A cataclysm within the ancient tomb, a rending of reality itself, tore a rift in the fabric of space. The ethereal mists that haunted its depths, once languid and still, erupted into a frenzied maelstrom. They writhed and roiled, surging outward in thunderous waves, seeking to escape the confines of the violated crypt.

The internal upheaval echoed beyond the tomb’s stony embrace, shaking the very stars.

Outside, in the desolate reaches of the Primordial Starry Sky, the previously vanished fissure leading to the ancient burial ground shimmered back into existence. As it pulsed into being, the lingering wisps of mist that had stubbornly clung to the void, unable to fully disperse after the rift’s closure, mirrored the turmoil within the tomb. They surged with renewed vigor, colliding in echoing bursts of thunder that reverberated across the starscape.

Then, as the crack in reality solidified, the mists were seized by an unseen force, drawn inexorably toward the newly formed chasm. It was as if the fissure had become a monstrous maw, inhaling the swirling vapors with voracious hunger. In an instant, the mists were reduced to a fraction of their former glory, the remnants still spiraling helplessly into the waiting abyss.

Upon a barren, lifeless cultivation star, not far from the gaping wound in the fabric of space, the Great Desolate Sage, his corporeal form weakened by the destruction of his divided soul, snapped awake. His eyes, devoid of warmth, betrayed a lifetime of self-serving ambition and a penchant for broken oaths, a secret known only to the dead.

His fleeting alliance with the Second Generation Vermillion Bird was but a trivial thing, easily cast aside in the face of opportunity. It was this very lack of conscience that had allowed him to tread the path of cultivation for millennia, making few true allies. With a disdainful snort, he blurred into motion, traversing the starlit void until he stood before the ravenous fissure, a dark mountain amidst the swirling mists.

He stood unmoving, his gaze fixed upon the rift, a calculating glint in his eyes. “The restrictions on entry… they are gone,” he murmured, a touch of avarice lacing his tone. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, plunging into the swirling gateway.

Simultaneously, leagues away in an uncharted expanse of stars, a phantom sea of violet surged and crashed. In its fathomless depths, an ancient being sat in meditative repose. Now, his eyes flickered open, unleashing twin shards of glacial light.

“The Great Desolate Sage dares usurp my fragment, and that Wang Lin… they have hindered my plans!” he rumbled, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates. “Now this tomb undergoes a shift, yet the limits on entry are dissolved.” After a moment’s pause, he swept his hand, and the ocean recoiled, birthing a colossal gate of churning water before him!

He rose and strode through the aqueous portal, reappearing outside the cosmic rift. As he arrived, the starscape beside him warped and fractured into nine shimmering images of phantom realms. From each of these unreal vistas, a figure materialized, coalescing into a weathered man, his face etched with hardship, his eyes burning like twin furnaces.

He surveyed the area, his gaze settling on the violet-robed Daoist. “So, the Melodious Sound Old Immortal, who has not left the Violet Sea in ten thousand years, has also come to dabble in these troubled waters.”

“If the Nine Heavens Demon Sovereign can be here, why not I?” The Daoist’s voice was a dry rasp. They exchanged a silent acknowledgement before turning their attention to the mist-devouring fissure. “The Old Poison of the Desolate is already inside…” the Melodious Sound Old Immortal finally remarked.

“Could this be a trap?” The Nine Heavens Demon Sovereign furrowed his brow.

“Unlikely,” the Melodious Sound Old Immortal mused. “Could a cultivator capable of setting such a snare truly be so obvious?” A silent understanding passed between them.

“The Desolate will be sealed!”

“I shall aid you in sealing the Old Poison, but I claim six tenths of the spoils!”

“Agreed, but the little whelp is mine!”

With the pact sealed, they transformed into twin streaks of light, racing toward the rift in the stars. But as they neared the threshold, the Primordial Starry Sky shuddered.

An overwhelming pressure surged from all directions, coalescing into a colossal hand that blotted out the stars, hovering above the tomb’s entrance.

The Melodious Sound Old Immortal halted abruptly, craning his neck to gaze at the celestial palm. The Nine Heavens Demon Sovereign, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, also came to a standstill.

From beneath the colossal hand, tendrils of darkness snaked into existence, weaving together to form a shadowy figure shrouded in black robes. His face remained unseen, lost in the depths of his cowl.

“The Great War draws near. You two cannot afford to meet an untimely end. This tomb… it is best left alone.” After a pregnant silence, the rift remained open, as if patiently awaiting its next victim. The Melodious Sound Old Immortal spoke. “Are you certain there will be complications?”

“I have not yet foreseen it…” the robed figure’s voice rasped, echoing with untold ages.

“Fear not. Even if complications arise, you will surely find a way to deliver us,” the Melodious Sound Old Immortal declared, before stepping through the fissure and vanishing from sight.

The Nine Heavens Demon Sovereign smiled wryly. “Your injuries seem to have largely healed. If indeed there are surprises awaiting, I commend myself to your care.” Without hesitation, he plunged into the rift, which continued to float in the starry void as if time had no dominion over it. The enigmatic robed figure remained, sighing softly after a long silence.

“Let us hope no complications arise… Two of the Primordial Five, the Sky Profound Realm Great Desolate, Zhou Zihong… Two Ancient Celestial Sovereigns… they hold three-tenths of the Primordial Starry Sky within their grasp. They all enter this tomb… Still, I am uneasy.”

**(Inside the Tomb)**

Within the tomb, the twin colossal hands swept through the halls, obliterating the foremost Ninth Order Tomb Platform and tearing a rift, a gateway to another realm.

Wang Lin, his face pale, did not hesitate. As the rip opened, he plunged into the unknown world.

Outside, even the Nine Heavens Demon Sovereign and the bewitching woman in pink could only watch as Wang Lin disappeared, cowed by the might of the looming hands.

As Wang Lin crossed the threshold, the ninth map flashed in his mind, though it was now useless. Simultaneously, an ancient, desolate voice echoed in his soul.

“Ninth Order Tomb Opened. You are my inheritor… You may tread the Path of Reincarnation, enter my Celestial Domain… But my Celestial Domain has been sealed by my ancient nemesis. Entry requires significant cultivation and even greater fortune… In my life, I had but one regret… Yet I do not rue it… The Daoist Sect of the Leftward Spiral blocked my retreat… Dao Memories, Li Guang, shot down my left eye. That eye holds half my life’s memories and my longing for home… Successor, if you can become Ancient, if you can… if you can…” The voice trailed off, the final words fading into incomprehensible echoes. The world spun before Wang Lin’s eyes, and when clarity returned, he found himself within an impossibly vast palace.

It was a palace that spanned like the cosmos itself, its edges lost in the haze of distance. It was gilded with unimaginable opulence, radiating an aura of immense power and oppressive dread.

This dread emanated from four rows of figures stretching into the boundless distance, each row composed of thousands of corpses. They stood in perfect formation, blood oozing from their orifices, eyes wide with lingering terror and murderous intent.

Their attire was strange and unfamiliar to Wang Lin, woven from materials that flowed like water, as if alive. He had seen such fabrics before, only in the fleeting visions of long-gone invaders that haunted his mind when collecting the Undying Thunder Essence within the Lightning Clan. Atop each head flickered a ghostly green flame, emitting a faint hiss as it illuminated the vast hall.

“Lamp Posts…” Wang Lin murmured, hovering in the center of the palace. These beings had become fuel, their life essence and spiritual energy fused into burning candles.

His gaze drifted toward the end of the macabre rows, to a towering stone platform upon which sat a colossal throne.

Before the throne, cleaving the platform from its base to the very foot of the seat, was a jagged fissure, still resonating with a palpable aura of destruction.

It was as if someone, long ago, had launched a single arrow or sword, an unstoppable force that shattered all barriers to reach the one who sat upon that throne.

The throne was empty, save for a perfect orb of light, radiating a gentle glow.

In the spaces between the rows of silent soldiers stood cauldrons, hundreds of feet tall, from which wisps of fragrant incense drifted skyward.

Wang Lin soared higher, peering over the imposing stone platform. He saw that behind it, too, were cauldrons and endless rows of frozen warriors.

The platform was surrounded on all sides by cauldrons and silent warriors, each burning with an ethereal flame.

Wang Lin was overcome with awe as he witnessed this unimaginable vista. After a long moment, he inhaled deeply and swept his hand outward, unleashing a torrent of wind that illuminated the palace, revealing even more distant depths. As the light pierced the darkness, his eyes widened in shock.