The Gates of Emptiness shattered, and the Nirling energy flowed like a weeping wound. Clear Stream, clad in simple cerulean robes, clutched the essence of his beloved Consort Mist Smoke to his heart. He could have ensnared her soul within his spatial baubles, yet he refused, instead branding her essence onto his breast as a shimmering sigil.

The Blade of Slaughter, stained with eons of bloodshed, Clear Stream gifted to Wang Lin. Within Wang Lin, the faintest whisper of a Slaughtering Source had stirred during the Cloud Sea battle, a fledgling power barely awakened.

With the Blade of Slaughter, Wang Lin’s nascent power bloomed into a Six Dao Source! As for the Mark of War, a power akin to but not itself a source, it had long since become a Rule Star etched deep within Wang Lin’s being.

The Slaughtering Source Wang Lin would not assimilate just yet. He would wait until his Karma, Life and Death, and Truth and Illusion Daos reached their zenith. Then, at the very moment of rending the Empty Gate asunder, he would seize upon the Slaughtering Source, ascending as a Six Dao Source Prover, a being of unparalleled might throughout the ages!

Clear Stream descended, gazing wistfully at the fading Empty Gate. He reached out, grasping the azure dragon-blood flagon and imbibed deeply. The fiery liquid sent a chill through him, hardening his gaze. He offered the flagon to Wang Lin.

Upon the desolate world, they watched the vanishing Gate of Emptiness. A biting wind swept across the land, raising clouds of dust. In the teeth of the gale, they drank in silence.

Wang Lin asked not if Clear Stream had found the answers he sought within the Seven-Colored Realm, at the heart of the Alliance of Cultivators.

Nor did Clear Stream speak. Only he knew what he had unearthed, what truths had dawned. The deeper he delved, the more profound his silence became.

“A game…” A flicker of cold steel crossed Clear Stream’s eyes, replaced by a bitter grimace. He accepted the flagon from Wang Lin and drank again, then roared with laughter.

“Wang Lin, I ask a boon of you!” Clear Stream’s laughter carried a note of grim resolve. He turned to Wang Lin.

Wang Lin merely nodded.

“If I fall, and if my body remains whole, take it back. Bury me in my homeland, with no name upon the stone, a single grave’s breadth of earth will be my final repose…” Clear Stream gazed at the heavens.

“And if that home is gone?” Wang Lin asked, his voice low after a moment of silence.

“Then scatter my remains upon the winds of the world!” Clear Stream drank again, the dragon-blood dribbling from his lips, shimmering crimson in the sun.

“Agreed!” Wang Lin accepted the flagon, drinking deeply. His eyes flashed, his voice heavy, “If I fall before you, return me to Vermillion Bird, to Zhao, to the House of Wang…”

Clear Stream met Wang Lin’s gaze and slowly nodded.

It was a pact.

The dragon-blood wine was potent, capable of intoxicating the soul, yet neither Wang Lin nor Clear Stream succumbed. The flagon was nearly empty as they sat upon the barren ground, watching the Gate of Emptiness fade away.

“Wang Lin, I have never asked… do you have heirs?” Clear Stream closed his eyes, a flicker of loneliness in his voice.

“A son…” Wang Lin’s gaze darkened with sorrow. He drank deeply, the dragon-blood now bringing only a stabbing pain.

“I have a daughter…” Clear Stream opened his eyes, a wistful longing in his gaze. It was a bitter memory.

“But I cannot find her… Perhaps she is gone forever.” His remembrance was laced with grief. He recalled the moment of clarity, cradling his dead wife, a small girl, eight years of age, clutching a broken crane, her eyes vacant as she stared at him, at her mother.

“She may have reincarnated, but upon her left shoulder is a crimson birthmark, placed there at her birth. That mark will stay with her always. If you should encounter such a girl, care for her…”

The ethereal Gate of Emptiness had finally vanished.

Clear Stream rose, exhaling slowly, his eyes burning with icy purpose.

“Wang Lin, I desire to kill…” He raised his hand, and an unimaginable Slaughtering Source erupted from his body, coalescing above his palm. The hand became wreathed in freezing black mist.

The mist rose, swirling like funerary smoke, and a glacial chill gripped the barren world.

The Slaughtering Source was an anomaly, possessed by few throughout the ages. Yet, with it, even a single Dao could shatter the Empty Gate. It was the ultimate expression of death.

Clear Stream’s cultivation might only be Initial Empty Nirvana, but with the Slaughtering Source and his millennia of battle experience, he could unleash a torrent of destruction that would terrify even a Late Stage Empty Nirvana cultivator!

“To kill… Very well!” Wang Lin rose, striding towards the heavens. Ripples spread from his feet as he vanished from sight. Clear Stream, enshrouded in icy darkness, followed, stepping into the same rippling void.

If the Kun Xu Starfield were a placid lake, and the countless planets its floating plankton, then across its surface now stretched two parallel ripples, like unseen predators streaking through the depths.

Few interlopers from beyond the borders of the Starfield ventured here. The Alliance of Cultivators was their primary base, and the few who strayed had fallen during a slaughter that shook the very heavens.

That slaughter had been orchestrated by a master and his disciple. Under the elder Dragon-Coil’s absolute power, few external cultivators survived.

However, Dragon-Coil’s true quarry had been Summoned Calamity. Kun Xu was merely a hunting ground, and some prey had inevitably escaped.

Three such outlanders, their foreheads marked with alien sigils, fled through the void, their faces etched with panic. They dared not move too quickly, lest they draw attention to their presence.
The jade message slips remained silent, a grim omen suggesting the worst for their comrades. “Cursed be this day! What vile sorcery has transpired?” one muttered.

“We dare not return to the Alliance Citadel,” another whispered, his voice laced with fear. “I fear it too has fallen prey to this unseen menace. Perhaps the Inner Realm has launched a grand counter-offensive! Let us seek refuge upon a forgotten star, and emerge only when our legions arrive to reclaim what is ours.”

As the trio journeyed through the star-strewn void, their thoughts echoing in hushed tones, a pair of shimmering ripples materialized to their right. From one of these emanated a torrent of pure, unadulterated slaughter, a malevolent force that tore through the very fabric of space, engulfing them in its chilling embrace.

There were no screams, no cries for mercy. As the ripples passed, their bodies convulsed, hairline fractures spiderwebbing across their forms. In an instant, they shattered into a million pieces, their nascent souls ripped asunder, extinguished before they could even begin to understand their fate.

Such scenes played out across Kun Xu, Luo Tian, and Yun Hai. The few remaining invaders, those who had somehow survived Long Panzi’s earlier purge, now faced the wrath of Qing Shui.

Crimson blooms erupted against the star-dusted canvas, each a final, fleeting moment of horrifying beauty.

The two ripples, having swept through the three starfields, plunged headlong into the abyss of Zhao He, a region completely overrun by the invaders. Here, where foul sorcery and vile ambition held sway, they would face their ultimate test.

Even as they entered Zhao He, the stench of spilled blood was overwhelming, a sickening miasma that clung to the soul. Yet, even this could not deter the relentless advance of the ripples. Moving with an ethereal speed that defied comprehension, they scoured each star, each settlement, leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake.

Their final destination: the depths of Zhao He, where the chromatic prison of the final Calamity lay. Within, the ancient being known as Red Ruin was bound.

Before a colossal rift in the void, radiating an unsettling kaleidoscope of color, lay a scene of carnage. Limbs and torsos were strewn across the void, the mangled remains of countless invaders.

Thunderous booms echoed from within the chromatic rift, a testament to the brutal battle raging within.

The ripples drew closer, the one imbued with slaughter freezing the space behind, leaving a glittering icy tomb in its wake. As it reached the rift it dissipated and from it emerged a figure clad in simple blue. Without hesitation he strode into the kaleidoscopic chaos beyond.

A moment later, Wang Lin followed, a weariness clinging to him, yet determination etched upon his face.

As Wang Lin stepped into the chromatic realm of Zhao He, a symphony of agonizing screams assaulted his ears. Unlike the landscapes he had encountered before, this realm consisted of several vast continents adrift in a sea of swirling energy.

But now, the landscape was shattered, broken fragments floating in the chaos. Only three continents remained intact. Upon these precarious islands, Long Panzi was locked in mortal combat with a black-robed elder. With each swing of their hands, the very foundations of reality trembled, unleashing earth-shattering explosions.

Wang Lin recognized the elder. It was the leader of the Sky Punishment Hall from the Long Soaring Society!

His cultivation was second only to the Five Grand Sovereigns, he had attained the early stages of Void Profound! Not by the desperate, life-consuming methods of Long Panzi, but through true enlightenment.

Beneath the three remaining continents, tens of thousands of invaders sat in silent meditation, their voices chanting strange incantations. From their bodies, wisps of faith and devotion rose, coalescing into grotesque, monstrous beings that swirled around Long Panzi and the elder, adding their might to the fray.

Qing Shui, having arrived before Wang Lin, glanced at the battle above, then fixed his gaze upon the sea of invaders below. A cold fire burned in his eyes as he unleashed his murderous intent.

Slaughter was in Qing Shui’s very blood. With the culmination of his murderous Dao and the breaking of the Void Gate he had reached the peak of his life’s purpose and the peak of his power. His life had been nothing but a symphony of bloodletting, and here, unleashed upon the enemies of his realm, his very presence meant obliteration.

Wang Lin lifted his gaze, his eyes bypassing Long Panzi and his opponent. High above, nestled within the swirling rainbow mist, a colossal Dao fruit hung, ripe with potential, waiting to be claimed.