The remnants of night clung to the land. “Remnant Night!” Wang Lin spun, his heart a drum of grim understanding. Escape this day would be a trial of fire and blood. The Dao Demon Sect had unleashed its full fury, sparing no cost to claim his life.

The sight alone – the swarming ranks of cultivators and the crimson tide of fallen heads – spoke of the desperate stakes.

He must fight, and he must fight with haste. Each passing breath brought new reinforcements through the shimmering portals, fresh waves of Dao Demon warriors who would drown any hope of escape. Time was his enemy; every tick of the clock diminished his chance of survival.

As the words “Remnant Night” fell from his lips, an ethereal ocean surged forth, swallowing the border between Green Devil Isle and Meng Earth Isle. A shroud of darkness descended, casting the very heavens into an abyss.

With this cry, Wang Lin unleashed his most potent magic, a testament to years of arduous cultivation. Heaven and earth trembled as a defiant sun rose, its golden rays piercing the oppressive gloom.

Regardless of their cultivation levels, hundreds of Dao Demon Sect cultivators charging towards Wang Lin emitted harrowing screams. Their bodies shattered, disintegrating into motes of light, their very souls ripped asunder by the light that banished the night. Even those still forming within the shimmering portals were instantly annihilated before they could fully materialize.

“Remnant Night” had transformed the world. Wang Lin stood alone amidst the carnage, the only living soul. His face was ashen, his borrowed armor was beginning to unravel. Without hesitation, he bolted towards Meng Earth Isle, a thousand leagues distant.

He considered destroying the six portals, but the sorcery that bound them was too potent. Even “Remnant Night” had left them untouched, defying easy destruction. Their arcane strength was beyond his immediate ability to dismantle.

Half of the perilous journey was behind him. Yet, even as his hope began to bloom, the six portals flared anew. A third wave of cultivators, hundreds strong, spilled forth, their cultivation even greater than those that had come before. They surged like an avenging tide, their pursuit relentless.

Among them were four whose power had reached the middle stages of the Void Tribulation, and one who stood as a titan among them, boasting the very late stage of this formidable level. This was no mere hunting party; it was the culmination of the Dao Demon Sect’s assembled might!

For one Sect to dedicate such resources to a single kill… It was more than just personal vengeance, though grudges were a factor. No Sect Lord or Ancestor of the Nine Sects and Thirteen Houses would squander such power on petty matters.

Wang Lin’s eyes burned with fury. He knew that he would not be able to traverse the remaining distance. With a desperate cry, he turned to face his pursuers. As a storm of spells and enchanted weaponry crashed towards him, and the five towering figures of the Void Tribulation drew ever closer, he raised his right hand. The primal force of the Ancient Dao exploded from within him, conjuring a spectral visage, immense and mighty.

The image was marred, weakened by the Green Devil Envoy’s earlier self-destruction. Yet, even in its damaged state, it inspired awe and primal fear in the hearts of all who beheld it.

“Spirit Tremor, Army Formation!”

“Demonic Art, Beacon Mountain!”

“Nether Arts, Life’s Reversal!”

Wang Lin struck forth, his ancient might directed at his enemies. With the exception of the veteran at the peak of Void Tribulation, the remaining hundreds of cultivators were as puppets forced from their course, their flight paths altered by an irresistible force. They formed a disciplined army before him, a macabre regiment under his command.

This was the Army Formation! The Spirit Tremor rippled outward, causing half of his forced troops to bleed from their orifices, their minds overwhelmed by the force.

His fist opened into a palm. As he struck, plumes of smoke erupted from the crowns of his enemies’ heads. The smoke spiraled upward, coalescing into a massive, oppressive mountain that loomed over the hapless cultivators, ready to crush them.

His palm morphed into a pointed finger, and as it pierced the air, Life’s Reversal took hold. The condemned cultivators shrieked, their bodies collapsing as their life essence was reversed. At that moment, the veteran of the Void Tribulation lunged towards Wang Lin, closing the distance to but a few dozen feet. Wang Lin unleashed the full fury of Ancient Dao’s Immortality Oblivion.

“Spirit, Demon, Nether! Ancient Dao’s Immortality Oblivion!”

This technique was born of the melding of Wang Lin’s Ancient Dao cultivation and the stolen essence of the Soul Armor. Its power was staggering. It differed from Remnant Night, but its destructive potential was just as devastating.

A wave of grey energy expanded at an unfathomable rate. The Dao Demon Sect cultivators were annihilated. The Void Tribulation veteran’s face contorted in horror as he recoiled, but the wave still grazed him.

His face went deathly pale. As he retreated, his feet began to petrify. He frantically focused on his body, stabbing pressure points to channel inner energy and combat the Immortality Oblivion.

He was the only survivor. The border between Green Devil Isle and Meng Earth Isle was a graveyard of the Dao Demon Sect.

Blood trickled from Wang Lin’s lips. He had spent nearly all of his Ancient Dao energy. The Soul Armor, his protection, began to unravel. Parts of it had already dissolved into black threads, disappearing into the void.

With gritted teeth, Wang Lin dashed backward, completing another two hundred leagues of his escape!

But even as he began to hope, the seven portals pulsed once more. A fourth wave of cultivators, hundreds strong, materialized and raced to pursue him.

“Spirit Command Seal!!” “Seven-Colored Spear!!”

“Dark Moon Rising!!”

“Flowing Pill Technique!!”

“Origin Collapse!!” Wang Lin’s eyes burned with wildness. Before the Soul Armor completely disintegrated, he would unleash every skill he possessed, destroying as many of the Dao Demon Sect as he could.

The Spirit Command Seal manifested as a colossal six-fingered hand, crashing into the approaching tide. At the same time, the Seven-Colored Spear, amplified by three transformations, hissed through the air.

The Dark Moon Rising manifested a crimson moon, spreading its corrosive tendrils to engulf the battlefield. Then, the Source’s explosive reversal, a chaotic explosion of force from Wang Lin’s core. In a few heartbeats, skills were unleashed, a deafening roar that reverberated through the void. Wang Lin was thrown back. Large portions of the Soul Armor were reduced to mere threads, gathering at the right side of his face.
Even so, in the maelstrom of Wang Lin’s furious arts, this fourth wave of hundreds of cultivators was almost entirely annihilated, with only three surviving, their eyes reflecting a profound dread as they beheld Wang Lin!

Furthermore, of the seven shimmering portals, three succumbed to the relentless assault, collapsing into swirling fragments of arcane energy!

Wang Lin recoiled, less than a hundred leagues from the shores of Meng Tu, yet the ominous premonition that clung to him only intensified.

Lo, the remaining four portals, no longer fixed in place, were enveloped by an uncanny power, performing a feat of instantaneous translocation beyond the grasp of any Meng Tu sorcerer. With a blinding flash, they materialized fifty leagues before Wang Lin.

Even as they materialized, an intense radiance erupted, coalescing into a fourth wave, a hundred strong, barring Wang Lin’s path with grim determination. They surged forth, their eyes gleaming with savagery and malice, intent on his destruction!

Simultaneously, the scattered few Kong-Nirvana cultivators who had managed to evade his earlier onslaught descended like vengeful comets, flanking him, sealing his escape.

Wang Lin’s eyes burned with a crimson fire. Only fragments of his Soul Armor remained unconsumed, his formidable arts seemingly exhausted. Yet, he held one last desperate gambit.

From behind, his Fire Essence True Body materialized, expanding with explosive speed, engulfing the very heavens in a fiery embrace.

“Ephemeral Fire, Consume!” Wang Lin roared, his voice raspy and strained. Unleashing the power of Ephemeral Fire, he tapped into the deepest recesses of the minds of his attackers. For within the heart of each of these hundreds of souls lay a sea of untold thoughts and desires – the perfect fuel for his infernal flames!

And lo, the hundred before him ignited, their bodies engulfed in ethereal flames, casting a ghastly, flickering light upon the battlefield, their agonizing screams piercing the air.

“Death to those who stand in my path!” Wang Lin cried, biting his tongue to banish the encroaching fatigue. Clutching the Blood Sword, a crimson flash in the desolate landscape, he brandished the lesser banner of the Great Soul Gate. A torrent of black mist unfurled around him, coalescing into a legion of howling specters, their spectral forms echoing Wang Lin’s furious advance!

A scene of terrifying grandeur unfolded. Where Wang Lin trod, those engulfed in the Ephemeral Fire perished, others were cleaved by his bloodstained blade, and still more, overwhelmed by the aura of a demigod turned butcher, staggered back in terror, unable to stand against his tide.

He tore through their ranks, a whirlwind of carnage. He transversed the hundred-league gap, leaving behind a landscape littered with the shattered remains of a fallen hundred. The survivors, seized with a chilling dread, could only watch him vanish into the distance.

They were not strangers to power, but rarely had they encountered such a relentless and bloodthirsty being. To slay Wang Lin, it seemed, would demand a price far greater than even summoning these grand arrays.

A price, that could mean the destruction of a sect! The reshaping of the Nine Sects and Thirteen Houses into Eight Sects and Thirteen Houses!

As Wang Lin set foot on Meng Tu, the remnants of his Soul Armor fused to the right side of his face, forming the Celestial Bull Totem, a wave of debilitating weakness washed over him, swiftly suppressed.

He still wore the earthen armor of the Gu Yi Sect, though battered and broken, it still provided a measure of protection.

Stumbling onto the soil of Meng Tu, Wang Lin swayed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He pressed on, knowing that while wandering cultivators could freely traverse the boundaries between continents, the massed advance of Dao Demon Sect disciples was another matter.

The Dao Demon Sect must weigh their decision carefully, lest they ignite a conflict between the sects. This was why, earlier, they had resorted to the suicide of the Green Demon cultivator and the interference of Yun Kong to delay and contain him within Green Demon Continent. Had they been free of such constraints, they would have swept into Meng Tu long ago, hunting him down.

Just as Wang Lin had surmised, the Dao Demon Sect’s forces halted at the edge of Meng Tu, their advance arrested by hesitation.

But then, the four portals flickered once more. Three spewed forth handfuls of reinforcements, but the fourth portal delivered a single, solitary figure!

“Sect Master!”

“Hail, Sect Master!” All those gathered bowed in unison before the newcomer.