Wang Lin’s face was ashen, devoid of all color save for the stark crimson of blood tracing his lips. He hastily recalled his scattered treasures, including the broken iron sword and tattered war soul, before fleeing into the distance. Even the spectral nascent soul of Cangsongzi was left behind, unable to escape the ravenous grasp of Wang Lin’s spirit, which consumed it whole.

Before his eyes, the world blurred, a siren song of slumber beckoning him to oblivion. A piercing agony radiated from his right shoulder, a constant torment keeping him teetering on the precipice of consciousness. The path ahead seemed to splinter into phantom duplicates, mocking his desperate flight. Above, a gargantuan compass, a celestial instrument of immense power, relentlessly tracked his every move, its shadow imprisoning him.

As the compass spun with increasing velocity, a palpable pressure descended, a suffocating weight that threatened to crush Wang Lin. His weakened body faltered beneath the oppressive force, his steps becoming unsteady.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar erupted from within the spinning compass. Its rotation intensified, drawing in the kaleidoscopic light of the heavens, channeling it into a raging vortex of raw power. From this swirling tempest, countless sigils, shimmering with arcane energy, detached themselves and began to rain down upon Wang Lin.

A primal instinct, a surge of pure dread, flooded his senses. In a desperate act of self-preservation, Wang Lin bit down savagely on his tongue, forcing clarity upon his muddled mind. As his consciousness sharpened, the barrage of sigils intensified, hurtling towards him with relentless purpose.

With a guttural cry, Wang Lin lunged, his left hand grasping at empty air, summoning the Trident of the Sea King. He swung the weapon in a desperate arc, attempting to cleave through the storm of descending sigils. They fell like acid rain, searing the air with their passage, each leaving a trail of scorching light as they approached.

The impact was cataclysmic. Wang Lin coughed up blood, his body convulsing as the sigils branded themselves upon his flesh, leaving deep, agonizing marks. Each contact sent tremors through his very being, threatening to shatter his resolve.

Madness flickered in his eyes. Such was his nature; the more perilous the situation, the greater the cataclysm looming, the colder his mind became, tempered by a surge of berserk fury. Calm calculation and unbridled ferocity were not opposing forces, but rather twin aspects of his indomitable spirit: the former to assess, the latter to act.

The compass was a parasitic growth, fused to his fate. To destroy it was to survive, for as long as it remained, he would be hunted relentlessly. Its mere existence was a beacon, a signal to any who sought to do him harm.

Grasping the trident tightly, Wang Lin allowed the madness to consume him. He knew his lucidity was fleeting, and with each passing moment, his injuries threatened to pull him back into the abyss of unconsciousness. He must shatter the compass, find a sanctuary, and heal before his strength failed him.

Time was a cruel mistress. With a deep, ragged breath, he steeled himself, igniting the embers of war within his soul. His left eye blazed with infernal light, summoning the crimson armor of the Vermillion Bird. In a blinding flash, the ancient armor manifested, encasing his body in a shell of burning resilience. Simultaneously, his right eye crackled with the raw energy of lightning, unleashing a tempest of electric fury that transformed the surrounding thousand leagues into a seething, crackling thunderdome.

Lightning roared, and silver serpents of pure energy danced through the air. Fragments of rock, caught in the tempest, spun wildly, suspended by the electric currents. The last vestiges of his ancient god power, bypassing his wounded arm, surged into his left hand, feeding the Trident with arcane energy.

In that instant, a primordial roar, a defiance of the heavens themselves, echoed through the world. Wang Lin surged upward, breaking free from the confines of the earth. A sea of fire erupted, the spectral form of the Vermillion Bird coalescing around him, as if he commanded the very flames of the cosmos. He soared towards the compass, a beacon of defiance against the oppressive sky.

As he ascended, lightning crackled and raged, rising from the earth to accompany him. The very ground beneath him tore itself asunder, forming a pillar of pure electrical energy that climbed with him into the heavens. The thunderdome gradually coalesced, shrinking as it fused around him, until it became a mountain of lightning surrounding Wang Lin.

Atop the apex of this storm of energy, Wang Lin was reborn as the embodiment of raw power. Carrying the trident with his lightning and fire force, he was like a meteor piercing through the darkness. Using his madness, he travelled the path of cultivation!

His speed became blinding, hurtling towards the compass as the sigils continued to rain down. The air shattered before him, the sound reaching a deafening crescendo, a symphony of destruction.

“Nine Transformations of Xuan!” Wang Lin screamed, his eyes stained with crimson. His form flickered, dividing into nine phantasmal images, each imbued with the raw essence of his being. But in an instant, they merged, coalescing into a single, unified entity, infused with a power that dwarfed his previous state. A force so potent, it shook the very fabric of the kaleidoscopic realm.

The cry of the Vermillion Bird pierced the heavens as Wang Lin became a radiant lance of light, hurtling towards the compass with impossible speed. The collision was apocalyptic. The compass shuddered, a network of cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. The cracks grew, multiplied, splintering into a chaotic web that consumed the entire celestial instrument. With a final, deafening roar, the compass shattered, its fragments scattering in a maelstrom of destruction.

Amidst the flying debris, a crimson streak emerged, streaking across the horizon, disappearing from sight.

The echo of the compass’s destruction reverberated through the kaleidoscopic world, shaking it to its core. The mist-shrouded beasts of the outer realm stirred, their forms solidifying as they turned their gaze towards the source of the disturbance. In the inner realm, the lost ones, their minds consumed by a strange madness, paused in their aimless wanderings, their vacant eyes lifting towards the sound. One of these was the Endu family’s child.

Far away, on a solitary mountain peak, a reclusive cultivator, Chen Tianjun, sat within his hidden cave, his face pale, his robes stained with dried blood. He paused from his healing, his eyes snapping open as the reverberations of the explosion reached him.

Entrapped within a forbidden realm, an old woman in green robes fought for her survival. Her face was devoid of color as she desperately cast spells, attempting to break free from her prison. But the power of the combined forbidden seals exceeded her abilities. With each passing moment, the combined seals intensified, becoming inseparable and impervious to her control. Injured and vulnerable, she trembled as the earth-shattering roar echoed from afar.

Within the mountain ranges, the fog rolled like a troubled sea, stirring the ancient runes etched upon the walls. The scribes, lost in their eternal chants, paused, their bodies shuddering as they lifted their gaze towards the source of the disruption.

Deep within the mist, atop the head of the colossal stone statue marked with a lightning rune, Cangsongzi, his spirit weakened, sat in meditation, attempting to recover from his wounds. He looked up, his eyes wide with shock. He had never expected to become such a state.

He had underestimated Wang Lin, never imagining that he could reach such heights. He felt the pain, the loss of his treasures. But as he thought of the seven colored nail, he felt as if his soul would collapse. It was his most powerful treasure, his life-saving weapon.

He had retreated not just because of his injuries, but because he believed Wang Lin to be doomed. In that weakened state, there was no way he could escape the compass made from his beads.

Once he died, he would just have to manipulate the compass to absorb his body and soul. But as he lost connection to the bead, he realized what he had done.

“He could break free of my compass after being so injured…” Cangsongzi thought. For the first time, he felt fear towards Wang Lin.

Cangsongzi was not in the center of the seven colored realm. Deeper within the mountains, Yunhunzi remained unmoving.

Wang Lin lost his consciousness, but remained determined. He crashed within a deserted cave, and only had time to release the silver clothed woman and Xu Liguo to protect him.

Having been released, Xu Liguo was about to proudly display his power, but then he saw Wang Lin unconscious.

“Protect the body!” the silver clothed woman yelled, scanning Wang Lin. As she looked at him, her eyes began to show softness.

Xu Liguo quickly obeyed, pretending to be loyal. However, he could not help but think…

“Why are you protecting that thug? I, your grandfather, am a man of utmost beauty!”