Líng*, could tear fragments of a realm’s very rules, bending the Heavenly Dao to his will, inverting the natural order.

Wang Lin, as a mere five-starred deity, could not achieve such heights, but his status as a member of the Ancient God Royal Clan was sufficient to cause the Black Sand Desert to tremble.

Within the cavern mansion, upon the wooden bridge, the shadow figure had barely extinguished the incoming celestial power when the jade vial began to shudder with renewed ferocity. It felt as if an invisible force was drawing, pulling, *consuming*.

The stopper of blackened wood at the vial’s mouth shuddered, pulled inward as if about to be sucked into the vessel. The figure in the mist flared with inner light.

Back in the wastes, Wang Lin’s next utterance was a torrent, his own vital essence, *yuán lì*, merging with the ancient power, flowing outwards through his arms and dissipating into the void. From the seal of his hands, a thread of white light materialized, weaving a spell into being!

The incantation to “draw upon the spirit of the Cosmos!” stirred the desert winds, conjuring a tempest of furious gales. Whispers of darkness rose from the earth, swirling together to form a second filament of power, black as night. The two threads intertwined, coalescing into a rhombus-shaped rune.

This rune dwarfed all ancestral glyphs of the Immortal Relic Clan. Its intricate design was so complex that a mere glance threatened to induce vertigo. “I bind myself to the Clan of the Ancient Ones, in endless devotion!” As Wang Lin spoke these final words, the rhomboid rune pulsed with black and white light, drifting slowly forward.

As it moved, the rune swelled in size, until it towered a thousand feet high, a colossal barrier of pure power poised between the earth and the sky, surging forward.

A deafening roar echoed as the glyph advanced. Where it passed, the sky reversed, and the very sands of the earth fled before it. The land was scoured clean, all traces of existence swept away.

The enormous rhomboid rune was a beacon, visible for miles. It surged forward, promising the destruction of all that lay in its path.

Wang Lin’s face was drawn with exhaustion. To unleash this art, with his current level of power, was no easy feat. This was why he had hesitated to use it, for this battle was a necessity to survive in the harsh land. The man called Míng Hǎi, though his cultivation level appeared roughly equal to Wang Lin’s, possessed power and magical items that were truly earth-shattering.
With a deafening roar, the small, white blade that stood in defiance was hurled back, its ringing shriek echoing across the desolate expanse!

The figure, known as Minghai, who had been turning towards the ebony tower, shuddered. He spun, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural light as he beheld the slowly approaching lozenge glyph. “Be you ancient god or qi cultivator, whatever your guise, to wield such arcane power merits a glimpse of the Emperor’s 411-blessed, primordial might!”

As the words left his lips, he thrust his right hand forward. The recoiling white blade unleashed a heavens-rending cry, and a single, blinding beam of sword-qi shot forth, piercing the very firmament!

In that instant, the entire sky was consumed by a tempest of spectral swords, and an ancient, forgotten sword-essence surged forth, filling the world with its presence. At the summons of the little bamboo blade, this essence descended upon the black sand desert, a tangible weight of ages.

As the sword-essence solidified, ethereal figures materialized behind the countless spectral blades in the sky. They were warriors of old, each wielding a blade with unwavering purpose. As the white blade transformed into a streak of pure light and hurtled toward the lozenge rune, these spectral warriors began to dance!

Their movements wove ancient sword-forms, channeling waves of potent sword-qi. In a heartbeat, the heavens became a swirling realm of blades, and under the assault of the white blade, these gathered forces converged upon the approaching lozenge.

The white blade, swiftest of all, slammed into the massive lozenge rune with the force of a thunderbolt. Waves of shimmering energy rippled across its surface as the spectral blades followed in its wake, an unrelenting storm.

The scene unfolded as if countless souls were channeling ancient sword-techniques, each unleashing a torrent of sword-qi. This coalesced into a tidal wave of pure sword-intent, aimed directly at the advancing lozenge!

The lozenge glyph pulsed with a violent tremor, and the world trembled with it. Wang Lin, the one who summoned it, staggered, coughing up blood. To wield such a spirit-attack with his limited cultivation invited a brutal backlash!

His eyes gleamed with frigid determination. Wang Lin stared ahead, the ancient god star-points upon his brow spinning with increasing velocity. A torrent of ancient god power surged from within, infusing the lozenge rune and urging it ever onward!

As it advanced, the black sand before the lozenge dissolved, revealing a mirror-like surface of pure white. Above, the oppressive darkness receded, revealing a similar expanse of gleaming white.

The ancient sword-intent, conjured by the white blade, manifested as a legion of spectral blades, but it was forced to retreat. Before the might of the ancient god’s power, the primordial sword-essence proved insufficient to hold its ground!

Furthermore, the white blade carried only a fraction of the true ancient sword-essence. Lacking the full measure, it could not prevail.

Minghai, his eyes alight with strange wonder, unleashed a peal of laughter, fixing his gaze upon the massive lozenge and the figure of Wang Lin behind it. “Excellent! To witness such arcane power in my lifetime! I shall answer one question for you! What you most desire to know… is where you stand!”

“This, my friend, is the first layer of the Emperor’s Domain, the World Within a Bottle! Once, it was where the Emperor collected celestial energies to nurture nascent spirits. It is known as the World Within a Bottle because this entire realm exists inside such a vessel, one of the Emperor’s earliest treasures!”

“Alas, when the Emperor suffered grievous wounds and his divine will shattered, a fragment infused with his ‘Lonely Desert Smoke’ power took root here, transforming it into this desolate expanse of black sand! The grey mist you encountered was but a manifestation of his arcane art!”

“Here exist ninety-nine realms, each shrouded in the same black sands. You and your companions are scattered across these disparate lands! And I shall reveal further that the Emperor’s ‘Lonely Desert Smoke’ was drawn from the ‘Lonely Desert Smoke’ painting within the Nine Landscape Scrolls, which now lies sealed within this very World Within a Bottle!”

“Should fortune favor you, you may claim it for yourself! But first, you must slay me!” Minghai, still laughing, leaped into the air, his eyes burning with unholy fire. He raised his right hand skyward. “I, Minghai, as the spirit of this World Within a Bottle, bear not only the bamboo Fangzhu granted by the Emperor but also a celestial art of my own! *Heaven’s Burning*!”

With his hand raised high, a nine-hued fire ignited within Minghai’s form, its flames shimmering with shades of scarlet, orange, red, green, blue, indigo, violet, black, and white.

Following the path of Minghai’s outstretched hand, the multicolored fire soared towards the heavens. Instantly, the sky was engulfed in crimson light, the firmament ablaze with impossible flames!

But the transformation did not end there. As the red light intensified, other hues flared forth, and the nine-colored fire devoured the sky. All that remained was an endless sea of raging flames! *Heaven’s Burning!* Burning the very sky! With the power to immolate the heavens, Qinglin birthed this awe-inspiring art!

Waves of scorching heat crashed down from above. As the sky burned, all traces of darkness vanished, replaced by an inferno. Even the sand beneath crumbled under the oppressive heat.

Grains of sand shattered and dissolved, and in a heartbeat, the black sand desert where Wang Lin stood became a literal hell. The sand melted, and in its place, a black ocean surged!

This horrifying spectacle stole Wang Lin’s breath. He felt the heat searing his skin, causing it to crack and bleed. Even his blood began to vaporize, escaping his pores as wisps of crimson steam!

This alone was terrifying, but then Wang Lin realized that the spiritual energy within his body was also changing, dwindling at an alarming rate.

The flames above stretched endlessly, as if they would continue until the entire sky was reduced to ash. So long as even a sliver of the sky remained, the inferno would rage on!

Explosions echoed across the land, and Wang Lin beheld what appeared to be nine fiery dragons clawing across the sky, incinerating everything in their path!

Such an art, named *Heaven’s Burning*, wielded power beyond imagination. If it could scorch the heavens themselves, what hope did anything beneath have of survival?
The lozenge-shaped rune, unleashed with a forward sweep, instantly melted the sands below, pushing them aside as if they were mere water. Even the fiery sky seemed to bow before its inexorable advance, the flames themselves rearranged like flowers in a gale.

But in a heartbeat, a more overwhelming inferno surged forth, consuming the heavens. The sky itself seemed to liquefy, mirroring the earth below. Burning globs plunged from the firmament, each impact sending tremors through the land. Ever more fiery tears fell, and as the lozenge rune forged ahead, it became wreathed in roaring flames. A suffocating heat and choking black smoke assailed Wang Lin’s senses, filling him with dread. Then, the echoing laughter of the Nether Sea reverberated through the world.

“I gather the power of incinerating Heaven, forging it into a celestial art! Let all that exists be consumed!” As the Nether Sea spoke, the flames in the sky throbbed, converging and solidifying into another, larger lozenge rune!

This fiery construct pulsed with nine distinct hues, raining down from above, encircling the first lozenge rune. As more and more flames descended, even the earth ignited, transforming the desolate Black Sand Wastes into a fiery hell, poised to devour Wang Lin and the rune itself!

Wang Lin felt his life force draining away, leaving him weak and pale. Despite this, he sat cross-legged atop the rune. As the inferno intensified, as the very sky seemed to disintegrate, as the power to burn creation descended, the rune beneath him shattered with a deafening roar!

In that moment of destruction, Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with determination. He flung out his arms, channeling the last of his power into a defiant surge. The shattered fragments of the rune exploded outward, each piece imbued with the essence of ancient god magic, ripping through the flames like a hurricane.

The shards, though broken, still carried potent magic. They carved a swirling path through the endless fire, creating a temporary respite. But this was a fleeting sanctuary, a moment bought in the face of annihilation. Soon, the hurricane of magic would dissipate, and the flames would return, hungry to devour all.

Seizing his chance, Wang Lin, his eyes bloodshot, ignoring the sweat pouring from his brow and the crimson vapor seeping from his pores, slammed his hand against his storage pouch. “The God-Slaying Chariot!”

In an instant, a five-hued light erupted from the pouch, bursting forth before him, solidifying into the magnificent, iridescent butterfly. The butterfly fluttered its wings, releasing a shimmering dust of five colors. Wang Lin pointed towards the Nether Sea, barely visible through the fire. The butterfly, obeying his will, moved forward, its wings beating powerfully. An unseen wind, capable of unraveling the very fabric of existence, arose amidst the ruined wastes!

The instant the butterfly appeared, the swirling mists surrounding the Nether Sea were caught in this sudden, violent gale and swept away. The mist dissolved, revealing the grey armor beneath, and within that armor, a tall and imposing figure.

The Nether Sea gazed at the butterfly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. He seemed to abandon his defenses, mesmerized by the creature, lost in a trance.

As the butterfly drew nearer, it beat its wings once more, and with a resounding crack, a large section of the Nether Sea’s armor shattered, the pieces falling away like leaves in a storm.

With each beat of the butterfly’s wings, the Nether Sea’s armor crumbled further. Cracks spread across the helmet, spider-webbing across the surface, until it exploded into fragments, revealing a head of coarse, dark hair and a deeply etched face.

It was the face of a weathered man, marked by hardship. A jagged scar ran across his right brow, a wound that seemed to pierce directly into his skull. In its depths lay a shard of black obsidian, a source of dark energy that seeped into his head.

Snapping out of his trance, the Nether Sea touched the scar on his brow, and a chilling light flickered in his eyes. He muttered, “Am I not dead yet…?”

He blurred into motion, lunging towards Wang Lin. With a swift hand gesture, he pointed towards the sky, and the distant flames roared to life, converging as if summoned. They engulfed the scattered fragments of the lozenge rune, driving back with renewed ferocity, threatening to overwhelm everything.

Wang Lin’s eyes burned with cold fury. He charged forward, his hands weaving a complex spell. He bit his tongue, spitting out a mouthful of blood, which he channeled into a crimson rune that blazed to life and slammed onto the butterfly.

“Each God-Slaying Chariot holds five seals. This third chariot was unleashed, the soul-beast cocooning, transforming into a butterfly. But even now, this butterfly retains five seals. Only by breaking them all can the full power of this heavenly treasure, crafted by the Celestial Lord himself, be unleashed!”

“Transformation into a butterfly was the first seal. This is the second! Release!” Wang Lin’s bloody gaze locked onto the butterfly, and in that instant, its iridescent colors intensified, and a sixth hue materialized, shimmering into existence!

The Nether Sea pressed his attack, his outstretched hand brimming with fire. As he neared Wang Lin, he unleashed the flames. But Wang Lin acted without hesitation, the ancient god’s cauldron materializing around him. He vanished the instant the fire struck, reappearing behind the Nether Sea.

His eyes gleamed with malice. He thrust his right hand towards the Nether Sea’s back, the ancient beast tattoo on his palm pulsing with power. A chilling aura enveloped the Nether Sea’s feet, and the ground beneath him began to glow with an unnatural light.

The Nether Sea merely smiled, a cruel expression that sent shivers down Wang Lin’s spine. He spread his arms wide and unleashed a torrent of combined celestial and demonic power. The blast wave exploded outward, obliterating everything in its path!

The eerie light beneath his feet vanished, and a surge of power slammed into Wang Lin. Wang Lin recoiled, spitting out another mouthful of blood that he directed towards the butterfly. “Third Seal, open!” Unlocking three seals was the limit of Wang Lin’s power. The butterfly shuddered, its colors intensifying once more, and a seventh hue bloomed into existence, transforming it into a creature of seven dazzling shades!
Sevenfold colors shimmered, granting the lepidopteran an otherworldly splendor. As its wings pulsed, a cloud of iridescent dust manifested before Wang Lin, a gentle, rainbow-hued assault upon the air.

冥滌 whirled, his right hand a conductor summoning inferno. Flames surged forth, a ravenous tide meant to engulf all. From afar, the fiery sea pressed closer, now a mere hundred paces away, poised to devour.

The searing winds licked at Wang Lin, causing his skin to crack and split, though scant blood flowed. A dizzying haze clouded his mind, a consequence of his lifeblood transmuting into the crimson mist, now depleted. Even his nascent soul felt the wear, yet it remained sheltered beneath the ancient god’s hide, unscathed. For the armor was forged for an eight-starred deity, whilst Wang Lin’s flesh barely boasted five.

As the all-consuming flames threatened to close in, Wang Lin’s gaze betrayed his desperation. But then, his eyes sharpened. The sevenfold dust, born from the butterfly’s wingbeats, effortlessly pierced 冥涤’s conjured fire. More than that, as it passed through the flames, it invoked a strange reversal, causing the fire to recoil, following in its wake.

Even 冥涤 was momentarily taken aback. With a scornful laugh, he performed a swift incantation with his left hand, gesturing towards the earth. The very ground trembled, and the blackened, molten sand, once desert, began to flow, gathering in his outstretched hand. Meanwhile, the rainbow butterfly, wings a blur, drew nearer, a vibrant missile aimed at 冥涤. A tempest of iridescent powder spread, forming a sevenfold vortex that lunged toward its prey. 冥涤’s eyes flickered with cunning. He hurled the amassed blackwater upward, fashioning a crude shield against the incoming storm.

Yet, even as the obsidian barrier rose, the rainbow butterfly transformed into a beam of pure chromatic light, merging with the gale. It pierced the blackwater with ease, once again causing the liquid to turn back on itself, carried by the storm’s ferocious advance toward 冥涤!

At that moment, the encircling fires were a mere fifty paces away. In a moment of desperate inspiration, Wang Lin invoked the ancient god’s cauldron, causing it to materialize behind 冥涤, its silent metal looming. Swiftly, he thrust his hand forward, pointing toward his foe.

冥涤 frowned. The intertwined might of his immortal and demonic energies surged anew, but even as they did, a cold glint sparked in Wang Lin’s eyes. He roared, “Binding Art!” His attack was not meant for immediate harm, but rather to deceive 冥涤, granting him the optimal moment to unleash his binding spell.

With that single word, 冥涤 found himself entangled in unseen threads, his movements stilled in an instantaneous paralysis. Wang Lin, his cultivation meager compared to the ancient god’s flesh, merely a nascent Soul at the Peak stage, yet dared to bind an Immortal akin to a cleansed Soul – immediately the magic took its toll. He paid no heed.

The moment 冥涤 was bound, the sevenfold tempest descended, not to strike him, but, guided by Wang Lin’s will, to pour into the wound upon his brow, the point where his third eye should be. The entire storm of color cascaded into the gash, leaving not a single mote behind!

A maddened shriek erupted from 冥涤’s throat. He clutched at his head, struggling against the spell, retreating as quickly as he could manage.

Wang Lin did not pursue. He gathered his artifacts in that instant, even those discarded earlier: the scattered soldiers of enchanted beans and the seal of fallen Immortals. He turned and sprinted towards the black tower that loomed ahead. The inferno closed in, engulfing Wang Lin on all sides. The heat was intense. His garments ignited instantly, yet they were quickly extinguished by the azure light emanating from his right eye.

With a gritted jaw, Wang Lin invoked the ancient god’s cauldron once more. It shimmered, then materialized a hundred paces away, just before the tower’s gate. He plunged inside. He had chosen this haven because, even as the flames raged, this tower stood unyielding. No fire dared to breach its shadowy embrace. But the fire’s advance was too swift. As Wang Lin stumbled into the tower, the fiery waves crashed over him, and the searing heat scourged his back. A jolt of pain shot through him as the heat poured into his body. Thankfully, it was but a remnant, a weakened echo of the main inferno. Wang Lin, struggling, reached into his pouch and swallowed a handful of potent elixirs.

Only then did he dare glance back. The black sand desert was now a sea of fire. The sky was gone, replaced by a void occasionally punctuated by glimpses of the smooth, mirror-like surface beyond.

In the distance, 冥涤’s agonized howls echoed, a testament to his torment. He floated in mid-air, his hands clasped to his head, roaring in fury. Wang Lin could clearly see the pulsing of the rainbow light emanating from the gash upon his brow. The iridescent powder seemed to be trying to seal the wound.

But the moment his brow was sealed, the shard of demonic energy within 冥涤’s mind was bathed in the chromatic light, severing its flow. His eyes momentarily cleared, as though awakening from a terrible nightmare. But this was immediately replaced by unspeakable agony. He looked up towards the shimmering, white void beyond the fire, and a ghastly smile twisted his face.

“Celestial Emperor, 冥涤 is disloyal. Driven by selfish ambition, he has embraced the demonic path. Death is his due!” With a despairing cry, he summoned the surrounding flames, allowing them to engulf him completely. When the inferno subsided, only a pile of ash remained. From the pyre rose a single, sevenfold butterfly, which flew towards the black tower, returning to Wang Lin’s side.

Wang Lin watched, his thoughts troubled. He began to understand something of what had transpired. With a quiet sigh, and reassured that the flames would not encroach upon the tower, he began to survey his refuge.

After a long moment, his eyes flashed with an idea. He reached into his pouch and summoned the severed heads he had acquired earlier, allowing them to float before him. His gaze was filled with strange purpose. He muttered to himself, “Never did I expect that Brother Qing Shui’s Immortal Art, Underworld Guiding, would prove so useful!” “Each of these contains remnants of demonic energy. Using that as a beacon, I might yet forge a path away from this hell!”

Wang Lin swept his hand, and the heads exploded in a series of sickening pops. With swift incantations, he stirred the remains, shaping them into a swirling vortex of dark crimson. This vortex spiraled outward, and a tunnel began to materialize before Wang Lin. “Hmm?” Wang Lin’s gaze sharpened. The vortex, as it turned, emitted thick clouds of demonic essence.

In that instant, guided by that very demonic energy, the vortex gave a final, deafening crack, as if it tore through the very fabric of reality! Wang Lin peered through the newly-formed portal, and his eyes widened in shock!
Before him loomed a vast hall, choked with swirling, malevolent energies. Above, dominating all, sat a colossal throne, and upon it, a figure wreathed in shadow.