Upon the dais of ancient stone, Wang Lin sat enthroned. Before him, Ling Dong and Zhou Jin remained prostrate, sensing with dread the overwhelming aura emanating from the chosen one. It had reached a cataclysmic magnitude, a force that instilled within them terror, awe, and a deep-seated fear that kept their gazes fixed upon the floor.

Unseen by them, a crimson tear traced a path down Wang Lin’s left cheek, a droplet of blood born from the trials within.

The inheritance, it seemed, had begun the moment Wang Lin’s weight settled upon the chair.

Time, an endless river, flowed onward as Wang Lin remained still, his mind ablaze with visions, echoes of ages past.

He saw a grand hall, its edges blurring with the passage of eons. Around the dais, countless figures stood silent, their essence seemingly frozen in time. Only the ethereal flames of the eternal lanterns flickered, casting an eerie, dreamlike glow upon the scene.

Then, one day, a figure garbed in robes of the seven celestial hues appeared. From whence he came, none could say, but he stood before the petrified form of a scholarly man, his lips sealed in an eternal hush beneath the shade of an umbrella. For long moments, the seven-hued figure stood in silent contemplation.

“Of all the sons I have claimed in my lifetime, you were the dearest…” the ethereal one lamented, passing by the scholar to stand before a warrior whose hand was forever clenched around the grip of a bow. This man was Li Guang, frozen mid-draw.

“The oath I swore to you, I shall fulfill… this bow will be returned to your clan once the heavens have matured,” spoke the seven-hued one. He reached out and lifted the legendary bow from Li Guang’s grasp. But in that instant, his countenance twisted in alarm. He lunged forward, his movements a blur.

“Ancient Dao, no immortals!” A voice, ancient and resonant, echoed within Wang Lin’s mind. As those words reverberated, a change beyond comprehension swept through the hall.

The words alone sent shockwaves through the seven-hued figure.

“You still live!” Light erupted from him, seven-hued radiance swirling about him, and with a gasp, he vanished in a ripple of space.

The visions faded, and Wang Lin was wrenched back into his body. The hazy disorientation lifted, and his eyes cleared, revealing a growing lucidity. But with that clarity came the sensation of stolen power slipping away, seeking to return to its source within the chair, to dissipate into the ether.

Suddenly, a force, raw and untamed, exploded from the stone throne, seeking to cast Wang Lin aside. A will, ancient and indomitable, resided within the chair, decreeing that only the one true master was worthy of its embrace.

Earlier, the will had slumbered. But with Wang Lin’s body now infused with the essence of demon and monster, with his mind having traversed the memories of ages, the will had awakened, and the throne now sought to eject Wang Lin from its hold and reclaim the power it had mistakenly granted him.

The will deemed that Wang Lin was unworthy of such strength.

His face contorted in a grimace, Wang Lin, driven by instinct, fought to anchor the stolen power within his own being. This defiance ignited a fierce battle against the chair’s will.

The force pressed against him, a palpable weight seeking to hurl him from the throne. Veins bulged on his temples as he stubbornly resisted. He knew with chilling certainty that if he were dislodged, the borrowed power would shatter. Only by remaining seated could he hope to retain it.

Time crawled forward, a single breath stretching into an eternity.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three!

Within three heartbeats, Wang Lin felt his limits approaching. Vital energy surged within him as he strained against the mounting pressure, desperately absorbing the stolen power, trying to fuse it to his very soul.

His brow, marked by the six stars of a nascent god, flickered. With each surge of power, a seventh star began to coalesce, a hazy echo threatening to burst into being.

In his right eye, the power of the ancient demon stirred, a demonic star threatening to ignite within his very soul.

The fourth heartbeat struck.

At the moment of forced resistance, his mind erupted, and the nine celestial charts, unveiled during the tomb’s ascension, shattered into fragments. From the remains of these shattered maps, he saw nine more of a greater level.

Beneath them, a more expansive realm unfurled, a vast expanse composed of six celestial charts!

And beneath *those* was another: a triad of celestial charts that painted a realm of untold power.

The ancient tomb was not a singular layer as they thought, but a collection of three. Everyone who entered the ancient tomb before Wang Lin’s arrival had only touched the first layer. He saw the entrance to the second layer, and that the gateway resided within the oval-shaped orb of light behind the chair.

The chair, Wang Lin realized, was the nexus, the very heart of the first layer.

In that fleeting moment, he saw the second layer teeming with countless tormented souls. But it was the sight of several entities, radiating an aura rivalling that of the mighty Lan Meng Dao Zun, that sent a shiver of dread down his spine.

Deeper within the second layer, a blurred region harbored an unimaginable power, dormant but potent. It was a power that, once stirred, could swallow even Lan Meng Dao Zun whole.

And yet, this was only the *second* layer. The third remained veiled.

As Wang Lin sat upon the throne, his consciousness intertwined with the formation itself. He reached beyond the second layer, casting his gaze upon the third. At that instant, a roar, suppressed for countless eons, reverberated from the depths of that final realm.

Wang Lin’s mind shattered.

Yet even in that final moment, he saw it: within the center of the triad of celestial charts, a colossal heart.

It pulsed with a life of its own, emanating a pure, undeniable aura of inheritance. He knew that if he could but touch that heart, the complete legacy of the Dao Ancient would be his.

Moreover, he finally realized that the chair’s connection to the heart was how power flooded his body and linked with his soul.
The borrowed essence threatened to flee, a swift tide receding from Wang Lin’s grasp. Should it entirely abandon him, he would be forced to brave the perilous second layer, then the treacherous third, in a desperate gamble for the legacy!

Such a feat was deemed impossible, not only for him but for every soul trapped within the ancient tomb. No one could accomplish it!

A maelstrom of thoughts surged through Wang Lin’s mind. A fierce light ignited in his eyes, hardening his resolve. He would not allow the borrowed power to dissipate from his being!

The fifth breath echoed in the tomb.

A crimson glow suffused Wang Lin’s eyes, hardening his features into a grimace. The seventh star of his ancient god lineage, etched upon his brow, hungrily devoured the borrowed energies.

“You entered my vessel,” he snarled, a voice filled with desperate resolve, “and shall remain mine! You do not come and go as you please!”

As Wang Lin regained his composure, the crushing aura that had emanated from Ling Dong and Zhou Jin weakened, giving them the courage to look up. Zhou Jin, still struggling, attempted to raise his head.

In that instant, Wang Lin acted without hesitation. His right hand flashed upward, drawing upon the fading vestiges of the borrowed power. Like a bolt of lightning, his finger stabbed towards Zhou Jin’s brow, striking with a resounding boom.

With the force of the blow, Zhou Jin coughed up blood as he was flung backward. Upon his forehead, a rune materialized:

The mark of a slave.

“You two, to my sides!” Wang Lin commanded, his words a rapid-fire barrage, “Sacrifice your faith-essence, channel all your strength, and seal this throne! Aid my inheritance! Now!” With that, he closed his eyes, swiftly fortifying his spirit to stem the vanishing essence, anchoring himself to the throne with all his might.

The sixth breath passed.

Ling Dong, without a moment’s hesitation, rose and moved to Wang Lin’s left. His hands formed a mystic seal, his right hand slamming onto the throne, channeling his faith-essence into its ancient core. Simultaneously, his left hand hovered over Wang Lin, attempting to brace against the throne’s violent counter-forces.

A gale of wind whipped Ling Dong’s hair, his robes tearing as if assaulted by unseen claws. An immense power poured from Wang Lin, surging through Ling Dong, causing his face to contort in pain as he gritted his teeth against the agony.

Zhou Jin, the Fen Tian wolf warrior, staggered back from Wang Lin’s finger-strike. His face was ashen, and his eyes reflected inner turmoil. Yet, the more he fought, the brighter the slave-rune pulsed on his brow.

The seventh breath followed.

Pale and resigned, Zhou Jin silently moved to Wang Lin’s right side. He obeyed the command, unleashing the totality of his faith-essence, forcing it into the throne’s ancient core. Like Ling Dong, he placed his right hand over Wang Lin, attempting to bear the brunt of the crushing recoil.

His mind reeling, Zhou Jin felt a jolt of power coarse through his body. With a guttural roar, he braced himself, planting his right foot as if rooting himself to the very floor, and stubbornly held fast.

Wang Lin, eyes closed, continued to barricade his spirit against the ebbing essence. But a stabbing pain lanced from his left eye. The nine demon stars within had shattered, their ancient demon energy long gone. He now desperately fought to retain the ancient demon essence in his right eye and the divine essence in his brow!

The eighth breath echoed in the hall.

The counter-force emanating from the throne reached a magnitude that threatened to shatter the very heavens. Cracking sounds echoed from within Wang Lin’s body. Blood trickled from his lips, but his expression remained a mask of defiance.

“I refuse to believe it!” Wang Lin growled, channeling every ounce of his ancient god power. He frantically tried to solidify his form, engaging in a violent collision with the throne’s relentless resistance.

Blood streamed down Ling Dong’s chin, his body trembling, his face deathly white.

Zhou Jin, his teeth clenched, also coughed up blood, but he remained steadfast, joining Ling Dong in bearing the brunt of the throne’s overwhelming power.

The ninth breath thundered. Wang Lin’s body shuddered uncontrollably, sweat pouring down his face. Despite the aid of two powerful cultivators of the third step, the throne’s recoil grew stronger, threatening to tear his very being apart.

Within him, the ancient demon essence and the ancient god power surged and writhed like a turbulent sea, desperate to escape his body and return to the throne.

If they returned, Wang Lin’s inheritance would be forced to follow the prescribed path. He would be forced to brave the second and third layers, to reach the heart within the Heavenly Palace and endure unimaginable perils to grasp what should be his.

The tenth breath exploded! Wang Lin vomited blood. The longer he persevered, the more he absorbed, the greater the benefits he would reap! The seventh star of his ancient god lineage spun faster and faster on his brow, growing sharper and more defined, almost complete!

But at that moment, a cataclysmic change shattered the silence!

“At last, this god has tracked you down through sensing! It is here!” A mad laughter echoed through the palace hall, rolling in from the very end of the stone platform. The space there twisted and buckled, and through the rippling distortion, the figure of Tuo Sen burst forth, consumed by madness as he sought to tear through this realm!

With each impact, the distortion warped, like a net stretched to its breaking point. The sounds of Tuo Sen’s blows resounded through the air.