The four Emerald Envoys, faces etched with terror, tumbled backward in the air. They exchanged panicked glances, and without a word, scattered in four directions, desperate to escape.

As they fled, each invoked a different arcane art. Two of their number produced enchanted artifacts – one a paper crane of verdant hue, the other a white horse-tail whisk. Mounting these enchanted objects, they urged them to their utmost speed, leaving streaks in the sky as they vanished. A third, resorting to a more desperate measure, bit his tongue, spitting forth a crimson spray. The blood ignited, bathing him in emerald light as he fused with the life force, instantly traversing leagues with each stride.

The last, hands weaving intricate gestures, spun with dizzying speed until he became a roaring vortex, a tempestuous column connecting heaven and earth, howling away into the distance.

Though their methods differed, their haste was matched. Barely had Wang Lin emerged from the depths below than the quartet had dissolved into the horizon.

But Wang Lin could not, would not, allow them to escape. He bore the burden of the Azure Ox Ancestor’s three demands, a debt to be paid with these four souls. Raising his head, his eyes gleamed with frigid intent. He took a single stride towards the east, a ripple forming beneath his foot, swallowing his form whole.

He reappeared directly before the whirling dervish of an Envoy. The air crackled as Wang Lin solidified, his right hand rising in a thunderous backhand strike.

The heavens roared in response. Wang Lin’s hand transformed into a swirling orb of pure lightning, blindingly brilliant. Arcane tendrils, thin as spun silver, erupted from its edges, a terrifying display of raw power.

The thunderous sphere hurtled towards the cyclone of flesh and magic.

The collision echoed across the ravaged landscape. The lightning shattered against the force of the whirlwind, but the energy unleashed by the impact spread outward in a thousand directions, like a web of living electricity. The web ensnared the terrified Envoy, still caught in his spinning form.

Bolts of lightning lashed across his flesh, eliciting a harrowing scream. The web tightened, drawing the Envoy inexorably downward, smashing him onto the unforgiving earth, sealing him in place.

The sight was both terrible and magnificent: the lightning net, like a monstrous spider’s snare, binding its helpless prey, pinning him beneath its crushing weight.

As Wang Lin unleashed the Thunder Web, a subtle tremor passed through him. His aura flickered, a faint dimming of the light that wreathed him. He understood, with growing unease, that the time allotted to him by the Soul-Piercing Armor was rapidly drawing to a close.

Leaving the writhing Envoy trapped within his creation – a seal woven from the Source of Thunder and the Source of Inhibition, a feat impossible for any but one of his current strength – Wang Lin wasted no time. He stepped westward once more, and vanished.

Far to the west, in the blasted lands of the Celestial Steppe, another Emerald Envoy huddled on his speeding paper crane. His face was drawn, pale, and haunted by terror. He pushed the enchanted origami to its absolute limit, desperate to outrun the pursuing doom.

He had witnessed a spectacle that defied comprehension. He and his brethren had arrived with a singular purpose: to fulfill their ancestor’s command and eliminate Wang Lin.

Even the sight of the Sky-Bull Soul Armor had only given him pause, not outright dread. He possessed enough knowledge to understand the armor’s limitations: the ancestor’s blessing, and the temporary nature of the transformation.

But when he saw Wang Lin unleash *that* arcane technique… understanding slammed into him with the force of a falling mountain. This was no ordinary cultivator!

“A divine art only a Grand Celestial could command! He… he is capable of something impossible! This is critical! I must escape and report to the ancestor!”

The thought was barely formed when his eyes widened in horror. Before him, a tear in reality blossomed, and Wang Lin, clad in the ebony armor, stepped forth.

“Your journey ends here,” Wang Lin said, his eyes burning with cold fire. As he spoke, his right hand rose, and within his palm, the eight Sources of his power manifested as shimmering, ephemeral threads, coiling and merging into a sphere the size of his fist.

The Soul Armor, by amplifying his power to the level of the Void Calamity, allowed him to force the Sources to coalesce. He flung the sphere toward the Envoy.

The coalesced energy, silent and swift, shot toward its target.

The Envoy on the paper crane cried out in despair. He wove a desperate hand seal, thrusting his palms skyward.

“Green Demon Entrapment!” he shrieked, his voice ragged with fear. Green light erupted from him, enveloping his body, slamming into the incoming sphere of pure force.

In the thunderous aftermath, Wang Lin lunged forward, his hand flashing with crimson light. The Blood Sword, a spectral blade forged from pure malice, materialized in his grip, infused with the power of his Void Calamity-enhanced state. With a sweeping arc, he brought the sword down in a killing blow!

The air crackled as the Green light shattered, unable to withstand the power of the infused strike. A crimson line appeared on the Envoy’s brow, bisecting his body. Flesh and soul were cleaved apart in an instant, and he was utterly extinguished.

The Blood Sword pulsed violently in Wang Lin’s grasp. As it struck, it absorbed a fraction of the Envoy’s lifeblood, emitting a piercing, exultant wail.

It had tasted the blood of countless immortals, but since falling into Wang Lin’s possession, this was the highest-levelled being it had ever slain!

The moment the Envoy breathed his last, the Celestial Sky-Bull Soul manifested behind Wang Lin. The spectral bull roared skyward, a sound of pure ecstasy. It was as though Wang Lin’s kill held some deep significance for the creature.

As it roared, the Bull Soul lunged forward, inhaling the last vestiges of the fallen Envoy. It drew forth a writhing, luminescent green vapor, a scorpion-like form struggling within. The Sky-Bull swallowed it whole.

Wang Lin was momentarily taken aback, but did not pause. Lifting his foot, he vanished once more.

Far to the north, the Envoy who had resorted to a desperate blood escape continued his flight, regurgitating mouthfuls of blood to maintain his speed. He was now little more than a green blur, disappearing into the horizon.
As Wang Lin materialized, he witnessed a fleeting afterimage, a phantom flicker that vanished in the blink of an eye. Turning, he saw only a receding emerald spark, dwindling into the distant haze.

The celestial tribulation aura that clung to Wang Lin faltered, threatening to unravel, as if yearning to retreat to the terrestrial tribulation from whence it came.

His gaze sharpened, locking onto the direction of the third fleeing Green Devil Emissary. With a swift, decisive gesture, he raised his right hand and pointed, uttering a single, forceful word:

“Halt!”

The earth shuddered, the very heavens seeming to dim as an unseen force surged forth, freezing all in its path. It enveloped the Green Devil Emissary, now far distant, his desperate flight abruptly arrested.

He convulsed, suspended in place.

In that frozen instant, a crimson blur descended. The Blood Sword, a harbinger of doom, crashed upon him with deafening force. The Green Devil Emissary dissolved into nothingness, his essence, a wisp of sickly green, devoured by the celestial bull spirit that wreathed Wang Lin.

One bound, two slain. Wang Lin’s power ebbed, receding to the level of a terrestrial tribulation, three or four times removed. He turned his gaze south, towards the vanishing point of the last Green Devil Emissary. After a moment’s hesitation, he abandoned the chase, turning instead towards the first, still trapped within the cage of lightning.

Soon, from the place of imprisonment, a chorus of triumphant bellows echoed, the ecstatic cries of the celestial bull. It gorged itself upon the essence of the slain, the emerald vapor proving a potent and invigorating draught.

The Blood Sword, too, pulsed with heightened power after the slaughter of the three void tribulation Green Devil Emissaries. The crimson glow intensified, revealing ancient runes, etched upon the blade, symbols of power far older than any cultivated path.

These were the markings of the Ancient Ones.

Standing upon the ravaged earth, Wang Lin’s white hair danced in the wind. His cultivation withered once more, sinking to the intermediate stage of the void profound realm. Weariness etched itself upon his features. With a silent command, he melded into the soil, descending into the subterranean labyrinth.

Deeper and deeper he plunged, his power continuing to fade until, at the threshold of the hidden palace, it reverted entirely, restoring him to his former state of late-stage spirit void.

The celestial bull armor, as if unmade, dissolved into countless ebony threads that coiled around him, finally coalescing into a dark celestial bull sigil upon the right side of his face.

The sigil pulsed, granting Wang Lin a presence both strange and unsettling.

As he stepped into the palace, a wave of debilitating weakness washed over him, threatening to strip him of his power, leaving him a mere mortal.

The thousand poisoned cultivators, including Yan Chong, fixed their gazes upon him, their faces etched with worry. They could not see the battle that had raged above, only wait anxiously for the outcome.

“Six void tribulation monsters. Two escaped, three died…” Wang Lin did not speak of the Elder Zhao, unsure if the death was absolute without closer observation of the soul.

“Two void initial Grand Reverends, perished!”

“And beyond them, every cultivator of the Green Devil Continent upon the Sky’s End Grassland, utterly annihilated!” With these words, Wang Lin’s face paled, and he staggered, transforming into a streak of light as he retreated to his private chamber. He summoned his jade slip, sealed the entrance with a powerful ward, and, collapsing within, vomited forth a mouthful of blood.

He ignored the stunned silence that gripped the assembled cultivators. They stood transfixed, their eyes filled with awe and fear as they watched the sealed entrance of Wang Lin’s chamber.

“Celestial bull soul armor… such immense power…”

“This… this is soul armor…”

No cheers arose, only hushed whispers and silent contemplation. Yan Chong and the others, their faces grave, glanced at Wang Lin’s chamber before returning to their own halls, seeking respite and healing from the wounds they had sustained in the preceding battle.

Seven days passed.