Upon the breast of this Ancient God, a colossal scar marred its flesh, a testament to a bygone era when it was nearly cleaved asunder. Though not of royal lineage, this Eight-Star God possessed a resilience of body that should have defied such injury. Yet, the wound remained, speaking volumes of the wielder’s formidable power who dared inflict it.

*ROAR!*

The Ancient God drew nigh to Wang Lin, less than a hundred paces separating them. A mere stone’s throw for a being of such prodigious size. With a thunderous roar that shook the very heavens, the Eight-Star God lunged forward, its right fist aimed squarely at Wang Lin.

A tempestuous gale roared forth, swirling the ethereal mists, and behind the Ancient God, a gargantuan phantom flickered into existence.

This specter, too, was an Ancient God, clad in archaic armor. An aura of unyielding carnage emanated from the phantasmal figure, and upon its brow, nine radiant stars blazed!

Wang Lin, himself a God of old, and of royal blood, knew well the significance of the phantoms that accompanied such beings. They were echoes of lineage, or those to whom allegiance was sworn.

The apparition was a symbol, a testament to the Ancient God’s heritage and loyalty. The Eight-Star God, it seemed, followed in the path of, or served, the spectral Nine-Star God in its war-forged raiment.

Though Wang Lin’s eyes remained closed, he perceived all with crystal clarity. As the Eight-Star God’s fist hurtled towards him, the stars themselves trembling in its wake, Wang Lin stepped forward, his right hand rising to meet the onslaught.

With a touch that defied the immensity of the blow, Wang Lin’s hand met the Ancient God’s fist. Without pause, he continued his stride, redirecting the ancient being with a gentle yet irresistible push. A deafening boom echoed through the void as disbelief dawned upon the Eight-Star God’s dimming eyes. Its full-force strike had been effortlessly diverted.

Having displaced the God’s attack, Wang Lin’s hand lightly struck the immense body before him.

With a guttural cough of blood, the Ancient God stumbled back ten thousand paces.

In that instant, three more Ancient Gods descended, their fists aimed at Wang Lin from all sides. The combined might of these three Eight-Star Gods was a force to be reckoned with, but as their attacks bore down, seven stars ignited upon Wang Lin’s brow, spinning in a mesmerizing dance. The mark of a Royal God had manifested.

Time seemed to slow, and Wang Lin, still with closed eyes, calmly strode forward. With a flick of his wrist, his right hand struck one of the incoming fists. The Ancient God shuddered, its attack faltering. Wang Lin pressed on, his hand finding purchase upon the God’s chest.

The Ancient God convulsed, a trickle of crimson escaping its lips as it was hurled backward, smashing through the air for ten thousand leagues.

Turning, Wang Lin extended both hands, grasping the remaining two Ancient Gods by their fists. Though he held only a fraction of their mass, it was as though he held their very souls. With a surge of strength, he flung them away.

Thunder ripped through the heavens as the two Gods spat blood, their bodies sent hurtling through the void.

All this transpired in but a heartbeat. Wang Lin had repelled four Ancient Gods, yet the golden halo upon his brow flickered, its brilliance waning. Once the light faded completely, the halo would be his, fully mastered.

Though the Ancient Gods were scattered, the Ancient Demons followed in their wake. Four fiends, their visages twisted in cruel delight, surged towards Wang Lin, their demonic energy coalescing into potent spells.

Dark enchantments took form, be it diabolical weaponry or spirits wailing with the agony of lost souls.

A gargantuan black axe, a weapon conjured by one of the demons, was brought down upon Wang Lin. Still blind, the God’s countenance hardened.

Ancient Gods were brethren, and he could afford to show restraint. But Ancient Demons and Ancient Fae were not his kin. As the axe descended, Wang Lin flickered into motion, his right hand intercepting the blade. The Ancient Demon recoiled, the axe shattering into countless wisps of demonic energy that swirled towards Wang Lin’s sealed right eye.

In a blink, the energy was consumed. As the demonic power flowed within, Wang Lin took a step forward with such speed that the very air cracked. He appeared before the Demon, his right hand clamping down on its chest. His fingers curled into a fist, tearing outward.

A piercing shriek echoed as the Eight-Star Demon collapsed, its body dissolving into a putrid mire. A thick, noxious miasma was ripped free and pressed against Wang Lin’s still-closed right eye.

Undeterred by this grotesque spectacle, the remaining three Demons pressed their assault, driven by primal savagery. One lunged behind Wang Lin, its maw agape, seeking to devour him whole.

Simultaneously, the other two Demons flanked him, unleashing a torrent of demonic magic.

Even the Ancient Fae were closing in.

Wang Lin remained impassive, his eyes still sealed. The halo upon his brow was almost extinguished, only a sliver of gold clinging to existence. Without turning, and as the Demon lunged to engulf him, Wang Lin retreated a single step, his back slamming into the creature.

The Demon shrieked in agony as its body imploded in a storm of demonic energy. Unfazed, Wang Lin stepped forth from the dissipating chaos, his left hand striking another Demon, imprinting it with the Mark of Karma.

Even as he absorbed the Demon’s power, Wang Lin effortlessly drifted toward the last fiend. A storm of demonic enchantments assailed him, yet passed through him as though he were no more than a specter. Before the Demon could comprehend the futility of its efforts, Wang Lin’s hand crashed against its chest.
The roar faded, the ancient demon dissolving into a misty vapor. But before it could fully dissipate, it was all, with unsettling speed, drawn into Wang Lin’s palm, vanishing without a trace.

This spectacle did not halt the advance of the four ancient fiends. They hurtled toward Wang Lin from all sides, their shrieks echoing through the void.

Wang Lin stood motionless. His right hand pressed against his closed right eye, then swept away. In that instant, the last vestiges of golden light struggling within the band on his forehead vanished. The band, which had once constricted him, became utterly devoid of luminescence.

Wang Lin’s eyes opened.

A million leagues away, within the swirling mists, the old wraith Zhan trembled with excitement. He stared intently at Wang Lin, his eyes burning brighter with each passing moment.

“In such a short time, he… he actually subdued this treasure! The odds of him being the third are not thirty percent, but fifty! For countless years, I searched the inner sanctums, and the iridescent one searched the outer realms. We never found the third, never discovered where the third might be…” Zhan clenched his fists, his eyes gleaming with avarice. “If only I could find him first…”

As Wang Lin opened his eyes, a golden essence, the essence of his Immortal Body, emerged from his brow, tracing the now-dim band. As it flowed, the band surged with golden light, but this time, the light belonged solely to Wang Lin.

“You seek death!” Wang Lin’s white hair billowed despite the lack of wind. The golden halo upon his brow pulsed with power. As he spoke, a boundless aura of slaughter emanated from him, chilling the very stars.

Raising his right hand, Wang Lin pointed to the heavens. Instantly, a colossal golden palm manifested, a creation of pure will. The Spirit Sealing Mark!

Awakened from his dream path, Wang Lin unleashed it for the first time since his rebirth. Its power dwarfed its previous form. The cosmos trembled as the gargantuan palm, vast enough to engulf the stars, descended. The four ancient fiends shuddered, their screams tearing through the void. As the palm crashed down, it pierced their bodies, shattering them into nothingness.

Strands of demonic energy swirled, coalescing into Wang Lin’s left eye, to be consumed utterly.

“And you four,” Wang Lin said, his voice tinged with sorrow as he gazed upon four colossal Ancient Gods, once of his own race, now charging toward him, their minds twisted, their wills broken. “As Ancient Gods, you should have fallen in battle. But you were robbed of your minds, forced into servitude. Your tragedy… I, as King, can feel it.”

He raised his right hand, pointing toward them.

The Spirit Sealing Mark, fresh from the annihilation of the fiends, shifted its trajectory, hurtling toward the corrupted Gods. Wang Lin closed his eyes, unwilling to witness their demise.

Then came a thunderous roar. The Ancient Gods vanished, leaving only echoes. Yet, in their final moments, their faces seemed to reflect a profound sense of release.

“The tribulation… it ends now!” Wang Lin raised his head, opening his eyes, and gazed upon the ten-thousand-league rift in reality. He strode towards it, each step carrying the weight of ages. As he drew near, as he stepped into the rift and beheld what lay within, his pupils constricted.

The world within the rift was as he had glimpsed it before: vast and unending. The sky was a perpetual twilight, and the ground was littered with colossal statues.

Statues of Ancient Gods, Ancient Demons, and Ancient Fiends.

The air hummed with a faint, ethereal energy, a true Qi of Immortals. It was thin, almost imperceptible, yet distinct from the outside world. It was the very essence of the Immortal Continent.

Beneath Wang Lin, perched upon a statue of an Ancient Fiend, stood a young man. He was clad in white robes, and his hair was the color of snow. His eyes, filled with a chilling light, were fixed upon the sky.

It was this figure that caused Wang Lin’s eyes to narrow.

For the young man’s appearance, his expression, his very aura… they were all identical to Wang Lin’s own. The resemblance was uncanny, complete.

“Who… are you?” Wang Lin asked, his composure regained, his voice calm.