The wind howled a mournful dirge, punctuated by the thunder’s booming pronouncements. Rain, unleashed from the heavens, crashed upon the earth, a deluge that birthed a swirling, ethereal mist. Upon the cobblestones of the city, countless tiny ripples danced in a frenzied ballet.

The rain was relentless, an unending torrent. Yet, mercifully, a network of ancient waterways, shallow and shadowed, snaked through the city’s arteries. These conduits greedily swallowed the downpour, channeling it, like a myriad of tiny silver veins, toward the sea that lay beyond the city walls.

An entire day surrendered to the watery embrace. As twilight draped its velvet curtain, the boisterous clamor of the city evaporated. Citizens, seeking refuge from the tempest, retreated to their homes, shuttering windows and bolting doors.

Though the cloud cover remained impenetrable, flashes of lightning, jagged and brilliant, tore through the night, momentarily painting the world in stark, ethereal hues.

A biting wind, laced with icy rain, joined the fray. Its mournful wail twisted and echoed through the streets, driving the rain in sheets. Glistening, rain-soaked tendrils of ivy, clinging to the eaves of houses, drooped and shuddered. Some, their frail moorings weakened, snapped free, sending sodden leaves spiraling into the tempest, like fragile, waterlogged boats upon a raging sea.

Some were caught in the sky’s tumultuous embrace, pirouetting wildly before vanishing into the inky depths. Others succumbed to the mire of the streets, their once vibrant green cloaked in muddy brown. For a fleeting instant, they strained against their earthy tomb, seeking to rise again, but a boot, clad in the sturdy leather of a traveler’s shoe, crushed their desperate rebellion. They sank back into the mud, their freedom forever extinguished.

A thunderclap, close and deafening, ripped the heavens asunder. In its wake, a blinding flash illuminated the world. There, upon the western edge of the city, stood an aged man, garbed in the robes of a Taoist priest. His eyes, like chips of obsidian, burned with an unnerving intensity. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture unwavering.

Beneath his right foot, a single leaf lay pinned, half-exposed, writhing in the muddy water, a silent testament to its doomed struggle.

Upon his brow, a sigil, ancient and unsettling, pulsed faintly.

Behind him, seven middle-aged figures, their faces masks of cold discipline, stood in silent vigilance. At a flick of the elder’s wrist, they moved as one, encircling him, their hands forming intricate mudras. Instantly, threads of ethereal light, like crackling strands of lightning, pulsed from their fingertips, connecting to the elder’s form.

The scene mirrored the sigil etched upon his brow. The old man was the nexus, and from him, seven beams of energy radiated.

The elder closed his eyes. Then, with a suddenness that stole the breath, he snapped them open. In that instant, the sigil upon his brow erupted with blinding energy, a fan of raw power that swept outward, consuming all before it.

Simultaneously, the glowing lines emanating from his seven companions intensified, surging with power that converged upon the elder, amplifying the light of his forehead sigil.

As the sigil’s light washed over them, the mundane buildings before him began to shift and warp. The very fabric of reality seemed to unravel. Decayed structures regained their youthful splendor, only to crumble into ruin moments later.

The houses were not the only victims of this temporal manipulation. Within, the inhabitants, mere mortals, aged backward, then faded from existence, as though they had never been.

Even the specters of those long dead, who had once resided within those walls, were resurrected, their final moments replayed before the elder’s gaze.

Meanwhile, within a modest dwelling, Wang Lin sat in silent meditation. The battle between his primordial spirit and the undying thunder raging within him had reached its zenith. The will of the thunder, desperate and fierce, thrashed against its confinement, echoing the tempest raging outside.

Yet, no matter how violently it struggled, it could not breach Wang Lin’s defenses. His spirit, fused with the power of eight ancient Thunder Dragons, had become thunder itself. This internal war was the primal struggle for dominance over the heavens’ might. Only by devouring his opponent could Wang Lin claim the mantle of true Thunder Sovereign.

Suddenly, Wang Lin’s eyes snapped open, revealing a glint of piercing light. His expression remained serene. With a swift gesture, he distorted the very fabric of the room, twisting and bending reality like a flawed mirror. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, until, with a final *crack*, the mirror shattered, leaving only fragmented chaos in its wake.

Having wrought this subtle distortion, Wang Lin closed his eyes once more, oblivious to the outside world, and plunged back into the heart of the tempest within, to resume his battle with the undying thunder.

Outside, in the pouring rain, the Taoist elder’s gaze flickered across the landscape. When his eyes landed upon Wang Lin’s abode, he betrayed no sign of recognition. In his eyes, the house dissolved, its inhabitants, past and present, vanished with it.

After a long and meticulous search, the elder found nothing of note. With a calm countenance, he formed a series of intricate hand seals, pressing them against his brow. A low, guttural growl escaped his lips.

The sigil on his forehead flared once more. With a final sweep, the entire western district of the city disappeared, swallowed by the tides of time. Before the elder’s eyes, the city transformed into a vast, ancient battlefield, where countless mortal soldiers clashed in a sea of blood and gore.

The elder’s eyes snapped shut. The light of the sigil faded, returning to its subdued state. The seven figures around him mirrored his actions, withdrawing their power, their faces pale with strain.

“There are no cultivators hidden here. We shall continue our search elsewhere,” the elder declared, his voice firm. With a flick of his sleeve, he leaped into the air, transforming into a streak of light that pierced the storm clouds, soaring into the distance. His seven companions followed close behind.

This same scene played out across the land, on countless planets scattered throughout the Ancient Star Domain. All, were subjected to this brutal and intrusive probing.
Under the ancient Decree of the Starry Heavens, every clan and tribe bowed in obedience. A meticulous search unfurled across the realms – the cultivated worlds, the desolate, untamed planets, and the endless expanse of the cosmos. The Starborn people, ancient and powerful, wove themselves into a vast net, seeking what they were bidden to find.

Wang Lin, his countenance serene, betrayed no sign of concern as the individuals departed. His eyes remained closed, undisturbed, as the roar of the Imperishable Lightning within his soul gradually subsided, its struggles waning into a whimper.

The heavens wept a relentless torrent, the rain falling without cease. In this sodden night, even the watchman dared not venture forth, his bell silent, the only sounds the booming of thunder and the incessant drumming of the rain.

Within Wang Lin’s very essence, the two strands of lightning, locked in eternal combat, crashed together one final time, their energies merging in a blinding flash. The Imperishable Lightning, its defiance futile, was utterly consumed by Wang Lin’s soul-forged lightning, becoming one with its being.

At the instant of its complete absorption, the will residing within the Imperishable Lightning was also subdued and refined, its essence merging with Wang Lin’s own divine sense. In a surge of power, his soul-lightning pulsed with newfound strength. He felt, with an astonishing clarity, the very essence of lightning within him burgeon forth, an unstoppable tide of raw power.

This augmentation defied description, for in that single moment, the power of lightning alone propelled him forward, shattering the boundaries of the Shattered Nirvana middle stage and hurtling him toward the precipice of the late stage!

With the resounding echo of the elemental surge, Wang Lin knew that should he now call upon the power of lightning, his cultivation would instantly surge to the heights of the Shattered Nirvana late stage!

Elemental Essence, the root of all rules and intent. To comprehend the essence was to understand the intricate tapestry of lightning, its intent and its governing principles. Unburdened by limitation, his cultivation soared to terrifying new heights.

Moreover, in consuming the will of the Imperishable Lightning, Wang Lin’s mind reeled. A torrent of images, fragmented and ancient, erupted within him – the memories of the captured will!

These recollections, ravaged by the passage of eons, remained incomplete, revealing only three distinct visions.

The first depicted a cataclysmic collapse, a cosmic implosion of stars and galaxies, a universe in ruin. Starry realms, beyond count, spanning distances that dwarfed even the Inner and Outer Domains, succumbed to utter annihilation. The destruction was a cataclysm of unparalleled magnitude.

Amidst the chaos, countless lives were extinguished. Wang Lin glimpsed beings clad in strange raiment, bizarre and terrible beasts. He even beheld creatures akin to entire planets, monstrous mosquitoes radiating a palpable darkness, and the many-headed Qiongqi, a harbinger of misfortune.

But as he strained to see more, a single bolt of lightning, as if fleeing the carnage, tore through the devastation, its light illuminating the endless void.

This was the first vision, fleeting yet overwhelming. That earth-shattering bolt of lightning was the Imperishable Lightning, many times more powerful than when Wang Lin had seized it.

The second vision revealed the same lightning flickering within the palm of a man. He was a middle-aged man, his expression cold and distant, a flower with seven vibrant petals emblazoned upon his brow.

“Alas, this Taizhong Godly Void Lightning… eons would pass before it could recover even a fraction of its former glory. So be it. I shall release you, and leave your fate to chance.”

The man shook his head, and with a wave of his hand, the lightning surged downward, vanishing into the infinite depths below.

The third vision unfolded upon the sacred grounds of the Flash Thunder Clan, where atop their temple, a pillar of lightning connected the heavens and the earth. Seemingly eternal, it thrummed with power, unyielding even to the destruction of the world around it.

Around this pillar hovered eight figures. One, an elder of the Flash Thunder Clan, bore the mark of a lightning bolt upon his brow.

The remaining seven were clad in strange garments, woven from unknown materials, shimmering with an ethereal light, appearing as if rivers of energy flowed around them.

The leader of this group stood at the fore, a figure of obvious authority, his gaze filled with both respect and a hint of fear towards the Flash Thunder Elder.

Around his body, a golden thread coiled, a thread that seemed oddly familiar to Wang Lin.

“I did not expect to find it here… alas, a terrible waste…” The leader shook his head, turning away. As he did, Wang Lin’s mind was rocked by a surge of recognition. His eyes widened, a moment of stunned realization.

“He… he is…”