Upon the precipice of the Celestial Steppe, the Skyrending Sorceress, encircled by a throng of a thousand cultivators, snapped open her eyes from her cross-legged vigil. The phantom compass that hovered before her now burned with a clear image, revealing the very location of Wang Lin.

Moments before, she had glimpsed his fleeting spark upon the arcane device, only to see it vanish and reappear leagues distant. She had swiftly informed her fellow pursuers of Wang Lin’s deceptive flight.

But now, as the same phenomenon repeated itself, a chilling premonition seized her. One such trick could be tolerated, but twice hinted at a pattern, a potential for three times, four times, an endless string of evasions. To slay Wang Lin now seemed a task of formidable difficulty!

“He wields an artifact of translocation, I am certain,” she muttered, her voice laced with frustration. “Such treasures are rare indeed! Our entire sect possesses but one, and even across the Green Demon Continent, no more than three can be found. Even in the Heavenly Bull Continent, they must be few and far between! How did this wretch come to possess such a thing?”

Her gaze turned feverish as she beheld the compass. The spark representing Wang Lin had appeared amidst a cluster of green motes. In a heartbeat, those green motes vanished! Then, Wang Lin’s spark blinked out once more, only to re-emerge a great distance away, beside yet another gathering of green lights!

“A third time!” The Sorceress did not hesitate. With a mystical incantation, she relayed the strange turn of events to all Skyrending cultivators within range.

Meanwhile, where Wang Lin stood, a chorus of agonizing screams echoed across the plains. A dozen Green Demon cultivators, shrouded in a dense fog, writhed in torment. The cries soon subsided, leaving only the whisper of mist, which slowly coalesced, reforming into the figure of Wang Lin.

A flush tinged his cheeks, no longer so ashen. His battle with Xu Decai had left him wounded, his internal energies battered by relentless sorceries. Thus, he had returned to the ways of the Cave World, consuming the flesh and spirits of the fallen to mend his ravaged form.

Having devoured two such groups of Green Demon cultivators, Wang Lin’s eyes glinted with dark purpose. He vanished from the spot. A scant incense stick later, the third band of Green Demon pursuers lay lifeless, their essence absorbed into Wang Lin’s healing.

Now, at the heart of the Steppe, only two Skyrending Elders of the middle stage, accompanied by their junior counterparts, remained. These four were cautious, keeping close together. Each Elder guarded an Initiate, ensuring no separation as they relentlessly tracked Wang Lin.

All of this was observed by Wang Lin. He gazed upon the compass in his hand, a chilling smile playing upon his lips. He desired the swift, decisive magic of the Skyrending cultivator who had attacked him earlier. Such a skill ignited a rare longing within him.

Dawn was breaking, painting the eastern sky with hues of pale gold. Yet, the rain intensified, a torrential downpour that transformed the Steppe into a mire of mud and puddles. Each step upon the land was met with a squelching sound, echoing the dread of the night’s killings.

The world beyond was obscured by the driving rain, leaving only the ceaseless drumming of water upon the land. It was a grim serenade to the bloodshed.

His gaze returned to the compass. Upon its surface, the four green lights sped toward him from two directions. One of those lights held his attention, the one he was sure belonged to the Skyrending cultivator who was previously able to land a hit on him.

“A pity to sacrifice this compass,” Wang Lin murmured, “but I have deciphered its inner workings, its embedded seals. Given enough raw materials, I could craft another.” He raised his left hand, and a dim, ethereal spirit flickered into existence.

It was a spirit he had carefully chosen from the three slain groups, one with significant cultivation and untainted essence.

Wang Lin had already purged its will, leaving behind only a vacant vessel. Clenching his fist, Wang Lin crushed the spirit. Before it could dissipate, he infused it with a sliver of his own divine sense, then thrust it into the compass held in his right hand.

As the spirit entered the compass, it erupted into trails of white smoke, dancing wildly across the device. Wang Lin flung the compass forward. Fueled by the sacrifice of the spirit, the compass blazed with mad speed, hurtling away towards the horizon, vanishing from sight.

The spirit, now the unwilling pilot of the compass, burned itself out, trading its life for velocity. It would not travel far before its essence was spent, sending the compass crashing down in some unknown place.

But that short flight would be enough.

Though the compass was no longer in his grasp, Wang Lin could still sense the location of his pursuers through the sliver of his consciousness bound within the sacrificed spirit.

By this act of desperate subterfuge, Wang Lin had transformed from prey into predator.

He shimmered out of existence, reappearing in another part of the Celestial Steppe. He settled into a cross-legged posture, closing his eyes, sensing the shifting positions upon the compass. He held within him the essence of fire, and the mud beneath him hissed and dried.

Time passed slowly. An hour drifted by, and Wang Lin could sense the pursuers separating. The two Skyrending Elders, impatient to end the chase, had picked up their pace, leaving their disciples behind. They raced directly towards the compass he had cast forth.

The two lesser cultivators fell behind, the gap between them and their masters widening with each passing moment. Wang Lin snapped open his eyes, a cold light glinting within.

He touched his chest, feeling the ancient space stone that resided within. He had always sensed its importance but never fully understood its purpose.

The appearance of the Nether-Beast, and its devouring of another’s power, had sparked clarity within Wang Lin’s mind. He sensed, at last, the potential of the space stone.

“It can amplify the devouring capacity of the Nether-Beast, for within this stone lie countless individual spaces… fused with the Beast, it could unleash a series of unforeseen events…” Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed as he summoned the space stone from within, placing it in his hand.
Clutching the Stone of Worlds, Wang Lin stood in contemplative silence. Then, a ripple distorted the very air around him, and in a fleeting instant, he vanished, leaving naught but the echoing void.

Only the Stone of Worlds remained, landing with a soft ‘thud’ upon the earth, soon to be concealed by the grasping tendrils of weeds, unnoticed and unclaimed.

In that very moment, Wang Lin found himself within the Stone of Worlds. This marked his first true corporeal entry into the stone’s strange realm. He had chosen one of its countless spaces, a pocket dimension almost indistinguishable from the true world, save for its limited expanse, stretching only some hundreds of thousands of miles.

Mountains stood proud, sunlight streamed down, and earth lay beneath his feet. Yet, water was absent.

Everything here lacked the vital essence of water. Seemingly real, the world remained incomplete.

Seated cross-legged within the Stone, Wang Lin’s eyes glimmered with arcane light. He gazed about for a long moment, then acted decisively. With a wave of his right hand, a azure umbrella materialized, soaring upwards to merge with the heavens, slowly supplanting the sky itself.

Again, his right hand moved, and the Gourd of Thirty Million Souls, a vessel brimming with the whispers of the departed, was drawn forth and plunged into the earth. At the instant of its descent, the ground trembled, and the air grew heavy with the chilling breath of death.

After a moment of solemn contemplation, Wang Lin raised his hand once more, conjuring forth the Golden Seal given to him by Xuan Luo. Holding it aloft, he breathed upon it the essence of his own Yuan Shen. Empowered by this act, the Seal blazed with blinding light. He cast it skyward, toward the azure canopy, where it hung like a golden sun.

His work was not yet complete. Wang Lin summoned the Ghost Sails he had crafted. They danced in the wind, transforming into swirling clouds that drifted across the nascent sky.

These clouds may have appeared simple, but they held the potential to reshape all that lay beneath.

Finally, he called upon Yi Si and the Mosquito King. With a flicker, the Mosquito King swelled to immense proportions before vanishing into the heart of a white cloud, hidden from sight.

As for Yi Si, he melded with the soil, his essence veiled by the deathly aura emanating from the Gourd of Thirty Million Souls.

“This world lacks the Threads of Karma…” Wang Lin murmured, his voice echoing in the silent space. A vortex formed upon his brow, drawing forth his own Karma Origin, which solidified into a longsword and vanished into the fabric of the realm.

“And the Essence of Life and Death… and Truth…” Another two swords, forged from his very being, followed the first, disappearing into the nascent world.

“And Slaughter… and Bounded Fate…” A palpable aura of malevolence rose, darkening the white clouds and transforming them into roiling storm clouds. Black snowflakes began to fall, each flake infused with the power of Bounded Fate, slowly blanketing the land with a thin layer of ebony snow.

“Fire, Lightning, Man…” Wang Lin, rising to his feet, swept his arms wide. From his left eye burst forth a raging sea of fire, and from his right, crackling bolts of raw lightning. The fiery ocean coalesced into a blade, from which rose a volcanic mountain.

The lightning blade conjured a sea, not of water, but of pure, untamed lightning!

His preparations complete, Wang Lin swept his sleeve and vanished from this place. Back in the Extremesky Grassland, the Stone of Worlds, nestled amongst the weeds, emitted a soft, ethereal glow. Wang Lin materialized, retrieved the Stone, and gazed into the distance.

The Killing Field was ready. Now, all that remained was to draw his prey within.

Guided by his senses, he knew the Yuan Shen within the Compass of Souls was nearing its end. The two mid-stage Kong Nie elders were in relentless pursuit, closing in swiftly.

Far behind them, the two early-stage Kong Nie cultivators followed, straining to keep pace.

Wang Lin began to move, each step causing ripples in the air. Yet, he did not meld with the world, choosing to wait.

One breath, two breaths, three… until, at the nineteenth breath, Wang Lin felt the Compass of Souls shatter, its Yuan Shen extinguished. The thread of his own divine sense, bound to it, perished as well.

Faintly, through that fading connection, he heard two enraged roars.

With a decisive step, Wang Lin’s form dissolved into the air. At a certain location within the Extremesky Grassland, the Stone of Worlds emitted a faint, gentle glow. Wang Lin emerged, picked up the Stone, and turned to face the distance.