A swirling tempest of one hundred thousand monstrous blood-flies filled the heavens and the earth, led by Hong, the Crimson King, Wang Lin’s own behemoth. Loyal beyond measure, the fly-king regarded Wang Lin as a sire, a creator.

As it soared forth, the fly-king’s colossal mandibles gently brushed against Wang Lin, its multifaceted eyes, though still alight with a primal ferocity, betrayed a flicker of devotion and joy reserved solely for him. Its chitinous armor, a tapestry of sharp edges and wicked barbs, trembled with barely restrained affection.

A smile touched Wang Lin’s lips as he stroked the fly-king’s softened spines. Then, with a pointed finger, he indicated the crimson river below.

The fly-king shrieked, and a single blood-fly plunged downwards, diving towards the crimson torrent. It plunged its proboscis deep into the river, and its body began to convulse, resonating with internal throbs. Before their very eyes, it swelled to twice its original size!

A crimson aura pulsed from its form, and its power surged. It raised its head, unleashing a triumphant cry to its king. In response, the hundred thousand blood-flies echoed the call, and under the fly-king’s command, descended upon the land like a crimson plague.

From afar, the earth vanished beneath a writhing carpet of insectile bodies.

Wang Lin knew the river’s ichor held potent benefits for such creatures, fueling their growth. If they could consume it all, the battle prowess of his swarm would be amplified tenfold!

He watched as each blood-fly gorged itself on the crimson flow, growing ever more fearsome. Then, his attention shifted to the ancient remains: the corpses of a god, a demon, and a fiend of ages past.

The ancient triad, these three corpses, were utterly devoid of life, mere empty husks, their inner essences extinguished.

“If I could find a fiend body not entirely consumed by death… then perhaps my fiendish doppelganger might succeed!” Wang Lin murmured, landing beside the corpse of the ancient fiend. He placed his hand upon the wizened hide and channeled his power through the remains.

Half a bell later, the riverbed was dry, not a single drop remained. Everything had been scavenged, plundered by Wang Lin’s relentless ambition. Even the thousand-foot platform upon the ancient god’s back was wrenched free and tossed into his interdimensional storage.

Returning to the shattered amethyst platform he’d seized from the Lingdong master, Wang Lin swept his sleeve, and the hundred thousand blood-flies, each swollen to twice their original size, swarmed around him, forming a terrifying, impenetrable cloud.

Through the writhing mass, Wang Lin gazed down upon the prostrate forms of the ancient triad, forever frozen in their gruesome postures.

After a moment of contemplation, Wang Lin chose to leave them undisturbed. He turned his back upon the ancient ones, ascending upon the shattered amethyst platform, tearing a rift in the veil of reality, and vanished.

Beyond the sealed land, swirling mists enveloped him. The blood-flies shrieked, cleaving through the fog, leaving a vortex of displaced vapor in their wake.

Wang Lin paused, recalling the fragments of an ancient map held within his mind. He charted a course towards the heart of the ancient tomb. His eyes gleamed with purpose, and the shattered amethyst platform surged forward, tearing through the mists like a comet.

A cacophony of screams echoed in Wang Lin’s wake as he cut through the veil, where shrouded humanoid beasts lurked within the swirling mists. But as the blood-flies spread out, none could approach the platform.

The scent of carnage clung to Wang Lin, but his expression remained serene as he pressed onward.

On their journey, Wang Lin encountered a group of about thirty cultivators, each standing upon platforms no smaller than a thousand feet, save for one ancient relic of two thousand feet.

Their platforms were in full flight, their faces etched with caution, but they were beset by a swarm of humanoid beasts and were embroiled in a desperate fight for survival!

As they shed blood, the mists parted with a monstrous roar, a behemoth blood-fly erupted into view, its many faceted eyes fell upon the cultivators besieged by the humanoid beasts.

Its emergence drew the attention of the beleaguered cultivators!

“What beast is that?!”

“A new monster approaches!”

But their exclamations were cut short by a collective gasp of horror, as the single blood-fly was followed by a vast swarm surging from the mists!

And behind the swarm, a titanic platform, three thousand feet across, emerged from the fog. Atop it stood Wang Lin, his white hair billowing in the wind, his white robes stark against the gloom, his gaze fixed upon them.

“A three-thousand-foot platform!” the elder upon the two-thousand-foot platform gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Wang Lin’s platform slowed for a moment, then he raised a hand and pointed forth. With a deafening roar, the one hundred thousand blood-flies, eyes burning with bloodlust, surged towards the ten thousand humanoid beasts, commencing a massacre that would forever be etched in the memories of the thirty cultivators.

These humanoid beasts were not only sustenance for cultivators but for blood-flies.

The swarm swept through the ranks like a crimson tsunami, ten blood-flies tearing into each beast, a symphony of carnage. Before the thirty cultivators could even comprehend what was happening, the slaughter was complete. Ten thousand humanoid beasts lay in tatters, and the surviving blood-flies feasted on the corpses, their bodies strengthening, growing ever more powerful.

Their hunger sated, the blood-flies, their eyes still burning with bloodlust, turned their attention to the thirty trapped cultivators.

They seemed to await only Wang Lin’s command to descend.

“I have aided you in slaying these beasts. In return, I claim the two-thousand-foot platform!” Wang Lin’s voice cut through the air, cold and precise, as he addressed the elder upon the ancient relic.

The elder’s face contorted with a mix of calculation and dread. After a tense silence, he flung himself towards another platform, abandoning his own ancient relic. The two-thousand-foot platform drifted towards Wang Lin, the blood-flies parting to make way.

Wang Lin’s gaze swept over the ancient relic, counting three hundred and twelve runes etched upon its surface. He raised his hand, striking out with unseen force. The ancient relic shuddered as every rune peeled away, flying towards Wang Lin to merge with his three-thousand-foot platform.

Stripped of its power, the smaller platform began to shrink, crumbling to dust and scattering upon the ground.
Upon Wang Lin’s sepulcher dais, arcane runes, nine hundred strong and counting, pulsed with a violet so deep it bordered on black. Their ominous glow hinted at an imminent evolution to the fourth tier.

“Three tiers… How many more for the fourth? Soon, I suspect.” Ignoring the throng of cultivators, Wang Lin spurred his dais forward, a tremor running through its ancient stone as it sped away.

The swarms of mosquito beasts, a droning cloud of chitin and sting, peeled away from the besieged cultivators, rejoining Wang Lin in a dark, buzzing escort.

The thirty-odd cultivators stood as one, faces etched with a simmering resentment, their gazes fixed on Wang Lin’s retreating form.

“Lord Zhou, though monstrous in number, those grotesque beasts could be overcome with a concerted assault!” A middle-aged cultivator, his voice tinged with frustration, broke the silence.

“That man wields a third-tier dais. His cultivation must be formidable! Add to that his command of those savage creatures. Even if we were to break through, we would be left crippled, a victory bought with bitter loss,” the elder who possessed the second-tier dais cautioned, shaking his head.

The middle-aged cultivator furrowed his brow, about to retort, but then, calamity struck with the fury of a forgotten god.

Wang Lin had not traveled far when a sudden jolt seized him. He whirled about, eyes widening as he fixed his gaze upon the assembled cultivators. Around him, the mosquito beasts shuddered violently, recoiling as one, their usual buzzing transforming into cries of primal terror.

Beneath the cultivators, the mist churned with unholy vigor, coalescing into wave upon wave of vaporous surges. A deafening roar echoed as a gargantuan arm, thick as a thousand-year-old oak, erupted from the swirling depths.

It was as if a titan of unimaginable size resided within the mist, its hand now piercing the veil. Fingers like mountains descended upon the thirty-odd cultivators. Their faces contorted in terror as they realized their doom. Before they could even muster a defense, the colossal hand descended, its five mountainous digits splaying wide, ready to seize its prey.

With a deafening crash, the platform beneath them shattered, sending fragments of stone cascading into the abyss. The cultivators, ensnared in the titan’s grasp, were hoisted skyward.

The gargantuan arm retreated as swiftly as it had appeared, disappearing back into the swirling mists. The event unfolded in a heartbeat, from the arm’s emergence to its swift withdrawal.

Silence descended, broken only by the gentle susurrus of settling mist. Had it not been witnessed, none would believe that a moment before, thirty-odd cultivators had stood on that very spot.

Wang Lin watched in grim silence, a glacial light gleaming in his eyes. The sight of the monstrous arm had shaken him to his core. Within its grasp, he had sensed a faint aura, akin to that of the ancient gods. But its appearance had been too fleeting, its disappearance too sudden, for Wang Lin to fully analyze the essence.

Yet, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that resistance against such power was futile.

“The Graveyard Shackles…” The coldness in Wang Lin’s gaze intensified. He glanced down at the swirling mists below, the air thick with an ever-growing sense of dread and mystery.

Turning his back on the scene, Wang Lin navigated the fog with renewed caution, following the path etched in his mind.

“If the map is to be trusted, a sealed domain lies ahead, a prison already breached. Within dwells a fourth-grade Dao Spirit… Finding it will confirm my path, leading me deeper into the heart of this necropolis!

And that woman of the Sealed Lineage… I subtly marked her presence, allowing me to sense her location. She is also ahead… She holds a secret of great value, a means of defying death that eludes me. I must uncover the truth… perhaps even claim it for myself…” A dark ambition flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes, driving him forward with renewed speed.

Far ahead of Wang Lin, just as he suspected, a sealed domain thrashed amidst the chaos. Within its borders, a deadly conflict raged. The air crackled with magical energy as two figures clashed, their battle echoing through the desolate realm.

Below, nearly a hundred more cultivators engaged in brutal combat. Among them, the Sealed Lineage woman fought with grim determination, leaving a trail of fallen enemies in her wake.

“Myo Yin! Dare you steal my Dao Spirit? I swear, my true body shall descend upon the Sound Sea and wage war against your own!”

“Great Desolate Poison! You sent only a fraction of your soul to this place, while I sent a fully formed avatar! Here, you are no match for me. Slay your fragmented soul? Hah! Your true form wouldn’t dare set foot in the Sound Sea. You are a fool!

Your twisted nature has alienated you. Within the Primeval Star, aside from that decrepit old bird who cannot even leave his ruined nest, you have no allies. And here, within this ancient tomb, you find no aid. What hope do you have of stealing the Dao Spirit from me?”