With a palm outstretched as the cause, a hand clenched as the consequence, Wang Lin unleashed the Karma Seal. The fractured altar, perched within the rift, shuddered violently. Its two broken corners, once stretching beyond the tear, erupted with a deafening roar.

Cracks spiderwebbed across their surfaces, and in a sudden cataclysm, they crumbled into dust, sending ripples through the air, consumed by flames, and reduced to acrid smoke.

But the destruction of two corners was merely the prelude. Under the weight of Wang Lin’s ethereal Karma Seal, not only did the corners shatter, but the four swords encircling the obscured figure at the altar’s heart began to tremble, emitting mournful groans.

Four wisps of ethereal essence, like smoke, were drawn from the swords by Wang Lin’s grip. Invisible to the naked eye, yet palpable to the divine sense, these energies wrenched themselves free and hurtled towards Wang Lin’s outstretched hand. As his fist closed, he seized them within his palm.

With the dissipation of these four energies, the swords, once objects of dread, lost their luster, becoming mere iron, devoid of all spiritual energy.

Yet the ordeal was not over. The Karma Seal, born from the opening and closing of a hand, held cause and effect within its grasp. All things of origin were powerless to resist its dominion. It was a tyrannical art, one that ordinary mortals had no hope of evading. Even the Qing Yi man, a Great Power of the Third Step, was struck with dread beneath its power.

The four-cornered altar trembled, and a single essence was drawn forth from within. Cracks spread across its surface like a web, and in the blink of an eye, the entire structure was consumed by fissures.

All this transpired in the span of a breath. Wang Lin clenched his right fist, his eyes flashing with a glacial light.

“Annihilation of Ages!”

With these words, a celestial roar erupted from the altar. As the echoes thundered, the very half of the altar that had yet to emerge from the rift shattered.

Countless fragments swirled into a tempest of destruction, but the inferno that raged around consumed the cyclone the moment it arose.

A bestial growl burst from the heart of the collapsing altar. The seated figure within abruptly raised its head, and with a single stride, it burst forth from the shattered remains. It blazed out into the sea of fire, heading directly towards Wang Lin.

The figure remained indistinct, even as it emerged from the inferno. It was merely a blur, but its right hand rose, murmuring incantations as if preparing a divine art. Yellow light coalesced around its hand, and it struck out at Wang Lin with a single palm strike.

“Life!” Wang Lin scoffed, neither dodging nor defending. He swept his sleeve, and his left hand, wreathed in white mist and boundless vitality, met the incoming blow head-on. Their palms collided, and a deafening roar echoed through the void. The figure staggered back several paces.

Vitality alone held little harm, but Wang Lin, having comprehended the mysteries of life and death, imbued his vital palm with a seed of mortality. The first strike, the strike of life, was merely the harbinger of death’s encroaching mark.

“Such paltry cultivation dares to challenge Wang?” Wang Lin moved with impossible speed, appearing before the retreating figure. He raised his right hand, which now pulsed with black energy. In the instant before contact, his palm pressed against the figure’s chest.

“Death!”

As he pressed, the black energy swirled madly from Wang Lin’s hand, plunging into the figure’s form. It ignited the seed of life he had sown, creating a nexus of life and death within the indistinct form – a great seal of existence and oblivion.

With the formation of the seal, a violent roar erupted from the figure’s form. It shook with such force that it spat out streams of golden essence. Its body was flung away, its indistinct form fading to reveal eyes wide with horror and disbelief. A deafening roar ripped through its form as the seal unraveled the threads of its being and collapsed its corporeal form.

The Emissary of Heavenly Tribulation, who had once caused Wang Lin so much tribulation, was now nothing before him.

“Heavenly Tribulation, what right do you have to bring tribulation upon me?” Wang Lin’s words were calm, yet they echoed through the heavens and beyond the million miles of fog. They reached Nan Yunzi, Si Tu Nan, and the thousands of cultivators outside.

With a single sentence, the cultivators of the Realm were filled with fervor. It was a boastful claim, but no one dared question it.

Wang Lin had held these words within him for over a thousand years. From the moment the first tribulation had descended upon him in the Land of the Demon Spirit, he had suppressed his rage. Now, he had the right to point towards the heavens and demand, “Who gave you the right to punish Wang Lin?”

“Who gave you the right to take Li Muwan from me?”

“Who gave you the right to punish all living beings?”

“And who gave you the right to call yourself Heaven?”

The starry sky roared, and the million miles of fog churned as if enraged. From within the rift, a deep, guttural growl reverberated, shaking the very foundations of the soul.

As the sound intensified, the million miles of fog began to spin violently, unleashing a torrent of celestial pressure. Within its swirling depths, countless indistinct figures materialized, like phantoms screaming in agony.

In the blink of an eye, the fog surrounding Wang Lin was infested with ghostly apparitions, beginning as mere blurs, but swiftly solidifying into faces he knew all too well.

There were his parents, his uncle, Wang Zhuo, Zhang Hu, Liu Mei, and Li Muwan.

There were also Teng Li, Teng Hua Yuan, and all the other figures, whether friend, foe, or kin, that Wang Lin had encountered in his life. They surged forth from all directions within the fog, bearing down on Wang Lin.

And as they came, their voices echoed, either in screams of hatred or loving whispers, filling the fog and assailing Wang Lin’s very spirit.
Wang Lin stood in silence, his gaze sweeping across the ever-encroaching figures that drew closer with each passing breath. He saw his parents, their white hair shimmering like spun moonlight, supporting one another as they shuffled towards him. Their faces, etched with age and worry, were marred by tears, yet their eyes shone with an unsettling mixture of grief and hopeful fervor. They extended frail, gnarled hands, yearning to touch his face, to assure themselves he was real.

He saw Li Muwan, her eyes glistening with tears held back only by the strength of her love. A gentle, bittersweet smile graced her lips as she wiped the dampness from her cheeks and walked towards him, each step a testament to her unwavering devotion.

He saw Liu Mei, cradling a wailing infant wreathed in an aura of dark miasma. The child’s cries were sharp, piercing, and resonated deep within his very soul, a symphony of pain and despair.

He saw so much, so much that it threatened to overwhelm him, to shatter his resolve.

The illusion was masterful, a tapestry woven by the threads of the Heavenly Tribulation, blurring the line between reality and delusion. It drew its power from his own heart, his own memories, making the impossible seem plausible, and the false feel agonizingly real.

A perilous deception lurked beneath the surface: to dismiss it all as mere phantasm was to risk utter destruction. For in that destruction, he might discover the devastating truth: that these were not mere illusions, but the remnants, the final embers of the souls of those he held most dear.

Wang Lin remained silent, surrounded by a growing throng of spectral figures, their voices a chorus of desperate pleas, drawing ever closer. Their faces were familiar, beloved, their presence a cruel mockery of comfort.

With a sigh, Wang Lin gazed upon the faces of his tormentors, then closed his eyes.

He understood the twisted truth that lay at the heart of this trial: it was not merely a test of strength, but a twisted reflection of his own heart. With his eyes still shut, he perceived all this as artifice, yet the moment he opened them, reality snapped back into place, making the illusion seem all the more tangible.

Another sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes once more. He raised his right hand, a gesture of finality, and with a sweeping motion, banished the phantasmal figures, returning them to the nothingness from whence they came. Dust to dust, spirit to spirit, they faded away, swallowed by the encroaching mists.

“The Heavens are cruel, to inflict this trial upon me! Then, so shall I be cruel in return! Open thine eyes, Heaven, and behold! See how many others, besides Wang Lin, dare to raise their voices in defiance!” Wang Lin cried out, his voice a thunderclap that shook the very foundations of reality.

With a defiant gesture, he pointed his finger skyward, unleashing a roar that resonated with the raw power of his very being.

His words ignited the very essence of his soul, summoning the very forces of truth and illusion, giving birth to a tempestuous whirlwind of primal energies.

From the swirling mists, ephemeral figures materialized, born of Wang Lin’s own understanding of reality’s fickle nature. Were they real? Were they false? It was a question only the Heavens could answer.

There stood Zhou Hui, embracing the lifeless form of his beloved, his mournful howls echoing across the cosmos, tears streaming down his face.

There stood Bai Er, laughing maniacally, his eyes burning with an unholy fire as he railed against the heavens.

There stood Qing Yi, awakened from his slumber, his memories returning in a torrent of despair, his silent fury a force that threatened to shatter the very fabric of existence.

There stood Tuo Sen, arrogant and unyielding, hurling insults at the sky with every breath.

And there were so many more, countless souls consumed by grief, rage, and bitterness.

He conjured the memories of the fallen from the Lightning Clan, seven million souls lost to the endless cycle of conflict. He saw San Ling Shang Ren, driven mad by the revelation of the ‘end’ of the Heavens, his eyes burning with a chaotic fervor.

These phantom figures, manifestations of Wang Lin’s mastery over truth and illusion, roared their defiance to the heavens. With each echoing cry, a torrent of pure hatred surged upward. Wang Lin met Heaven’s trial of illusion with an illusion forged from genuine rage, despair, and resentment.

This invisible tide of rage surged through the fractured sky above, reaching the heavens, yet there was no acknowledgment. The celestial roars remained unquenched.

“Not enough, then?” Wang Lin whispered. He closed his eyes and unleashed his divine sense, flooding the entire Kun Xu Star System, seeping into the very essence of each planet. He probed the memories embedded within each world-soul.

For eons, mortals and immortals alike had lived and died within the Kun Xu Star System. In their final moments, at the height of their suffering, they looked to the sky and whispered, shouted, or silently stifled their grievances. These complaints were imprinted on the very fabric of reality; each planet silently recorded the woes of its inhabitants.

Wang Lin’s divine sense tapped into these planetary memories, drawing forth the accumulated pain and resentment to forge a new weapon against the Heavens.

The fragmented sky shuddered for the first time; the cacophony above was suddenly silenced.

Meanwhile, hidden in the swirling mists, the ancient warrior Zhan Lao Gui watched with eyes ablaze with avarice.

“He has a thirty percent chance… he could be the third!” Zhan Lao Gui licked his lips, his desire unmasked.