The heavens roared as Wang Lin’s fist met that of Tuo Sen, their towering ancestral phantoms mirroring the clash, spectral fists colliding with earth-shattering force.

The very fabric of the palace seemed to tear asunder. Tuo Sen’s phantom shuddered, its right arm shattering into fragments that spiraled inwards, engulfing the titan in a cataclysmic blast. It staggered back, each step a thousand leagues, until the monstrous visage exploded into nothingness.

Wang Lin’s own phantom, wise and ancient, fared little better. Its left arm detonated in a similar fashion, the blast rippling across its form. It retreated three steps, its ethereal flesh fracturing into countless fissures before shattering into oblivion.

The clash of these spectral behemoths unleashed a shockwave that rent a chasm through the palace, a fissure of raw power connecting the heavens and the abyss.

Tuo Sen’s fist collided with Wang Lin’s, a myriad of swirling energies erupting between them, each vortex a microcosm of destructive force, tearing and churning like a maelstrom.

Both warriors fought with raw power, a testament to their strength and the paths they had forged.

Tuo Sen unleashed a torrent of blows, ninety-nine strikes compressed into a single, devastating impact. It was his way, the way of brute force, to shatter the very heavens.

“One strike fails? Then ninety-nine shall crush you!” he roared. “I care not for finesse. Your resistance is futile against this tidal wave of power!”

Wang Lin’s counter drew upon the Xuan Wu arts, learned from the Vermillion Bird of the Great Emperor Star. He channeled the force of the impact, turning his opponent’s power against himself.

In essence, Wang Lin had made Tuo Sen the surface of a vast lake, his fist the stone cast into its depths. The resulting backlash was not merely deflected, but woven into Wang Lin’s own attack, augmenting his power with that of his foe.

Yet, beyond his own strength and the borrowed might of Tuo Sen, lay a third, more potent force.

This was the power that allowed Wang Lin to stand defiant against the eight-star Tuo Sen.

It surged from the very throne upon which he sat, a wave of rejecting energy that exploded into being.

This force flooded his veins, coursing through his fist and erupting as a tempest of power as it met Tuo Sen’s furious onslaught.

Wang Lin coughed blood, his throne groaning in protest, three cracks appearing upon its ancient surface. Beneath the throne, the colossal stone dais began to crumble, consumed by the unleashing power.

Tuo Sen also tasted blood, his body flung backwards. Unlike Wang Lin, he had no means to dissipate the force, and he hurtled towards the shimmering, illusory net that hung in the void.

“Well fought! You have earned the title of Ancient God!” Tuo Sen roared. From within the illusory net, a sensuous woman, her form pieced back together through arcane arts, watched the battle.

Her face twisted with rage, her eyes burning with murderous intent. She moved to enter the net and aid Tuo Sen.

But as she stepped towards the boundary, Tuo Sen, still reeling, seized the moment. Turning, he unleashed a furious blow upon the woman.

“Begone! This is a battle for gods! Outsiders are not welcome!”

The woman never expected such treachery. As the fist hurtled towards her, she wove a shimmering silken barrier, barely managing to deflect the blow.

The impact sent her reeling, blood cascading from her lips. Her alluring facade crumbled, revealing a mask of snarling fury.

“Tuo Sen! How dare you betray my will!” she shrieked.

Tuo Sen’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Did you truly believe I was a puppet? I merely used you to heal my wounds. None may control me! Begone, plaything of a lesser immortal!”

His fist slammed into the illusory net, forcing the woman back. Grasping the net with both hands, he poured his ancient god power into it, sealing it shut and denying her entry.

Turning back to Wang Lin, he declared, “Now, none shall interfere with our battle.”

The dais was shattered, yet with each passing moment, with each desperate breath, Wang Lin drew closer to the breaking point. The throne’s rejecting force reached its peak, pushing his body to its limits. Even the regenerative power of a seven-star ancient god could barely keep pace.

One more surge, and his flesh would fail, and he would die.

Yet as the rejecting force intensified, so too did the ancestral essence flowing from the throne. Wang Lin greedily devoured it, and upon his brow, the eighth astral point flickered, its potential growing with each breath.

Beside him, the ancient demon corpse, unscathed in the previous clash, pulsed with dark energy. The second, third, and fourth demon stars blazed into existence. Yet as Wang Lin drew in the ancestral power, blood trickled from his left eye, a searing pain tearing through his skull. The ancestral legacy was tainted. The left eye of Ye Mo, the Ancient Dao, was no longer whole, and as Wang Lin absorbed the essence, his vision blurred, his very memories began to fray.

The legacy held not only power, but also the memory of a homeland lost, the grief and yearning of the fallen Dao. The pain in his eye tore at Wang Lin’s own past, his memories of Li Muwan, of his homeworld, of all he held dear, threatened to dissolve into nothingness.

“Return my eye!” a voice screamed in his mind, the echo of a forgotten agony.

Tuo Sen, having sealed the illusory net, advanced upon Wang Lin, his eyes ablaze with battle lust. He raised a hand to the heavens and grasped a hundred-foot spear of pure, crackling energy – the God-Slaying Spear, weapon of the Tuo Si Royal Clan.

With a roar, Tuo Sen hurled the weapon.

Blood streamed from Wang Lin’s eye, staining his robes. As the spear hurtled towards him, his sight failing, his memories tearing asunder, Wang Lin raised his head. The rejecting force ripped through his very being, the vision of the fallen Dao echoing in his mind.

“Godquake, Armament Rend!” he roared. His body heaved, blood pouring from every orifice, yet he drew a vast amount of ancestral power from the throne. His left hand moved in a gesture of power. The space before him buckled, waves of destructive force radiating outwards.

The eighth astral point upon his brow surged. It was still but a nascent thing, a mere wisp, but it held the promise of an eight-star god.

The God-Slaying Spear hurtled towards him, barely ten feet away. Wang Lin’s hair whipped back, the shattered remnants of the dais flying past.

“Immortal, demon, life, death, reverse the tide!” With his left hand, he formed a single point, his eyes flashing open. He channeled his divine sense into the throne, tearing through its rejecting force, following the path of the pulsating heart beneath.

At the moment of contact, Wang Lin’s eyes snapped open.