The grave was plundered.

Then the vision shifted. The boy had grown, returning to his homeland, now a desolate ruin after seven nights of crimson moon had unleashed a torrent of death and bloodshed. Yet, amidst the carnage, the same iridescent gleam persisted.

Another scene unfolded: Rivers of blood surged towards the heavens, obliterating hordes of cultivators who had come from afar. A lone man in verdant robes, his face etched with sorrow, turned and departed.

Wang Lin watched these images flicker within the bloody mist, his soul shaken. He saw the past of Clear Water, his ascension to the Immortal Realm. He saw the murderous intent vanish from his face, replaced by a radiant joy.

Beside him stood a woman, not of surpassing beauty, but radiating a gentle warmth. Her gaze was soft, her smile sweet as she looked upon Clear Water.

Before them stood an elder, Bai Fan himself, his expression benevolent as he looked upon the couple with fond affection, seemingly offering words of wisdom.

Yet, even in this scene, the iridescent light flickered faintly in the sky, its cold gaze fixed upon Clear Water with an unsettling curiosity. The more Wang Lin observed it, the more peculiar it seemed, as if the light were regarding a reflection, another version of itself.

The bloody mist churned, and the vision morphed once more. This time, it revealed a scene that filled Wang Lin with dread and sorrow.

In this new tableau, Clear Water sat in meditation atop a mountain peak, drawing in the vital energies. Suddenly, the iridescent figure in the sky extended its right hand, pointing a single finger downwards.

At that touch, Clear Water convulsed. His eyes snapped open, his consciousness drowned in a tide of bloodlust and carnage. A deafening roar erupted from his throat, echoing across the Immortal Realm! In the distance, Bai Fan stood aghast, his face etched with disbelief, as if a terrible truth had dawned upon him.

Clear Water had succumbed to madness!

The dormant killing intent within him, suppressed for so long, now unleashed itself upon the Immortal Realm. Amidst the endless slaughter, Wang Lin witnessed countless cultivators of the Thunder Immortal Realm falling before Clear Water’s wrath. He had become a bloodthirsty demon, his madness escalating with each life taken.

Then, in the heart of the carnage, the woman appeared before Clear Water. Her eyes were filled with sorrow, yet her expression remained gentle. She died by Clear Water’s hand, but she masked her pain, looking upon him with tenderness. Her hand, raised as if to touch her beloved’s face, fell limp as her eyes closed, as if whispering a final word.

It was this single word, coupled with the warm blood of her sacrifice, that shattered Clear Water’s madness, if only for a moment. A heart-wrenching scream, born of utter despair, ripped through the heavens!

With that agonized cry, the vision shattered, the bloody mist swirling, only to repeat the same scene, circling back to the first tableau, endlessly reliving the same torment.

Some unseen force seemed intent on forcing Clear Water to relive these memories, trapping him in a cycle of slaughter, madness, and despair, from which he could never escape.

This cruel repetition served to stimulate Clear Water, nurturing the seed of his murderous nature within him, allowing it to grow and fester until it fully dominated his being.

Wang Lin felt Clear Water’s pain as his own. He had only known fragments of Clear Water’s story, but now, witnessing it firsthand, his sorrow deepened. He mourned Clear Water’s life, and wept for his fate.

“Clear Water, brother, I, Wang Lin, pledge all that I have to rescue you!” Wang Lin declared, his gaze resolute. He turned away from the endless cycle of bloodshed within the bloody mist and strode forth, a comet streaking towards the Xuanwu True Form below, which imprisoned Clear Water’s soul.

The Xuanwu was vast, as large as the entire Realm of Color itself. Though petrified, it radiated an immense power, a power that intensified with each step Wang Lin took closer.

He felt a disquieting sense, as if the Xuanwu was not dead, but merely slumbering!

“To save Clear Water, I must first free his soul!” Wang Lin realized. With his mastery of formations and restrictions, he knew that the petrified Xuanwu was the key to breaking this ancient trap.

Unless the Xuanwu, which suppressed his soul, was shattered, it would be impossible to remove the ten spikes that impaled Clear Water. Of this, Wang Lin was certain!

He rushed toward the colossal beast, raising his right hand. Clenching his fist, he channeled the power of the Dao Ancient within him, forming a spectral fist that hurtled towards the Xuanwu.

A tempestuous wind gathered around the fist as it slammed against the Xuanwu’s back with a deafening roar. Yet, the Xuanwu remained unscathed.

Instead, a backlash of tremendous force surged back towards Wang Lin, throwing him back dozens of yards.

“Open for me!” Wang Lin roared, his eyes burning with determination. He surged forward again, unleashing ten more punches with his right hand. Each punch contained the full might of his Seven-Star Ancient God lineage. With each strike, his fists became a raging storm, relentlessly pounding against the Xuanwu.

The sound of each thunderous blow echoed across the heavens. The petrified Xuanwu shuddered, but its back remained unyielding, showing no sign of fracture under the onslaught. Simultaneously, the rebounding force intensified, threatening to overwhelm Wang Lin.

Cracking sounds emanated from Wang Lin’s right arm as he was hurled back hundreds of yards. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his expression hardened, becoming even more ferocious.

Then, as the echoes of the explosions reverberated through the Realm of Color, a muffled groan issued from within the Xuanwu’s body. It was a sound beyond the grasp of ordinary ears, audible only to the mind.

At that moment, the ten thousand cultivators impaled upon the ten thousand mountains, each a deadly spike, began to scream. Their bodies, as if suddenly freed, tore themselves from the piercing spikes. Blood sprayed as the wounds on their bodies writhed unnaturally, healing almost instantly.
Beyond his tattered raiment, no wound marred Wang Lin’s flesh. Yet, madness burned in the eyes of the hundred thousand cultivators, a symphony of howls erupting as they surged towards him from all sides. Spells unfurled in their hands, a chaotic tapestry of light that threatened to engulf the Seven-Colored Realm.

Wang Lin’s gaze flashed with murderous intent. With a sweep of his left hand, the golden flames of his left eye roared forth. Though now imbued with celestial fire, the ephemeral nature of its origin persisted, swiftly spreading to consume the encroaching horde.

But within those hundred thousand, no phantom flame ignited. Only one truth could explain this absence: these were not living souls. They were long dead, their forms puppets animated by some unholy power.

Though the ephemeral fire failed to take hold, the now celestial flames of Wang Lin’s making possessed a might far exceeding that of the ancient Cloud Sea battle. They raged outwards, devouring all in their path, while golden lightning crackled, sweeping through the ranks. Thunder echoed through the heavens, reaping a grim harvest.

Yet, even as the golden inferno and celestial lightning engulfed them, the hundred thousand shattered. Flesh and bone exploded outwards, coalescing into a grotesque, writhing mass that dwarfed the very mountains. In moments, it had formed a blade of unimaginable size, a living weapon that scraped against the firmament.

It was a sword of blood and viscera, wrought from the bodies of a hundred thousand souls. Within its pulsating form, countless faces contorted in silent screams, a macabre mosaic of limbs and entrails. As it rose, it cast a pall of darkness over the land, a promise of oblivion. Then, with a howl that echoed with the combined anguish of the fallen, the blade descended upon Wang Lin.

A primal dread seized Wang Lin’s heart. He could retreat, abandon the Seven-Colored Realm and leave Qing Shui to his fate. But such an act was beyond him. It was simply not within his nature.

A wild resolve blazed in his eyes. With a strike to his brow, the seven golden stars of his Ancient God lineage spun into a frenzied dance. His form swelled, transforming him in the blink of an eye into a towering Ancient God of a thousand zhang.

As the flesh-blade plummeted, Wang Lin raised his right hand, bracing against the blow. The moment of impact sent tremors through his very being. A torrent of vengeful spirits and the stench of carnage poured from the blade, assaulting his senses. A force of unimaginable power, born from the combined essence of a hundred thousand souls, slammed against his defenses.

This was the collective might of the slain, twisted and amplified by dark sorcery, a force capable of wounding even a Seven-Star Ancient God!

Yet, Wang Lin did not yield. He held his ground, allowing the force to wash over him, a guttural roar escaping his lips as he forced the blade upwards, sending it reeling hundreds of zhang into the sky.

“Not enough! Come again!” Wang Lin’s voice thundered. The flesh-blade howled in defiance and descended once more.

The earth trembled under the relentless assault. The blade struck again and again, hundreds of times in a blinding flurry. Each blow coalesced into a single, devastating strike, an attempt to cleave Wang Lin in two.

In that moment, Wang Lin relinquished all resistance, unleashing the full potential of his being. The brief union of god and immortal, a power capable of slaying an initial-stage Empyrean Exalt, the same power that had shattered the Heavenly Abode Elder.

The heavens roared as Wang Lin choked back the blood that threatened to spill. He channeled the full force of the impact into his very essence, using the blade’s power to launch himself backward, towards the petrified Xuan Wu below.

His descent was a blur, a plummet from the heavens. As he neared the ancient tortoise, Wang Lin spun, harnessing the combined might of his Ancient God form and the dual force of his arms. With a savage roar, he slammed his fists against the Xuan Wu’s stony shell!

“Shatter!!”

The entire Seven-Colored Realm convulsed, the earth splitting and groaning. As Wang Lin’s fists landed, a deafening crack echoed through the land, a sound that heralded the end of an age.