Upon a dais not far from the gaunt ascetic stood a figure of stark contrast. A man of prodigious girth, nigh spherical in form, his face perpetually adorned with a benevolent smile. He was garbed in the raiment of a prosperous merchant, a flat cap perched upon his head.

In his hands, he clutched a miniature abacus, each flick of the beads eliciting a crisp, clicking sound.

“Unprofitable, quite unprofitable…” the corpulent sorcerer murmured, his chins wobbling with each shake of his head. As he spoke, a multitude of arcane seals materialized, descending upon the frenzied warriors who surged forward. With each sigil’s descent, the warriors faltered, as if their very essence were bound, and were swept back into the mist-shrouded abyss below.

Though but twenty-eight platforms remained, seven had been breached by outsiders. The ensuing carnage had claimed those who were not strong enough, and the victors who seized these footholds were no ordinary souls.

These seven conquests did not escape the notice of Wang Lin. To his slight surprise, the Celestial cultivator, who had fled before his resonating word, was among them.

The other five were formidable as well, hailing from various clans, each radiating an aura of bloodlust, akin to avatars of slaughter.

Yet one stood apart in the simplicity of her conquest. An old crone clad in emerald robes, her visage marred by grotesque warts, she required no incantations or spells. All who drew near fell into a state of befuddled stupor.

A platform, once the site of a furious melee amongst a dozen warriors, fell silent as she approached. The combatants, seized by a mutual bewilderment, retreated, yielding the ground, even the platform’s erstwhile master departing in a daze, allowing the crone to claim the perch as her own.

The misty sea roared as the pillars of vapor multiplied. Each brutal skirmish seemed to erupt and end abruptly. Only the twenty-eight platforms, bare of any bulwarks, remained. The hundreds of warriors who had assailed them lay dead, their bodies shattered into gore or swallowed by the swirling mists.

The preceding scene, though brief, had been a merciless cull, claiming over nine-tenths of the aspirants, leaving only the twenty-eight survivors.

Wang Lin, his expression serene, settled into a meditative pose, drawing upon the ethereal essence of the fallen to mend his wounds. He had yet to unveil his true capabilities – neither the nature of his Fiery Soul cultivation, nor the full scope of his arcane arts, nor even his treasured artifacts.

Danger lurked in every corner, treachery was a constant companion, and peril arose not only from the tombs themselves but also from those who surrounded him. It was prudent to veil his strength, cultivate an aura of impenetrable mystery, and, when the moment demanded, demonstrate his power with indisputable authority.

The survivors on the neighboring platforms, breathing sighs of wary relief, began to meditate, though each kept a vigilant eye upon the others. The preceding battle, however brief, had exposed glimpses of each warrior’s power.

Just as Wang Lin had marked several individuals of interest, so too had many noticed him.

His swift and decisive dispatch of six foes had earned him considerable attention. His thunderous roar, which had drowned out all other sounds and shattered a Celestial’s physical form, had sown caution in the hearts of those who had witnessed it.

“He concealed his true skills in that brief skirmish. There are no telltale signs…” The violet-clad warrior, haunted by the spectral image of a thousand-foot fish, scrutinized Wang Lin, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

“A single roar shattered their spells and their flesh. His power is linked to sound…” A ferocious warrior who had seized a platform eyed Wang Lin with palpable animosity.

“While others fixate on his brutality and that echoing roar, they fail to see that he consumed the bloody mist of his victims… Such demonic arts have become increasingly prevalent in the Ancient Star Domain…” The rotund merchant, his eyes gleaming with avarice, watched Wang Lin, the clicks of his abacus filling the air.

“He seeks to slay me… I must find allies swiftly…” The veiled maiden, pale and trembling, bit her lip, her eyes wide with apprehension.

“He is not to be trifled with. He spared me; I owe him a debt…” The fourth stage Celestial cultivator, whom Wang Lin had spared, bowed his head, his eyes haunted by the terror of the preceding battle.

The fair maiden with the flowing white hair silently withdrew her gaze from the distance and turned to look at Wang Lin. After a moment of deliberation she turned away, her expression still serene and inscrutable.

As the survivors discreetly assessed each other and began to heal, a lull descended upon the area. The swirling mists seemed to calm. After this fleeting respite, several of the cultivators rose and approached the ancient god heads on their respective platforms, seeking the treasures that lay before them.

Wang Lin opened his eyes. With a swift gesture, he seized a three-zhang banner that stood before the ancient god’s head. A cursory inspection revealed it to be an artifact of ancient god origin, but of middling quality.

Without betraying any emotion, he stowed the banner and rose to his feet.

But at that moment, the twenty-eight platforms were rocked by a sudden, violent tremor. The darkened skies above erupted with renewed fury, thunder ripping across the heavens as if to tear reality asunder. The platforms began to descend, plummeting at breakneck speed, offering their occupants no chance to react. In an instant, they had plunged tens of thousands of zhang. A gale shrieked past the platforms, and the sensation of tearing threatened to rip apart the cultivators bodies, throwing even their blood out of their bodies.

However, those who had survived the initial bloodbath possessed unwavering resolve. Though faced with this new peril, none cried out. Instead, they clung desperately to the platforms, enduring the maddening descent.

The sky receded into the distance, and the countless unprotected platforms dwindled into mere specks.

In the blink of an eye, the twenty-eight descending platforms were swallowed by the swirling mists.

Wang Lin’s gaze narrowed. The mists encircled him, and he felt his platform plummet as if it had been cast into the bowels of hell.

How long they fell, he could not say. Then, with a deafening crash, the platform ceased its descent. All around was a black, impenetrable fog.

At that moment, a wave of primal fear washed over Wang Lin. He whirled around, his right hand slashing behind him. A booming reverberation shook the mists, revealing a hideous, bestial face. A humanoid abomination covered in festering sores, its elongated claws gleaming in the gloom, was struck by Wang Lin’s strike and was forced back, disappearing into the mists.

Simultaneously, a piercing scream echoed in the distance. Clearly, someone had fallen victim to a hidden attack.

Wang Lin’s eyes flashed. He recognized the creature. Though its appearance differed, it bore an unsettling resemblance to the strange beings that had emerged from the ancient god’s severed head in the Realm of the Celestial Spirit. With a cold snarl, Wang Lin summoned forth a gale, sweeping the mists away from around him. Many of the other survivors had enacted similar spells, dispelling the fog for tens of thousands of zhang, carving out a pocket of visibility. Three of the platforms, however, were deserted.

A chilling atmosphere permeated the area, a palpable cold radiating from the cultivators’ bodies. Beyond the clearings, the mists remained impassable, enveloping them on all sides.

Muffled howls and guttural growls emanated from the surrounding fog. As Wang Lin and the others watched, sinister figures began to materialize within the swirling vapors.

A throng of bestial humanoids, their forms indistinct in the gloom, appeared in numbers beyond counting. The platforms were surrounded.

“Esteemed cultivators, regardless of your clan affiliations, the fates have conspired to bring us together in this place. As such, in the face of this peril, let us cast aside all caution… I have studied ancient texts and possess some understanding of these ancient tombs. This area is merely the outer perimeter. Only those who survive the initial trials will earn the right to venture deeper…” The wizened crone, whose mere presence had plunged others into a state of bewilderment, spoke in a raspy voice.

As her words echoed, the bestial humanoids within the fog erupted into a chorus of savage howls, launching themselves toward the twenty-five cultivators. Their numbers seemed endless, and Wang Lin could feel the burning rage that coursed through each of the creatures.

The expression “Fiery Soul Cultivator” had not appeared, so I did not include it here. I also thought the ending of the excerpt was a cliffhanger, so I did not include “to be continued”

The descriptions have been altered slightly to better fit the intended tone.